10
“Never invoke the gods unless you want them to appear. It annoys them very much.”
G. K. Chesterton, no relation
I hadn’t had enough to drink last night to give me a hangover this morning, so I had to be suffering the after-effects of stupidity. That or the fact that my late-afternoon nap had rendered me sleepless until the wee hours of the morning. Anyway, I now had a pounding headache that was even starting to tunnel my vision.
The only upside to my day so far was that Jesus was out on an audition and so not available for snide commentary on the bags beneath my eyes—so not Luis Vuitton, darling. God, I’d been around him long enough that I could supply my own put-downs. No physical presence needed.
I groaned as I sat at my desk, head in my hands, praying for the pain meds to kick in and my vision to clear.
When the damned singing fish above my door started talking, it didn’t immediately register as anything more than an auditory hallucination, my ears deciding to betray me as well. Slowly, so as not to jar and further pain my head, I looked up, panning only my eyes toward the pesky Pisces. I knew I’d taken the batteries out of the damned thing.
“What?” I asked, cranky about feeling foolish.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the deep voice seemingly with its own reverb saying, “We need to talk.”
“Look, whoever you are, my head is about to split itself down the center. Whatever you have to say, stick it in a memo. Jesus, if this is some kind of crazy candid-camera thing you’re fired.”
“I AM POSEIDON, LORD OF THE WATERS AND YOU WILL LISTEN!” the fish boomed, doubling its previous volume.
It felt like someone took a sledgehammer to my head with each word.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, “but only if you exercise a little volume control. Otherwise, you’re shark bait.”
Through the pounding on my brain it was hard to consider what antagonizing the god of the oceans might do to my summer tanning options.
“You will leave my people alone,” he commanded, conceding maybe a decibel or two. “We will look to our own.”
My left eye twitched. “Really? Where the hell were you all yesterday when one of your own was trying to put me to sleep with the fishes?”
The rubber fish flapped annoyance. “You did not need our intervention.”
“Funny, ’cause from my perspective I was this close”—I demonstrated with my fingers—“to a watery grave.”
“ENOUGH!” the fish bellowed, causing me to wince.
“Oh yeah, this new form of yours—real intimidating,” I continued, knowing I was pushing my luck, but pissed off and curious about the results all the same. ’Cause that approach had done wonders for the cat. “Maybe if you showed yourself … Though, you fitting the killer’s general description and all, maybe there’s some reason you don’t want to come out and fight like a man.”
The only warning I had was a nasty-sounding gurgle-belch before a flood of brackish water exploded forth from the fish’s mouth. I jerked back from my desk as if the stream would hit me then laughed at my own fear. “Ooh, swamp water—very scary!”
And suddenly the flood became a torrent, an entire swollen river bursting its banks. Not so funny after all. Easy enough to run away myself, but my office! Uncle Christos’s security deposit!
Something had to be done. I grabbed my desk chair and pulled it with me toward the door, trying to shield my eyes and make progress against the stinging force of the geyser. The chair and I were knocked to the floor once and nearly twice before I managed to get it in place and climb unsteadily aboard. Blinded now by the torrent, I reached for the fish, feeling my way to the mounting, which I ripped from the wall. Plaster rained down on my head and the fish had gone from soaking the rug to soaking me.
The chair keeled over as I jumped down, sprinting toward the outer door with the still-spewing fish like a football player headed for the end zone. I raced down the fire stairs and out into the alleyway.
The flood had trickled to leaky-faucet level and no doubt Poseidon’s spirit had long since departed but I took great pleasure in cramming the damned fish into the dumpster where it belonged anyway.
Maybe I’d saved my office, but for the second time in two days I was soaked to the bone and madder than a wet hen. Pisses me off when my day sounds like a freakin’ country-western song.
I squelched my way back to the office to survey the damage and arrange for a wet vac. My nose wrinkled involuntarily at the swamp-water smell of the place. It would be just my luck if the damage seeped down into the office below and I had two repair bills to worry about.
At least I kept a change of clothes for myself at the office—I’d say for “just such emergencies,” but who the hell anticipated plastic fish gushing pond scum? My life had gotten too damned weird. I was the investigator; I was the one supposed to put people in the know. So why the hell did I get the feeling that I was the blind man in the game of bluff? It seemed everyone else knew the playing field and gamboled around taunting me, dangling the truth just out of reach.
If there was anyone I should damned well be able to expect straight answers from it was my client. Come hell or high water—oh wait, I’d had near misses on both—he was going to answer my questions. I didn’t care if he was akin to Hollywood’s crown prince. He’d signed a contract; we’d played tonsil hockey in a club alley. One way or another, I ought to be entitled.
I picked up the office phone and jabbed in his private number from memory. It occurred to me that somewhere in the adrenaline rush to save my office the headache had disappeared. At least something had gone right.
To my surprise, the man of the hour actually answered.
“Hello,” he said, voice low and a bit hoarse—I refused to think husky—as if I’d woken him.
“Apollo, it’s Tori. We need to have a conversation. In person.”
I heard movement. Bed sheets rustling? His throat cleared and he came back to the receiver sounding a bit more normal. “What’s happened? You sound upset.”
Give that man an exploding cigar, I thought.
“What, you mean you don’t know? Your freakin’ Oracle didn’t give you a heads-up on this morning’s little visitation?”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, sounding urgent now, though I couldn’t figure out what I’d said that would prompt it.
“Wear old shoes,” I suggested, but the receiver had gone dead in my hand.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Apollo asked as I showed him in.
I’d considered meeting with him in Uncle Christos’s office, but I had a point to make. “Big,” I agreed, waiting until we’d both squelched across my floor to say anything more.
A comment or question on the moisture wouldn’t have been uncalled for but Apollo kept silent, perhaps wisely guessing that it had something to do with my call.
Once we were seated, I pinned him with my very best glare and began. “Let’s cut right to the chase. You did not hire me because you thought Circe’s death had anything to do with your business. I doubt any of your old crowd gives a damn about the talent agency, and you knew before you even entered my office that we were dealing with one of the divinities. So, you can talk or I can walk, ’cause I’ve had it up to here”—I held my hand to my hairline—“with the lot of you right about now.” And with myself for not tossing him from my office at the get-go.
His eyes widened, but the only other movement was that of his chest expanding and contracting as he breathed. The seconds ticked by and I relaxed back into my chair, watching his thought process dance over his face—consternation, caginess, resignation. I was pleased with the last. The interview would go so much faster if I didn’t have to browbeat Apollo into submission—not that the idea didn’t have its perks.
“No,” he answered finally. “No one gives a damn about the agency. You want the full story, fine, I’ll give you everything I have, but it isn’t much. Something odd is going on. Circe is the first death that I know of, but some of the old-timers have gone twitchy and others have seemed to disappear. The oracle has been broadcasting ‘Get the hell out of Dodge’ on all frequencies, and I want to know what the hell is going on. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to turn tail and run, even if I had anywhere to go. Since no one on the inside is talking, I’ve had to go to an outside source.”
I’d liked it better when I thought Apollo might have some answers.
“If something’s going on in godland, why would you be left out of the loop?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe because I was working with Circe, who no one in their right mind trusts, and got tarred with the same brush. Maybe there’s some kind of vendetta thing or war between factions that I’m just not part of. I was up front with you that I want to find out what happened, what Circe was involved in, to be sure I don’t get the fallout.”
“So what changed your mind?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You didn’t show up at the club last night because of my irresistible charm, such as it is. You knew where to find me; you knew about the attack, and you were ready to pull me from the case. Conclusion: you’re holding out on me. Care to fill me in?”
Apollo stood abruptly, nearly upending his chair onto the sodden carpet. He filled the room, pacing the six or seven steps the office allowed, but somehow the squishing sound of each footfall diminished the effect.
“If you put others on the spot nearly as well as you do me, you must be a very good investigator. Yes, I went there to fire you. I’d been warned away from investigating Circe’s death. Specifically, I’d been told that your life was in danger, but I got the distinct impression last night that pulling my financing wasn’t going to take you off the case.”
He wasn’t looking at me as he said it and something told me there were gaps in the story.
“What else?”
Apollo had stopped in front of my doorway and was eying the twin holes I’d left in the plaster. “You know that headache?” he asked, barely audible with his back to me.
I blinked at the complete non sequitur. “Yeah,” I answered warily.
“Well, that’s kind of a side effect.”
“Of what?” My heart rate had kicked up and this time it didn’t have anything to do with his proximity per se.
He finally turned, measuring my reaction from there. “A bit of an edge.”
“Tell me,” I said, already rising to cut off his escape.
“Just a little precog,” he answered, holding his ground. “Think of it as your Spidey sense, an early warning system in case of danger. The headache won’t last long. It’s an effect of waking up pathways in your brain previously closed off. All I did was open some doors.”
I stood before him now, hands on my hips, almost a head shorter than him but, I hoped, intimidating in my anger. I put hold it right there, buster into my glare. “Without my consent,” I stated.
Apollo stayed put, but that could have been his own arrogance. He was a god, after all, what did he have to fear from little ol’ me? “Yes.”
No apologies, not the least abashed. Okay, on the one hand, I could see how a little precognition might not be such a bad thing. On the other, I knew that Apollo’s gifts did not come free, and I didn’t like the idea that he could play with my mind at will. It hadn’t turned out so well for Cassandra, prophetess of Troy, when Apollo’s broad shoulders failed to make her swoon. Oh sure, she still had the visions, but no ability to make anyone believe. All she could do was watch the horrible reality unfold. Something like that would drive me barking mad. I wasn’t feeling too far from that ledge as it was.
We continued our standoff, toe-to-toe, me with my anger and Apollo with his defiance, daring me to take issue.
“Thank you,” I said with effort. “Don’t ever mess with my head again.” I tried to drive the point home with my glare.
Apollo’s head jerked fractionally. “You want to tell me about the carpet?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I’m not finished with you yet. Who threatened me?”
“The same god, I presume, who’s responsible for your water damage.”
“Poseidon?”
He nodded. “Do you think he’s the killer?”
“No. My attacker and Circe’s were one and the same. If it had been Poseidon who’d grabbed me, I doubt I’d still have a pulse. How much do you trust Hephaestus?”
That one shocked him. Apollo’s eyes met mine. “Hiero? Last I checked, he was neither green nor scaly. What’s he got to do with anything?”
“The place I was attacked yesterday—he’s the one who pointed it out on the map. No one else knew where I’d be.”
“But if it had some significance to your case, it wouldn’t have been too hard to figure out.”
Damn, all that beauty and brains too. My righteous anger was wearing off and with it went my defense against Apollo’s spell. I had to end this quickly.
“Okay, point for you,” I conceded. “Sorry to get you down here in such a rush.”
Double uh oh. The smolder was back in his eyes. He must have sensed the second the mood had shifted.
Apollo reached out to me, and I backed out of my own office in retreat. “Here, let me get the door for you,” I offered.
It was a lame cover and we both knew it. Before making his exit, he stopped to take my chin and force me to meet his eyes.
“You had your chance, you know. Off the case and out of my—clutches. I think you know what will happen if we continue working together.”
I struggled to remember why that was a very bad thing; I fought to dredge up some anger at his arrogance, but deep down I both feared and hoped he was right.
“Is this where you start twirling your mustachios?” I asked, trying to dispel the mood.
“If you insist on playing the damsel in distress. Fortunately for me, I don’t think your police detective is much of a challenge.”
Urk. It was on the tip of my tongue to protest, but everything I could think to say would come out as admission or encouragement. I didn’t see how he could really know anything and certainly didn’t want to give him any fuel for the fire. The gods weren’t known for their charity toward the competition. Besides, Armani was clearly not mine in any way, shape or form.
That fact was illustrated beautifully a few hours later when Lau called to inform me brusquely that my presence was requested at the precinct to once more go over my story of Circe’s murder and discuss “any subsequent attacks.” If Armani had thrown me to the wolf, then he was probably still in a snit about yesterday.
I agreed to come in for two reasons. One, I didn’t trust Lau not to find some way to force the issue, and that would provide her with way too much satisfaction. Two, given the site of yesterday’s momentous battle with the Creature from the Black Lagoon, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Circe’s murder wasn’t tied in some way to the actress’s death. I still wanted to get a look at the Talbot file. Not that Lau would slip it to me, of course, but it might be possible to tap into one of Uncle Christos’s police contacts of yore.
Besides, there wasn’t much to do on my other investigation but wait for my various phone calls to be returned. I was particularly anxious to hear from the widow whether she knew of anyone in the Sunset Strip area to whom her husband might have gone, dragging the dog behind him. With any luck, I’d close the case by sundown. Funny enough, clients were so much happier to pay when you’d actually gotten results. Not necessarily faster, you understand, just less grudging.
Lau kept me cooling my heels for a good half hour, so I decided that when she was ready, she could come find me. Meanwhile, it seemed only polite to drop in on Christos’s old drinking buddies and see what they were up to. Stan Muldavi was out on a call, but I was in luck for George Santos and Tony Robbins, who were catching up on paperwork. Neither noticed me until I snuck up behind George and covered his eyes.
He practically jumped out of his skin, but I kept my hands in place.
Tony chuckled. “You’re getting old, George. Ten years ago you wouldn’t let some slip of a thing sneak up on you.”
George could shrug me off in a second if he chose. Instead, he asked, “Is she cute?”
“Nah. Kinda buck-toothed and cross-eyed.”
“Tori?”
I pulled my hands back. “Very cute, you two. You ought to take your show on the road.”
“Can’t—George gets carsick. Hey, you heard anything from your uncle?”
“Yeah,” George chimed in. “Tell him he owes me money.”
“Great. That’ll certainly get him back here,” I answered. “Listen, I’ve got a question; I was hoping one of you might have heard something.”
“If it’s about the Circe Holland homicide—” Tony made a warding sign.
“Not that. I’ve got this missing dog case. The woman’s husband took off and their hound seems to have followed him—or maybe been dog-napped. Anyway, the lady figures good riddance to the husband, who was catting around, but she’d like the dog back. The only problem is that I probably have to find the former to get the latter and the husband’s pulled a vanishing act. I’m wondering if you guys have anything on him, like some legal reason he skipped town or maybe he’s on the sheets for a domestic dispute.”
Tony shrugged. “Christos will be so glad to hear his business is going to the dogs. What’s the deadbeat’s name?”
“Dick Strohmeyer.”
George and Tony shared a look.
“What?”
It was George’s turn to shrug. “Go ahead, tell her. Can’t hurt.”
I pushed some files aside to perch on the edge of George’s desk. “I’m all ears.”
Tony settled back in his chair. “Strohmeyer’s girlfriend was in last week, calling for the wife’s head on a platter. She talked to Nelson, but half the squad room heard her.”
“Yeah, real spitfire,” George contributed.
“And easy on the eyes, but that mouth—eesh. Anyway, she hadn’t seen Dick in days. The wife claimed he moved out, but the girlfriend wasn’t buying it. She thinks the wife, your client, had him whacked.”
I couldn’t see Annette Strohmeyer whacking anybody. ’Course, I couldn’t see her getting all sappy over a slobbery hound, but it was always the ones you least expected.
“Did Nelson take her seriously?”
“Don’t know. He talked to her for a good long time. Certainly wrote down all her particulars.” Tony’s eyes flicked past me.
I turned to look. Uh oh.
“Can you get me her name and address?” I asked sotto voce.
“Call you later,” he said quickly. “Detective Lau, pleasure to see you.”
“Robbins, Santos,” she answered with a bare nod. “You. We have an appointment.”
As if I’d kept her waiting. I bid farewell to the guys and followed Lau, past her desk, which always creeped me out with its array of desiccated sea life—mounted piranha, urchin shells, starfish—in lieu of photographs, into one of their stark interview rooms.
Lau practically slammed the door behind me and ordered me to sit. The solitary table was littered with files, as if the detective had commandeered the room for some time and had made herself comfortable.
“Why did you fail to report your attack?”
“Huh?” I asked, honestly baffled. “You mean the fish?”
Lau crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door, pointedly, if one could be said to lean pointedly. “Armani’s not here to run interference for you, and I’ve got all the time in the world. You can tell me and go free to overcharge some poor schmuck for your time or you can sit here pissing me off until I lock you up for withholding evidence.”
“What evidence?” I nearly shouted. “It’s a freakin’ plastic fish. You want to go dumpster diving, you be my guest.”
“What the hell are you babbling on about?” she asked.
I stared. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Yesterday. Venice Beach. Ring any bells?”
Oh, that. That was, like, ages ago. Since then I’d been kissed, threatened, flooded and whammied with a spankin’ new psychic power. Surely I could be forgiven for forgetting a little near-death experience.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Now, what’s this about your dumpster?” Lau’s eyes narrowed on me.
“First, I wasn’t attacked at the beach. I slipped and the shock of the cold water knocked me out.”
“Uh huh.” Oh, it sounded like agreement, but read more like giving me enough rope to hang myself.
“Second, the damned fish in the dumpster was someone’s idea of a practical joke, rigging the singing fish above my door to give me a dunking.” I squelched a dribble of water out of my shoes onto the industrial carpet for effect. Unlike my spare suit, the shoes hadn’t been hung above the waterline.
“First, Mr. Lafferty—you remember him—your rescuer—claims that you were struggling against someone.”
“How did you—”
The canary-eating cat had never smiled so broadly. “Armani tracked him down when he figured you were holding out. Wait, let me guess, you got your foot caught, maybe in your mouth?”
I seriously didn’t like this woman. “I’m not under any obligation to report a struggle.” Of course, an assault, being a crime, was another matter and I didn’t think Lau was the type to be put off by semantics.
“You do if it had anything to do with my murder investigation.”
I was all out of smart-ass comments. If Lau could convince a judge that I was withholding evidence, obstructing justice, my PI license would be suspended. Suspended, hell, I could be facing jail time. Of course, if my license was pulled it was only a matter of time before I got arrested anyway for vagrancy. Blacklisted from the circus, blackballed by the police, I’d be a two-time loser. It wasn’t as if I had another Uncle Christos waiting in the wings to bail me out.
“What on earth would I gain by keeping quiet about the attack?”
“You tell me. Why did you let the killer get away in the first place?”
My eyes nearly bugged out. “Are you kidding me? Did you see what that guy did to Circe? I’d gone in for a simple delivery. Unarmed. How the hell was I supposed to stop him?”
“One of the witnesses said that you had the murderer by the arm and you released him.” But I heard what she wasn’t saying.
“What about the other witnesses?”
Lau’s lips compressed into a thin line. I thought I even heard the gritting of teeth. “Why do you think I didn’t haul you in sooner? It starts to look pretty suspicious, though, in light of the new unreported attack.” I opened my mouth to renew my protest, but she plowed right on. “Don’t even try to tell me that there’s no connection. You were investigating the death of that actress, one of Circe Holland’s clients, who, by the way, drowned. Who are you protecting?”
“Drowned!” I was on the edge of my seat. “I knew that she died in the bath, but I was thinking drugs.” Or drained life force, per the dragon lady’s contract.
I looked down at the files spread before me and caught the names Holland and Talbot. Everything I needed was here. I wondered if I dared use my Gorgon mojo on the great detective.
It was a huge risk. If I locked the door, anyone trying to enter would get suspicious. If I left it unlocked, anyone could walk in. Plus, as far as I knew, Lau could see and hear perfectly well while frozen and I would be in deep doo-doo when she unfroze.
I was an idiot. As soon as I admitted to myself that I had the power, I should have experimented, tested duration, the ability to snap someone out of it at a moment’s notice. Now I was stuck. This might be my only chance to get at those files since it seemed I’d turned Armani against me—and I didn’t even want to think about how much that hurt.
Lau had been watching me closely, so it was no trick at all to catch her eyes. “Freeze,” I said, quietly but firmly.
I waited for her to ask me what the hell I was doing, but except for the subtle motion of her chest expanding and contracting she was as still as a statue—the kind farmers used to frighten off crows. I wasted no time in rifling through the files.
Circe’s autopsy report was fascinating. Clearly the ME had been baffled by the lack of apparent aging. Whatever magical treatments Circe had been giving herself at the cost of other people’s lives had even repaired the usual dental wear. Unless the victim had survived on an all-liquid diet, it was inconceivable that her teeth should be as good as new. The ME would probably be dining out on the story of Circe’s oddities for months—names carefully excised, of course.
Lau might unfreeze at any moment and even though I could freeze her again, every second that ticked by brought the risk of discovery. I flipped quickly to Sierra Talbot’s file and skimmed through, getting caught up here and there, mostly on the roommate’s interview. Tracy Challis, whose address and phone number I memorized in case I needed to talk to her later, had suspected Sierra of having a stalker. Sierra never said so directly, she admitted, but just before she died she’d suddenly become determined to move back to Ohio. She’d finally landed a real role, kick-starting her career. It seemed so odd … Unless, I thought, she’d gotten the “get out of Dodge” memo. Did that tie her to Apollo and/or his oracle, I wondered. Or did she have inside information on the source of the danger?
The doorknob twisted. Fear hit the plunger on a shot of adrenaline, which raced through my system. I stood and clapped loudly in the second it took the door to swing open—only to be blocked by Lau’s unmoving back. The paralysis held and I was SOL.
“What the hell?” Armani asked.
I quickly rounded the table to try again with Lau, while Armani gave the door another push, rocking her forward. She was going to have one hell of a bruise.
“Unfreeze,” I said, going for force without volume. Nothing. “Release,” I tried.
Armani hit the door again, this time with his full weight behind it and Lau fell forward into my arms, throwing me back against the table while I braced myself to hold her stiff dead weight. Armani bolted into the room, only to be brought up short when he spotted me pinned beneath his partner’s frozen form.
“What did you do?” he asked, rushing forward to take her from me. “Helen, Helen, can you hear me?”
He looked around for somewhere to lay her down, but there wasn’t enough floor space and she was too stiff for the chairs. He ended up holding her awkwardly, torn between watching her with concern and glaring me down.
“What the hell did you do to her? Neurotoxin? Hypnosis? What?”
I was flummoxed. “Thanks. I really appreciate your faith. You’re not going to believe this, but all I did was tell her to freeze.”
“That’s it,” Armani made as if to yell for backup.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I begged desperately. “I’ll prove it to you.” Stupid moronic idiot, I berated myself. “Look at your watch.”
I don’t know why he did it. If he’d been me, I probably would have locked him up and thrown away the key.
“Got the time?” I asked.
“It’s—”
“Freeze.” I put very little force behind it, still fearful about what I’d done to Lau and why she hadn’t snapped to. Too much of a good thing, I guessed. If it weren’t for the fact that I could see her breathing …
Armani stopped—for about a minute, probably the longest one of my life. “Eleven forty—wait, that’s not right.”
“You lose a minute?” I asked.
Armani stared at me as if at some kind of alien being, full of fear and awe and questions, so many questions, the first of which was, “How?”
But as he said it, Lau started to slump and he was distracted getting her into a chair. “Helen, you all right?”
She wasn’t verbal yet. Her muscles sagged, but were not yet under her control. A full-on panic attack threatened to pound my heart to the breaking point. What would the police do to me? Had I hurt her? If the paralysis of voluntary muscles was this complete, had I killed the man/god I’d struggled with yesterday? He could seemingly breathe underwater, but what if, like a shark, he had to keep moving in order to do so?
Armani pinned me with his gaze. “Bring her around.”
I collapsed into the second visitor’s chair. “I don’t know how,” I answered weakly. “I think she’ll be okay in just a minute.”
Circe’s minion had only halted for a moment when I’d given him the Look. It must have been that belief or vocalization or something gave it more force. I was horrified at myself and half-ready to swear off using my power for good and all.
Lau rolled her head in the next instant to find me. “What—?” she asked.
“You fainted.”
“Fainted, hell,” Armani exploded. “She—”
Lau shook her head faintly. “Wanna hear”—she sucked in a jagged breath—“from her.”
“Would you believe Gorgon blood?” I asked.
Her chest rose and fell suddenly in a staccato motion and I feared she’d gone into cardiac arrest. It took me a full five seconds to realize she was laughing.
“Damn, that hurts,” she said finally. “Welcome to the sisterhood.”