Shadow Memories: A Novel (The Singularity Conspiracy Book 1) Page 5

  “Good luck with that,” I said, already out the door, Fox tagging along behind, “I think they ruined all the good stuff.”

  “What good stuff,” I thought I heard her say, but then, I was already gone.

  15

  An Extra Five Hundred

  “That’s some rig,” Mr. Murphy said, toeing his worn hardwood, averting eye contact, “must have set you back a couple.”

  “It’s my partner’s,” I said, placing the camera with the telephoto lens on the table, “she says it’s good for catching people in the act, and I don’t disagree with her. Former cop and all, so she knows her gear.”

  I threw that in there, just in case he was having second thoughts. It seemed to work, because he sat down.

  “Look, my wife and I…”

  “I get it,” I said. “Relationships, man, they’re hard.” Here is where a savvier individual would start their Dr. Phil routine, maybe place a hand on his shoulder. I wasn’t that type of guy. “You don’t need to explain the specifics to me, if you don’t want.” I prayed that he wouldn’t. I’d heard enough about people’s lives to fill Letters to Penthouse for the next twenty years.

  “No, I think it will help.” I wanted to ask you, or my investigation? Therapy should’ve been extra. I’d have to discuss that with Cassie, see what she thought after—if, rather—we got out of the bigger mess looming over our lives.

  “Mr. Murphy—” I wanted to head him off at the pass, but there would be no such luck.

  “Chuck,” he said, “people call me Chuck.”

  “Right, well, Chuck, you don’t have to tell me any personal information. Just, you know, what you think will be useful in confirming—or denying, there’s always a chance of a reasonable explanation—the situation.”

  “Yeah,” he said, clasping his hands together, “I hope so. But I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

  “That’s why you hired me. To find out.”

  “But what if it’s true?” Here it was. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be here for an hour, listening to this poor son-of-a-bitch rattle on about how he was just shocked. Everyone was always shocked, until they became jaded, realized the world was full of whores and con-men. Then they came to expect this type of garbage. Worked better that way.

  “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said—and by my estimates, that would be soon. I just didn’t want to be on the bridge when he burned it to the ground. A bad place to be; knew that much from experience. I began walking toward the door.

  “Mr. Desmond,” he said, just as I’d gotten my hand on the knob, “I do have one request.”

  “What’s that?” I’ll always stick around for a couple extra dollars.

  He waited at least a minute, as if thinking it over. “I need to know if he’s got a bigger…you know. Proof.” I’d have thought it over, too. And then kept it to myself. But this guy, he had balls. And it got my attention, all right.

  “So, let me get this straight…”

  “I want, well, I need a picture of his dick.” Well, there it was.

  “I’m not running a porn shop, Chuck. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, but…look, there’s an extra five hundred bucks in it for you. And wouldn’t you want to know, you was me?”

  I considered Cassie boning another dude.

  “At that point, when he’s balls deep, does it matter? You’ve already lost.”

  I thought he was going to cry when I laid it out for him like that. It was getting time to go. But he just said, “Five hundred. On top of the two hundred I just gave you. I’m good for it.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I shut the door behind me, and gathered Fox from the post where I’d tied him up with a stray piece of rope. I flung the ratty braid behind me.

  “Some weird people in this world, boy,” I said.

  He wasn’t paying attention, but I think he understood.

  16

  Reward

  “You got a permit for that dog,” Greenville asked, pulling up alongside me. I was right by Ocean Boulevard, the town’s main drag—at least seven shops there, and we even have one of those frozen yogurt places and a T-Mobile store—and Mike Greenville was busting my chops. Just a little. But, after almost dying, my patience was short.

  “Yeah, Mike, I got it right here.” I slapped my ass. “Along with his leash.”

  “Damn Desmond, just trying to say thanks for nailing those tweakers the other night.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We found a gun in the wreckage, used in a murder ‘round Sausalito. Giving me a commendation and a promotion for it.” He stopped, window half cracked. “And a reward for the fine tip-off man. Cops there had been looking for those two assholes a long time.”

  That got my attention.

  “What’s this I hear about money?”

  “I swear, Desmond, you’re as predictable as man’s best friend down there,” Greenville said. “Come by the station. I’ll get the paperwork ready and you can have it in half an hour.”

  “I’m working a case.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Desmond. And even if you are, whatever hooker you’re after ain’t going to pay you five grand.”

  “Five grand?” I just about choked on my own damn saliva. That’d get us headed out of town nice and quick. “Where do I sign?”

  “Station,” Greenville said, looking up at the green light urging him forward, “and you know, I think I saw that truck of yours down in the impound lot. Deputies found it an hour ago, some dweebs pushing it in the sand. I think they were trying to get it in the ocean, if I didn’t know better myself.”

  “You have them in lockup?”

  “Nah, they bolted. But we got the truck.”

  He roared off before I could ask him what these so-called dweebs looked like. If they were anything like Otto and his mercenaries straight out of an eighties action flick, I wanted no part of them.

  I looked forward at Manny’s Hardware Store, and to my right, where Greenville’s cruiser had disappeared. The sun was hinting that it was considering giving up the ghost. If I went to Manny’s, the reward might have to wait until tomorrow.

  Then, though, I’m always a sucker for conflict. And I needed a win at this point.

  I nodded my head across the street.

  “You ready to catch someone with their pants down?” I asked Fox. He bounded across the crosswalk, ignoring all traffic laws. I put it on the lengthy mental to-do list I was accumulating: get this dog a leash. He’d already burned through a couple of his lives today, and from what I knew, canines aren’t blessed with all too many.

  17

  Snack Break

  people might say froyo’s just for fags and yuppie girls—not that I have anything against either—but that’s just because they’ve never had it. I sat at the wire mesh table, banana nut swirl cup in hand, legs crossed.

  Nothing happened at Manny’s. The camera with the telephoto lens sat on the table.

  Otto’s burglars hadn’t snagged that; they hadn’t taken anything, from what I saw.

  At least they weren’t petty—television notwithstanding. Their employers were making some money—and willing to share, since they’d doled out twenty grand at the drop of a hat.

  Movement across the street. I put the bright red spoon down, wiping my mouth as I brought the binoculars to my eyes.

  Yeah, there was the woman all right. I fanned out the contents of the plastic bag. A picture of Chuck and this girl, maybe seven or eight years younger. Clarissa Murphy. Married three or four years. But now, Chuck was knocking on the door of forty, and she was just about thirty. Maybe she was freaking out about her youth being spent with old Chucky. I could only imagine what hanging out with a neurotic bastard like him all day did to a girl.

  I’d have sided w
ith her on this one, but then, she didn’t give me any money.

  Clarissa was talking with Manny. I didn’t see how he was an upgrade over her current situation, but whatever. I readied the camera and snapped a couple shots. And that’s when this guy swooped in, picked Clarissa Murphy up in his broad arms, swallowed her up in that stupid tweed blazer.

  And they started smooching. I was so damn shocked that I almost forgot to take some pictures, but my mind unfroze and my trigger finger started pumping.

  Dr. Otto was dipping into the local honeypot.

  He should know that where there was honey, there were bees. The couple disappeared into a room behind Manny’s counter. Old Manny shuffled over to the front door and flipped the sign. No one would be able to get any more hardware today.

  Then he disappeared behind the counter.

  I got up from the table, finishing the last of my froyo, and headed over to the store. I wasn’t sure what the plan was.

  I just hoped that I wasn’t walking into some sort of weird three-way.

  18

  Hardware

  For a hardware store that sold a variety of locks—some of them pretty damn fancy—the technology keeping the riff-raff out of Manny’s shop was subpar. A flick of the wrist, and I was in.

  I didn’t have the heart to leave Fox outside, and there were no stray pieces of trash to tie him up with this time. I cursed myself for being a dumbass and bringing him along, but shoved him inside and locked the door behind me.

  I drew the shades and then stalked towards the counter, camera padding against my chest. No noise emanated from the back room. Maybe they hadn’t started yet. Or Otto was a terrible lay.

  Chuck would be delighted to hear that.

  A bolt of light shot out from an open door behind the counter, and I ducked behind a display case of nails. It was Manny, puttering around, murmuring nonsense to himself.

  “Where’d I put it, where’d I put it…” he was saying, “They’ll have my asses if I lose it.” He lifted the barrier that kept customers from carousing behind the counter—not that anyone in their right mind would want to hang out for a casual chill with the owner—and headed into the aisles.

  My way.

  I sucked in deep, clutching the back of Fox’s neck. The dog, for his part, was keeping his shit together. But I didn’t know how much longer that would last.

  Manny stopped at the end of the aisle. There I was, crouched with an eighty pound animal, two yards from him. I could smell his smoke-laden breath, the sweat dripping from his pores. Fox began to growl, a low rumble. I gripped his neck tighter, but it was no good.

  “What the hell…?”

  I slid out from behind the display, giving Manny a fright, and tackled him. You might not think it was a fair fight, and it sure wasn’t, but then, I wasn’t too worried about that. I was more concerned about him screaming and alerting Dr. Otto and his scary minions to my presence.

  Manny gurgled and gagged, clawing at my arms, but I had him in a sleeper hold. Cassie taught me that one. Then he stopped moving. I dropped him to the ground with a thud, and for a minute I was worried that I’d killed the old bastard. A quick check of the pulse confirmed that he was just taking an extended not-quite-dirt nap, no doubt dreaming of some all-white utopia.

  I dragged him by his ratty shoes behind the counter, then bound his limbs with duct tape. I surveyed my handiwork, then added a piece over his mouth, so he couldn’t blow up my spot. Although, looking at him like that, I still had my doubts he was going to wake up all healthy.

  Beckoning at Fox, who was proving quite responsive to my commands, I went to the mysterious door. Reconsidering my weaponry situation—Otto was, after all, a built dude—I revisited a couple of the aisles, grabbing a utility knife. Brutal, but effective. It was more for show, anyway, in case he wanted to get rough.

  I returned behind the counter, nudging Manny with my foot. I crouched down to double-check his bonds, which was when I saw what he’d been looking for. Some old piece of junk from our apartment—something of Cassie’s. A heirloom from her father; the only thing she had from him.

  It was an animal formed of clay or terra cotta, crude. That ugly piece of crap from the shelf that passed for interior decoration. I could never tell whether the thing was supposed to be a dog or a giraffe, but the couple times I’d brought up the lack of artisan craftsmanship, I was met with a cold look and a long dry spell. So I’d dropped it.

  Why Manny or Otto wanted it, well, that was a goddamn puzzler. It sure as hell wasn’t worth anything.

  I slipped the figurine into my pocket and told Fox to stand guard. He seemed to kind of understand—in that he didn’t try to follow me through the door.

  Stairs, leading down into darkness. I tightened my grip on the utility knife and stepped down.

  The things I did to make a living, right?

  19

  Long Hallways

  After feeling my way down the stairs using the faux-wood paneling as a makeshift guide, I felt my sneakers hit unfinished concrete. Old Manny, he wasn’t rolling out the red carpet for his guests, that was for damn sure.

  From the dim light emanating from underneath the doors, I could see that the basement was one long hallway—dingy and miserable, like I’d just entered the Matrix. No sound, which didn’t make me jump for joy. I think it would have been preferable if I’d heard screams, or any sign of human life.

  This was just creepy.

  Nonetheless, my feet moved forward. The first door was about ten feet away, a faint TV-like glow streaming from underneath. I placed my hand on the knob and turned.

  Storage. Old junk piled high, the scene illuminated by a flickering bulb that looked less than a single watt. I sighed and shut the door. The story was much the same for the other doors: overstock, junk, although some of it looked good, sellable even. Antiques—the type that art collectors might like.

  While I’d found sufficient evidence that Manny was a terrible businessman—or a hoarder—I still hadn’t found any sign of where Otto and Clarissa had gone. I wasn’t kidding when I said the hall was long. It ran longer than the entire store, and then some.

  The next few doors were locked. I didn’t bother picking them; if the other prospects didn’t pan out, I decided that I could always come back.

  At the very end of the hall, as if this entire lengthy journey were leading to this one point, stood a steel door. It required a keycard; the blinking red light on the reader next to the handle told me that. I tried the handle anyway, feeling lucky.

  Stiff, no give. I crouched down and peered at the locking mechanism. All electronic. I could crack it, given the time and equipment, but I had neither. Plan B needed to be executed.

  I pounded on the steel, utility knife poised to strike with my free hand.

  Otto answered.

  “How the…”

  I waved the knife in his face, and he shut up, putting his hands up. This caused him to drop the towel he was holding over his lower half. Turned out Chuck might get those naked shots, after all.

  Clarissa exited the bathroom, talking to Otto in sultry tones.

  “You ready, baby?” And then she saw me and shrieked. I brandished the blade at her, but this just caused her to whimper and whine louder. I tried a different tack.

  “Shut the hell up.”

  This quieted it down to a muted sob. I think I heard a don’t hurt me or two in there. Otto didn’t have much to say. He was still processing that I was among the living.

  I pulled out the camera and started snapping shots.

  “You should have stayed dead, you know that? We’ll kill you. Kill you both.”

  “Just making an honest living,” I said, pumping the shutter as I wagged the blade at him, “but then, you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar looking p
arcel lying on the rumpled sheets. My twenty grand. Now, if I could only figure out why he wanted to kill and rob me over some cave, that’d be great.

  Money first. I snatched it with an indignant swipe of the wrist and began to clear my voice for the ensuing interrogation.

  But that was too much for Otto to bear.

  He came at me.

  I went to jab him in a soft part with the knife, but the slippery plastic handle jetted from my hands, the metal clanging against the concrete floor. And then Otto’s broad shoulder was in my gut, crunching the camera.

  Plastic shards and breath exploded out from my body, like a slow-motion video.

  All I could think to do was take the shot, ride it out. So I leaned back, allowing his weight to transfer into me. And Otto was a little too enthusiastic—maybe it was all the testosterone—because it caused him to lose his balance, slip and fall.

  I glanced up, and saw that Clarissa was holding my former weapon and pointing it in my direction in unconvincing fashion.

  “Don’t cut yourself with that,” I said, “it’s sharp, you know.”

  And then I was off down the long hall, every step feeling like a marathon in the murk. I could hear another pair of padded footsteps behind me, but I didn’t dare to look. I wasn’t fast as it was; and, in any event, I didn’t want to see Otto’s well-sculpted body up close again.

  Even the tweed jacket was preferable to that.

  I flung myself towards the stairs, clearing them three at a time. With a whistle, I beckoned for Fox.

  His low growl turned into a bark, though, and I turned around just in time to see him launching towards Otto.

  The big man brought his arms up to his face in fight-or-flight instinct, caught well off-guard by the presence of the large dog. But it wasn’t the face that Fox was gunning for.

  Oh no.

  Otto screamed—a terrible sort of noise, not so much pain but anguish and severe loss—as the dog sunk his teeth into some sensitive material. I put my hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers at the carnage. Fox released not too long after, but the guttural noises coming from Otto’s throat didn’t stop.