“I know what I’m going to do. I’ll buy a hundred options from each seller.”
“I’m not. The options I’m buying are completely legal. And I’ll send them in escrow to New York. Rothman & Sullivan will hold to them until I give the order to execute them or they expire. Look, we’ll invest what, four thousand dollars buying these options? We can afford that. And if they crash the SPAC, we’ll sue these guys. Not to mention these options we hold will create a solid paper trail pointing at them.”
“Not at all. This is the first time I’m doing something knowing it’ll probably end in litigation. All the other times, I was reacting.”
Behind the girl, Mr. Mouser went for the buttons. “Play”, “Outside”. He pressed one after the other. Hearing the synthetic voice almost form a sentence surprised her. Cat spun her chair around and raised an eyebrow at the Wirehair.
“Hey baby, what do you want? Do you want a treat?” She cooed.
“Play”, “outside”. The cat pressed the buttons then stared at her, his tail waving mischievously behind him.
“Let me buy the options first! We need to strike while the hammer is hot.”
Cat contacted the investors and bought a hundred options from each of them. Four thousand dollars poorer but betting on the SPAC’s success, she leashed Mr. Mouser, changed into workout clothes, and went out for a walk.
----------------------------------------
One thing she missed from New York, and northern New Jersey too was the parks. Las Vegas’ geography wasn’t too welcoming to vegetation but she thought it wouldn’t hurt to put some parks here and there even if you had to water the trees regularly. The average precipitation here was about a tenth of New York’s and Lake Mead was at an all-time record low. Maybe they didn’t have the water to spare.
However, looking at the map on her phone she could see three perfectly green golf courses in the satellite images. Grass demanded almost double the water per square feet than trees, so these two golf courses could become three forested parks for the same water expenditure. That if she was willing to tear apart William’s degree in economics. You just couldn’t get the same revenue from a forest as you could with a golf course.
She searched and found a public “dog” park a mile or so away so she innocently decided to walk the distance. As she approached the park, she raised her alertness level. The number of homeless people increased with each block. She knew the FBI was tailing her and after the hotel crisis felt reassured by their presence. The government considered both her and Mr. Mouser as important pieces to fight off the demon and she wanted to keep in their good graces.
She knew she had to be the one to end it. She just had no idea how. She spent most of her time thinking about how she could defeat what seemed like an invincible demon. He could create something like the “Florida Walker” anytime he wanted, for crying out loud. What about his own physical and magical prowess? She remembered when he called her back in Englewood Cliffs. How he knew he was being tracked, knew the strike team had silver weaponry, and just shrugged it off. No. Slaughtered the strike team.
She was no Hero. The earth fairy said so. She had not enough magic. The Shaman painfully said so. She could see her own aura, it was a bit stronger if compared to the average person out on the streets but it was just a faint firefly if compared to the bonfire that was the President or the Shaman.
Just as Shinji joked, she probably was the “Princess”. The damsel in distress, the one that needed protection. The prime target to be kidnapped and shoved in a tower, to wail and bemoan her misfortune until the hero came to save her. Or not. Her chest hurt at the thought. What could she do? All she was good for was making money. While it was an envious ability in a civilized setting, how could hard mundane cash fight back the powers of the occult?
She had no idea. If this was a story, who would be the hero? Captain Jack Murphy? He didn’t do many heroic things or even got her close to swooning, fangirl ghost notwithstanding.
Mr. Mouser stopped next to the traffic light and she almost kicked him. She recovered her bearings and saw she only needed to cross one avenue intersection to reach the park. And absorbed in her thoughts, she’d walked past a mall without realizing it. The traffic lights went red and a few vehicles sped past it. No police to chase after them. She had to wait for a few more minutes before the pedestrian sign cleared the way for her.
Maybe she should turn around and go to the mall. As she crossed, she saw the prominent sign of a 7 Eleven and a homeless person pushing a shopping cart with their worldly possessions. But the park was right on the other side of the street, next to a Taco Bell.
She waited at another pedestrian crossing, noticing how many cars broke the speed limit as they roared down the straight avenue. The homeless person and her cart (only now Cat could discern her gender) drove past them. She picked Mr. Mouser up, feeling the tension build-up. This was not a place for Catherine Wallenstein the heiress. But she wasn’t Catherine. She was just a walking case of mystical identity theft.
[You there, mate?]
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
[Lovely neighborhood, isn’t it?]
She chewed on her lower lip and felt the cracks sting. “I’m going in the 7 Eleven to buy some water.”
Ignoring the ghost's misplaced anger, she changed course and went into the convenience shop. She sighed in relief as the air conditioning hit her.
“Hey, no pets allowed!” The clerk shouted at her once he saw the cat clinging to her shoulder.
“It’s a service animal,” she replied placatingly.
The teenager approached her and she could see him blush slightly as he averted eye contact. Cat was amazed at how easy it was for a female’s brain to pick these small facial cues.
“Like those seeing-eye dogs?” He asked.
“Yes, but I’m not blind. It’s the same law, his job is another. He can go wherever I do. Wait, I have a card that explains it for you.”
After the hotel, she bought a pack of fifty laminated info cards on Amazon for less than ten dollars. They explained the law and the situation. It even had the DoJ seal, hotline number, and legal stuff. It was a minor hassle but a worthy expense if she could avoid trouble and educate people at the same time. She was willing to spare a few minutes each time to avoid conflict.
The youth looked at the card and squinted. “Oh, sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No problem, you can keep it,” she smiled to ease the situation as she pushed the card into his hands but it triggered Catherine’s anti-flirting warnings. It was such a bother but she’s been there. A teenage boy’s imagination was very fertile, especially around attractive females, which included Catherine’s figure. “Can I shop?” The question came out drier than she wanted. It made her sound annoyed.
“Yes, please. We’re at your service!” He scurried back behind the counter.
She nodded before vanishing down an aisle. She didn’t want to cause the boy any trouble. He probably earned minimum wage and needed the job. She also wondered why he wasn’t in school but it wasn’t her business. She found the bottled water refrigerator and picked the premium one.
[If it sells,] Cat shrugged as she took one.
She picked a low-sodium snack for her and a pack of pet jerky for Mr. Mouser after letting him sniff it and get his approval. Back at the counter, the teenage boy blushed again.
“Is that all, Miss?”
“Sure. Can you tell me one thing? There’s a dog park nearby, I was thinking of visiting it.”
His eyes went wide. “I don’t think you should go there. It’s full of homeless people. I used to play there when I was a kid, but now it's full of trash or worse.”
“Hey, is this going to take too long? Can’t you lovebirds go make out elsewhere?” A rude baritono voice came from behind her.
The clerk looked down to hide his embarrassed smile. He clearly thought Cat was too much for him. The girl turned around to see who was talking to her. It was a tall guy in his late thirties wearing denin work clothes with a hint of a cowboy style.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll finish my purchase and leave.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” the clerk whimpered.
Cat felt sorry for the kid, she’s been in his shoes once. He needed a boost of confidence but she couldn’t help it without the whole thing backfiring.
“Oh, no? Say, what’s a classy lass like you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” the guy asked, his intentions clear as water. They were about the same as the clerk but on the creepy side of the confidence scale.
‘No. He’s not after the almost non-existent chest, it’s my sapphire necklace’, Cat thought. Damn. According to Catherine’s standards, she wore casual jewelry, only about three thousand of combined worth. After a year, Cat was desensitized to the ghostly girl’s demands when it came to adorning her ears, rings, wrists, and neck. The “I feel naked going out without earrings” was her maxim.
“Let me finish my purchase and the counter is all yours,” she offered.
“Why the hurry?” He insinuated himself forward. He smelled of cheap lotion. “Why don’t we get to know each other?”
Mr. Mouser hissed at the man. Fearing the stalwart defender would strike, she squeezed him against her, pinning his limbs. “Please, step back. You’re too close.”
“But I want to get even closer. Why don’t we go and have some drinks?”
“I’m underage, sir. Move away from me!” She protested.
“You seem like you can use a local guide. This neighborhood here is too ugly for a jewel such as you. Come with me, let’s play at a casino. You can be my good luck charm while I hit the tables, and after that, who knows?” The creep took a strand of her hair and smelled it. Her hands were busy holding the Wirehair.
The door opened and the FBI agent couple entered, exhaling an aura that screamed “cop”. The male agent picked up a bag of M&M’s and went straight to the counter. “Are you busy?” He asked the clerk.
The kid tittered, “I’m finishing the lady’s purchase, if you would please wait in line, sir!” The “sir” part would make a boot camp sergeant proud.
Cat made eye contact with the agent and she mouthed “help”. The agent brushed shoulders with the cowboy. “Are you in line to make a purchase?” He asked as both men entered a dick measuring contest. The female agent positioned herself where she had a clean line of fire. Cat moved backward and bumped against the counter, dropping a few confections off the low shelves.
“Your total comes to $7.97, Miss. How will you be paying today?” The clerk said.
“Credit, she awkwardly turned around and fished for her card with a single hand. Mr. Mouser was distressed and wouldn’t remain still.
She managed to pay, dropped her card and receipt inside the bag, and hurried outside to drink her water. She let Mr. Mouser on the ground and fumbled to twist the cap. Inside, the situation between the cowboy and the FBI was still underway. Her hand slipped on the wet cap and she had to use her shirt to twist it. Cursing, she finally drank the Icelandic water, which tasted like water, what did she expect.
As she returned to the sidewalk, she saw a mob approaching fast, a group of protesters with signs and shouting their discontentment with the government. They marched and stopped traffic as they didn’t wait for any lights. Tires screeched as the angry protesters banged on the hoods and hooted. No cars crashed.
She was with the empty bottle in one hand and the cap in the other searching for a trash can as the mob invaded the 7-eleven parking lot. Mr. Mouser yowled and the mob picked up speed. Frightened, Cat littered the parking lot and tried to run back inside the store. She saw the female FBI agent coming out the door when the mob caught up with her and crowded around. She was pushed to the ground and felt the leash escape from her wrist, bruising her skin.
A thousand things went around Cat’s head. She was going to be stabbed, she was going to be trampled, she gasped for help.
“FBI! Step back!” She heard the woman shout.
The crowd split and ran away as the dry Nevada sunlight hit the girl again. She got on all fours and tried to stand up when her heart sank.
“WHERE’S MR. MOUSER?” She jumped back on her feet and looked around, desperate. She ran around the parking lot, calling his name, shouting, and crying.
She ran out of the parking lot, hoping to see him somewhere, anywhere. The mob was running away in the distance, any pretense of protesting gone. Even the protest signs were discarded, littering the parking lot and sidewalk. Cat fell on her knees as she realized what happened.
The flash mob had cat-napped Mr. Mouser.