In the back of the Lone Star Office’s company van, Laura was laying on the floor asleep. Her wounds had been bandaged up and disinfected. A clean tourniquet kept her from bleeding out. Eric made sure to take each turn as gently as possible so as to not wake her up while balancing a sense of urgency. Her rhythmic soft breathing fascinated Flores, who sat on the floor by her side. Flores finally finished painstakingly pulling out the various bits of splintered wood and metal sharpnel lodged in her leg by hand. They hadn't cut deep, but manually removing each one reminded her of how pain felt without adrenaline. Applying disinfectant to each small wound ended up becoming a hassle, so she just rolled up her pant leg and poured the bottle of hydrogen peroxide down her right leg. She made sure to take off her shoe and sock beforehand so as to not end up ruining either of them. She accidentally poured more than she intended to and a small puddle of wasted disinfectant formed as an insult to her minor injury. Jeremiah sat on the other side of Laura and listened to Flores retell him what he had done as the Pretty Penny Pincher while she cleaned up the mess she had made with a tissue.
“Strange. He usually never shows a remote interest in vigilantism,” Jeremiah noted, “Only exuberant, jubilant mischief.”
“You talk of him like he’s a completely different person. And yet you both reside within the same body,” Flores pointed out.
“It’s a complex relationship that I doubt you would fathom. Although I’m sure he could explain in vibrant verbose vagueness. If he comes out that is.”
“Is he a ghost? Because we’re not ghost hunters.”
“It’s a secret, and that’s the spicing on the cake.”
“You mean the icing?”
“No.” Jeremiah diverted the conversation before any meaningful information could be divulged. “Say, it is quite odd that you chose to work for one of the less-than-stellar offices. No offense.”
“None taken,” Eric mumbled from the driver’s seat.
“You probably would’ve made more money selling yourself for testing or for tasting.”
“W-what? What do you take me as!?” Flores spat.
“I’m sure there are a handful of cannibals hungry for fox meat,” Jeremiah unhelpfully explained, “But I wouldn’t worry too much. Cannibals are a myth.”
“Hate to say it, but I’ve ran into a few,” Eric interrupted. “Wasn’t a pleasant sight…”
“Oh. I suppose you learn something new every day.”
“W-wait hold on,” Flores whispered to Jeremiah. “I’m not a fox. How do you see that my head is a-?”
“Oh what? Your blatantly obvious fox head?” he whispered back. “If I had a quarter every time I’d seen someone with an animal head on, I’d have thirty cents- wait no…” Jeremiah quickly redid his math. “I’d have seventy-five.”
“Wait, that means you have seen two people before me with this… anomaly?”
“Yeah, one of them was wearing a weird mask of a white fox thingy under his hood. He looked like he walked here from Asia.”
“Okay…” Flores hoped he was joking, but his horrendous coin counting earlier told her that there was a good chance he wasn’t. “What about the second time?”
“It was some lady in a crimson red dress. She had a full head rather than a mask. I asked her to take it off but she took it as a threat. Dunno why.”
“Was it similar to a mascot head or…?”
“Looked pretty realistic if it was one. She even snarled at me! What rude manners!” Jeremiah frowned at having to remember his experience with that particular customer. “So what about you? Is it a mascot head?”
“No. I hate those creepy things, especially if it’s based off of a canid or feline. Their stares give me nightmares. The fact that this is just part of my anatomy now makes me consider eating a hand grenade.” She felt her face and stroked her fingers through the fur. It was uncanny how real it felt. She still hoped it was just some sort of physical manifestation of a bad hallucination. That faint hope grew slightly stronger from her vivid hallucination back in the warehouse.
“You know, I heard a few companies are headhunting for a mascot for their advertisements.”
“I’d rather take this shotgun up where the sun don’t shine than end up as a mascot.” She looked back down at the shotgun in question. It lay in her hands as a reminder. She needed to find out if it was more than just a burning memory.
“Hey Eric, where’d you get this shotgun?”
“Ah, you takin’ a likin’ to it?”
“Of course. It’s very… familiar. Reminds me of home.”
“It certainly has that Texan flair. I picked it up at a pawn shop I stumbled across in San Alto.”
“That was my hometown.”
“The guy at the counter said he just found buried in an abandoned shed. When I talked to him, he said that the property used to be owned by some guy with the same last name as you.”
“Fortune?”
“Yep. Small world, eh?”
“Then I believe this was my father’s.”
“Oh yeah. Never asked, but do you know where your old man is? I wanna thank him for takin’ an already beautiful gun and turnin’ it into a magnum opus of a project gun. I mean, it’s simple enough to take the walnut wood stock off of an M1 Super 90 and slap it onto an M4 H20,” Eric rambled on in admiration, “But to then go on and machine a custom walnut forearm? Whew, that’s some dedication to the craft. I ended up fixin’ a bayonet to the end since Laura couldn’t actually fire the damn thing without falling over. Heh heh, managed to save up for a whole box of 12-gauge in the process, but I reckon you already chewed through half of it. I guess it’s fittin’ that you could use your old man’s gun again for a bit. Ain’t that somethin’, eh Flores?”
She remained quiet as her cursed fate continued to prick her like a voodoo doll. The only thought on her mind was the face of her father until a barrage of questions arose. Why was his shotgun now in her hands? How did it end up here Laslow with her? Was this a coincidence or did the watchful eyes from above send this as a gift or a message?
“Flores?” Jeremiah poked her gently.
“S-sorry…” She shook herself lightly to snap out of it. “I was just… thinking about something…”
“Ah, we all get like that sometimes,” Eric acknowledged. “But you never answered my question of where your father is.”
“I wish I knew…” she quietly murmured as if to nurse her own heart.
“Oh well, I suppose ladies always keep their secrets. Just stash the thing somewhere safe in the van.”
“What if the van gets stolen?”
“That’s what trackers are for.”
"Unbelievable,” Jeremiah butted in, “You wait for the van to get stolen instead of stealing it yourself? Then you’re on some wild goose chase and before you know it, you're far from home at somewhere you’ve never been with no clue where to start.”
“It’d be a miracle if anyone besides me or Laura figures out how to start this beat-up ol’ thing,” Eric rebutted. “She’s a biter in more ways than one.”
The two argued back and forth about the van’s interesting insurance policy or lack thereof. Flores tuned them out. What Jeremiah had said stung deep as a reflection of her current state. Home was over two thousand miles away, and she was a wanderer through these foreign streets. She distracted herself by focusing on Laura, who was still unconscious. She placed her fingers on Laura’s neck to feel her pulse. She had read from one of the books in the prison’s library that medics would check for a person’s pulse that way. It was the first time she felt the heartbeat of someone who wasn’t herself. And yet, she felt like she had done this numerous times in her forgotten past.
“Just like that,” her father’s voice instructed. “Hold your fingers firm and listen through your fingers.”
Flores blinked only to find herself in the living room of a small house. Most of the room was shrouded in hazy gray as if it wasn’t a part of the stage. Strangely, a chess set that sat on the coffee table was visible. The pieces on the board looked as if they were still in a game only halfway finished. The number of black pieces far outnumbered the number of white pieces, and yet white still held its ground with defiance. Laura was replaced by a shadowy silhouette donning Flores’s clothes. Except, the figure’s clothes were in far better condition.
“I don’t get it. Aren’t you supposed to find out how they died, not if they’re dead?” she heard her younger self say.
“It’s hard to tell if someone’s only unconscious when you’re in a rush. And trust me, the field hardly follows any textbooks. It’s best to know everything you can because you don’t know what you’ll need.”
“Is that just your way of telling me to stay in school?’
“You’ll just have to investigate my intentions yourself,” her father joked.
“Oh come on, Dad.”
An unknown familiar voice abruptly entered the fray. A mature woman with a sun hat sauntered into the room. Flores couldn’t see her face, but she could tell that the woman had been gardening for a while given the dirt on her green overalls.
“What on Earth are you two doing sprawled out on the floor?” a warm female voice spoke calmly.
“Oh I was just teaching her something,” her father clarified
“At the very least, do it on the couch. The floor isn’t very comfortable.”
“You worry too much about my comfort.”
“Of course I do. You spend half the day chasing and fighting for your life. I worry for you every time you leave for work.”
“Relax. We’re in a small town. The biggest mystery here is who fell down the well this time.”
“Hey, it was only once!” her younger self protested.
The older woman sighed.
“I worry for both of you, sometimes. Every time either of you go out, I wonder how many bandages I’ll need.”
“Oh come on,” her younger self complained, “We’re not in somewhere like Dalton anymore. There’s no more ‘big city crime’ we’ll have to worry about. It’s like what Dad said.”
“Listen, San Alto may not be a big city, but it’s still a city nonetheless. I told you how much the downtown area scares me.”
Flores couldn’t tell if that worried voice was her mother, her aunt, or her older sister. Did she even have an older sister? Did she have an aunt? She couldn’t remember. The tone felt motherly enough.
“Compared to Dalton’s, it’s hardly the size of an ant hill,” her father remarked.
“I’m worried that one of you will end up in a dumpster. And then what?”
“What’s gotten you so jittery, recently.”
“It’s just that… I’m worried they’re going to find us. We’ve escaped, sure, but for how long?”
“I doubt that’s something we need to worry about. Look, we’ve got what we wanted, yes? Settled down in a nice quiet town away from it all. Hey, how about you watch us finish this chess game.” The silhouette of her father sat upright. “It might help take your mind off things.”
Something about this memory stung deep. This glimpse of the moments before only added more questions to her ever-growing pile. Flores couldn’t bear to keep watching what was taken from her. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to as Eric had slammed on the breaks as an unexpected bump sent everyone flying.
Jeremiah’s head hit the wall of the van. “Ack! What the devil!?”
During the impact, Flores’s taser was jostled around enough to disassemble itself without Flores noticing. Laura groaned from being rudely awakened.
“Dammit! Someone just threw a bodybag in front of us. It’s best we don’t stick around.” Eric stepped on the gas again and the van lurched forward.
“Are we not going to check up on the guy we just ran over,” Flores asked.
“I know you’re a sleuth, but some things are better left unanswered,” Eric advised, “It’s probably just one of the mafia families disposing of some poor fellow.”
They did not know it, but the one in the body bag was a major capo of the Ciceros. Ironically, he used to be the boss of Mad-Eye. Now, no one knew that the day before Eric dueled him in the streets, he had been exiled from the Ciceros. Unbeknownst to them, a ticking diplomatic time bomb planted itself on the Lone Star Office’s name.
“Say, if you don’t mind me asking…”
“Go ahead.”
“What was Charlie like? As a person? I never got to meet him before, you know…”
“Smart, talented, strategic. Everything that makes a good chess player. He loves to play the Ruy Lopez opening, but he switches it with the Evans Gambit every once in a while. Dunno why I’m telling you all this, but I’ll tell ya, he certainly won’t keep his mouth shut about. Quite the happy jokester, that man. Too good at chess for his own good, in my opinion.”
“Chess?” The worrying detail about the chessboard began to resurface.
“Well, I suppose it’s the same with most Texans. Surprising, you know. Just a few decades ago, everyone thought of us as gun-tootin’, hollerin’ cowboys. Now they tack on ‘chess grandmasters’ onto the end of that. All because of Alejandro Castillo!”
“Wow, you pronounced his name right,” Jeremiah noted.
“Huh? Course I did! Why would I ever butcher such a great man’s name?”
Flores decided against speaking up about what he did to the word, “amigo.”
----------------------------------------
Of all the places Eric could have chosen to go for medical care, a shady clinic in a dangerous part of town was where they ended up. Even the name was shady as the Lucky Lotto Clinic did not exactly conjure up the best image for a healthcare provider. Jeremiah was wandering about the place pestering one of the only two nurses at the location various medical questions. He was taking notes for his next potential work if he ever got around to it. Eric, Flores, and a now lucid Laura were waiting in one of the infirmary rooms. The medical bed Laura sat upon almost made her want to go back to sleep. Eric made sure to keep her awake with an extended debrief.
“Well, I got to say, that was the most successful job we’ve had in a long time.” Eric was seated in the only chair in the room.
“So… how did the new girl do?” Laura asked Eric with genuine curiosity.
“Well, she’s still alive and here.” Eric motioned to Flores.
“That I am,” Flores responded flatly. She had propped herself against the counter adjacent to the wall. “By the way, I thought this was an investigation agency, not wetwork. That wasn’t quite what I expected from a ‘first job.’”
“Eh. Life ain’t the most straightforward thing.”
She sighed. “So when do I get paid? Biweekly? Monthly? What’s the plan? I didn’t see it mentioned anywhere in the form and I forgot to ask earlier.”
“Well… You did read the fine print… Payment’s not guaranteed if the company cannot afford to…’”
“You’re kidding me…”
“I could only afford to give you that signing bonus. Sorry, should’ve been more transparent back there. Afraid it might be another month until you get a check your way. Especially since we’ve lost one of our hands.” Charlie’s death was still on Eric’s mind. “I don’t know how to break it to his family without a few thousand bucks in hand.”
“I see…” Flores was understanding, but still left unsatisfied by his explanation. The existence of the very shotgun still in her hand contradicted the office’s supposedly poor finances. As much as she mourned the loss of a fellow before she even had the chance to know him, she would join him soon either by starvation, risky moves to stay afloat, or one of the mafia’s finally culling her. Even during her time in prison, she was still accumulating debt to the ones she had bought her home from. She dreaded thinking about taking charity handouts and hiding in the alleys as a living. Straying that low was living no life at all. “If I may ask, how did you afford all this? The makeshift giant star, the van, the guns and ammo.”
“Most of our earnings. Our very sparse earnings… We also get few tax breaks, but hardly ever have to pay any income tax as technically, we’re losing money on average.”
“Now that I think of it, how do you even maintain a stable income?”
“We don’t.”
“How does this office even remain operating…?”
“Well… It’s mostly because of Delta.”
“...Mind if I ask who that is?”
“I doubt you’re ready to find out. All I can tell you is that most of our earnings come from the jobs agent Delta’s tasked with.”
“You were talking about ‘asset liquidation’ to that mafia guy. Does that have anything to do with it?”
“Smart cookie, but please keep your nose outta this for your own sake.”
“O-kay… I guess in the meantime, I can probably find a part-time job or some other stopgap.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Maybe one where you won’t get yourself killed. I saw what you tried to do back there. I don’t care how good you think you are, you nearly had your head split in two. I couldn’t even get a clean shot on the guy that almost chopped your head up without risking hitting you.”
“Sorry, sir. I just got a bit unlucky.”
“That’s one way to put it. Never before have I seen such a malfunction from a Brintec before. Never before have I also seen someone get so lucky with blind shots, twice! Word of advice, don't go buyin' any lotto tickets because I think you just spent a year's worth of luck back there."
“That’s certainly a first…” Flores placed her hand on the back of her neck as she looked at the floor.
“Look,” Eric confided with a heavy tone, “I hate scolding my employees, but with such recklessness, I’d better before you get a one-way trip to visit the undertaker. I’m glad you came to your senses and starting usin’ your gun like a… well… gun.”
“But sir, I thought you wanted me to not waste ammo.”
“Maybe I should’ve been more specific. Bullets are expensive, but your life costs more! Now don’t go givin’ me a heart attack when you rush in without seeing where you’re goin’ first. Ever heard of situational awareness?”
“Not really. Although, I think I saw it once in one of the books I read…”
Eric sighed, “Your next job will be a training exercise. An actual milk run this time. Maybe I can get Nick to help too. He knows more about rat fighting than I do.”
“Rat fighting, sir?”
“Calm it with the ‘sir’s already. It’s just a phrase he likes to use when referring to close-quarters combat. In his words, ‘getting up’n’close with the uglies.’ Somethin’ that you, in particular, should try and avoid.”
“I-I’m not that helpless, am I? I still have this.” Flores showed the two her trusty knife. She let it bathe in the ceiling lights as she held it in her left hand.
“No offense,” Laura spoke up meekly, “But even with a knife, you don’t look that much stronger than me.”
“Wanna try it?” Flores offered her right hand for an arm wrestling contest in jest. She didn’t expect Laura to actually take up on her offer and grab her hand. “...That wasn’t an actual offer.”
Laura kept her grasp firm. Flores tried to remove her hand from hers but Laura refused to relent. She finally noticed what was so odd about Flores. Her head. Her face. Her fur. She was so…
“Creepy… and adorable!” Laura let go of Flores’s hand and immediately began petting her without restraint or mercy.
“E-eh!? W-what are you-?” Beyond flustered, frightened, and strangely blissed, a blush ran up Flores’s face. “Staaahp!”
She stepped backward at an awkward angle and almost fell. She caught herself on the counter but unintentionally tossed the knife into the air. Panicking, Flores attempted to catch the knife only for it to cartoonishly fly out of her hands again. This impromptu juggling stunt finally ended when she obtained a tight grip on the knife… by the blade. She froze in place as blood slowly dripped down from her hand.
“Um… Flores?” Laura prodded Flores with no response. The door abruptly opened right as the doctor running the clinic appeared with a clipboard. Dr. Kell stepped into the room. He hadn’t looked up from his clipboard yet.
“Alright, let’s see- Um,” Several pained whines and whimpers forced him to look up. “What is happening in here?”
----------------------------------------
After wrenching the knife out from Flores’s locked hands, disinfecting the wound, and bandaging her injured palm up, Dr. Kell could finally get to work. He placed the bottle of disinfectant back into the cabinet. As he did, Flores glimpsed the name Regevital Agent on the bottle.
“So what have you done this time, you crazy bastard?” Dr. Kell sounded as if he had to fix the damage from Eric’s shenanigans for a long time.
“Ah, you know. Just a few strokes of misfortune. Happened just before you walked in, in fact.”
“W-wha-?” Flores flusteredly sputtered. A sharp pain from the cut on her palm stopped her before she could finish or even begin her statement. She clutched her hand and winced.
“I wasn’t entirely referring to you.”
“Oh, yes.” Dr. Kell turned to Flores. “Miss Fortune, quite the change meeting. I assume you are working for my dear friend, over here.”
“Why yes, I am,” Flores responded as cheerfully as her voice would allow through the pain.
“What a poor mistake on your end.”
“Oh come on, Scott,” Eric objected, “You gotta break a few eggs to make a Texan omelet.”
“Same old, same old. You really haven’t changed since the Old Boys Gang. I'm surprised you didn't join the Twelve Guns when Eli offered.”
"I'm not quite as zealous as them. I at least don’t literally worship my sweet problem solvers." He whipped his revolver out and spun it briefly before fake kissing it. He laughed it off as a joke afterward.
"But you are certainly crazy enough to…" Dr. Kell flipped a page on his clipboard as he began taking notes. “Stable breathing, no signs of tremendous blood loss…”
“See, I did change a bit. Patched her up all by myself.”
“At least you haven’t forgotten what I taught you,” Dr. Kell commented as he saw Eric’s handiwork. He removed the tourniquet and his frown grew larger. “Although you’re still sloppy with your bandage etiquette.”
Once the bandage was removed, Dr. Kell prepared his shiny tools on the medical tray, meticulously lining each one until they were all perfectly parallel. As he moved to fetch his suture kit, he found Flores in the way.
“Oh, sorry…” She hopped off of the counter and moved to the doorway.
“You know, your and Detective Henderson’s friend is running amuck. Would you kindly drag him out into the alleyway and beat him senseless?”
“Hah hah… Good one.”
“I wasn’t joking. Please prevent him from accidentally becoming a victim of medical malpractice. That would be most helpful.”
“...Can’t we think of a different way to do this?”
“Flores,” Eric ordered, “Go take care of the straggler. That’s your last job for today.”
“If you won’t, I’ll just have Detective Henderson do it. He’s down the hall, by the way,” Dr. Kell informed her.
“He’s what? Here?” Flores perked up upon hearing the doctor’s words. “Really?”
“Yes,” Dr. Kell groaned, “Go give him a kiss while you’re at it.”
The doctor’s sarcasm made Eric chuckle. He readied a follow-up, but Flores had already disappeared out of the room. Where she had stood seconds ago was now only a swinging door and a light gust.
----------------------------------------
In an uncomfortably evenly lit room, Detective Nick Henderson sat upright on the medical bed counting the seconds. He had expected to leave earlier as his bullet wound wasn’t too severe largely in part due to his body armor absorbing most of the impact. Still, the doctor insisted he stays for further testing. As to why, he had the faintest of clues. A line from an IV drip hooked into his right arm. It served as a shackle to this extended stay at a shady clinic in the criminal hotspot. Very clean counters, shelves, and cabinets were a pleasant surprise to see at first. But now, the drab walls of sterile white were beginning to irritate him. He pondered as to what the doctor found so interesting with a mundane detective like him. His thoughts were interrupted as the sound of rapid footsteps broke the tiring drone of medical equipment. He pulled the penny he kept out from his pockets to predict whether this was good news or more likely bad. Those footsteps suddenly halted, as if whoever was dashing his way had chickened out. A few seconds later, a figure popped her head into the open doorway.
“Nick?” she quietly whispered just in case the occupant wasn’t actually Nick.
Nick jumped back as he caught the gaze of the monstrous creature that knew his name. He calmed down after realizing it was Flores. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Jesus! Give me a warning next time. How’s life been treating you, sleuthhound?”
“Not dead yet,” she triumphantly responded.
“Surprisingly… I could hear from here that Eric’s here.”
“Any more homophones?”
“Nah. I’m assuming you took Eric’s job offer.”
“And I’m slightly regretting it now. It’s not anything to do with him or the job. It’s the fact that there’s no stable pay. I did also get a little bit injured, but it’s nothing much.”
“Injured? How so?”
She pulled up her pant leg only to find that the wounds that were there before had already become light scars.
“Eh? I swear they were-”
“Are those your prison wounds?” Nick asked bluntly.
“What?”
“They look old. Considering how fast you were going down the hall to meet me, I doubt your legs are injured. Are you just finding an excuse to show some skin?”
“N-no, I could’ve sworn these were from shrapnel.” She pointed at each of the innocuous-looking marks on her leg. “But I don’t think it should heal that fast.”
“Hmpf, maybe you poured some elixir of life over it,” Nick joked.
“I only used hydrogen peroxide. I’m no medical professional, but even I know that it’s no magical elixir.”
“Any more homophones?” Nick parodied.
“Oh, bite me,” she scoffed. She rolled her pant leg back down.
“Here, how about a card game?” Nick offered. A smuggled pack of cards slid out from his trench coat. “It’s a simple one. It won’t take too long.”
“I guess I’ve got time.”
He removed the deck from the box and shuffled the deck in with an elegant over-hand shuffle followed by a cleanly executed riffle shuffle before finishing with a stylish cascading bridge.
“Woah,” Flores admired, “How’d you do that?”
“Just a trick I picked up from playing enough poker with mob bosses.”
“Something tells me those tales are tall.” The utter lack of scars or missing fingers gave it away.
“Clever. If I actually did, I wouldn’t be here, would I? Hehe. I traded a card dealer a few cigs and he showed me. Been practicing it ever since.” He handed Flores the deck and instructed, “Now pick a card.”
“Any… card?”
“At least you know the saying,” Nick smirked.
She predictably chose the card on the top of the deck. She flipped it over and saw that it was an ace of hearts. As she did, she realized that her hand mysteriously no longer hurt as badly as it did a few minutes before. Neither did the foot that sustained two instances of bad fortune. The injuries healed rather quickly. Her thoughts immediately went to the strange disinfectant Dr. Kell had used.
Nick noticed her elongated pause. “You sure are studying that card. Got enough of a look, yet?”
“Y-yeah. We can continue.” She would have to investigate that mystery some other time.
“Okay. I’ll deal you the next card.” Nick took the remainder of the deck with one hand and bent them until they sprung into his other hand. With a swift shift of his thumb, he made one of the cards fly into Flores’s face. “Whoops.”
“Ow… Why does the world hate my face so much?” She grabbed the card from the floor and placed it in her hand. It was an ace of spades.
“I bet you a dollar that you’ve got a two-of-a-kind,” Nick confidently asserted.
“I’m not takin’ that bet.”
“Folding are we?”
“N-no- I just have no money.”
“Alright, I’ll raise then.” He set the deck down before taking a hundred-dollar bill out from his pocket. “Don’t tell anyone, but I pocketed this off of a felon who tried to rob me the other day.” He placed it next to the deck of cards. “His loss and potentially your gain.”
“Is this a game of luck? Because I’ve already lost if so.”
“Wow. unconfident, much?” Nick handed the deck to her. “Go ahead. Shuffle them and hand me two.”
“But I only have one hand.”
“That’s your problem.”
Flores placed her two cards on the counter next to the bed out of Nick’s reach. She clumsily shuffled the cards without a method. She tried to imitate what Nick had done, but several cards fell out of her hands. They briefly fluttered in the air before scattering all over the place.
“Oops.” She bent down to pick them up and add them back into the deck. Not wanting to embarrass herself anymore, she handed Nick two random cards along with the deck.
“Thank you.” Nick placed the deck and his cards back on the bed. “In your hand are two jokers, no?”
“Definitely not what I had. Seems like your trick didn’t work,” Flores scoffed.
“Check again.” His words haunted Flores. She grabbed the two cards laying on the counter. They looked untouched. When she flipped them over, however, Nick was proven right.
“Huh!?” She showed the cards to Nick. “How did you-?”
“Were these the ones you were expecting?” Nick showed her the two cards she had given him. They were the ace of hearts and the ace of spades.
“You must have changed them out when I wasn’t looking,” she accused.
“You handed me these cards,” Nick slyly responded. “You also can’t prove what you didn’t see. Outfoxed, sleuthhound.”
“Then what magic did you use?” She stared him down like a judge during a witch trial.
“A bit of sleight of hand. A bit of luck. All in all, just a neat party trick from a mundane man.” Nick smoothly placed the cards back together with a charming smile. “Now how ‘bout an actual game of poker, ey? This will actually determine who gets the hundred.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve got more time-”
A crash and panicked yelling interrupted them. One of the nurses rushed past the doorway followed by Jeremiah. Nick silently packed up the cards as he got off of the bed. He dragged the mobile IV pole with him. The two poked their heads out into the hallway only to witness a very angry Dr. Kell dueling a strangely excited Jeremiah.
“Finally! An opponent worthy of the great Pretty Penny Pincher,” Jeremiah celebrated.
“Oh God, he’s back…” Flores sighed.
“You get used to it when you hang around him long enough.” Nick approached the two.
The Pretty Penny Pincher lunged again, kitchen knife in hand.
“Have you lost your mind?” Dr. Kell’s calm demeanor did not match the intensity with which his scalpel clashed with Jeremiah’s kitchen knife.
“Ho ho, how full of cheers thou lad. Perhaps more full of jeers? What pompous prompt of ponderous pacification prerogative of a phenomenally paramount peacemaker!” The Pretty Penny Pincher attacked again, but Dr. Kell deflected each blow while maintaining his sharp appearance.
“You’re giving me a headache. Please leave before you end up with one yourself,” Dr. Kell monotonously requested.
“Oh but alas, the good doctor taketh not the humble wisecrack for pleasantries.” The Pretty Penny Pincher spontaneously broke out into song. "It's just a jape. It's just a joke. It's just a little harmless poke!"
"Here's some good medical advice for you, so please listen carefully: Shut up."
Nick lifted the IV pole up like a staff and slammed it down. The clack of the wheels smacking the floor caught the attention of the two. “Listen to him, Jerry.”
“Oh why if it isn’t Nick Noir and The Great Fox Detective.”
“Enough games, Jerry. Go home.”
“It’s a race then? If you can hardly muster up the courage to challenge me in the sport of agility, then you are doomed for swift and decisive defeat.”
“Nobody’s going to race you. Now get a grip of yourself and end this charade.”
“Oh really? Then what if I introduce a prize for the fairness of sportsmanship?” Jeremiah reached behind his apron and what he pulled out enraged Flores. “Let your guard down and you become the fool.”
“Don’t chase him,” Nick warned, “He won’t run if you don’t-”
“I won’t chase. I’m not some dog running after a stick,” Flores muttered. “All this trouble for a few papers. I haven’t even seen home yet. I’m off the clock and without pay,” she listed off. “I think I’m done here…” She turned around and started walking away.
“Yielding so easily?” the Pretty Penny Pincher complained, “What unfun.”
Dr. Kell took this opportunity to grab and restrain him on the floor. Flores’s folder flew out of his hands and the papers inside scattered around the hallway.
“Hey doc,” Nick called, “How ‘bout you get this unhooked before I book you in for assisting in the illegal sale of organs.”
“And you suspect me based on what exactly?” Dr. Kell objected calmly.
“It’s why you were running all those meaningless tests. You were trying to create a profile on me. Figure out if I was a prime candidate or not.”
“If you're so inclined to figure it out, then no. The only thing worth salvaging if you were to mysteriously die one day is that deck of cards and maybe your pinky. Still, I am happy to provide you service nonetheless.”
“Doc, please… I know this sort of business all too well. Why else would you have so many nonsensical tests run on me? Someone as intelligent as you would’ve known steered away from this side of medicine. You’re supposed to heal victims, not make them.”
“For your information, I do not intend on breaking the Hippocratic Oath with my patients.” Dr. Kell frowned at Nick as he removed the IV drip from his arm. Nick handed him the hundred-dollar bill.
“This should be enough. I doubt you want to be promoted to prison physician, now.”
“Threatening me, are we? Tell me, who’s really the morally corrupt one here?”
“This hell is grand, eh? Turns men into monsters.
Dr. Kell took the money without knowing where it had come from. He smiled as he regained his friendly composure. “Please do give a call if you need medical attention in the future. I do what I must to make ends meet, just as you do.”
“Like I said, men into monsters…” Nick collected the scattered files and placed them back into the folder. “Oh, and don’t do anything funny to that investigator. I saw you eyeing her like a science experiment.”
“Please, I find her similar to someone I used to work with. I’m wondering if she’ll end up the same way as him… Anyways, you are officially discharged. Do have a pleasant day, sir.”
“Urgh…” Jeremiah, now back to his normal self, groaned on the floor. “What happened…?”
“Oh, and take your friend with you. I think he’s wisened up.”
Nick motioned for Jeremiah to get up and follow him. Jeremiah put the folder Nick held and the fact that he was on the ground together and realized what had happened. Without exchanging a word, the two of them set off to track down where Flores went. They passed Eric, who was confused as to what the commotion was. He peaked out the door while not leaving too far from Laura’s side.
“Hey Nick and the straggler,” he called out.
“The name’s Jeremiah, get it right!”
“Where’s Flores headed off to?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Nick explained.
“Give me a call if you can’t. I reckon she just took a step outside for a smoke. Actually, does she smoke?”
“How am I supposed to know? I’m a detective, not a psychic.”
“You’re a gambler of fate, and one of these days, you’ll end up with something far worse than a losing hand and debt…”
----------------------------------------
Just as Eric had suspected, Flores was leaning against the wall outside. She was staring up into the clouds as if they held all the answers. Nick held Jeremiah back from approaching and stepped forth. He slipped next to Flores unnoticed with her folder in hand.
“Do the clouds remind you of something?” he asked quietly.
Flores leaped back in surprise. She realized it was only Nick. “No, not really. Although, I guess it reminds me of how I feel right now… Hazy, gray, and scattered.”
“Poetic much? Here, in case you forgot.” Nick handed her the folder she had gone through so many hoops to resecure. “Try not to give up so easily next time.”
Flores sighed unsure of how to feel. “I guess you think I’m weak and helpless? Hell, if I didn’t blend in so much, everyone would.”
“You stick out like a sore thumb, but everyone’s too preoccupied with their own troubles to notice. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what they think. Chances are, you’ll never see them again. Either that or you end up disappearing figuratively or literally if you’re not careful.”
“I suppose you’re right…” She looked through her documents for what must have been the hundredth time. Nothing, absolutely nothing besides the basic information of her birth, where she had graduated from high school, and her parents’ names. Even her medical history was non-existent. The most insulting part was the fact that the last digit of her birth year was smeared beyond recognition. The fact that she didn’t even know her exact age marked her heart with despairing bitterness. Surely someone had to have noticed the odd ears sticking on the top of her head, the strange snout jutting out from her face, and her apathetic stare that could have rivaled that of a security camera. The knife saved her from scrutiny, but at what cost? She no longer existed to most people. Maybe that was for the better, she thought.
“You want to know something funny?” she asked Nick.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“When I first dragged myself out of that trash can, I set off for San Alto High School. I thought that maybe I could find their records and slowly build my identity back from there. You know what I found out?”
“Lemme guess, something unfortunate?”
“There was a fire not even a week ago that burned all the records from specifically the years I was enrolled.”
“Heh. Quite unlucky.”
“I searched the entire city for my name. Every single time, any possible hint of who I was mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Either they were now ashes, so smudged with ink it helped little, or in the collective digestive system of sewer rats. Heh… I think the world just wants me to disappear. Probably because I’m an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in the first place.”
“You’d think some government agency or private medical company would have abducted you for research sooner or later. Then again, you aren’t the strangest thing I’ve seen. You’ve heard of the Teratomas, have you?”
“Met a few in prison. What about them?”
“Rumor says, they’re failed experiments ditched to the wayside. Have you considered that you might be one? Maybe that’s why there’s nothing on you. Maybe they expected you to die, just like with the Teratomas.”
“I know there are more people like me out there. I saw one in prison as well. The same fox-like head. The same dull stare. I know I’m not alone.” Confronted with this fact, she decided there to search for the fox man she sighted in prison.
“Mind if I ask what your next move is then?”
Her stomach did the talking for her. She hadn’t eaten anything since scarfing down the sandwich in Jeremiah’s bakery.
“Find a place where a girl can get some cheap chow first.” Afterward, she intended on booking it back home and collapsing on the futon for some desperately needed sleep. She let out a pretty big yawn, one of the few times her mouth visibly opened.
“Oh,” Jeremiah finally piped up, “I can help you with that!”
To Nick’s pleasant surprise, Flores did not immediately go for Jeremiah’s throat.
“Sure… I’m willing to take anything at this point. Anything besides Nutraloaf or… Nutripaste.”
“I apologize for earlier. You aren’t too upset, are you? I hope the distaste doesn’t seep into the pies. ”
“It’s… fine… It’s fine. Please just talk like a normal human being from now on.”
“To change what one yearns to be is exigent. Ergo, no promises.”
“So, a trip to your bakery then?” Nick chimed in, “I could go for some of your classic key lime right about now.”
“Then off we go!”
The three set off with Jeremiah ecstatically leading. None of them saw the pair of eyes watching them from across the street.