“Ahem.” I cleared my throat at the front desk woman, who was tapping away on her computer. A bronze little placard on her desk read ‘Grace Burger.’
She peered at me, a little concerned, over her glasses. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We are taking this infraction very seriously. A full report will be written up–”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, laughing a bit nervously and waving her down. “I actually came about something totally different.”
Grace frowned, frozen mid-tap. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to the person in charge of, uh…” I squinted my eyes together. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to start. “You told me you were gonna get me in touch with whoever is in charge of that shooting that happened the other night. The one down by the river where that Bridgeport kid was shot?”
“Mhm. I can send Detective Leister a message, but he’s in some hot water right now after letting both suspects escape the other day.” A fuzzy look crossed her face, and her peer intensified.
Shoot. I was losing the lie. “Right right. Well, ‘lose’ might be a harsh word, because the bail for both suspects was tooootally paid. Like, whatever the bail was, it’s paid, 100%. I’m actually just here to make sure all the paperwork got filed for that, which is why I need to talk to Detective, uh, Leister.”
The fuzziness faded from Grace’s face. “Like I said, I can send him another email.”
“Bro, who the fuck uses email?” Christopher asked. “Just tell them to let you in.”
I forced a smile. “He told me you could just send me to his office. He said ‘oh Gracie girl, just give her the deets and directions to wherever I’m at. She’s cool to let in, no sweat.’ Literally his exact words, swear to God.” Swear to myself, more like.
As I enjoyed a quiet chuckle at my own joke, Grace was nodding through my statement.
“Leister is currently in his office. A32.”
A32. I could do this.
I kept my lies minimal as I crept through the sweltering station. A few ‘naw, I’m not that fugitive, I just look like her’ and ‘yeah I’m supposed to be here’ and one, ill advised ‘you didn’t see anything,’ and I was tap tapping on the door to A32.
The door slid open a hair, revealing a large man with a large mustache. Technically only half of his face was showing, but it was a large half.
His eyes pierced me, and I knew what was coming.
“I’m not a fugitive,” I blurted. “Y’all hear that in there? I am not someone you are supposed to arrest.” Just have to get in the door. “I’m here for my…” I checked my snazzy watch. “My 2:37 meeting? It’s not on your calendars, but it is important. The secretary forgot to tell you.”
“Damn Burger. That’s the third time this week.” Mustache sighed heavily. “We’re going to have to take more serious action now.”
“Did you just get Grace in trouble?” Blair’s horrified whisper did nothing for my nerves, and guilt shot through me. “That’s not good, Sammi!”
“Oh my God, Blair, give it a rest.” Joni groaned. “It’s so far from the worst Sammi’s done.”
“Just because it’s not the worst doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad,” I said, already wincing halfway through my own sentence. “Uh. Just, uh, rehearsing.”
Mustache nodded, as if this made any fucking sense, and ushered me in.
The inside was dominated by a small oval table. At the head was a woman with a scrunched up face and a knot of auburn hair, who looked about as pissed as you would expect someone in a hot hot-water-meeting to look.
At the other end, a weasley looking man with greasy hair and a faded suit was shifting uncomfortably. That must be Leister.
“All righty,” I said, sitting down in the chair across from Mustache’s. “Let’s make this short, cause I’m just trying to gather some intel and share some of my own.” Simple, straightforward. No questions or requests unless they were accompanied by a lie. “I think you–” I pointed at the woman, who looked the most in charge, “were they one who said you’d be giving me some of the confidential case info. You said you couldn’t give me everything, but did say you would give me a list of suspects, witnesses, the name and information of anyone involved in this case.” This was my best bet at getting my hands on info pointing towards Henry.
The woman looked a little sheepish as I spoke, even as she leafed through a folder and pushed it over to me. Clearly she was in an uncomfortable position, given how one of Mustache’s bushy eyebrows shot sky high, while Leister’s oily ones creased over his face.
“Charlotte,” Leister started, his voice half nervous, half annoyed. “I respect that I may have dropped the ball letting Knox and Geraldo escape, but surely you’re not fully taking me off the case.”
I wasn’t gonna let Charlotte subconsciously finish my lie for me.
“Oh no, not at all,” I said. I could see Joni hovering over Leister’s head, eyes drilling holes in my brain. “I’m not being put on the case. I’m just a third party contractor, half government, half private, just here to gather some information for bookkeeping. Totally innocent.” My tongue felt heavy in my mouth as my rambling ran out of steam. “I’m here to gather some information on the case for, uh–”
“Posterity,” Christopher provided.
“Posterity.” I swallowed, a habit I really needed to kick, given it was so hot in here. My tongue had gone dry. “Also to tell you that Geraldo and Knox are out on bail. The news just came in, your secretary–” I’m so sorry Grace “–was supposed to tell you this morning that she got a call saying they were on bail. That’s why they’re not here.”
Leister stood up, triumphant. “See,” he said, pointing a finger at Charlotte. “I told you it wasn’t the officers’ fault.”
Mustache stroked his mustache, thoughtfully. “They did say that Knox had scammed them into letting Geraldo out. If this really was a matter of bail…”
I looked helplessly at my ghosts. It wasn’t that the cops didn’t believe the lie, but they were contesting it.
“Ooh, tell them it wasn’t Sammi Knox who was in yesterday,” Blair said. “Tell them you’re her secret twin, and you were the one that paid bail.”
It was a terrible plan. A horrible plan. But also kinda brilliant.
“Actually, that was me in there yesterday,” I said, a new confidence taking over me, even as Christopher dissolved into laughter and Joni’s face screwed up so bad she almost managed to make her ghostly skin turn red. “That was the big misunderstanding. I was coming in to pay bail for Cara Geraldo and Sammi Knox. Sammi hadn’t been brought into custody, but jails make her nervous, so I wanted to pay it before she came in.”
The lie had felt pretty water tight, but they were still giving me suspicious eyes.
“And who exactly are you?” Mustache asked, cocking his head dangerously.
Ah. That’s what I’d forgotten. “I,” I said, giving a pause for dramatic effect. “Am Sammi’s twin sister. Sam. Sam Knox.”
Charlotte leaned back, eyebrows pinching. “You’re both named Samantha?” she asked, a southern twang unmistakable in her voice.
“Haha, no. Of course not. Sam is short for… Sampson.” I gave a tentative shrug to accompany my tentative laugh. Sampson’s a name, right? “Our parents, you know, how that generation is. Funky names. Anyway, I’m Sampson Knox, and I was paying bail for Samantha Knox and Cara Geraldo, but everyone got confused, which I get, and so there was some mix up. I had told Grace I was there to pay bail and she let me in. She told me to tell people I was an out-of-state detective, just in case she was a little slow on entering information into the computer. I think she was in the middle of a minesweeper game or something. You know. Probably just forgot to put in all the bail info.” I shrugged, far more confidently now. Everyone in the room was starting to nod. They looked annoyed, sure, but not at me.
“That sounds like Grace,” Mustache sighed. “Charlotte, I know she’s been through a lot, and we’re all pulling for her after the cancer and the house fire and the whole identify theft thing, but at this point, she’s gone from minor mistakes to flubbing up a standard bail posting so bad that we still have two officers missing.”
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“Jesus Christ, Sammi.” Even Joni was starting to look upset with the Grace situation. “Forget throwing her under the bus, you’re making fucking tires out of her corpse.”
My brain chewed on that metaphor for a few seconds, before my eyes fell on the folder in front of me. I waved Christopher and Joni over to look through the paperwork as the cops continued to talk.
“So this isn’t my fault, then?” Leister asked, nasally voice rising hopefully. “I mean, of course I didn’t receive notice of the bail, but that’s not on me, right?”
Charlotte wheeled on him, face flushing red as her hair. “Maybe you should’ve been around yesterday to handle the bail money instead of spending the day dumpster diving.
Dumpster diving?
Leister puffed up. “It’s called Urban Scavenging. And it was an officially approved PTO day.”
Mustache growled under his breath. “And why are we taking PTO on the same day we get assigned to an attempted murder case?”
“It was approved, Doug.” Leister crossed his arms. “And I am allowed to have hobbies without my lifestyle being judged by my employers.”
“We are not judging your lifestyle, Leister.” Mustache’s lip curled. “Just your priorities.”
The files in the folder had a lot of legal jargon that I don’t think I could have understood even without the conversation going on. But I was able to put a few things together. Henry Miller was on their radar, but only as ‘potential subject’ and ‘missing.’ Noah’s parents had been made aware of his situation, but they lived on some island in the Caribbean and couldn’t afford the trip up. Some police grunts had interviewed a bunch of kids on campus to understand more about the days leading up to the shooting. Most of them didn’t have much to say about Noah’s movements, though I noticed that none of the other members of the Gaming Guild had been interviewed yet.
So that would be interesting.
“I care about the case,” Leister said, his voice unconvincing. “I take all my cases super seriously. But I need a healthy work-life balance.”
Normally I’d be all on Leister’s side here. I mean, who didn’t take some PTO here and there, huh? Or even just calling out when you need a break. I did that shit all the time.
But I was also never a detective on a shooting case, so I was kinda in Charlotte and Mustache’s boat.
“Look,” I said, jumping in because I was starting to get bored and wanted to get out of here before I passed out from heat stroke. “I really appreciate all this information. It’s great. I’m sorry your secretary botched the bail situation. And I’m sorry about the cancer, house fire, and identity theft. For real. But I kinda gotta get back to my place to make sure Sammi and Cara are doing alright. I can get you my address, and I’ll just keep an eye on them so they don’t get into any trouble. Don’t want any more college kids getting shot, huh?” I laughed, tossing them some finger guns.
They stared at me. Even Leister looked uncomfortable with my joke.
I slowly lowered the finger guns. “Okay, well, here’s my address and phone number,” I said, scribbling them down. “The only important thing for you to know is that, if you do need me, call me to meet in person. Don’t try to handle anything over the phone. They have it tapped, you know.”
“Who?” Charlotte asked.
“Who?” I repeated, looking nervously at the ghosts. “Uh. Well, obviously…”
“The Canadians,” Blair said. She wrinkled her nose. “It’s always the Canadians.”
I nodded. “The Canadians. The Canadians keep tapping our phones–your phones–because they want to outsource your work… to them. It’s a whole thing. Anyway, it’s also not important. Just call me into the office if you have any questions.” Risking phone lies on high stakes like this wasn’t something I wanted to do.
“Of course.” Mustache’s eyes narrowed again. “Don’t need those damn Canadians stealing any more of our work.”
Leister tossed my sheet of paper with the number and address on top of a pile of paperwork in the corner. “We’ll see you around, Samuel.”
“Sampson,” I corrected.
He waved this off. “Right right.”
A small pang of sympathy twinged in my heart as the ratty man’s attention turned back to the room, my contact details already out of his mind. This was really all they had spared to solve the shooting?
“Poor Noah,” Blair said, echoing my thoughts as I finally started to make my way out of the blistering building. “No family up here besides you.”
“Sammi’s not his family,” Joni said. “And he’s unconscious, so he doesn’t know they’re not here.”
“Actually, some studies have kinda, like, proven that comatose people recover better when they’re given attention and stuff,” Christopher said. “So maybe he doesn’t consciously know they’re not there, but he’s not doing anything consciously. It’s all in the subconscious, man.”
“Our subconsciousness is where 90% of our brain power happens.” Blair tapped her head. “I saw a movie about it.”
And on that note, we finally made it outside, and I gasped in a breath of crisp September air.
“Holy shit.” I sucked in another breath. “I need fucking water. Joni, you gotta learn to turn that crap off sometimes.”
Joni, who had her mouth already open to insult Blair, turned her opened mouth on me. “I gotta learn to do what now?”
I sank down on a park bench, fanning myself. “I leveled you up. Forgot to mention. You’re a… uh, you can control temperature now. So you were the reason everyone got so hot in there.”
Joni looked pissed at this, which I didn’t take personally cause I’m not sure she had another mode.
“Were you gonna tell me?” she asked.
Before I answered her, I flagged down a jogger that was running past me. “Hey,” I shouted. “You have my water bottle. Thanks for returning it to me.”
He grinned and pulled the water bottle off his little hip holster. “No prob!”
I waved him to continue running and took a much needed gulp of water. Okay, it was gatorade. But it was cold and it was refreshing.
“Look,” I said. “I forgot. I did it cause I wanted to do something nice for you, but I was so embarrassed over taking that useless spell that I forgot, and it seemed like people were just being really negative, so I kinda just… Didn’t want to say anymore about the level up. Y’all just get mad so fast.”
Something must have been pathetic enough in my voice, cause Joni’s anger watered down a bit. “Well… Well next time just–or…” She gave a heavy sigh. “Thanks. Temperature is kinda cool, I guess. Just gotta get the hang of it.”
“Heh.” Christopher grinned. “Kinda cool.”
–
It took me a few more minutes of relaxing on the bench before I was ready to head back to my apartment. I hoodwinked a burger from a street vendor–let Joni decide on toppings, just to make sure I was solidly back in her good books–before making my way past the guards and upstairs.
Once inside, I let out a long breath and a bit of a whoop. All told, I’d done a fire job out there.
“Sammi?” Cara’s voice, panicked as always, echoed from around the corner, and a moment later, she darted around, eyes wide. After seeing me, she let out a breath. “Oh thank God. I keep waiting for someone to figure out we’re not supposed to be here and kick us out. How did it go?”
“Good,” Blair said, speaking before I could even open my mouth. “Sammi said you were twins.”
“No,” I said, shooting her a nasty look. “I said I was twins. Or, that I had a twin. That I was my twin. I might have gotten someone fired.”
Cara looked even more alarmed at this.
“Blair,” I said, “I’ve changed my mind. You handle Cara.” I pointed them towards the room they’d debriefed in yesterday–which I’d decided was Cara’s room–and went further into the apartment, to where I’d heard some shuffling and scraping noises.
Blair saluted and whooshed off, Cara unknowingly in tow.
“Tina?” I said, popping my head around the corner into the main living room kitchen space.
“Sammi, yeah, come in come in.” Tina the Taxi was standing in front of several large boxes and bags. A bag of clothes rested on a fold out chair, and Tina stood by it, one hand holding a glass of wine, the other pulling articles of clothing out of the bag and tossing them into one of three piles on the floor. “I went pretty thorough with this shopping trip, but reality is, pretty much everything had to be ordered. You know, ordered and delivered. So most of the stuff is gonna trickle in over the next few days. Meantime, I figured I’d pick up some stuff to tide us over.” She motioned at the boxes.
Three fold out futons, a small wooden table, four folding chairs, and various kitchen ware, toiletries, cleaning supplies, a few bags of food, several bottles of alcohol, and a dozen other odds and ends.
I gave a long, low whistle. “Well damn Tina.” God it was nice having someone in this house whose brain wasn’t the cerebral equivalent of a gerbil on a hamster wheel. “You might just be my new favorite person in here. No offense,” I said, raising my voice so the rest of the household could hear me.
Tina waved this off, her olive cheeks flushing red, and she took a sip of wine. “Cara’s not so bad. Just young and not made of the toughest stuff. Just be patient with her.”
In hindsight, my comment did just feel like a diss towards Cara.
“Fair fair.” Then I turned towards the piles of clothes. “Which is whose?” I asked.
“That one’s yours,” she said, pointing to the biggest pile of clothes. Both Cara and I had given her our sizes before the shopping trip. “I was surprised at how high the card limit was. I shouldn’t have been, but yeah, that’s a lot of designer goods, the kind you like.”
Well. I guess I was someone who liked designer stuff.
“Thank God you can get out of your blood stained clothes,” Joni said.
“I dunno, I think my clothes are kinda cursed,” I said, rifling through the pile while Christopher goggled at the brands. “Who’s to say these won’t just get bloodstained too?”
Tina looked a little uncertain at my comment, but tried her best to respond. “There’s dry cleaning downstairs, so anything that gets messed up, I can handle. Also in unit laundry. I got some detergent and dryer sheets.”
Dryer sheets. Holy shit we were getting fancy.
“Tina, you’re the best.” I pulled my futon out of the box and reclined on it. “Seriously. This is perf.”
Down the hall, a door opened, and I turned to see Cara sulk into the living room. She gave me a glance for a long moment before sighing, grabbing her somewhat small pile of clothes, and sulking back to her bedroom.
Tina and I exchanged glances before she took a long drink and went back to sorting.
Things were starting to come together. Next step, find Henry Miller.