James Swain - Shadow People

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

“I just thought you needed a fresh start after yesterday.”

“Why? What happened yesterday?”

She wiped her hands on a paper towel and wrapped her arms around Peter’s thin waist. “We have a lot of talking to do, you know.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Good. How about later this afternoon?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m game.”

They sat down at the kitchen table and dug in. Liza had hit the nail on the head. A fresh start was exactly what the doctor ordered. He couldn’t change the horrific things he’d done as a child, but he could make sure they never happened again. He was an adult now, and his own boss. He would stop the demon inside of him from controlling his actions.

Finished, they stood at the sink with Liza washing the dishes and Peter drying and putting them away. “Do you remember that antique wristwatch that fell out of the sky while we were standing in the courtyard the other night?” she asked.

Peter remembered the watch well. Made by Cartier, it had belonged to the shadow person he’d confronted in the lobby of Grand Central Station. He’d never understood its significance, and wondered if Liza had plumbed it secret.

“I may have found its owner,” Liza went on. “I noticed it wasn’t working properly, so I found a store online that repairs antique watches, and sent them an e-mail along with a photo I shot on my iPhone. The manager e-mailed me right back. Come to find out, he thinks he’s repaired the watch before. His shop is called Time After Time, and is in the West Village. He asked me to come by this morning, and show the watch to him so he could confirm it.”

“Did he say who the owner was?”

“No. The manager’s name is Walter, and he was very mysterious about the whole thing. Maybe he can tell us who the owner is, and that will lead to figuring out what the shadow people want. It’s a stretch, but who knows.”

Peter hung the dish towel on the hook next to the fridge. The other world was a difficult place to understand, the motives of the spirits never fully clear. Liza was reacting the same way he usually did, which was to plunge ahead, and hope for the best.

“I’m game,” he said. “Let’s go talk to Walter.”

“I’ll go change,” Liza said.

Peter took out his cell phone and called Herbie. “Be at the brownstone in half an hour,” he told him. “We’re going on a fishing expedition.”

The West Village was old New York, its streets twisting and narrow. Time After Time sat in a dusty storefront filled with grandfather clocks and rare timepieces in glass display cabinets.

Peter told Herbie to circle the block, and entered the shop with Liza.

The cramped interior was a mess. Any more than a handful of customers, and the place would have felt crowded. An eccentric-looking manager with a halo of curly white hair stood behind the counter, and nodded courteously as they entered.

“You must be Walter,” Liza said. “I’m Liza. We spoke yesterday on the phone.”

Walter said nothing. He probably got a hundred phone calls a day. Or he didn’t get any phone calls, and was playing stupid. From her purse, Liza removed the antique woman’s watch that had fallen from the sky, and placed it on a felt mat on the counter. Walter stuck a loupe in his eye and studied the exquisite timepiece. “This is an original Cartier, special limited edition, very rare to find these days. May I ask where you came upon this?”

“Is that important?” Liza asked.

“I just would like to know, that’s all.”

“My boyfriend and I found it.”

Walter studied Peter briefly, then looked back at Liza. “May I ask where?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.”

They’d been in the store less than a minute, and Walter was already giving them the third degree. Something wasn’t right with this picture, and Peter scanned the store’s interior. Not one, but three surveillance cameras were trained upon them, two from the ceiling, the third bolted to the wall behind the counter. The wall camera was a recent addition as evidenced by the sales sticker glued to the side. And there was a large rottweiler lying at Walter’s feet behind the counter. The dog was panting and its tail wasn’t wagging. Dogs fed off their owner’s emotions, and Walter was subliminally telling the dog to be on alert.

Peter thought he knew what was going on. The watch was hot, and on a list of stolen items that the police sent to store owners in the city. Walter had recognized it from Liza’s photo, and had decided to set a trap. Better start telling the truth, he thought.

“Look, we know that this watch belongs to someone else,” Peter interrupted. “How we came upon it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that we return it to its rightful owner. Right, dear?”

The corners of Liza’s mouth turned up in a smile. He’d never called her dear before, and she seemed to like it.

“We just want to do the right thing,” Liza continued. “Yesterday when we spoke, you indicated you knew who the owner might be. If you’ll tell us, we’ll return it to her right away. Or you can do it. Whatever you think is best.”

Walter looked perplexed and let out a deep breath. “Oh, my,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” Peter asked.

“You’re not thieves. I can tell by listening to you. Thieves come into my store often, and try to sell me hot timepieces. You’re not like them.”

“Of course we’re not thieves,” Liza said with a little laugh.

“Well, I’m deeply sorry, then. Truly, I am.”

The shopkeeper took a deliberate step away from the counter. As he did, a black sedan pulled up in front of the store, and double-parked in the street. Four plainclothes detectives wearing silver NYPD detective shields pinned to their jackets piled out, and rushed through the front door. Each had a gun drawn. At the same time, a door behind the front counter parted, and two more gun-toting detectives appeared.

“Don’t tell them anything,” Peter said under his breath.

Peter had lived on TV cop shows as a kid, and knew what was about to happen. The detectives would separate him and Liza, and grill them. They would ask each of them a series of questions, and write down their answers in spiral pads. Then the detectives would reconvene, and compare notes. If the detectives caught either of them lying, the drilling process would continue until they got to the truth.

Liza was sent to the back room of the store while Peter remained in front. As she was led away, she winked at him. She didn’t appear the least bit nervous or afraid. She’d been through a lot lately, certainly a lot more than any of his other girlfriends had ever put up with. He winked back.

“Cut the crap,” the detective in charge barked.

The detective’s name was Velasco. Short and balding, his most prominent feature was his beach ball stomach. Who needs a six-pack when you can have a keg? Peter thought.

Velasco pulled a stool out from behind the counter, and made Peter sit on it. The detective towered over him while another detective covered Peter’s back. A third detective stood by the locked front door. The shades had been pulled over the window for privacy.

“What’s your name?” Velasco asked.

“Peter Warlock.”

“Very funny. Your real name.”

“Peter Warren. Warlock’s my stage name.”

“You some kind of performer?”

“I’m a magician. I have a show in town, Anything’s Possible. ”

Velasco nodded like he’d heard of him. Early in his career, Peter had performed a number of stunts around the city to gather much-needed publicity for his show. As a result, there were a lot of people who had heard his name but who’d never seen him perform.