Jon Merz - Vicarious

He drank a few mouthfuls and then finished washing the sink out. He could still smell his own puke. But thankfully his stomach seemed calm once again.

His hands found the small towel he kept beside the sink and pressed it to his face. The material sucked in the water and dried him. He dabbed it across his skin and then let it fall back to the sink edge.

In the mirror above the sink, he looked at himself.

And sighed.

What the hell was happening to him?”

“You look like crap, Steve.”

Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”

The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.

The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.

No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.

He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.

“Curran.”

Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”

“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”

“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”

“Already?”

“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”

Curran shifted some of the papers on his desk so he could take notes on what Kwon told him. “Guy know his stuff?”

“The lady actually, is a professor over at MIT, so yeah, offhand I’d say she’s pretty skilled at working the instrument.”

“And?” Curran glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. He wanted a cigarette.

“You’re going to love this: the button dates to between 32,000 and 28,000 years ago.”

Curran leaned forward. “How old?”

“You heard right. I couldn’t believe it, either. She ran the test three times to be sure.”

Curran sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “I wasn’t even aware human bone could last that long.”

“Well, it does. And in this case, it’s been treated with something to help preserve it.”

“Did they have buttons back then?”

“That’s the other thing. This wasn’t meant to be a button per se.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it started out as a human bone. Then later, probably much later, someone decided to turn it into a button. The holes in it are much more recent.”

“Is there some type of law against this?”

“You’re asking me?” Kwon paused. “You’re the cop.”

“I’m thinking out loud is all,” said Curran.

“I can’t imagine it’d be okay if the bones were recent. But they’re not. You could make the argument that this is simply another fossil of sorts and the owner simply chose to make an adornment out of it.”

“But you don’t think that’s the case.”

Kwon paused. “To me, it seems more like some kind of trophy. I know it sounds weird, but just holding this thing kinda freaks me out.”

“I don’t have it here and I’m already freaked.”

“You want me to drop it by?”

“You coming this way?”

“Sure. I got to drop a report over there anyway. See you in twenty.”

“It’s probably an antique of some sort.”

Curran fingered the bone button again as Kwon looked on. In the office light, it looked even stranger than it had last night when he’d picked it off the sidewalk. He turned it over. It had been worn smooth and dulled to a yellowish cream color. Still, there was a faint sheen. Almost as if someone had treated it. Just like Kwon had mentioned. Curran eyed him. “You think?”

“That old, it’s got to be. I can’t imagine too many people running around with something like that locked in a curio cabinet.”

“A curio — Kwon you amaze me sometimes with what comes out of your mouth.”

“What? I keep abreast of a lot of stuff.”

Especially if there were beautiful women involved, thought Curran. He looked at the button again. “Weird to think of this as having come from someone’s body.”

“Yeah.”

“Which bone was it, do you know?”

“I could take a guess, but it’d be just that. Offhand, I’d think it came from the pelvis, given the fact it’s almost an inch and a half across.”

“Great, now I feel like I’m fondling someone’s privates.”

Kwon grinned. “You think this is a clue to the identity of the Soul Eater?”

Curran glanced around. No one had heard kwon. Good. “Keep your voice down, pal. I don’t people in here thinking I’m off on some weird witch hunt.”

“Sorry.”

Curran looked at the four holes in the bone where there’d been thread presumably holding it to fabric. A coat? Maybe. “I’ve got nothing else to go on. I could plant myself on Lauren for twenty-four hours a day and see if that guy shows up, but I don’t think he would with me watching her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Stashed away at a friend’s house.” Curran grinned remembering the previous night and how he’d felt hearing her phone a guy only to find out he was a priest. “I doubt her stalker will find her.”

“Of course, her stalker may not exactly be your average guy.”

“That’s why we’re going on the offensive.”

“We?”

“Too busy?”

“Got a twenty-one year old kid who decided to celebrate his legal birthday by drinking himself to death in Allston last night. He’s waiting on me.”

Curran nodded. “You available again later?”

Kwon rolled his eyes. “Not another stake-out?”

“Don’t know yet. I have to see how today goes.”

“Call me, “ said Kwon walking out.

Curran nodded and kept examining the button.

Boston was an antiques town. Between the old blue blood wealthy and the nouveau riche, antique stores by the dozens had sprung up catering to every whim and fancy. Some of them, Curran discovered, kept their storefronts gleaming like giant neon signs. Others preferred a more modest profile.

Like the one Curran walked into on Charles Street, at the foot of Beacon Hill in the Back Bay section of Boston. Not far from where he and Kwon had swooped in to rescue Lauren last night, he thought absently as the silver bell above the doorway tinkled thrice upon his entrance.

Thick carpeting immediately hushed his footsteps. The air felt warm against his skin and there seemed a slight scent of incense in the air. Or cleanser. Curran wasn’t sure which.

He spotted several old dishes set out on wooden shelves close to the door. But he supposed the real pricey stuff must have been contained in the series of glass enclosed counters that ran across the middle of the store, some four feet tall. Curran smiled. It was an effective and subtle fence from the rear of the store.

And who knew what goodies lay back there.

Within the glass cases, Curran spotted rows of silverware. Some still tarnished and others gleaming as if recently cleaned. Another shelf held small daggers with some type of script running down the blades. Still another featured an assortment of broaches, clasps, and…buttons.

Curran’s interest piqued.

“Can I help you?”

Curran stood and smiled. The man facing him must have been a few years older, but his age seemed difficult to discern given the inordinate amount of creases around his mouth and eyes. His black hair was streaked with gray and in places, almost pure white.