M Sellars: The End Of Desire

“I’m serious, Ben.”

“I know ya’ are, but even if I did call, I’m gonna tell ‘em what? My buddy the Witch is in town and wants ta’ come by and look at the gore fest? It don’t work that way and you know it,” he told me. “On top of that, what you do in Saint Louis doesn’t necessarily fly elsewhere. Shit, it doesn’t always fly here and you know that too, in spades.”

“Then what about Constance?” I pressed, “She’s federal. What if she made the call?”

I was talking about Special Agent Constance Mandalay of the FBI. She was also a good friend, not to mention that she and Ben had been in an on again, off again relationship ever since his divorce. Even so, I didn’t feel guilty about asking him to get her involved in this because she was already in it up to her neck anyway. It wasn’t as if I was asking him to use his personal influence over her, not that he really had any based on what I’d witnessed of their relationship.

“Not happenin’,” he replied. In my mind’s eye I could see him shaking his head as he spoke. He continued before I could object again, “Look, Row, like I said. It’s bein’ investigated. The MCS and the Feebs are in the loop. There ain’t shit you or I can do about it, and so there’s no need in you tryin’ ta’ get in somewhere that you’re not welcome.”

“So what’s to keep me from checking the newspaper and finding the location?”

“Nothin’,” he grunted. “Except maybe the fact that they didn’t run a story on it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted ta’ know how easy it was gonna be for you ta’ get inta’ trouble.”

“Well, why didn’t it make the papers?”

“Victim was a street person, and there’s plenty of other shit goin’ on down there right now. It just wasn’t considered newsworthy.”

“Okay, so what if I just go to the local police myself?” I countered.

“Knock yourself out,” he harrumphed. “But I can tell ya’ right now you’ll just be wastin’ your breath ‘cause I already told ‘em ya’ might try that. Look, Row, you ain’t packin’ a badge, so you’re just another civilian ta’ them. The coppers down there are short-staffed and under siege for fuck’s sake. They ain’t got time ta’ deal with ya’.” He paused briefly to allow the comment to sink in, then continued, “Besides, I thought you were s’posed ta’ be down there chasin’ a ghost, right?”

“A Lwa,” I corrected. “They’re deified spirits within Vodoun religious practice.”

“Yeah, well that’s just another friggin’ word for ghost in my book.”

“Uh-huh. And I also wouldn’t exactly call it chasing. I’m just looking for her history. It’s really more like genealogical research if you want to know the truth.”

“Chasin’ or not, it’s what ya’ went down there for, right?”

I drew in a deep breath. I really couldn’t argue with him too much because it really was the reason I’d come here. After a bloated silence, I huffed out my agreement almost as one word, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Then that’s what ya’ need ta’ concentrate on. You do the Witch stuff, and let us do the cop stuff.”

Even though I knew continuing to argue with him was futile, I decided to press my friend just a bit further on the subject. “So, tell me something. If I can’t help then why did you even bother telling me about this, Ben?”

“Figured since you were there, ya’ had an off chance of hearin’ about it anyway. Thought I’d see if I could get to ya’ first.”

“But…”

He cut me off. “No but’s, Row. It was a judgment call.”

“So how’d you make that call?”

“How else? I flipped a friggin’ coin.”

“What a novel approach.”

“Like I said. Judgment call. Heads I tell ya’ what I can and deal with ya’ bein’ pissed, or tails I don’t tell ya’ and still deal with ya’ bein’ pissed ‘cause I didn’t. For me it was lose-lose no matter what I did.”

“Glad to know I’m worth so much consideration,” I grumbled.

“It was a no-brainer, Row. I got bad guys ta’ catch. Better I spend my time thinkin’ about that instead of whether I want ya’ torqued at me now or torqued at me later.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right,” I conceded.

“If you wanna know the truth,” he offered. “I didn’t actually flip a coin. I was gonna tell ya’ anyway.”

“Why, because you figured I’d probably already heard about it?”

“No… Actually, ‘cause I’m a bit worried about ya’.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Because you’re afraid I’m going to go looking for her?”

“Jeezus, White Man, I keep tryin’ ta’ tell ya’ I ain’t stupid. Hell, I know you’re gonna go lookin’ for her. What I’m afraid of is that you’re actually gonna find ‘er.”

I had to give Ben credit; he definitely knew me as well as anyone could-except for my wife, of course. I was definitely going to look for Annalise, and finding her was my ultimate goal. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to accomplish this, but I knew where I was going to start. Therefore, I had no more hung up with him than I was heading out the door in search of a way to get into the local crime scene. What I was going to be able to do at almost 2:30 in the morning was yet another mystery, especially considering the fact that I didn’t even know exactly where the crime scene was located. However, I had an idea, and since I wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a variety of reasons, I decided I might as well get started.

I had no doubt my friend was correct in his assessment that I wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, so the head-on approach wasn’t even an option. Especially since I wasn’t going to get any support from him or Constance where that was concerned. This was something I would have to do on my own, with subterfuge. As my wife had recently pointed out, I wasn’t a very good liar, so that was yet another hurdle I would need to face. Unfortunately, deceit was going to be necessary because the truth was simply too insane to be believed.

I had just pulled my door shut when my next-door neighbor stepped out of her room and, not paying attention to where she was going, stumbled directly into me. She jumped back with a yelp, teetering on a pair of platform heels that looked a half-size too big. Regaining her composure, she shuffled then leaned against the doorjamb. I wasn’t sure if she was doing it for balance, or if she was trying to look alluring. Maybe it was both, although she wasn’t accomplishing the latter-in my eyes at least. Either way, she simply looked me over and smiled.

I muttered, “Sorry,” then gave her a nod and started for my car.

“Gotta light, Mistuh?” she asked before I’d made it two steps.

Even though it was against my better judgment, I stopped and looked back at her. In the dim swath of yellow spilling from the overhead light, I could see enough of her face to tell that her vacant eyes were fixed with a substance-induced glaze. I didn’t really want to know which substance. Her vinyl skirt was too short, her top too tight, and her makeup too thick. She looked like she was in her late forties, but something about her felt like she was maybe all of fifteen.

I rummaged quickly in my pocket, withdrew a book of matches and tossed them the short distance to her. She missed the catch even though my aim was dead on, so she stooped to pick them up. While she was doing so, I took a quick glance around to make sure I wasn’t being set up for a mugging or some such and then hurried on to my vehicle.

As she stood again, she let out a hoarse giggle and called after me, “Ah won’t bite, shuga. Unless tha’s what ya’ wan’ me ta’ do.”