M Sellars: The Law Of Three

“That would be Lieutenant Albright.”

“Whoa.” Ben all but halted on the stairs. “Not Barbara Albright… Tell me you’re not talkin’ about ‘Bible Barb.’”

The uniformed officer stifled what might have been a knowing or perhaps a nervous laugh. Maybe even both. It was hard to tell. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Shit! What the hell did I do to deserve this?”

“What’s the problem, Ben?” I asked back over my shoulder as we began ascending the next flight of stairs.

“Well, I know ya’ know Arthur McCann with the county police,” he offered.

There wasn’t a Pagan in St. Louis who didn’t know McCann. He was a devout Christian with a badge who claimed to be an expert on occult religions, and he used his position within the police department to preach his own brand of intolerance and hatred. I’d had more than one run-in with him myself.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered.

“Well, stick him in a skirt and give him a little authority and you’ve got Barbara Albright.”

A loud burst of static sounded ahead of us, overcoming the background chatter that had been issuing from the officer’s radio. The tinny hiss was followed by a questioning voice, “Unit Fourteen?”

The officer thumbed his microphone and answered, “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen, Lieutenant Albright wants to know if Detective Storm has arrived on scene yet. Over.”

“That’s affirmative,” he returned. “I’m bringing them up right now. Over.”

“Fourteen, be advised that Lieutenant Albright is requesting that Detective Storm come up alone. Copy.”

“Say again?”

“Fourteen, switch up.”

The officer reached to his belt and twisted a control knob on his radio, changing to a clear frequency, then spoke again. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, Shelton, she doesn’t want any civilians up here,” the voice answered.

“Tell him they’re consultants,” Ben instructed. “They’re logged and cleared for the scene.”

“Yeah, Detective Storm says they are consultants, and they’re cleared,” the officer relayed into his microphone.

A short burst of static followed then was replaced by silence. We had halted midway up the second set of stairs when the original call came over the radio, and we now waited in the cold darkness a half dozen steps below the second floor.

The pop and crackle of interference once again broke the silence and the disembodied voice of the other officer audibly sighed before continuing. “Shelton, here’s a direct quote, ‘tell Storm to leave his devil worshipper downstairs where he belongs.’”

Ben’s own words came in a slow drone directly behind the echo of the radio. “Fuuuuck me. Just fuuuuck me.”

I protested, but it didn’t do any good. This time it was out of Ben’s control, and no amount of complaining from me was going to accomplish anything positive. Besides, he was on my side, or at least that is what I thought. In the end, he continued up the stairs, and we were escorted back out onto the street.

The wind had picked up as a storm front rolled in, so we were waiting in my friend’s van with the engine running and the heater on. He had been somewhat reluctant to relinquish the keys, and I guess I could understand why, since he had just gotten it back from the shop a week ago. I’m sure the fact that I was the one responsible for putting it in there to begin with was a big stumbling block for him as well-but that was another story.

I suppose that is probably why when he finally gave up the keys it was to Felicity instead of me, which also was why she was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“You’ve been pretty quiet.” I leaned back in the passenger seat and let my head roll to face her as I spoke. The vehicle’s heater had not yet defeated the chill, and my words vented outward on an opaque cloud of frost. “Are you doing all right?”

Felicity looked back at me with a flat expression. It was apparent that she was tired, but more than that, it was plain to see that she was overwhelmed. “Aye, that would depend on your definition of all right, wouldn’t it, then?”

“Pick one,” I offered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, then reached to the dash and clicked the controls to dual-duty-vent and defrost. The warm air slowly started clearing the fog that had formed on the inside of the windshield. “I’m not going to throw up if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s a start.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” I shrugged, rolling my head back to face out the window. I watched as the arc of clarity inched its way up the glass from the bottom. “Still have the headache, but I expect that will be with me for a while.”

“Any worse yet?”

“Yeah. Still tolerable, but it’s ramping up.”

She reached out and laid the palm of her hand across the back of mine. After a moment she spoke, “Aye, you’re well-grounded for a change. And without my help.”

My ability, or lack thereof I should say, to center my energies and maintain a solid connection with the Earth had been a concern as of late. In the psychic realm, grounding was your first line of defense and one of the most basic of all abilities. During the past year, Eldon Porter’s attempt on my life had taken its toll, leaving me just about as grounded as a runaway helium balloon. It was only recently that I had recaptured the simple ability.

“Can’t stay dependent on you forever, can I?” I shot her a tired grin.

Our impending moment was interrupted by a sharp rap on the passenger-side window. I turned to see my friend’s face staring back at me. Even though the frost had all but completely cleared from the windshield, I hadn’t noticed his approach. His brow was entrenched in a deep furrow and his jaw clenched so tight it made my headache worse just to look at him.

I quickly rolled down the window. “What’s the story?”

“Don’t ask,” he returned with a curt shake of his head. “You don’t wanna know. So, listen, you think you can come up with somethin’ off this scene?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I replied, somewhat puzzled by the question.

“You’re sure?”

I shook my head and stammered for a second, searching for the words to form an answer. “Well… Ben… You know I can’t say that. You know as well as I do, that’s not how it works.”

He shook his head vigorously and held up a hand. “Just friggin’ tell me if you can get somethin’ off this scene or not.”

“Maybe.” My voice took on a defensive tone. “I won’t know until I try.”

Ben rubbed his eyes then sent his hand back to massage his neck and muttered, “Shit.”

“What’s going on, Ben?” I asked again.

After a moment, he began shaking his head as a decision visibly fell upon him and his shoulders drooped.

“Not here,” he said, then shifted his gaze over to Felicity. “You better get in the back unless you’re drivin’.”

“Okay, I give up. What’s going on?” I asked. My frustration had finally festered to a point of eruption.

“Settle down,” Ben ordered with a hushed voice and a stern glance.

The drive had been short but conspicuously wordless. In complete silence, we had traversed slightly more than a mile of block-long jaunts and eleventh-hour ninety-degree turns. Fortunately, less than five minutes passed before we arrived at our final destination, which turned out to be a small diner at the intersection of Seventh and Chouteau. Still, even five minutes can seem like forever when you are sitting next to a taciturn cop who outwardly appears to be pissed off at the world, you included.

I was no stranger to “Charlie’s Eats,” and neither was Ben. In fact, this is where he had first shown me the case file that proved Eldon Porter’s identity. But, that wasn’t its only distinction. With its proximity to police headquarters, officers frequented it at all hours. There was even a pair of parking spaces on the lot designated specifically for patrol cars. The standing joke was that, other than the food itself, “Chuck’s” was probably the safest place in the entire city to have a meal.