J Duncan - Deadworld

Ah, cooler heads at last. Nick smiled. He decided he liked the medium. The stable one of the group. They did the good-cop-bad-cop thing pretty well, he had to admit. He managed to wipe off the smile before Agent Rutledge turned back to face him.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Mr. Anderson, would you mind leaving us with Ms. Fontaine and your secretary for a few minutes? It won’t take long. I promise.” The last word dripped acid on the floor.

Nick got to his feet, all too happy to dissipate some of the tension coiled in the air. “I’ll get Cynthia and let you have at them. I’m sure they’ll cooperate to their fullest abilities.” He nodded slightly and stepped around the desk, walking out of the room without looking back.

“Mr. Anderson?” Laurel said, stopping him in the doorway. “I have one more question first.”

He gave her the friendly smile, hoping she would not come much closer than she already was. “Sure.”

“You said you help people with ghost problems, more or less.”

He nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“How is it exactly that you do that?” She moved over next to Agent Rutledge now, who visibly relaxed when she stopped next to her.

“Difficult to say,” Nick answered. “Being a medium, you should understand the complexities involved in trying to define any sort of psychic ability.”

“Are you psychic, Mr. Anderson?”

From most, Nick would have caught the subtle sarcasm behind the question, but she was utterly serious.

He paused. “I would say no. It’s just something I can do.”

She turned and looked hesitantly over at Shelby, who leaned against her chair. “And you, Ms. Fontaine?”

Shelby smiled-the mischievous smile this time, the flirty “you’re kinda cute” smile he had loved so many years ago. “What about me, Ms. Carpenter?”

“Can we cut the coy bullshit?” Jackie snapped. “Just answer the goddamn question.”

Shelby frowned and sighed at Jackie. “Mr. Anderson and I…” She looked over at Nick for a moment, the smile not quite fading away. “We share the ability.”

Agent Carpenter’s eyes widened. “That’s very interesting, and rather unusual.”

Shelby shrugged. “We’re an unusual group.”

Nick wanted to laugh at that but refrained. It did not even approach the truth. Agent Carpenter looked hard at him, with that probing look he knew went beyond ordinary senses. There was little he could do about that. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for her response.

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Your cooperation is appreciated. Just a few minutes with your employees here, and we should be done. For now.”

“I’ll just get some coffee and wait for you all out here. I hope you can catch the guy. Truly, I do.”

Cynthia walked up now, and Nick would not be surprised if she had been standing in the hallway the entire time listening in. “They have a few questions for you, Cyn. Holler if there’s a problem.”

She nodded, mouth set firm. He knew she would not be put off by them, but the nerves were still there. “I will.”

Nick started to step around her, but Agent Carpenter stepped up to the door. “Thanks again, Mr. Anderson. We’re sorry to have interrupted your day like this.”

He sensed what she wanted even before her hand began to extend, and he gave her a fleeting smile before ducking around Cynthia and heading for the coffeepot. Not yet, Ms. Carpenter. You and I both know what you want to find out, and now is not a good time.

After a fruitless twenty minutes’ worth of questioning that had Jackie ready to arrest the lot of them, she drove them back toward the city. Evening traffic had congested the roadways, but, thankfully, she and Laurel were going in the opposite direction. Some semblance of proper color had finally returned to Laurel’s face.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Laurel nodded again. “I’m fine, really. It just threw me for a loop, is all. Totally unexpected. I’m not even sure how to describe it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “The barfing spoke volumes.”

Laurel gave her a halfhearted laugh. “Sorry about that. Not good for the image, I know.”

“Screw the image. I was worried I’d have to call nine-one-one.”

“I’ll be okay, Jackie. A little sleep, and I’ll be good to go.”

“I’ll take you home.”

Laurel nodded, and they drove in silence for a few moments.

“So what does it mean? That it’s so overwhelming as to make you sick?”

“I honestly have no clue,” Laurel said. “Normally, when I try to contact the other side, it takes a lot of concentration and effort to just get a peep out of the spirit world. But when I touched Ms. Fontaine, it was like someone kicked open the door and bowled me over.”

“Then this whole ghost-hunting thing they claim? It’s not just a front or scam for something?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I would say there’s a whole truckload of psychic power in that office back there. If anyone could claim to be able to track down ghosts, that girl could do it.”

“What about Anderson?”

“Maybe. I tried to shake his hand before we left, but he avoided touching me like I had the plague.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Why would he want to avoid that?”

“Keep his power a secret? I don’t know. That kind of thing gets out to the public, and he’d have the tabloids all over him.”

Jackie nodded. “True enough. The bastard was avoiding everything though. He was doing his damnedest to appease us and get us the hell out.”

“Worked pretty well, too,” Laurel said with a chuckle. “We don’t have much more than what we came with. Very… persuasive man.”

Jackie jumped on the gas and sped around a slower-moving car before cutting back in and braking for a sharp turn onto the freeway ramp. “It’s those fucking eyes. I want to know what kind of trick he was pulling to do that.”

“I’d guess it has something to do with that power they have, or maybe it’s just because he was kinda hot.”

Jackie snorted. “Did you see the saddle above his desk? Damn cowboy wannabes. I can’t stand them. This case is heading right into the Twilight Zone, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure they know something they aren’t telling us, and the cowboy schtick was real, guarantee it.”

“Ha! Pretty sure? I’ll bet you a box of Annabelle’s finest that they are hip deep in this shit. Anderson had some connection to that penny, I’m positive. Maybe Denny or Hauser can dig up something on that. I don’t like cowboys.”

Laurel sighed and sank back farther into the seat. “Maybe. We don’t have much to go on with them. The connection to that old murder case is flimsy. And you do too like cowboys. Haven’t you seen, like, every Eastwood Western ever made?”

“We work with flimsy all the time, Laur. Flimsy Bullshit Investigations. That’s us. I want to find out what he knows though. He knows something and doesn’t want to say. If there’s no direct involvement, why not tell us? Whom or what are they protecting?”

Her eyes were closed. “All good questions, grasshopper. You must meditate upon them and seek enlightenment.”

“Who’s Grasshopper?”

Laurel smiled. “Never mind. Just get me home. I really need to sleep this off, and admit it-you have a disturbing attraction to cowboys.”

She laughed. “Eastwood kicked ass and, like any good man, didn’t talk much.”

“Mr. Anderson didn’t say much either, smart-ass.”

After dropping Laurel off at her cute little bungalow house, Jackie headed back downtown and pulled into Marly’s, a local bar not far from headquarters, frequented by much of the building’s staff. A shot or two would chill her nerves and set her mind on track to see if any of the pieces were fitting together in a way she hadn’t noticed yet.