J Duncan - Deadworld

Frustration melted away while Jackie’s fingers roamed over the keys. Her head cleared, but no revelations were forthcoming. The missing piece still lay out there in the ether somewhere.

Laurel sighed when the last of the notes faded away to silence. “I love you when you play-I mean, it-I love it when you play. Sorry, Freudian slip there.” She gave her a sheepish smile.

Jackie smiled back, utterly unsure of what to say. The words, the thought, had been lingering in the back of her mind since Laurel had admitted her sexuality. Jackie had conveniently stashed the thought back into the recesses of her brain, but now here it was, front and center.

“I know what you meant,” she said. “You’re my one and only fan.” Did that come out right? No. It didn’t sound right at all. “What I meant was… uh… I meant…”

Laurel stood up straight and laughed. “Sorry. Awkward moment. I know it’s something that needed to be said at some point, but this isn’t exactly what I’d been thinking. It’s just been on my mind a lot since yesterday, and I wanted to get it out there and… you know, clear the air. I don’t want it to make things weird between us.”

Jackie shook her head. “No weirdness. I’m fine with it, Laur. Really. You’re my best friend and partner. You’ve saved my butt more times than I can remember. So how could I not be fine with practically anything you do or say?”

She wrung her hands together. “I know. It’s just this is kinda different.” Her shoulders slumped and her face flushed. “I didn’t want you worrying I’d try to stick my tongue down your throat or something.”

“Laur!” Jackie had finally managed to get it out of her head from before, and now it was back. “I’m truly not worried about you doing that. Really.”

“Sorry. Sorry! Shit.” Her hands covered her mouth in shock. “I didn’t mean to. I take it back. Pretend I never said it.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Not going to happen. Look, can we just shelve this for now? Please? I know this is, um, not how it’s supposed to work. I get that. Maybe it’ll change things, and maybe it won’t, but not now. We’ve got a case to figure out, and it’ll never happen with this stuff hovering around us. If there’s more you want to talk about, we will. I promise. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Jackie sighed. Please just let this go for now. “All good, right?”

She nodded again. “Right.”

Jackie’s phone buzzed on top of the piano. Where had that call been two minutes ago? She picked it up. “Rutledge.”

“Hey, Jack, it’s Gamble. I’m going home. Peterson is taking over for me out here at Anderson’s, but I think he’s done for the night. Last I checked, he was sitting by his fireplace reading a book.”

“Figured as much,” she said. “Anything with Fontaine?”

“Um, no, but we lost track of her an hour or so ago and haven’t picked her back up yet. Apparently, she used to race motorcycles, and nobody can keep up with her.”

“Great. Thanks. Have them check in if anything comes up.”

“Will do,” he replied. “Anything on your end?”

“Besides huge amounts of frustration and lack of evidence? No.”

“Ouch. Sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Later.” Jackie clicked off and set the phone down. “Back to the board. Let’s go through it all again.”

Laurel walked around to the wall. “Did I hear him say Ms. Fontaine raced motorcycles?”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet she can swing from branches with her whip and call upon the feline forces of Chicago to assist her.”

Laurel made an amused “mmm” sound, which Jackie wisely chose to ignore. “Let’s just focus on dead people and vampires for now. Much safer topics.”

“Where is he, Reg?” The echo of gunfire was still ringing in Nick’s head, but the dream had been wiped away by the abrupt, cold brush of Reggie’s hand through his shoulder.

“Floor of the vault of the Woodbridge Federal Credit Union.” There was a tinge of sadness to his voice this time. “Got him laid out on a pile of pennies, boss.”

Damn. Drake was really going to rub it in this time around. “Any law enforcement there yet?” Nick turned and glanced at the bedside clock. It read 8:26 AM.

“Got called about five minutes ago, I’d guess.”

So much for an advance investigation of the scene. “Okay, see what you can find, but get out of there before Agent Carpenter shows up. I don’t want any more suspicions tossed our way now.”

Reggie rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Little late for that, if you ask me, but I’m on it. What are they looking for out here? They aren’t being very subtle.”

“Playing out the penny angle, I believe. Agent Rutledge wanted to see if I’d take some bait.”

“They would be more useful with us, boss, but I guess you already know that.”

Nick held up his hand. “I know, Reg. I can’t risk any more lives on this.”

He shrugged. “They get paid to take these risks. Should let them earn their paycheck, boss. They have resources and manpower.”

“It’s not something they are prepared to handle,” he said.

Reggie snorted. “Hell, Sheriff, it’s not something we’re prepared to handle.”

“True enough.” Nick dropped his hand. “I’ve enough blood on my hands already.”

He nodded. “Understood. They may give you no choice, you know.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, see what you can come up with. I’m tired of us chasing our tails in the dark.”

“Will do, boss.” Reggie waved. “Check in later.”

“Hey,” Nick said quickly, stopping him halfway through the wall of his bedroom. “How are you holding up? I know this has got to be hard.”

He shrugged, a wry smile crossing his face. “It’s draining me, but we’re near the end. Either way, I’m good.” He turned and vanished beyond the wall.

Nick could feel his presence glide away and then vanish through that doorway to the world of the dead.

“Either way,” Nick muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Either way, Reggie.”

Sleep had been spotty the night before, worried as he was about Shelby, who had continued her search until after three AM. He could tell her to abandon the search, but it was pointless now. The victim had died hours ago, and Drake would be found only if he wanted to be. The bastard had an incredible knack for staying just out of reach. With a twinge of guilt, Nick found himself wondering more about what Drake might have left behind than whom he had killed. It would indicate who the next victim might be, more specific perhaps than a simple penny had been.

Nick took the time to make a decent breakfast of ham, eggs, grits, and toast and sipped on a full cup of espresso. Next to the plate, Joshua’s penny stared mockingly up at him. It had been the last one collected, picked up on the day the new pennies had arrived at the bank. Three days before Cornelius had come sauntering into town on his brightly painted wagon. The image of Josh, grinning ear to ear as he held it up to the sun, glinting in the light, marveling at its shiny newness, was remarkably clear and painful. Funny how all the years didn’t dull memories such as those.

Finally, Nick picked up the penny, put his dishes in the dishwasher, and marched upstairs, opening the narrow door that led into the loft space over the garage. There resided the past Nick could never let go of, the memorabilia of days long gone, painstakingly arranged to provide the sharpest reminder of what had been taken from him all those decades ago. In a handmade binder, painted and decorated with stamps and postcards pasted on by Joshua with the help of his mother, Gwen, Nick turned to the last page, and in the last spot-which had remained empty these 144 years-Nick carefully slid the penny into its rightful place.