Anton Strout - Dead Matter

“Can you open it?”

I looked at it for a moment before shaking my head. “I can’t use my psychometry on it. It’s a pad for a keycard like we have on the door to the offices. It’s not like a numeric lock where I can use my power to see the code of the last person who entered. It also means I can’t pick it.”

“Crap,” she said, then looked around. She pointed off to a set of doors set into the tinted glass of the main pyramid area. Two men in identical suits stood sentry there like they were bouncers at a nightclub.

As we approached the doors, I looked the two of them over. They were both huge with black hair, though the larger one had his in a military cut and the other wore his a little longer, though still neat. Both of them looked straight out of a casting call for Men in Black 3.

I walked up to the doors with as much authority as my status in a secret paranormal investigative office held. In response, the two men stepped in front of the doors that led into what looked like a deserted shopping atrium. Neither of them looked very impressed.

“Can we help you?” the longer-haired one said. I held my ID out to him.

“We’re with the Department of Extraordinary Affairs,” I said, “in pursuit of a suspect.”

He took it from me and examined it. Jane was fishing around in the messenger bag she wore strapped across her body and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“My bad,” she said. She handed the paper to the larger of the two guards. “Mine’s only provisional for now until I get my honest-to-goodness badge. But it’s legit, I swear.”

The larger gentleman smiled at her, looked it over, and then took mine from the other guy. He folded them neatly closed and handed them back to us.

“Sorry,” the bigger guy said. “I’m afraid those won’t work here.”

“I’m sorry?” I said. That took me aback. I was suddenly pissed. “Weren’t you listening? We’re in the middle of an investigation.”

“This building here?” he said, gesturing behind him, a bit of rental-cop authority in his voice. “This entire area falls outside of your jurisdiction.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. I pointed to the emblem of the City of New York on my ID. “All of New York City is part of my jurisdiction. I may need a warrant to search private property, but I am getting in here.”

The big guy shook his head. His partner cleared his throat. “You’re familiar with that whole section of the city over by the United Nations, yes? Where all the embassies are?”

I nodded.

“Well, then,” he continued, “think of this area like one of those embassies. They’re off-limits to local police and such. They’re considered to be the sovereign land of the actual countries they represent. The Gibson-Case Center is kind of like that. Other than the public shopping areas, which are closed right now. Either way, you can’t enter. We’re under special permit from the Mayor’s Office.”

I stood there, silently fuming at their rebuke.

“Let’s just go,” Jane said, taking me by the arm.

“Fine,” I said, hissing the words out between clenched teeth. I gave the guards a final stare as Jane led us away down the sidewalk.

“Get a grip, will you?” she whispered. “You’re so riled.”

“I want to know who’s messing with my partner,” I said, rationalizing my behavior.

“That’s all well and good, sweetie, but you’re not getting answers from those brutes.”

“Who the hell am I supposed to get them from, then?”

Jane stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, spun in front of me, and suddenly kissed me, deep. After a long and blissful moment, she pulled away and looked at me.

“Calm now?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now, as I was saying, those guys aren’t going to give you the answers you’re seeking, but they did say something promising.”

My mind was swimming from everything, including the kiss. “Do tell.”

“Now, what did they say?” she asked. “They said the Gibson-Case Center was under special permit with the Mayor’s Office, which means…?”

“Dave Davidson at the Mayor’s Office of Plausible Deniability,” I said, feeling a momentary jolt of joy. Finally there would be someone I could yell at to get results.

The next morning I made sure to wrap up my dissolving clothes from the grocery store attack for Enchancellor Daniels. I threw them in my messenger bag and headed out with Jane, hoping to catch up with Dave Davidson at his offices downtown on Centre Street near City Hall. These “real” government offices were huge, ancient buildings that dwarfed everything around them, including those of our hidden labyrinth of fringe government. After about twenty minutes of wandering the empty halls of 42 Centre Street with nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoing out, Jane and I came to a door marked MAYOR’S OFFICE OF PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY. In his role as liaison to the Mayor, Dave Davidson constantly came up to the Lovecraft Café for his dealings with the D.E.A., but given our need for urgency, we couldn’t wait for him to simply show up at random.

Without knocking, Jane and I tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered. We were met by the sight of David Davidson sitting at his desk. As usual, he was dressed to the nines, this time in a well-tailored dark blue business suit. His tie was knotted perfectly as always and his black hair, gray at the temples, was neatly parted. Startled by our sudden interruption, Davidson bolted up from his chair and was already backing away. Reaching back onto a shelf behind his desk, he grabbed a large Lucite award of some kind and drew it in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, lowering it when noticed who we were. “It’s only you. Hello, Simon. Jane. What brings Other Division and Greater and Lesser Arcana down here so early? Or at all?”

I walked right up to his desk. He must have sensed something in my look because he raised the hefty award again.

“How’s the plausible-deniability business these days, Davidson?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. His eyes were wary. “Plausibly enough. Although, truthfully, ever since your whole Fashion Week- zombies incident, most of what I’ve been spinning has been a bit dull… except for a few strange incoming calls about some new kind of creature bounding around town, but the zombie market seems to have dried up for now.”

“No pun intended,” Jane said with a giggle.

“Huh?” Davidson said, giving her a distracted look before turning his full attention back to me. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

I wondered if Davidson meant the monster that had attacked Jane and me two nights ago, but that wasn’t what I had come here for at the moment. “Let’s talk about something a little more implausible,” I said, taking a seat. Jane did the same. “Why don’t you tell me about the Gibson-Case Center?”

Davidson was in the middle of putting the award back on its shelf. He paused.

“That new building up on Columbus Circle…?” he said. “What about it?”

“So you’ve heard about it?” I said.

“Everyone’s heard about it,” he said, looking at me like I was stupid. “I think Emeril’s got a place opening in there.”

“We were told it’s under special permit from the Mayor’s Office.”

“You want to tell us why it’s off-limits?” Jane asked.

“Want to tell you?” he asked with a laugh. “That’s debatable. The real question is can I tell you?”

“Fine,” Jane said, keeping her cool. I would have exploded by now. “Can you tell us?”

“That’s better,” Davidson said, leaning back in his chair, “but the answer is no.”

“Why not?”

Davidson shrugged. “It’s a big city. Do you know how much of this town is under special permit for one thing or another? There’s a lot of things I’m not privy to, okay? And I get to keep my job if I keep my nose out of things that aren’t my business. So a new building goes up! Emeril Lagasse wants to put a restaurant in! You think I need to sound the alarms? There are projects here that are not my bailiwick, so when you ask if I can tell you what’s going on, the answer is truthfully no.”