“What’s she doing?”
He squirmed in his seat to look through the back window, and I hunched down, convinced the back of the van was about to be hit by some hail of magic energy. Or a simple lead projectile, exploding from a rifle she probably kept in a closet by the front door.
“Nothing. She’s just staring at us.”
“You sure? She’s not waving her hands or chanting in foreign tongues?”
“Nah.” We rounded the corner and I began to relax as she disappeared from sight.
“Looks like we’re out of trouble for now.”
I drove faster than I should have through the neighborhood, slowing only to let some kids nudge their hockey nets a few inches out of our path. “That lady was nuts.”
“And apparently a witch. Or something.”
I glanced at Ted, realizing he might well be in shock. Bad enough that I had now seen several examples of real world, dangerous magic in action. But Ted might not be as capable of adjusting as I was proving to be. I could also see that he had numerous small nicks and cuts on his forehead and cheeks, from where ceramic shards had glanced off him.
“You alright? You’re bleeding.”
He flipped down the passenger vanity mirror and glanced at the cuts.
“I’m fine. Need to wash these cuts though. God knows what was growing in that lady’s kitchen.” He continued to look over the cuts but I could see he was thinking about something. “Hey. What was with that defense comment?”
I had forgotten about that.
“You picking up a few tricks on the job?”
“No. I don’t know what she was talking about.” And that was the fact of it. “It’s happened a couple of times, where I’ve been around a spell or something, and it doesn’t seem to work on me.”
“Like you have a fairy godmother looking out after you?”
“No.” At least, I didn’t think so. “It doesn’t feel like anybody’s doing anything. The spells just seem to run out of steam.”
“Huh. Cool.”
“Listen, you OK? I mean, this is pretty freaky stuff.”
I glanced again, only to find a curious expression on his face.
“Okay? I’m great. That was a blast, man. You have got the coolest job ever.” And with that he gave me a punch to the arm.
God help me.
As we headed to the 400 and a long drive south, we heard sirens.
“Fire truck?”
“One of the neighbors must have called.”
“What do you think that crazy bitch is going to say?”
Good question. She couldn’t exactly admit she had been screwing around with black magic. No, she wasn’t the type to accept any responsibility. She would…
“She’s going to say we started it.”
“Yup.” Damn. It took me about thirty seconds to realize I needed to make a call. To Amy Park.
We were home and having dinner when Amy called with an update. I grabbed a plateful of nachos (the ones with the most cheese on them, to Ted’s displeasure) and moved to my bedroom.
“Hey. Sorry again about calling you on a Saturday.”
“You can call me any time you want. You’re making me look like a genius.”
“Really?”
Really. It turned out that my tip to Amy — that Crazy Lady was pimping out two underage Asian girls against their will — was dead on. While the fire investigators were inspecting the damage, two officers from the Ontario Provincial Police had taken the girls aside, despite the protests of her Royal Nuttiness. Turned out she wasn’t their legal guardian, they were illegals, and they had a whole lot to say about life at 441 Bristol Crescent.
The OPP were bringing in a translator to get proper statements, but were very confident that our Crazy Lady Lucas would be charged with forcible confinement, living off the avails of prostitution, and a host of other tasty crimes.
“Very nice.”
“Oh yeah. They love me. Between this and the tip on Kuzmenko, I’m having to do a major dance on my sources, but no question I’m not hearing as much bullshit about being an equal opportunity hire. Maybe they’ll even let me work a few cases not involving Koreans. It’d be nice not to have to eat another bowl of pork-bone soup.”
Hearing a woman say the words pork and bone in one sentence proved oddly erotic. I was so distracted that I let my plate tilt, and a clump of nachos, cheese and salsa sauce dropped smack in the middle of my laundry compost.
“Shit.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, nothing.” I kicked a stray undershirt over the whole mess, hoping that the nachos would just disintegrate if and when I managed to toss the pile into a washer. “That’s great news. Listen, you might want to warn them about her, though. She may not be easy to keep in custody.”
“Isn’t she like, eighty years old or something?”
“Yeah, but she’s a nasty piece of work.”
“Hm. Well, they seemed to think she was a handful too. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
I hoped so, but there wasn’t much I could do about it anyways. I didn’t see any way to warn the OPP that Miss Crazy Bitch might power up an energy spell and blow a hole in the wall of their local jail.
“So we going to get out for that drink?”
Without warning Ted appeared at the door to my room, eyebrow raised and munching on a chicken wing. I tried to ignore him, but he started pumping his hips and calling “Oh, Donnie! Oh, Donnie!”
“I take it you have a visitor?”
“Nah.” I got up and slammed the door, which at least served to muffle Ted’s ongoing porn movie sound track. “Just my idiot brother.”
“Jealous?”
“Oh yeah. And if he ever met you, it would eat him alive.”
“Well I’ll need to drop by some day, then.”
I was starting to like this lady.
CHAPTER 14
I awoke that night to the muffled sound of voices. Since my alarm clock read 3:18 A.M., I can’t say I was real thrilled. What the hell was Ted doing up at this hour?
I prefer that my bedroom be cold and dark when I sleep. It gives me a sense of hibernation, of detaching from the stresses of the day, even if only for a few hours. The result, however, is that I find mornings to be a brutal re-introduction to light and noise. If anything, arising at a quarter past three seemed even more jarring.
I stumbled into the hallway with a yawn, my bare feet landing on every jagged grain of grit on the cheapass linoleum floor. Time to sweep the hall, I thought, filing that task with the endless to-do list which only came to mind at the least convenient of times. When I was enjoying a bowl of ice cream in front of a rerun of Extreme Makeover, for example. I tugged at my t-shirt, which had somehow become twisted ninety degrees around my body during my “rest”.
Weird. There were no lights on in the hall or the living room. Instead, Ted’s door was ajar, a soft glow lighting the gap. Christ, was he resorting to lava lamps? Ted’s history with girlfriends was as bad as my own.
The last regular was a girl named Robin, whose most annoying habit was that if she started laughing while on her feet, she threw her hips forward as though presenting her groin for inspection. Or consideration.
I was ready to notch the moment up to a late night visit by one of Ted’s irregulars when his voice rang out, loud and clear.
“I know, I know. I’ll get it in for a tune up next week.”
Quiet, then:
“It’s fine. I’m only driving it in the city. C’mon, Aunt Nicole drove the-.”
Again quiet, then:
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Was he talking to Mom? At three in the morning? It was so bizarre that I risked the possibility that Ted was with some girl, in the midst of some truly disturbing Oedipal role play. If that proved true, I could kiss a good night’s sleep goodbye for more than just one night.
I eased the door open.