A couple of hardcase tommys in army surplus fatigues had strutted in just after me. They ate with their heads bowed over their plastic trays so the fries didn’t have too far to travel. Their collapsible titanium nightsticks lay on the table in plain sight. One of them was not quite as wide as a bus. The other was nothing special, except that when I glanced up from my sidekick, she was giving me a freeze-dried stare. I waggled my shiny fingernails at her and screwed my cutest smile onto my face. She scowled, said something to her partner and went back to the trough.
My sidekick chirped. It was my pal Julie Epstein, who worked Self-Endangerment /Missing Persons out of the second precinct.
“You busy, Fay?”
“Yeah, the Queen of Cleveland just lost her glass slipper and I’m on the case.”
“Well, I’m about to roll through your neighborhood. Want to do lunch?”
I aimed the sidekick at the empties on my table. “Just finishing.”
“Where are you?”
“McD’s on Wallingford.”
“Yeah? How are the ribs?”
“Couldn’t say. But the egg rolls are triple dee.”
“That the place where the owner is a junkliner? We’ve had complaints. Bots run everything?”
“No, I can see her now. She’s shortchanging some beat cop.”
She gave me the laugh. “Got the coroner’s on the Rashmi Jones. Cyanide-induced hypoxia.”
“You didn’t by any chance show the mom pix of the scene?”
“Hell no. Talk about cruel and unusual.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I was just with her. She seemed like maybe she suspected her kid wrestled with the reaper.”
“We didn’t tell her. By the way, we don’t really care if you call your client, but next time how about trying us first?”
“That’s cop law. Me, I follow PI law.”
“Where did you steal that line from, Chinatown?”
“It’s got better dialogue than Dragnet.” I swirled the last of my latte in the cup. “You calling a motive on the Rashmi Jones?”
“Not yet. What do you like?” She ticked off the fingers of her left hand. “Family? School? Money? Broke a fingernail? Cloudy day?”
“Pregnancy? Just a hunch.”
“You think she was seeded? We’ll check that. But that’s no reason to kill yourself.”
“They’ve all got reasons. Only none of them makes sense.”
She frowned. “Hey, don’t get all invested on me here.”
“Tell me, Julie, do you think I’m doing a pretend job?”
“Whoa, Fay.” Her chuckle had a sharp edge. “Maybe it’s time you and Sharifa took a vacation.”
“Yeah.” I let that pass. “It’s just that some granny called me a fluff.”
“Grannies.” She snorted in disgust. “Well, you’re no cop, that’s for sure. But we do appreciate the help. Yeah, I’d say what you do is real. As real as anything in this cocked world.”
“Thanks, flatfoot. Now that you’ve made things all better, I’ll just click off. My latte is getting cold and you’re missing so damn many persons.”
“Think about that vacation, shamus. Bye.”
As I put my sidekick away, I realized that the tommys were waiting for me. They’d been rattling ice in their cups and folding McWrappers for the past ten minutes. I probably didn’t need their brand of trouble. The smart move would be to bolt for the door and leave my bike for now; I could lose them on foot. But then I hadn’t made a smart move since April. The big one was talking into her sidekick when I sauntered over to them.
“What can I do for you ladies?” I said.
The big one pocketed the sidekick. Her partner started to come out of her seat but the big one stretched an arm like a telephone pole to restrain her.
“Do we know you?” The partner had close-set eyes and a beak nose; her black hair was short and stiff as a brush. She was wearing a black tee under her fatigue jacket and black leather combat boots. Probably had steel toes. “No,” she continued, “I don’t think we do.”
“Then let’s get introductions out of the way,” I said. “I’m Fay Hardaway. And you are… ?”
They gave me less than nothing.
I sat down. “Thanks,” I said. “Don’t mind if I do.”
The big one leaned back in her chair and eyed me as if I was dessert. “Sure you’re not making a mistake, missy?”
“Why, because you’re rough, tough, and take no guff?”
“You’re funny.” She smirked. “I like that. People who meet us are usually so very sad. My name is Alix.” She held out her hand and we shook. “Pleased to know you.”
The customary way to shake hands is to hold on for four, maybe five seconds, squeeze good-bye, then loosen the grip. Maybe big Alix wasn’t familiar with our customs—she wasn’t letting go.
I wasn’t going to let a little thing like a missing hand intimidate me. “Oh, then I do know you,” I said. We were in the McDonald’s on Wallingford Street—a public place. I’d just been talking to my pal the cop. I was so damn sure that I was safe, I decided to take my shot. “That would make the girlfriend here Elaine. Or is it Gratiana?”
“Alix.” The beak panicked. “Now we’ve got to take her.”
Alix sighed, then yanked on my arm. She might have been pulling a tissue from a box for all the effort she expended. I slid halfway across the table as the beak whipped her nightstick to full extension. I lunged away from her and she caught me just a glancing blow above the ear but then Alix stuck a popper into my face and spattered me with knockout spray. I saw a billion stars and breathed the vacuum of deep space for maybe two seconds before everything went black.
Big Ben chimed between my ears. I could feel it deep in my molars, in the jelly of my eyes. It was the first thing I had felt since World War II. Wait a minute, was I alive during World War II? No, but I had seen the movie. When I wiggled my toes, Big Ben chimed again. I realized that the reason it hurt so much was that the human head didn’t really contain enough space to hang a bell of that size. As I took inventory of body parts, the chiming became less intense. By the time I knew I was all there, it was just the sting of blood in my veins.
I was laid out on a surface that was hard but not cold. Wood. A bench. The place I was in was huge and dim but not dark. The high ceiling was in shadow. There was a hint of smoke in the air. Lights flickered. Candles. That was a clue, but I was still too groggy to understand what the mystery was. I knew I needed to remember something, but there was a hole where the memory was supposed to be. I reached back and touched just above my ear. The tip of my finger came away dark and sticky.
A voice solved the mystery for me. “I’m sorry that my people overreacted. If you want to press charges, I’ve instructed Gratiana and Alix to surrender to the police.”
It came back to me then. It always does. McDonald’s. Big Alix. A long handshake. That would make this a church. I sat up. When the world stopped spinning, I saw a vast marble altar awash in light with a crucifix the size of a Cessna hanging behind it.
“I hope you’re not in too much pain, Miss Hardaway.” The voice came from the pew behind me. A fortyish woman in a black suit and a Roman collar was on the kneeler. She was wearing a large silver ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.