F³ WIP Scapegoat

            From the back, Reese mumbled and stirred.

            I slapped her leg through her jeans, hard. She mumbled a little louder and slowly blinked, asserting more control over her body.

            She sat up, looking at me. “Allen?” she said, unsure.

            “Yeah. What the blankity blank were you doing there?”

            Peripherally, I caught Nikki’s slight smile.

            “Blankity blank? Are you a grown-up?”

            “My use of profanity is not the subject. Explain.”    

            “I was after the story.”

            I opened my mouth, then closed it.

            What’s the point? She’ll just keep talking about the damn story.

            “How did you know where it was?”

            “I recorded your phone conversation on my tablet,” she grinned.

            Several curse words went through my head, all applied to myself.

            I better talk to Jen and Jessie about what all these gizmos can do. I am definitely not up on their capabilities.

            “Cute. Well, you should congratulate yourself.”

            “I am.”

            “Not on that. You went face-to-face with not just a fae, but with a wight, and survived.”

            She stared at me flatly. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”

            “Two supernatural creatures in one night!”

            “Three,” Nikki added.

            “Three, counting the will o’wisp.”

            Nikki threw me a sidelong glance. I knew what that was about, but I wasn’t going to bring her into the conversation.

            “A weird disco light, some anorexics, and a creepy stockbroker. Unless you meant the college kids peddling drugs.”

            “Matthew,” Nikki said, pointing out the windshield. “I believe your backup is on the way.”

            I looked, confirming the stream of vehicles in a tight line.

            I hastily dialed Collins.

            “I’m on my way!” His voice was faraway, on speakerphone.

            “You’re about to pass me. Pull into the gas station on your right.”

            “What?”

            “It’s over. They bugged out.”

            “You better have a fucking good explanation for this, Allen. Judge is going to have my hide, the department, too.”

            I smiled, “Not this time. You’ve got a great scapegoat.” I looked back at Reese.

F³ WIP Getaway Driver

            The car raced away, slamming me into the door before I could brace myself. Nikki continued to to give her impression of a street racer, tearing into turns and squealing tires. I fumbled my belt on, then took a look at Reese, who was like a doll in the back seat, sliding around, boneless. Her eyes were open, making the effect particularly creepy.

            “Reese! Wake up!”

            Nothing.

            “Your efforts to rouse her can wait until we have secured our escape, Matthew.”

            My eyes went up to the rear window, scanning for signs of another car or even a will o’wisp dancing in pursuit.

            “I don’t see anything,” I told Nikki. “You might want to make us more discreet.”

            “Blend in as it were?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Not easy to do so long as we are in a Lexus in Shoreward.”

            “Yeah, but I don’t think the fae woman is up on which car models belong in which part of town. They can probably hear squealing tires, though.”

            “A valid point.”

            Her driving became more commuter and less racer, and I settled back into my seat.

F³ WIP A Hasty Plan

            Nikki covered my mouth with her hand after my jaw had dropped open. She put a finger to her lips, reminding me of the need to be quiet.

            What the hell is Reese doing here? How did she know to come here? I sent her out of the room when I took Collins’s call. Same with Nikki’s. She may have been able to tail me to Nikki’s, but she wouldn’t have seen us leave in her car. Forget it. That’s for later. Need to focus. If she’s lucky, the drug dealers will just kill her. If she’s very unlucky, Daniels or the fae will deal with her.

            I nodded to Nikki and she pulled her hand away, but she leaned in right next to my ear. “Who is she?” Her whisper was barely audible.

F³ WIP Bureaucracy of Reinforcements

            I checked my phone, then sent a quick text to Collins, shielding the phone against my body so the light didn’t give us away. ‘Where are you guys?’

            ‘Can’t get authorization for full task force. Only a few officers. No SWAT. What’s it look like?’

            Instead of answering, I used my phone to take a video. It was far away, but I didn’t dare rely on the digital zoom, and I had left my good camera in my car back at Nikki’s. I hadn’t thought to need it since Collins was supposed to be here.

F³ WIP Too Much Feeling

            The catwalk allowed us a vantage point that wasn’t available, otherwise. We crept up until we could look down over a wide spot in the production line—I thought that this was a fish-packing plant. Below were two groups of people, one decidedly larger than the other, one decidedly less human than the other. The greenish-white lights were hovering orbs of green-white fire that bobbed slightly near the inhuman part of the group. The lights allowed me to easily pick out the tall, gaunt, and thoroughly ordinary-looking Mr. Daniels, the wight, where he stood next to an open carry-on. But instead of a normal interior, this had been decked out for jewelery. Specifically, the pendants. I didn’t recognize the young man in front of him, but he held open a zip-topped bag with at least a dozen more pendants in it.

F³ WIP Bad Memory

            Nikki brought us to a fire door, but the building was so old, any connected alarm had long since been sabotaged by squatters or the criminal element.

            “Now you can dazzle me with your lockpicking skills,” she gestured to the door.

            I shook my head. “Not part of my repertoire.”

            “A pity, you really should expand your horizons, Matthew.”

            “Some of us don’t have hundreds of years to learn new skills. Why don’t you show me.”

            For answer, she grasped the handle and gave it a firm tug, pulling the door open despite the protest of the deadbolt and door frame, which tore apart like aluminum foil. “Sometimes the direct approach is best.”

            That was pretty hot, actually.

            We ghosted inside, Nikki weaving her way through, guided by instinct or supernatural senses. I didn’t like roaming through the warehouse, it brought back memories of another warehouse, not too far from this one, where a vampire named Jared had attacked me.

            I felt a twinge in my right forearm from where he had clamped a hand down on me. Likewise, I was conscious of my left palm. The slice on my hand had healed without a scar, but I still remembered. My heart beat faster as I remembered the panic run to get out, to escape into the sunlight. I had to pull debris onto the path as I ran while cradling my arm and wheezing through bruised ribs.

            “Matthew,” Nikki stopped to whisper, “your heart is beginning to race. It is distracting.”

            “Sorry.”

            Focus, Matt. Thinking about that warehouse will surely get me killed in this one.

            I took a deep breath, banishing the memory.

            Nikki looked at me for a moment, then nodded. I was grateful she didn’t ask me what happened.

F³ WIP Weird Date

            For a wonder, Nikki was waiting for me in the parking garage by a car. Instead of her usual gowns, she wore pants that hugged her, but did not constrain her, and what looked like bulletproof vest if it had been designed to mold to a woman’s curves like a corset. A black backpack, looking distinctly military, rested on the rear fender of the car.

F³ WIP Creative Expenses

            The drive from DeGradi to the office wasn’t very long, and I mostly thought about what I would say to Cassie. No inspiration came, though. In the end, I had to just shoot for raw honesty.

            “I’m going on another stakeout,” I told her.

            “Cool. Where we going?”

            “Me, not we,” I said.

F³ An Offer of A Good Time

            After getting off the phone with Collins, I made one of my own.

            “Dumpling, what a surprise,” came Nikki’s musical voice.

            “I need you tonight.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I winced.

F³ WIP Unofficial Permission

            My phone buzzed, and I thought it would be Kate. Instead, it was Collins. I answered immediately, “Hang on, I’ve got a reporter in the room.”

            I looked over to Reese. “I need to take this. Can I have the room?”

            She gave me a venomous look, then stormed over, knocking my shoulder on her way out.

            “Okay, I’m good.”

            “We’ve got it.”

            “It?”

WIP Conspiracy Afoot

            I poked at Mary Poppins’s picture on the TV. “It’s her. She’s your conspiracy.”

            “What? No. There’s no way corporate Barbie there could be behind this.”

            I grabbed the tablet, fumbling with it to go back to the wide display with all the notes. I pointed at the arsons. “She was the partner of the guy responsible. The same guy also made the serial killer from two years ago.”

F³ WIP The Missing Link

            Lindsey kept going on about various officials, bringing up events that I wasn’t even aware of—I tended to stick to my own concerns. She had zoning laws, chamber of commerce, non-profit organizations, and more all pointing to something conspiratorial about the upper echelons in the city. She brought up warehouses in Dante and Shoreward as possible locations for the incoming drugs, which matched up with what I had already been thinking. My mind swam as she kept going, her own logic compelling her to fill in all the gaps even though I thought she was reaching with a good portion of it, until—

F³ WIP It's Not about Drugs

            “You got an axe to grind?” I asked.

            Lindsey Reese leaned back in the chair, but she didn’t relax.

            “I always have an axe to grind: the truth.”

F³ WIP Leak

            I gestured Collins to the far side of the room, and dropped my voice. “Reese,” I whispered.

            Collins flinched. “What?”

            “Lindsey Reese.”

            His face hardened, and his voice was an angry whisper. “No. Do not fucking tell me to take this to the fucking press.”

F³ WIP Drug Tested

            “So I guess I’ll go back to doing my thing,” I said.

            Collins shook his head and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to me.

            “What’s this?” It was a lab report of some kind, but I couldn’t parse the particulars of the form. There were a lot of numbers, and very little in way of information that I could make use of.

            “The salt.”

            “Okay. Do I look like a scientist? What does it all mean?”

F³ WIP Mapping Criminal Intent

            After dropping Cassie off with Jessie and Jen, I went straight to the precinct where Collins was actually more cheerful than I usually saw him. We stared at a big-screen display showing a map of Belport. Overlayed on the map was a dashed yellow path that looked like something that Billy from Family Circus might leave as he wandered about. Instead of Billy, the legend at the bottom indicated that it was the path of Kevin Washburn. There was a picture of his face next to the name, and I recognized the dealer that Jen and I had met at DeGradi.

            “First time I know his actual name,” I said.

F³ WIP A Boring Job

            “I’m just going to drop you off, okay Short Stuff?”

            “Why?”

            “I got a call from Detective Collins about the case. I need to go into the station and talk things over with him.”

            “Oh. Okay. Um, Uncle Matt?”

            “Yeah?”

            “That stakeout last night, is that what your job is like most of the time?”

F³ WIP Breakfast

            The next morning, I was in the middle of making pancakes when I got a call from Collins.

            “You like pancakes?” I asked.

            The question short-circuited his train of thought. “What?”

            “Pancakes. Hot cakes. Flapjacks. Butter and maple syrup.”

            “Blueberry syrup.”

            “Barbarian. Blueberries in pancakes are fine, but you have to have actual maple syrup.”

F³ WIP Delusions of Mediocrity

            “It doesn’t work like that.”

            “And how does it work? Magic?” The scorn in Reese’s voice came through loud and clear.

            “Autopsy.”

            “What autopsy?”

F³ Paranoia

            I was getting ready to turn in, at midnight, when I got a text from Lindsey Reese, reporter for the Belport Clarion.

            “What’s the story?”

            I dialed her number.

            “Are we really doing this over the phone?” I said, relaxing into the couch.

            “You don’t want a record of it?”