F³ Duct Tape in The Glove Box

           “You really need a bigger trash bag in your car,” Cait said, tossing yet another foil and wax paper ball into the empty takeout bag.

            The car smelled of butter and lobster. I was on my third roll; she had just finished her fifteenth. Storm riders had an impressive metabolism.

            “I don’t expect someone to show up with fifteen pounds of seafood, you know?”

            “Well, that’s an oversight on your part. Thought you would have all sorts of stuff. You know, be prepared. Trash bags, duct tape, shovel.”

            “Duct tape is in the glove box. As for the rest, I’m a private investigator, not a mob hitter.” I sucked a drop of butter off my thumb before it could fall onto my shirt and joint the others.

            Kate shrugged. “Not just for mob hits. You know, vampires and such.

            I just shook my head, taking another bite. “So,” I said around the mouthful of lobster and bun “how’d it all pan out?”

            She shrugged again, using a napkin to wipe an impressive amount of butter of her mouth. “They went into the thing and sweat for hours. They come out, they’re okay. Melissa said it was a cleansing ceremony.”

            I nodded. “Common to a lot of cultures. Lots of bad juju out there, so you gotta have a way to get rid of it.”

            “How do you know about this stuff?”

            It was my turn to shrug. “Research.”

            “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”

            I gave her a hard stare, then looked around to see if we had attracted any attention, then made sure the windows were up tight. They were because it was still drizzling rain.

            “You can’t be too careful,” I muttered. I leaned closer to her, dropping my voice to a whisper. “You gotta swear not to tell anyone.”

            She leaned in, too, the nodded. “I swear.”

            “All right, here’s the skinny. . . .”

F³ Stakeout Food

            I had tailed Kyle Wilson from work to racquetball at the gym to the apartment of his mistress in Fairhaven. The place was quite a step up from the condo he and his wife had in Meriville. Thanks to a car camera setup that Ira had turned me onto, I was able to get pictures of the woman answering the door and letting Kyle in. This wouldn’t be enough to close the case, but I’d have to wait around to get the pics Kyle’s wife would need.

            Really wish this had been a gypsy curse.

            I didn’t like these kinds of cases, but it was just the nature of the business that I would get a lot of people thinking—or wanting to believe—something supernatural was going on, even when it wasn’t.

            Gypsy curses are easier to fix than a broken marriage, too.

            I settled in for the long stakeout, pointing a laser microphone at the living room window so I’d know when to move to the backyard and get pictures through the bedroom window.

            Suddenly, thunder cracked above, making me jump. Instead of the usual drizzle of rain Belport usually got, a full on downpour ensued, making me roll up the window or get completely drenched.

            And then my phone rang, the ringtone telling me who it was.

            “Kate,” I answered, “I’m working a case. Go away.”

            “I have lobster rolls,” she said.

            “I’ll text you where I’m at,” I said.

            Lobster rolls made for great stakeout food.

 

F³ Jack Dailey Frienship

           Lightning flowed in, coursing through my shoulder and into my gut. It writhed like a thing alive. It swirled along its path at the ready, waiting for release. I stretched my fingers apart, letting the current arc between them. No pops, just clean, regular matter electricity. I increased the current, sending it between my palms, widening the distance between them and increasing the current.

            No explosion.

            Thank God that’s over, now.

            I grinned and looked at Jack.

            He grinned back. “About fucking time,” he said.

            “What are you whining about? I was dealing with this for days before you caught it.”

            “Yeah, thanks to you. I flew halfway across the world for you. If that isn’t friendship, what is?”

            He has a point. Even though he’s an ass about it.

            “You’re right. Sorry. Thanks for coming.”

            He grunted. “Catch.”

            He tossed a bolt at me. I caught it, immediately letting it flow across my shoulders, though careful to avoid my heart, and back out my other arm straight at him. We continued to play catch for a few more minutes, each trying to put some sort of zing to trip the other up, either by pumping up the current or creating an alternate, ionizing path to his somewhere else on the other man. Jack was still much more experienced than I was, so none of my tricks worked on him, but I managed to fend off his tricks as well, especially since he taught me.

            As we continued, though, I started to notice something felt off inside me. I sense of hollowness that I didn’t remember from before this whole mess happened. I went on autopilot with Jack, and concentrated on it. The bolt that had recharged us hadn’t been massive, but it was pretty strong.

            Shouldn’t it have charge me up, more, even with splitting it with Jack?

            Unlike phones, storm riders didn’t come with a gauge to tell us when we were fully charged.

            “Hey, Jack?”

            “What?” He didn’t stop tossing bolts my way.

            “You feel like you could hold more than before?”

            He tossed another bolt before putting his hands down. Instead of returning it to him, I just absorbed it, letting it join the rest of my charge.

            Jack drew down his eyebrows, concentrating. He frowned. “Huh. Weird.” Then he shrugged. “Okay, then.”

            I was about to open my mouth to question more, then realized it would be pointless. Jack didn’t have any more answers, and it wasn’t like we had an instruction book around to look up the answers.

            “Cool,” I said.

            “Cool,” he said. He threw a bolt that caught me upside the head. “There. We’re even.”