Where Shadows Lie Read online

  Jarvis didn’t think any of the people who lived near him had guns, though the area was heavily patrolled. The houses neighboring him on all sides sometimes had squatters, but mostly people stayed away. Memory of similar situations over the years nudged at him. Hedging out life was part of the bargain.

  “Why do you keep assuming I keep in touch with this person?” Nick flung his arms about. “The department told me to show her around as a potential student, but that was apparently a lie. She was just here to—” He paused in the middle of his tantrum, pondering.

  “To…?” David made a rolling motion with his hands.

  “She said there were others, so they were here for something.” Nick looked at David. “They showed up at your place. Why would they be at your apartment?”

  David shrugged the question off, though he contemplated it himself. In Jarvis’ experience, hunters simply appeared where there was prey. It never took long. He offered as much.

  “So you killed the guy you saw, right? Outside my place?” David asked. “So she mistakes me for the one who killed the guy and comes after me. If they were already in the area...what does that mean?” David squinted at a vacant corner of the basement. “Is anyone else confused?” He looked between Jarvis and Nick, who was in deep thought.

  “Evidence points to me being at fault.” Nick sighed. “Again.” He wasn’t afraid, Jarvis noted, which marked progress.

  “Will they send more?” Jarvis asked. The idea of leaving occurred to him again. Given that one of the hunters escaped, it would only make sense that they would send others. The ultimate risk for anyone in his position was to be found out. The chorus of common folk waving farmers’ tools flickered into the forefront of his mind.

  Nick shrugged. “You apparently had run-in’s with them before. I met Scarlet only recently.” He shook his head. “If they thought you were a problem…”

  “This is just a bad month,” David muttered. “My credit is going to be ruined and I’m going to be hunted down by crazy vigilantes. I was really looking forward to work on Monday after last week. Seriously.”

  The decision was made. Uprooting would be difficult, and finding a place with similar conditions would be hard, but much less so than actually staying. A period of great social unrest decades previously prompted Jarvis’ recent contemplations about relocating. He would need to find a train heading in the correct direction.

  “They’re going to impound all my stuff if they don’t find me. They’re going to go through all my records. They’re going to call my—” David stopped in mid sentence.

  “What,” Nick asked, looking into David’s face.

  The conjurer peered up at the vampire, as if to ask if he knew what was wrong. As far as Jarvis was aware, David never displayed that expression before. Jarvis saw a man being run through with a spear before; he was similarly awe struck.

  “They’re going to call my emergency contact list,” David explained.

  Nick frowned at that. Jarvis didn’t know what an emergency contact list was.

  “So?” Nick mouthed it slowly as if David wouldn’t understand him.

  “They’re going to call my parents.”

  Jarvis might have suspected why that would have been so terrible, knowing some of David’s past life. He knew all too well what sort of trouble could be stirred up when the past refused to stay buried.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thankfully, Nick’s car wasn’t on blocks. David opted not to examine his hopes and expectations. He was just happy the ‘93 Cavalier with two hubcaps was still there and in the same working condition they left it in. Every one of David’s movements reminded him of the veritable fortune he was sitting on, which then reminded him of what happened and why he needed it. He adjusted his seating once, and then again as Nick started the car. The thing sounded like it just wanted to be left alone to die, then as its owner gave it more gas, the engine warmed into a state of grumbling resignation.

  “Want to stop in somewhere and put a down payment on a jet or something?” he joked as David finally pulled much of the money into view.

  David frowned, feeling the humor but not laughing. “Yeah.” The reply was half-hearted.

  Nick pulled a rolling stop at the end of Jarvis’ street and hung a right, bound for the heart of the city. He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

  David looked over at him. “Did Jarvis’ place smell funny to you?”

  The other man frowned, pondering not just the question but also why David asked it. He shook his head. “No. Why?”

  David tried to find better words. It wasn’t the smell, really, but that was the closest thing he could relate it to. The place just smelled wrong; it felt wrong. Ever since he knew Jarvis, the vampire was surrounded by an invisible aura that made David’s hackles rise and his lips itch. Over time, it was easy enough to get used to it, but somehow he assumed it would always stay at a constant level of eeriness. David didn’t know what caused the escalation, or what it meant. In truth, he didn’t have time to worry about it.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged, looking down at the money again. He flipped through each bill slowly, seeing that they were all the same. “This is the most money I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he mumbled.

  Nick chuckled. “It’s normally a briefcase,” he said. David put on a confused expression. “You know, the payoff, or whatever. It’s always a briefcase filled with stacks of those. What’s that, a stack of hundreds?” he asked. David finished flipping through the bills and nodded. “Which is what, $10,000?”

  They both fell quiet for a moment.

  “Yeah. Chump change,” David said.

  They cruised to a stop. Beyond the red light the skyline of Bay City opened up to the north and the south. Two more streets and they’d be out of the so-called bad part of town.

  “I’m still not completely sure why them calling your parents is a horrible idea.” Nick broke the silence after the light turned green.

  David cringed. They probably wouldn’t both come, he reasoned. Plane tickets from Puerto Rico were outrageously expensive for the next or same day. He let the thought go and hoped it would fly.

  “Are they very hands-on people?” Nick prompted.

  David glanced at him, then looked back at the road. If they only bought one ticket, there was no question about who would be coming.

  “Why do you think it’s bad, Nick?” David retorted. A plan began forming, feeding on his growing desperation. David swatted Nick. “Hey, turn here, right here.” He pointed. Nick followed the direction. “Now turn left at the next light and park on the right. It’s a goodwill store,” he answered preemptively.

  “Why? Are my clothes that bad?” Not preemptively enough.

  They pulled to a stop and David hopped out, measuring each next step in his mind. Would an actual clothing store be better? Would it even matter so long as he had on clothes that fit? “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  He visited the place before. It was during a similar time. He needed clothes. They actually washed the hand-me-downs they accepted, and a person of his size, which was to say medium to small, had fairly good picks. He looked ridiculous paying with a hundred; there was no way to soak up the cost at a thrift store. He bought two vintage t-shirts, each depicting main characters from different cartoons from the 80’s, and thought about how he might ask for change for a hundred. In the end, he drastically overpaid with 300% tips all around.

  He kept his objectives firmly in mind. One thing at a time, David told himself.

  “You look practically the same.” Nick looked hurt when he got back into the sputtering car.

  “No,” David said, exercising confidence and evening the sides of the shirt he wore unbuttoned. Beneath it, he decided on the Thunder Cats t-shirt. “I look awesome.”

  “Those sweats were brand new. I
never even got a chance to wear them.”

  “Really? Maybe you need me to watch the car for a sec while you…” David let the sentence trail off as he gestured to the thrift store. Nick put the car into drive, miffed, and they rolled off. “I look like I dressed myself, with my own clothes, and not like I was wearing what I could dredge from a pal’s clean clothes hamper.”

  “Whatever. Any more stops?” Nick asked, dismissively.

  David squinted, trying to remember the number on the rectangular piece of card stock. “Drive slow,” he said. “I need a pen and paper.” He drew numbers in the air, concentrating. As it turned out, the one thing Nick’s heap was good for was pen and paper. There were groupings of such shoved in a variety of compartments and pouches and bags. David didn’t ask, scribbling digits down in groups of seven.

  “A phone number,” Nick said, glancing over. “Guess it was in your wallet. Do you have eidetic memory?”

  “No,” David replied distractedly. “I just remember how things are…oriented, I dunno. Shut up a sec. Seven, five, five, seven, four.” He flexed one of his hands. He could remember her name, and her smell. “I need your phone,” he said finally.

  Nick leaned over in his seat, driving and fishing. He handed over the small black device. “Don’t break it.”

  David tried to look appalled and shocked. The number was to the police precinct in general, so most of the numbers he came up with would have been fine, but he still took pride in getting the number right without having the card.

  “Detective Ferrara,” the woman said. Her accent was barely detectable and she sounded upset.

  “Uh…” David cleared his throat. “Detective, this is David Cruz. You gave me your card.”

  He wasn’t sure how much information she would need, but she got with the program rapidly. She asked him if he was hurt. She asked him where he was. David worked the moment over in his mind; it wasn’t a question of whether or not he would lie, but of how much lying he was prepared to do. He decided to not be jovial. He asked her if they could meet and talk.

  He had a whole other line of rubbish planned out, just in case, but she asked for the when and where almost immediately. There was finger snapping in the background and quick scribbling. A couple different movies were replaying in his head, and they were all action thrillers with bad endings for the character he was playing.

  David panicked and changed the time. She paused, but then agreed.

  “I’ll see you in an hour, then,” she said, and quickly hung up.

  David looked over at Nick, who was looking back at him. They were paused at another red light. Traffic was beginning to pick up.

  “You’re really bad at that,” Nick said.

  “Shut up,” David retorted, half-heartedly. “You should drop me off near the place and go.”

  Nick looked consternated, like he wasn’t sure what to say to that. Clearly it wasn’t a situation he wanted to be in. David handed the man his phone, wondering if maybe he should have called from a pay phone. He probably should have. Nick looked like he was having the same thought.

  Then David was standing on a not-so-random corner between the docks and the warehouse district. For reasons David couldn’t say, the memory of Nick tripping and falling into the gutter stood out. Nick told him the time before driving off. He was about thirty minutes early. David imagined an unmarked car tailing Nick home, or snipers staring through scopes at his bemused expression. He thought about hiding around a building, or under something. What he ended up doing was fidgeting for about twenty minutes, spooking at every sound. By the time the woman showed, David regained his composure.

  For some reason, he found himself wishing for a watch to check and see if she was early or late or right on time. Ferrara showed up in a mundane looking Ford—Detective Ferrara, whose first name was Victoria. David’s vision was excellent, but with her dirty windshield and the glare of light, he couldn’t quite decipher her movements as she rolled to a stop and then stepped out of the car. He wondered if she had a gun and if she planned on trying to arrest him.

  She was wearing some sort of casual Friday thing, pants of a khaki material with dress shoes and a collared shirt and jacket. He tried to look and listen, but not give off the impression that he was doing so. Nick was right; he looked ridiculous. She stopped about ten feet distant, hands away from her body, palms open and facing him.

  “Detective Ferrara,” he said.

  Her expression shifted slightly. She did that thing women do where they flip their hair. “Mr. Cruz. You can call me Vic.”

  David nodded. He liked that, how she could shorten her name and it didn’t sound stupid. He once head butted someone for calling him Dave.

  “I wanted to ask you some questions about your apartment,” she said.

  “Alright. Call me David.” He lost confidence in all the lies he thought up back in Nick’s car.

  “Interesting place you chose,” she said, looking around. She was getting more comfortable; he could hear it in her voice and see it in her posture.

  “Yeah.” He had nothing to say to that.

  “Bullets were found in the drywall of your apartment,” she began. “They were of very specific make…” She let the statement trail off, taking him all in for a moment. The clothes worked, David thought. “Evidence of more shooting was found near your apartment, but no bodies, though the evidence found suggests that it should have been otherwise. I pulled your file, such as it was, and there was nothing to indicate why you would be mixed up in something like this.” Her manner of talking was straight-forward, but it felt like there was more that she wasn’t saying.

  “Well, there isn’t,” David said clumsily. “I mean, there isn’t a reason.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t know the people who attacked you?”

  Inside, he cringed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit that he was in his apartment. Wasn’t he shot? Maybe she could prove that he was there, in which case he would be openly lying.

  “I just want my life back,” he said, more emotionally than he felt. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I saw the police tape and I talked to my parents, and I just want to make sure I’m not being blamed for anything.” The tape detail was a gamble, but didn’t they always use it?

  Victoria decided not to press him on his diversion. She was a cop of course, and dealt with liars on a regular basis. “Mr. Cruz…David. I think you’re a good guy,” she said, “but I think you can help me.” She looked over his head off into the distance and put her hands on her hips. “This town has its problems and people here tend to turn bads into goods instead of fixing them.” She looked back down at him. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown, similar to David’s. “I think you can help me, and I know I can help you, so I see no reason why we can’t at least try to help each other.” She reached for the inner pocket in her jacket and moved a few steps closer. She revealed David’s cell phone and wallet. To accept them, he would have to step forward.

  He remembered the billfold had the twelve dollars in it. Suddenly he was self-conscious of the nine thousand and nine hundred dollars on his person. He also realized that accepting those items meant that he accepted the terms of her bargain.

  Then the phone rang. Numbly, David flipped it open, staring, admittedly, at her chest. He blamed it on her height. He went stock still at the voice on the other end.

  “Hey, Dad,” he replied shakily.

  Detective Victoria Ferrara smirked, almost knowingly. She had dimples.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Mrs. Glickman, how are you today?”

  David entered phase two, which should not be confused with the point of safe return. He passed that just outside of the apartment building in Victoria’s car—Vic’s car. David said that he didn’t believe in vocal agreements and even though she backed him directly into one, he felt bet
ter about a hand shake, which allowed him to get a bit more control over the exact nature of their tentative partnership. She would help him in any legal manner to reacquire his lifestyle, such as it was, and he would help her case by giving her information and being a willing witness. The best he could do was to keep vague about the amount of help he needed to provide, and under what circumstances he was required to help.

  After that, it was just a matter of getting everyone else to play along. Mrs. Glickman, the building super and unofficial president of the renter’s association, was the person who could give him another apartment to live in, namely to show his father when he arrived. David didn’t know how much time he had, but was praying to the gods of airport red tape and delay.

  The round, squat woman peered at him. They were roughly the same height. “You,” she stammered. “The police were looking for you.” Which was to say that he was a criminal.

  David nodded and smiled. “Actually, that’s why I had one of the detectives from the precinct escort me here, so there wouldn’t be any confusion.” He turned slightly so she could see Victoria, who played her part well, even stepping forward to shake Mrs. Glickman’s hand and provide a slow flash of her badge.

  “Mrs. Glickman, I think you and I have spoken before. Do you remember me?”

  That provided the almost-instant agreement and assistance David was hoping for. Mrs. Glickman went from hostile to indifferent and he stepped directly into the task of expediting the processing of his new apartment. He played the card of his very old father coming to visit, which was true. He had a ballpark idea of how old the man was, but nothing in writing. Mrs. Glickman played the card of processing fees and housing agreement, to which David countered with next month’s rent up front.

  He could feel Victoria’s eyes on him during the entire exchange, but he had to cross the bridges as they came. Mrs. Glickman made him wait a handful of minutes, then produced the new lease, which he signed.