4. WORKING 9 TO 5
The next morning, the houseboat’s cabinets were brimming with whatever craveable items had found their way into my shopping cart. Some of it could hardly be classified as food, or maybe I’d gotten spoiled by Pippa’s habit of scratch-cooking meals. Prepackaged snacks and peanut butter straight from the jar had been standard fare for Donovan and me for many years, but they felt lackluster now.
Breakfast consisted of a canned energy drink and a sleeve of powdered donuts. The sugar dusted my clothes and fingers, making it a terrible choice in my all-black getup. I climbed the steps toward the revolving glass door, swearing while sweeping powder off my tie and coat lapels and finally dropping the donut wrapper into the trashcan as I strode into the Capitol building.
Entering and exiting primarily through the parking garage meant I didn’t visit the lobby often, but I did enjoy its splendor. Marble floors stretched in all directions, echoing with footsteps as people traversed the room. The soaring ceiling was punctuated by massive, brass chandeliers that gave off a warm glow.
My jacket fit stiff today, binding across my shoulders from the hasty wash and dry. Served me right for not sparing time for the drycleaners, and it might have cost me a new suit.
I popped open the energy drink with a crack and hiss, earning looks from staff members as I passed the trickling wall fountain. Since the speedy distribution of the plague cure, office workers had returned. Too bad because I liked the feel of the ghost town. There were fewer people to stare at or comment about the former criminal in their midst.
Alleged criminal. Tried and released criminal. But the gang tat on my hand and the fact that I’d made no effort to alter my appearance sent a not-so-subtle message. I had no interest in hiding or—as investigator Tobin pointed out—changing. Which was the root cause of my conflict with Holland Lyle.
The carbonated drink smelled like armpits and tasted about the same, but I wasn’t in it for enjoyment. This was a choice made of need after a restless night with the lull of the docked boat failing to rock me to sleep.
I ducked under the glass staircase to the other side and nearly collided with Holland. She spun around with a clipboard hugged to her chest and a pen stuck in her bun of platinum hair.
“Oh, Fitch, I’m glad to see you.”
“You are?”
When I caught sight of my reflection in the lenses of her sunglasses, I gave a brief thought to my hair. Getting ready in the claustrophobic nightmare of the houseboat’s bathroom was a challenge, and I still needed a trim. Between that and my suit coat straining across my shoulders, I looked as off my game as I felt.
Holland nodded. “There’s been a break in the case.”
My heart stuttered.
“The case” was a topic I’d failed to avoid for the past two weeks. After the vote that, predictably, did not go Maximus’s way, questions were raised. Grimm—disguised as Maximus—did his best to put rumors of foul play to rest, but even he couldn’t hide the fact that five of seven missing people somehow cast ballots. The missing persons cases drew Holland’s attention and had been looped into a political corruption scheme complete with voter fraud and…
“We think they were murdered.” Holland completed my thought for me. “And that the Bloody Hex may have been involved.”
I stood, staring at her while silently thanking whoever had decided fishnet tights were business professional attire.
“Walk with me.” Holland gave a wave before taking off toward the Investigative Department.
Leaving behind the lavish fixtures and splashes of green from immaculate houseplants, we ventured toward the business end of the building. White walls and halls gave the space an almost clinical feel. People passed infrequently, chasing us with stares. I wasn’t a new fixture in the Capitol’s day-to-day, but many of these had recently returned, which made me a novelty all over again.
As I kept pace with Holland, I affected nonchalance by tipping the energy drink can to my lips. “The Hex, huh?” I took a noisy slurp. “Politicians aren’t their usual fare. Neither is discretion. If they killed your missing people, you would’ve found the bodies by now.”
The last time I’d seen what remained of Maximus’s hit list, they were a lifeless pile in a warehouse downtown. I had rushed away from that scene, but I assumed the gang had body disposal well in hand. Between Vinton’s Frankenstein experiments and Maggie’s voracious appetite, five corpses would last three days max.
“Not your usual fare, I agree,” Holland replied, oblivious to my masked panic. “Or your M.O. But not all of the Bloody Hex members like to show off their kills.”
I thought to protest the accusation but decided against it. I was keeping enough secrets without insisting on my own innocence. That song and dance was getting old.
“Or maybe they’re changing tactics. Evolving.” The investigator shrugged with her back to me as we rounded a turn through the winding halls.
“You keeping your old man in the loop on this?” I muttered into the mouth of my drink can.
More like my old man, as he fancied himself. Surely Grimm would do at least as much as Maximus had to keep the bloodhounds off my trail. But moments like this made me wonder. If Maximus had planned to lop off my head the moment I finished his assassination lineup, why bother keeping the investigators at bay? Let them get the satisfaction of catching me in the act, then revel in their own glory.
“Not yet,” Holland said. “It’s only a theory. But, of course, I’ll fill him in the moment we have something concrete.”
“We.” So, she and I would be hitting the gritty streets, unearthing whatever evidence I’d left behind at seven crime scenes. Eight if you counted Lock n’ Roll Self Storage, which may have been the treasure trove a savvy investigator needed to hang the blame around my neck. That was without mentioning interrogating witnesses whose memories might be jogged when they were face to face with the culprit.
“Today, we’re going over the division of labor,” Holland explained. “I know I said you wouldn’t be working with the other investigators, but this case is large and significant enough to require a group effort. Since you are our resident expert on the Bloody Hex, I believe you should be a shared asset.”
“I’m surprisingly good at sharing, given the right circumstances,” I said with a smirk.
“What was that?” Holland’s head whipped around. Her look of scrutiny made me wonder whether she truly hadn’t heard or was daring me to repeat myself.
“Expert is a much better title than consultant,” I replied instead. “Can I get it on a nametag? Or business card?”
We entered the bullpen where Tobin, Felix, and Vesper held various poses around a steel tanker desk. None looked happy, Tobin least of all, dressed in a dull gray suit that seemed indicative of his mood. Felix stood aside, spinning his Magic 8 Ball on one finger. Vesper sat between the men in a desk chair, her long legs crossed at the knee in red satin slacks. Felix alone offered a sheepish wave to our approach.
Coming to a stop across from them, Holland swung an arm toward the trio. “I think we all deserve a fresh start, so I would like to reintroduce you to my team. Names and abilities this time, since I think we can all agree that, in our society, powers are synonymous with identity.”
It certainly went that way in the Bloody Hex. We were the sum of our parts, and our value correlated directly to what we could do. Why should the Capitol be any different? From what I’d seen so far, they were two sides of the same coin.
“Tobin is squad captain.” Holland gestured to the olive-skinned man regarding me with a sneer. “He is able to manipulate time. Stop or slow it.”
That must have been how they got away from me in the parking garage, leaving me in their dust after destroying my car.
“Vesper is a copycat.” Holland motioned next to the vampy vixen whose wet, red lips would look great around my cock. “She can duplicate any form of magic for her own use.” Last, Holland nodded at the afroed man passing the Magic 8 Ball from hand to hand. “And Felix is very lucky.”
I waited for further explanation and, when none came, I frowned.
“That’s it?” I asked. “Just lucky? How does that work? ”
Felix winked. “You should know. Not everyone gets a second chance at a first impression.”
Despite Felix’s words and accompanying smile, Vesper and Tobin looked less than enthused.
Holland drew a breath and tucked her clipboard under one arm. “Everyone, this is Fitch—”
“Puppeteer playboy,” Vesper supplied, twirling a lock of ebony hair around her finger.
“The murderer formerly known as Marionette.” Tobin’s dark brows knit together.
“And resident expert on the Bloody Hex.” I spread my arms, owning their claims with a smile and a nod. Too bold, perhaps, considering the heat this investigation would bring my way. But playing along as nice guy Capitol Fitch had gotten me nowhere, and I was ready to try a new approach.
I glanced at Felix, who had remained quiet. “Did you have one to add, buddy?”
He balked. “You know they’re making fun of you, right?”
Chuckling, I tossed my emptied energy drink into a nearby trashcan. “There’s no such thing as bad press.”
Without a look or word to any of us, Holland moved to a stack of manila folders piled on the desk. “This is what we have so far on the missing persons.” She gave it a pat that left me squinting. “I want you four to comb through the evidence and let me know what you come up with.”
Seven files meant one for each victim. None were too bulky, which had me sighing relief. But curiosity nagged. I needed to know what they had on me. As Holland already mentioned, I was notorious and notoriously indiscreet. Doubtless, there was something damning in those pages, so I needed to gain access to them privately before the investigators started connecting lines and drawing conclusions.
“Fitch.” Holland’s summons gave me a start. “I need you to look for Bloody Hex calling cards and make note of locations in proximity to known gang hangouts. You and I will be visiting places of interest as soon as possible.”
I tuned out again while she tasked the other three, busily scheming how I could make a whole pile of paperwork disappear.
Finally, Holland finished doling out assignments and looked across our small gathering to announce, “We can debrief after lunch. I’m eager to see what you all come up with.”
Then, she left.
The bullpen bustled around us. Desk drawers rattled open and shut, papers swished, keyboards clacked, and phones rang.
Rather than move toward the folders, we all stood—and sat—in place.
Tobin, not as dumb as he looked, led the charge. “All right, expert,” he began to me. “Impress us. The Bloody Hex wanted the vote to fail. They have always been openly opposed to human admission to the city. All seven of the missing people shared that view. Why would your gang harm, abduct, or murder people who would further their agenda?”
“ Not my gang,” I corrected—the only argument I’d be giving today— “and I don’t think they would. The Hex makes their meat and potatoes out of investigators.” I cast a meaningful look at the trio. “It’s their mission from God or some shit. They really hate you guys.”
“I suppose that makes you the angel of death?” Felix mused.
Turning toward him, I started a slow clap. “Aww, look at that. You got one in, after all.”
“Can we focus, please?” Tobin’s voice pressed the boundary of a shout. He aimed his ire at me. “And you can sit the hell down if you aren’t going to be useful. I’m team captain, and I can and will bench you.”
Sports analogies notwithstanding, I never appreciated someone trying to pull rank. Especially when I was here at the behest of his boss, and his boss’s boss, who was also my boss… I shook my head. This whole Capitol gig was becoming quite the tangled web.
“Not useful?” I repeated. “I agree with you. It’s a bullshit theory with nothing to support it except boogeyman fear of the Bloody Hex like they’re the only villains in our fucked up little world.”
“God, you love to talk,” Vesper grumbled. She rose from her seated position and moved to the stacked folders Holland had left for us. Opening the top one, she leafed through its contents.
I curled my fingers toward the papers she held, calling them through the air to my waiting hand. Vesper gave a cry of protest as the other six folders followed suit, stacking neatly in my grasp.
She continued to scowl as I skimmed the text and photos tucked inside .
I was unclear about what was meant by the Bloody Hex’s “calling cards.” We had our methods, of course. Avery was fond of knives and bloodletting, Vinton had a slew of necrotic curses he could dole out on a whim, and I snapped bodies like the Thanksgiving wishbone. But those hallmarks would be found in corpses that were long gone. If we had other tells, I didn’t know them.
“If not the Hex, then who?” Felix asked. “If we’re going to counter Holland’s theory, we need a compelling alternative.”
Stepping forward, Tobin positioned himself between the other two and me. “I’m not dismissing the Hex as suspects because their triggerman thinks we should.”
“Are you defective?” I snorted a hot breath and snapped the files closed. “You were the one who said it didn’t seem like something they would do. I backed you up. Remind me not to make that mistake again. Jesus.”
Tobin crossed his arms. “I wanted you to give us reasons why they would do it,” he said. “I don’t need you to vouch for their innocence. Ever.”
With the evidence in hand, I was ready to get out of here, but they would definitely notice if I left and they had nothing to show when Holland returned in a few hours. I couldn’t even pull off a convincing switcheroo while they were staring me down, and I didn’t know where to get seven more missing persons files, besides.
Sighing, I held the files to my chest. “Reasons why?” I feigned contemplation. “Can’t think of one. But here’s a theory: maybe old Maximus targeted them since they were cockblocking his vote. The squeaky wheel gets steamrolled, or whatever. ”
Tobin pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“We’re the good guys,” Vesper cut in. Her heavily shadowed eyes narrowed. “We don’t put out hits on random citizens. But I can see how that might be difficult for you to understand.” When she tipped her chin back, literally turning up her nose at me, it was all I could do not to lick my lips.
If she would take that negative energy to the bedroom, we could really have something. I hardly minded her disdain even in this setting, but if she planted one of those stiletto heels on my chest and told me what a piece of shit I was, I would be done for.
I was distracted enough that Tobin made easy work of snatching the files from my grasp. He doled out two apiece to Vesper and Felix and kept the last three for himself, leaving me empty-handed. They moved in unison to open them and spread their contents out on the shared desk, turned away from me in a huddle.
I could leave and wouldn’t be missed, but I couldn’t give them all the information while I had none.
Creeping up, I circled to the fourth side of the desk, planting both palms on the desk top and letting my eyes sweep across the typed documents and photos. Press-ready pictures of the seven people showed names I’d changed and much of the same information I’d gleaned from internet searches.
They were politicians and people of influence, with families and lives a few of them had tried to tell me about. That was a common tactic of those faced with death, as though the number of people they left behind made them worthier of life. But I never meant for these people to die. I’d gone to some lengths to avoid it. I’d been a fool.
There were no witness statements, no photos of the construction site where I’d nabbed Yankee Doodle or the food truck that served the lobster roll that would have been Sleeping Beauty’s last meal. But there was a candid shot of a brownstone building I recognized.
The painted windows featured flowers framing the business name, The Blooming Orchid. Definitely a place of interest, for more illicit activities than the abduction I’d committed there. Our city had no laws against solicitation of prostitution, but making those offers to human clientele—which Isha certainly did—was forbidden. Who could blame her? Humans were far more impressed with magical whores than those of us who expected it, and they paid handsomely for the privilege of indulging in a one-of-a-kind experience.
While I stared at the photo—the only image on the table that was not of a person—Felix pointed and said, “I’ve seen that place before. It’s downtown.”
Tobin lifted the picture to scrutinize it. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it mentioned in connection to criminal activity. Might be worth checking out.”
A lump clogged my throat as he turned to me.
“Looks like you and Holland have a jumping-off point,” he said.
Jumping off, indeed, because bringing an investigator to Isha’s door was the nearest thing to throwing myself from a bridge. Suicide.