5. KEEPING UP APPEARANCES
After scouring the evidence, of which there was thankfully little, we broke for lunch. Tobin, Vesper, and Felix mentioned a salad and wrap place nearby and decided to carpool, an outing from which I excused myself. A few hours of poring over case files hadn’t made us friends or helped me feel any more at ease about what was to come now that presumably more competent investigators were on the job.
When they left the bullpen and headed toward the parking garage, I went the other way. With the files in hand, I approached the administrative wing and a place I’d been trying to avoid: Maximus Lyle’s office.
Stopping before the door, I glanced at the nameplate on the wall and marveled over the great deception taking place under the noses of hundreds of Capitol employees. Holland herself seemed none the wiser about the body snatcher standing in for her dear old dad. At least, if she suspected anything, she hadn’t shared it with me. But we weren’t exactly in close confidence these days.
Dragging a hand through my hair and rolling my shoulders, I left behind the bright, bland colors of the hall and entered the woody warmth of Maximus’s private chambers.
Grimm had changed nothing. No decoration was out of place and not a book had been disturbed. The room even smelled the same, likely due to the candle flickering on a table in the corner next to the wingback chair where Grimm sat in full illusion, perusing a magazine.
Also on the table was a plate of food, presumably from the cafeteria downstairs. Fish and chips competed with the candle’s sweet fragrance, growing more mingled and muddled as I ventured farther into the room.
“Mister Farrow,” Grimm rumbled without looking up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Telekinetically plucking the magazine from his hands, I dropped it on the floor and sent the folders to him instead, heaping them gracelessly in his lap.
“My new work assignment.” I came to a stop across from him and propped my fist on my hip. “Thought you’d wanna know what’s going on out there.”
He chuckled, doing a damn good job mimicking Maximus’s mannerisms and tone. Funny as it was to imagine him practicing in the mirror for months or years before this, facing it now was downright eerie.
“I hardly need check-ins, Fitch.” He gestured to the room around us. “This is a well-oiled machine, capable of running itself without my constant oversight.”
I glared at him until he heaved a breath.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll have a look. ”
He’d barely opened the first folder before the smug look wiped clean from his face. “Oh,” he murmured. “I see.” After several seconds of leafing, grunting, and frowning, he offered the stack back to me. “It’s hardly unexpected.”
“That’s all you have to say?” I snatched the folders. “I can’t work this shit; I’ll incriminate myself.”
Leaning over, he took a French fry from his plate and dipped it in tartar sauce. He put it in his mouth and chewed while I stood, waiting.
Finally, he swallowed and asked, “What would you like me to do about it?”
“Call off the dogs!” I exclaimed. “You’re in charge, right? Give them something else to do.”
His lips pursed, surrounded by salt and pepper stubble. “That would be terribly suspicious. It’s obvious there’s been foul play.”
I laughed, incredulous. “It’s me. I’m the foul play. And these dipshits would like nothing more than to pin this on me, so I could use some help here.”
“I think it’s perfect. Imagine what might happen if you weren’t involved. If they carried on without you. This way, you can direct things and intervene when necessary.”
Talk about suspicious. If I pointed one way, Tobin would go the other purely out of spite. Come to think of it, that was knowledge I could apply.
Still, I had further protest. “There’s four of them and one of me. I can’t be everywhere at once.”
Grimm nibbled another fry. “A problem for a less-connected fellow, but you have powerful friends. ”
Who? I almost shot back. The gang?
Instead, I replied with equal vehemence, “We aren’t friends. None of us are friends. Everyone’s just biding their time until it’s more convenient to kill than play kiss ass for one more day.”
Grimm worked his jaw around the French fry far longer than was necessary. He was definitely flexing his illusory powers to keep his expression neutral.
He picked up a fish filet next, tearing off a piece that left grease on his fingertips.
“How is Donovan?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in some time.”
Was it a threat? I’d talked about killing, and he went straight to my brother.
“Ask him yourself,” I replied. “You have his number.”
He nodded, popping the food into his mouth and wiping his fingers on a paper napkin from the side table.
“How’s Avery?” I taunted. “Or, sorry, the new Jacoby Thatcher? Is he still recovering from true love’s kiss?” The laugh that shook me felt cathartic after a morning full of stress.
Grimm’s hand dropped onto the table with a thud. “You exhaust me,” he said. “You ask for my help, then ensure you won’t get it in the same breath. When has it ever served you to be so contrary?”
He’d already told me he wouldn’t help, and I should have expected as much. Despite being a member of a gang, I was on my own. Our small group may have been like a family, but it was the crazy, dysfunctional sort.
“They’re going after Isha, if you care,” I offered, tasting bitterness on my tongue. “The Blooming Orchid was named as a place of interest.”
“I saw.”
He reached for the plate of food once more, considering its contents. I could flip it and dump tartar sauce and fried food all over the rug. Or I could hold his mouth open and stuff it with every bit of the meal one piece at a time. Thoughts and images invaded my brain, temptations I resisted.
“But you don’t care?” I asked. “You’ll fuck her tonight, then let her get fucked tomorrow? She deserves better than that.”
“If this is all you have to show me, I believe we’re done here.” Bending forward, Grimm retrieved the magazine from where I’d thrown it on the floor. He shook it straight and licked his finger before fanning the pages in a search for the place where he’d left off.
Classical music piped through hidden speakers, the calming tune at odds with the rage simmering inside me. I opened my mouth, wanting to say more but seeing no point. He was right. We were done here. Before we ever began.
That evening, I channeled my anger into scrubbing every inch of the houseboat’s grimy interior. Buckets of murky water washed down the camper toilet and dirty rags heaped in the sink. I pulled the curtains off the windows and stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, stuffing them in a trash bag bound for the laundromat. Or maybe I’d take them to the Bitters’ End and give myself another excuse to visit and linger while the spin cycle ran.
Donovan was less than helpful. He’d taken up a post on the deck, lounging in a plastic chair wearing sunglasses I was pretty sure were mine, and apparently angling for a tan despite the overcast sky.
He was mad at me. Princess in a tower yada yada, but Grimm’s inquiry about his wellbeing only affirmed my fears.
My brother’s sour mood fueled mine, though, and put us in a wordless standoff an hour long and counting. He would crack when I went out for dinner and didn’t bring him anything back. Both of us were already tired of canned soup and ramen noodles.
Shoving out the door, I passed Donovan in a huff. I swung the bag of trash I was lugging toward him, aiming for his head but hitting his shoulder instead.
“Watch it!” he exclaimed, finally looking up from the book he’d been reading.
I ignored him and trotted down the steps to the dock.
Despite the lack of sun, the air was warm and thick with humidity. I was sweating in my undershirt and gym shorts, and my hair was plastered to my forehead. The walk along the line of boats was about the equivalent of a neighborhood block. This was a neighborhood in its own right, and Donovan and I were hardly the only residents. I’d seen people coming and going and heard them chatting on their upper decks after dark. A few had strings of cafe lights to illuminate their makeshift lots. It was cozy, like lamps on city streets, meant to keep ne’er do wells at bay. A nice thought, but not an effective deterrent in my experience.
Only one guy was out now, touching up the trim paint on his yacht. He held a small brush in one hand and swirled a glass of wine in the other. Having a better time than me, that was for sure. I made a mental note to break into the six-pack of beer I had stashed in the mini fridge when I got done with trash duty.
I reached the dumpsters and found one lid left open from my previous visits. Slinging the bag into the corroded bin, I dusted my palms over my thighs, then started back down the dock.
In the corner of my vision, a pair of shadows strolled toward me. One of the figures was a wisp in all black while the other skipped along, her hair powder pink and a tutu fanning out around her legs.
I stopped in place and grinned as the girl—Maggie—broke into a sprint.
Her feet thumped against the wood boards of the dock as she closed the gap, stopping a few feet away to launch herself at me like a child expecting to be caught mid-flight.
I set my feet and opened my arms, but not without wondering what Ripley would do if I dropped his precious girl.
Maggie collided with me, squealing at a volume that made me cringe. But my smile endured while Ripley trudged up to join us. Headphones hung around his neck, and he smacked loudly on a piece of chewing gum. He snapped the gum between his teeth as he came into range. I passed Maggie to one arm so I had a free hand to shake with him.
“Long time no see, mate ,” I teased. “I was wondering when you’d poke your head aboveground.”
I had neither seen nor heard from Ripley and his undead paramour since the warehouse standoff. I’d worried what happened after I left, but Ripley was capable of sorting things out for himself—meaning he could have flooded the place with toxic fumes and exterminated the gang like cockroaches.
But they survived, and so did he. Maybe Grimm was right that it was a power struggle. The natural course of events. But it felt different.
Ripley shook shaggy, raven hair from his face as he surveyed the boats in their slips. “Seems we’re both getting some distance from things,” he said. “Taking a break.”
Maggie sidled up to me, using her finger to trace the tattoos branching off my exposed shoulder.
I frowned. “Not so much. I see them every day at the Capitol. I was in Grimm’s office just this afternoon.”
“Why in God’s name would you return to that den of vipers?” Ripley’s accent seemed to serve as a barometer for his emotions, peaking in British slang and insults when he got thoroughly angry.
“What else am I supposed to do?” I asked. “It’s a small city with limited employment options for an ex-con. And we gotta eat.” I jerked a thumb toward the houseboat where Donovan loitered.
A life of crime left me without much of a resume, and I couldn’t picture myself bagging groceries or waiting tables for tips. My face had been on too many news reports and tabloid magazine covers; the sight of me would send customers scurrying.
Ripley snuffled a breath. “If Grimm knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of your way. ‘Twas a bloody clear warning shot you fired.”
“You, too,” I replied. “Avery’s still out sick.”
His thin lips pursed in a smile. “Nasty bug, is it? Pity.”
I turned toward home, pulling Maggie along in the crook of my elbow and motioning for Ripley to follow. We walked ahead, three across with the sun staining the waves orange and pink. This was my favorite time of day to be by the water. Cool air swept in, and the gulls quieted enough that I could hear water lapping against the boat hulls.
“How’d you find me, by the way?” I asked Ripley.
He bounced his bony shoulders and gave his gum another pop. “I enjoy a fine drink, and Nicholas takes every opportunity to talk about you. I think he may be smitten, though I can’t imagine why.”
I fought a grin. “Hey, I’m a catch.”
“You catch a lot of trouble,” he quipped. “And it’s rubbing off.”
“On Nash?”
“On his business. And on me.” He glanced over, his solid white eye unnerving as ever. “I welcomed it,” he continued. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re contagious, Farrow.”
We arrived at the houseboat, still sporting its old name in script along the side. Maybe I could hire the guy down the dock to change it for us or buy a can of spray paint and do it myself. Tasteful graffiti seemed like a surefire way to piss off our new neighbors.
Donovan must have given up sunbathing because I saw no sign of him.
I leaned to whisper in Maggie’s ear, “You can go in if you want. That’s where I live now. Make yourself at home.”
Maggie looked at me with wide, red eyes, then broke away, up the steps where she admitted herself into the cabin of the houseboat. Donovan’s startled cry from inside made me laugh. I could only hope she hadn’t caught him with a porn magazine and his dick out.
Ripley moved to the railing on the edge of the dock, and I joined him. Digging into my pocket, I pulled out my cigarettes and lighter and offered him one.
He shook his head. “I’ve got enough poison in me without piling on.”
I nodded and lit one for myself, taking a long drag as Ripley spoke.
“Since you’ve stayed in Grimm’s circle, you may have already heard about the changes in the gang.”
Grimm didn’t tell me shit. Definitely not about the gang. In that area, the silence was so loud I was beginning to wonder if I was truly a member anymore. I’d always thought my exit from the Bloody Hex would be my death or a grand, gruesome battle. I never considered it could be a quiet dismissal, being edged out slowly and, somehow, more painfully.
“What changes?” I asked .
“Leadership,” he replied. “They put someone new in charge. Your mate from Thorngate. Jaxon Rhodes.” His expression was stony as he stared across the water.
I sucked a breath so abrupt it made me choke on a mouthful of smoke. “Since when is that jackoff in the gang?”
“You remember him?”
Ripley said it casually, but my relationship with the stinky, shapeshifting witch was anything but. He’d made a play for my Hex mark in prison and threw out some shitty comments, to boot. Criticizing my entry into the gang and questioning whether I deserved my place in it. Also…
“He tried to kill me in the shower, and I melon-balled his eye out with a spork,” I said. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“I knew there was bad blood between you two and figured you should know.”
I shook my head. “He’s not dumb enough to fuck with me out here. If he does, I’ll put him down like the dog he is.”
“Panther,” Ripley corrected.
“Sure.”
Since I’d shamed him publicly at the Bitters’ End, I assumed Jax took his groupies and gave up plans of joining the Bloody Hex. But, two months later, he reappeared and apparently convinced someone to let him captain the sinking ship that was our gang.
Glancing over at Ripley, I asked, “What are you gonna do next? Stay in hiding? Find a way to get out of town? ”
He scuffed his tennis shoe against the dock. “I can’t leave. Not with Maggie. She doesn’t…” He paused. “Belong to me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned to face me, folding his arms across his chest. “You realize Maggie is a zombie and Vinton is a necromancer?”
I nodded.
“Did you never think about the connection there?” he asked.
After the ordeal with the cameo necklace smuggled into prison to convince Ripley to rejoin our ranks, I had given no further thought to the situation. Ripley and Maggie fit together like two parts of the same machine, working in tandem. They were always together and seemed happy that way. But hadn’t Ripley told me she was dead and better off for it? Of course, I’d lied and told him my brother was dead, too. We were both protecting the people we cared about, then and now.
I looked at the houseboat where light shone through the curtainless windows.
Ripley sighed. “Vinton made her. He saved her after I…” A flicker of pain pinched his eyes, and his nose scrunched. He shook his head. “That was a long time ago,” he concluded. “But she can’t leave him. Doesn’t want to. If I went away, I would have to leave her behind. I can’t do that.”
Speaking of the undead girl seemed to lure her into the open. The houseboat’s door swung wide, and Donovan rushed out, tailed by Maggie beaming a sharp-toothed smile .
“Thanks for the heads-up, Fitch!” my brother shouted from the deck. “I thought she was breaking in to eat my brain!”
“It’s not breaking in if the door’s unlocked!” I called back to him.
Ripley’s chuckle drew Donovan’s attention. He shifted from indignation to surprise as his gaze settled on us. “Oh sorry, Rip. I didn’t mean it.”
I took another drag from my cigarette, then pulled my car keys from my pocket and gave them a jingle.
“I’m gonna get dinner,” I told Ripley. “You want to ride along? We can talk more. Let those two hold down the fort.” I nodded toward Donovan and Maggie standing on the deck.
“I suppose I could stand for a bit more conversation,” Ripley mused. “It’s quiet these days with just Maggie and me.”
I nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
Ripley pushed away from the dock railing and followed my lead, abandoning the boat and the people on board.
Donovan’s voice chased us. “Fitch, where are you going?”
How many times was he going to ask me that?
“Out!” I replied.
“Wait!” he shouted back. “Don’t leave me with her! I mean…” He let out a frustrated groan while Ripley and I laughed. “Sorry, Rip!”