Genie for Hire (14 page)

“It is very inconvenient to me that you can’t transport
yourself,” Farishta said, when they were on the sidewalk. The squirrel jumped
down from the tree and joined them.

“You transport me quite enough, my love.”

He was still in half a swoon as they drove back down A1A to
the causeway, nearly colliding with a car driven by an elderly woman so short
it looked from behind that there was no one behind the wheel. Farishta’s
presence was a stronger intoxicant than any drink or drug, legal or not, he had
ingested over his very long lifetime. Just being next to her made his pulse
accelerate, created an uncomfortable pressure in his groin, and messed with the
synapses in his brain.

His townhouse was in a palm-shaded complex just behind the
shopping center. He parked, and raised the roof. “Here we are,” he said.

“This?” Farishta asked.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.”

She frowned, but she followed him up the sidewalk to his
front door. The squirrel went up the trunk of the palm tree in the courtyard as
Biff opened the door for Farishta.

He had modeled the place after Topkapi Palace in Istanbul,
mimicking the blue and white tile pattern on the walls, the marble floors, the
gilt trim everywhere.

“Ah, this I like,” Farishta said, striding forward. Low,
curled-arm sofas upholstered in a print of exotic birds lined the perimeter
walls. Plush silk cushions in brilliant green and purple hues dotted them.
Carved wooden tables from Bali held stage at the center, holding brass trays,
another samovar, and a set of cloisonné pitchers. Stained glass panels of
desert oases hung in front of the sliding glass doors.

“Wait till you see the upstairs.” Biff took her hand and led
her up to his bedroom. He had painted the ceiling midnight blue and spangled it
with glow-in-the-dark stars. His king-sized bed was surmounted with an ornate
maroon silk canopy embroidered with gold threads. A dozen silk pillows in the
shapes of stars and crescent moons were mounded up at the head.

Farishta pulled Biff close, and they kissed again, then fell
backward together on the bed.

Was this why the squirrel stayed outside
? Biff
thought, before he gave himself up completely to Farishta. By the time they
fell asleep the bed sheets were tangled, the pillows were strewn across the
room, and their naked bodies were entwined together.

He woke the next morning to yellow-white sunlight streaming
in from the east-facing windows. He stood, naked, and stretched.

“That is a view I have always enjoyed,” Farishta said from
the bed.

“I similarly enjoy the view of you in my bed,” Biff said.

“The view is equally good when you are next to me.” She
patted the place next to her.

“We have much to do if we are to find your amulet, my love.”

“If I am to start the day, I must shower first,” Farishta
said, stretching her arms so that her breasts bounced. “Will you join me?”

“You know what water does to me, my sweet.”

Farishta stood. “I will take care of you. Come, I want to
wash you.”

The shower would feel like a thousand needles stinging his
body, whether the water was hot or cold. But to be with Farishta? He would
suffer.

Because he never needed to wash—indeed, because water was so
toxic to him—he had no soap or shampoo in the house. Biff’s body was just a
construct, after all, a collection of molecules he magically pulled together to
create a shell to house his spirit. He did not really need to eat, sleep,
bathe, or use the bathroom—though he did many of these things merely to mimic
human existence. The things he could not tolerate, because of the conditions of
his existence as a genie, like bathing—he simply ignored.

Farishta stepped to the bathroom window, and flicked her
finger. The window rose silently, and she stuck her hand outside. She closed
her eyes and twirled her fingers in a small circle, and with a quick whoosh a
square block of Beekman 1802 goat milk soap appeared, still in its elegant
paper wrapping. It was followed a second later by a sleek bottle of Desert
Essence coconut shampoo.

He hadn’t bothered to embellish the shower; it was a simple
glass cage with a white tile floor. He followed Farishta inside, bracing for
the onslaught of the water. But before she touched the dial, she swept her
finger from the top of his head down to his feet and he felt encased in a tiny swirl
of air.

Farishta liked it hot. She pointed her finger at the dial,
and immediately steaming hot water poured out. Like a dog, he tilted his head
back, feeling the water cascade over him, for once not being hurt. He
understood why humans liked this so much.

He and Farishta soaped each other’s bodies, then rinsed, and
when he stepped out he felt refreshed and vibrant, smelling of flowers and
coconut.

As he was toweling dry, his cell phone rang. He stepped into
the bedroom and fumbled in his sweat pants until he found it. “Biff Andromeda,”
he said, without looking at the display.

“We found Laskin’s Porsche,” Jimmy Stein said. “In the
parking lot at Haulover Beach.”

“No sign of him?”

“Nope. Could have gone off in a boat, could be dead
somewhere in the mangroves. I’ve got his fingerprints at Sveta Pshkov’s studio,
so I can place him where she and Kiril Ovetschkin were murdered. He’s got a
permit for the kind of gun used in the crime, though I doubt he’s stupid enough
to use his own weapon. If I’m lucky that’s enough to get a warrant for his
arrest. I’ve got a guy taking it to a judge this morning.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I was hoping you could use some of your super-duper
observational powers. See if you can find any trace evidence the techs can’t,
that might give us some idea if Laskin left voluntarily or not. The way you
spotted that blood on Ovetschkin’s boat. And who knows, while we’re looking,
maybe Laskin will show up, and I’ll get my warrant, and I can arrest the jerk.”

Jimmy had long ago accepted that Biff’s power of sight and
smell was much greater than average, nearly superhuman. He had never probed to
understand how.

“All right. I’ll head right over there now.” Biff
disconnected the phone and looked at Farishta. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.
You’ll like where we’re going—it’s by the water.”

Biff opened his closet and retrieved his standard work
outfit—a pair of khaki slacks, a polo shirt, and deck shoes. When he turned to
Farishta, he discovered she was already dressed. “You like Lily Pulitzer?” she
asked, giving him a little spin.

She wore a short-sleeved cotton dress that would look
perfect on a tennis court in Palm Beach, thought, in bright shades of pink and
lime green, with matching pink tennis shoes. “Lovely,” he said. As they walked
out, he explained that the police had been looking for Laskin, and had found
his car at the marina.

When they got to the car, the squirrel was already sitting
on the pavement by the front wheel, chittering.

“Yes, we’re running late,” Biff said. “I don’t need you to
remind me.”

He lowered the top and they headed east on Ives Dairy Road.
“Why is this amulet so important to you?” Biff asked as they drove.

“I am aging, Bivas,” Farishta said, turning to face him.
“You can see it, can’t you?”

“You are still as beautiful and bewitching as ever.”

“Ah, you have always had a silver tongue.” She smiled. “This
amulet contains a power that will help me control my decline.”

Biff laughed. “How can you speak of decline, my love, when
you are still as lithe and sensuous as you were centuries ago?”

“I am older than you, Bivas. You have always known that.”

“But by a matter of years.”

She shook her head. “More than a few years. More than a few
centuries.”

They stopped at a traffic light, and he shifted position, so
he was resting on his elbow and surveying her. “Aging does not matter to our
kind.”

“Ah, but it does, my love, especially if one has been
careless with one’s powers, as I have. I fear that without this amulet I will
continue to decline. I may have but a hundred years or so left unless I can
harness it to recharge myself.”

The light changed, and as he accelerated, Biff spotted a
donut shop. He signaled to pull in. “We’re going to meet a cop,” he said.
“Always bring food in those circumstances.”

Farishta had a sweet tooth, and she was delighted to survey
the wide range of donuts available—Bismarks, Boston Kremes, bow ties, chocolate
cream, jelly-filled, glazed, cinnamon, cocoa, dulce de leche, scattered with sprinkles
or dripping frosting. She ordered a box of a dozen just for herself, to the
raised eyebrow of the female clerk. As they drove she ate donut after donut,
daintily wiping her mouth of the powdered sugar that Biff would have preferred
to lick away.

They drove down A1A, the beach road, past the high-rises of
Sunny Isles Beach and the enclave of Little Moscow, then turned into the gravel
parking lot for Haulover Beach. It was already jammed with cars and SUVs of all
shapes and sizes, angle-parked in neat lines. A ramshackle fuel dock and the
shell of a long-closed restaurant were all that stood between the lot and the
sparkling blue-green expanse of Biscayne Bay, littered with dozens of sailboats
moored in the shallow anchorage.

Jimmy’s government-issue sedan and a police cruiser were parked
near the water’s edge. Jimmy stood two rows in beside a dark blue Porsche Biff
recognized as Laskin’s. Biff pulled in behind the cruiser, and he and Farishta
walked over to join Jimmy.

He handed over the donuts, then introduced Farishta. “She’s
an old friend,” he said.

“Surely more than that, my love?” she said, curling her hand
in Biff’s.

Biff felt himself blushing, and noticed Jimmy’s smirk. “Well,
well,” Jimmy said to Farishta. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing with a schmuck
like this guy?”

Biff was tempted to tell Jimmy exactly what they’d been
doing—but then, he was a gentleman. Instead he asked, “So, what do we have?”

“Cruiser doing a routine patrol early this morning saw the
plate and called it in based on the APB I put out yesterday. I could call the
crime scene team in to look for evidence—but that costs, and my boss hates it
when I spend money when I’m just fishing. I’m hoping your eagle eyes can help
me figure out if there was any kind of struggle around here, if Laskin went
with somebody else—anything you can give me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Biff said. “Farishta, my sweet, if you
and Jimmy would go over there, please?”

Farishta turned to Jimmy. “Tell me, Detective. Do you like
the water?”

They walked toward the patrol car, and Biff focused on the
area around the Porsche, isolating the cop, Jimmy, and Farishta from his
senses. Laskin himself had been there; that was clear. His signature was all
over the car and the area around it. The scent was no more than a few hours
old. He must have left the car only a short time before the cruiser had noticed
it. Perhaps he had taken an early morning fishing excursion? Biff knew that deep-sea
boats left from the marina.

He turned to the side and looked down toward the gas dock.
Though it was five to six hundred yards away, he could read the fine print on
the advertisements. The fishing boats all departed much later in the morning
than Laskin had left his car.

There were no other human signatures that matched the time
Laskin had left the Porsche. Biff followed his trail along the shore to the
pier. From there, it disappeared in a miasma of gasoline and motor oil fumes.

Farishta came up behind him. “He left on a boat?”

“Yes. Can you do anything to identify it?”

Farishta did not have Biff’s sense of smell, but she did
have a close connection to the water, and could often sense disruptions in it.
She held her hands out toward the bay, palms out, and closed her eyes.

“Your friend have the same kind of talents you have?” Jimmy
said, joining them.

“Similar, but different,” he said.

Biff and Jimmy had discussed many things in the years they’d
known each other, from crime and punishment to movies and television shows.
Jimmy did not believe in magic, ghosts, or aliens. He thought that popular
entertainment depicting these creatures was based on the exploitation of
deep-seated human fears.

Biff had never contradicted him, and Jimmy had never asked
for a logical explanation of Biff’s abilities. And they got along just fine.

“Quiet, please,” Farishta said. “You are disrupting my
aura.”

Biff and Jimmy stepped back a few paces. Farishta stood
poised there for nearly two minutes, as if frozen like a mime on display.

“A fast boat,” she said, when she lowered her hands and
turned back to them. “A cigarette type, I believe. I cannot say anything more
than that.” She caught Biff’s eye, and he knew there was more, but she wouldn’t
speak in front of Jimmy.

“Can’t get me a registration number, by chance?” Jimmy
asked.

She shook her head and smiled.

Jimmy turned from them and strode back to his car. Farishta
said, “We must follow Laskin. Here, on the water, I will be strong. I can find
him, and with your help I can overpower the amulet and call it back to me.”

Biff shook his head. “You know I would do anything for you,
my sweet. But you know that as water strengthens your powers, it weakens mine.
I can’t help you.” Biff watched as  Jimmy took a donut, then dropped the rest
on the car’s front seat. While he ate, he called his office and reported his
progress.

Even from a few hundred feet away, his conversation was as
clear as if he was beside Biff, though uninteresting. He had other cases to
attend to, but requested that the uniformed officer remain on site in case
Laskin returned. Then he hung up.

“Are you listening to me, Bivas?” Farishta demanded, crossing
her arms in front of her. “You are an obstinate ifrit!”