PsyCop 2: Criss Cross (12 page)

I looked at him, and then back at the black woman. She clucked her tongue at my swearing. I wondered why she was so solid and so real it hadn’t even occurred to me that she might not be corporeal. And she wasn’t grasping at me like the ghosts outside, or telling me over and over how she’d died. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

“Miss Mattie,” she said, fanning herself. “Short for Matilda.”

“Hi. I’m Victor.”

“I know,” she said, smiling a little sadly. “Be nice to Curtis, all right? He a good boy at heart.”

“What’s next?” Crash asked me. “Are you gonna tell me I was Cleopatra in a previous life?”

“Who’s Curtis?” I asked him.

His eyes narrowed. “So Carolyn told you what my driver’s license says. Big fucking deal.”

“Oh,” I said. I’d stopped yelling back at Crash as soon as Miss Mattie spoke. I guessed she’d had a civilizing influence on me. “Um, who’s Miss Mattie, then?”

Crash stared at me, his pale eyebrows knit together in the middle. “Who told you that name?”

“The...um...full-figured African American woman told me. The one in the flowered scarf.”

“In my day it was all right to say ‘Negro,’” Miss Mattie said. She turned and walked slowly toward the narrow closet door, wide hips swaying beneath her big blue caftan. She disappeared through the door.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

“What color is her scarf?” Crash asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said, debating whether or not to take the call. “Lots of colors. She went into your closet and I can’t see it anymore.”

“So you don’t actually
see
her,” he said.

I decided I’d better check just in case Doctor Morganstern was back in town. I flipped open the phone and found a text message from Lisa.

“Someone told you about her -- who, Carolyn? Jacob? You’re all in this PsyCop bullshit together, aren’t you?”

“You could say that,” I said absently, scrolling down Lisa’s message.

DANGER – YOUNG BLOND MAN NOT WHAT HE SEEMS. SORRY CAN’T TALK.

Shit.

Heart thudding, I turned on my heel and headed toward the door, which was only a few steps away.

“Where are you going?” Crash demanded.

“Police business. Gotta go.”

“Oh, shit, you’re a cop, too? You don’t act like a cop -- I thought you were just a consultant or something. Get the hell out here and leave me alone; I’ve had enough bacon to last me a lifetime. And tell Carolyn I don’t want to meet any more of her pig friends.”

I briefly considered telling him I was also sleeping with his ex-boyfriend, but decided it might make him mad enough to come after me and deck me. I went back to my car, pretending that the people full of bullet holes and tire tracks weren’t swarming all around me, and pulled out my phone. I dialed Lisa’s cell.

“Lisa Gutierrez speaking. I won’t be available for the next couple of weeks due to my coursework, but leave me a message and I’ll get back in touch with you soon.”

Damn.

Chapter Ten

As I unlocked my front door, I heard someone on TV murmuring in a low, reassuring voice punctuated by sporadic bouts of refined applause. Good thing I hadn’t drop kicked the set. I would’ve had to explain about it to Jacob.

Then again, if I’d done that, I could’ve avoided talking about my liver. Or Crash. Or Lisa’s weird text message.

The light on my answering machine was solid. “Anyone leave a message while I was out?” I called in the direction of the living room doorway. I opened the fridge to see if food had appeared inside, and lo and behold, it had. The crisper was full of leafy green stuff and there was milk in the milk compartment of the refrigerator door. Also, beer. You know there’s a man in my life when there’s beer in my fridge, since I can’t drink it myself.

Jacob walked to the threshold of the room and stood there framed in the doorway. His black hair was damp, and his olive skin glistened. The gray T-shirt he wore had a vee of sweat at the collar. His expression was neutral, a cop-stare that could mean anything.

“Exercising to PBS?” I asked him. “If someone’s gotta do it, I’m glad it’s not me.”

He broke into a smile that lit up his face. “How are you?” he asked. His tone said, how are you, really?

I shrugged. “Something’s up,” I said. “I don’t know what. But my talent’s in overdrive.” And I’m not supposed to take Auracel anymore. I didn’t say that part out loud, because if Jacob knew why, I could see him enforcing it. I just wasn’t in the mood for tough love.

“I saw the stones from Crash in the living room,” he said. “Did they help?”

“I dunno. I don’t think I did it right.” I wondered if I was obligated to tell Jacob I’d just been at Sticks and Stones. If I asked about Miss Mattie, I’d obviously have to get into it.

Jacob had crossed the kitchen and backed me into the refrigerator door before I had a chance to decide whether to talk about my second visit with Crash or not. He seemed to loom over me, broad and hard and radiating heat. Maybe he’d make a move on me and I’d be excused from a conversation I didn’t even want to have.

He stopped just in front of me, his body filling my whole field of vision, strangely comforting. I leaned into him for a kiss, but he turned his head just enough to nuzzle his cheek against mine instead. The salty new-sweat scent of him was dizzying up close and I felt my breathing pick up speed.

“I probably should have mentioned Crash before now,” he said in my ear, and my rising anticipation flagged.

“Do we have to talk about it right this second?” I asked. I found a vein in his forearm and traced it as it wound around a thick, ropy muscle. I wondered if he’d been bench-pressing the futon.

“I don’t want you to think I’m keeping secrets,” he said.

“What secrets? I haven’t given you a laundry list of the guys I’ve been with.” And then I wondered if he was actually fishing for just that -- my history.

“I can count the guys I’ve been serious about on one hand,” I told him. “The last one was Ben and he worked in a record store. We were together four months. Before then....” I cast my mind back through a string of one-night stands and then settled on the boy with the blue hair who’d seemed like he’d be fun. “Mike. He was a hair stylist.”

It seemed inadequate to compartmentalize Mike simply by mentioning his job. He’d also had a wicked sense of humor and made a mean omelet. But in the end, I felt like my ghosts brought him down.

“So was Crash,” Jacob said. “Before his store. That’s how he met Carolyn.”

All roads seemed to lead to Crash that night. Did he try to get all of his customers to bleach their hair, or was that look reserved especially for him? And did he spin out conspiracy theories while he waxed women’s eyebrows? Plant seeds of anarchy while setting permanent waves?

I couldn’t picture it.

“Unless you have kids or anything, I really don’t need to know,” I said.

“He’s an empath,” Jacob said, veering the conversation yet again towards Crash. “I’m guessing a strong level one. Didn’t test high enough for government certification.”

I tried to imagine being with a lover who always knew how I was feeling. Maybe most people possess empathy of a sort, even if it's just an interpretation of their standard five senses. And then I tried to imagine Crash taking a test that could land him an actual job where he might have to take the ring out of his nose and cover up his tattoos with long sleeves, and I didn’t doubt that he’d bombed the test. I had no idea what’d possessed him to take it to begin with, since he must’ve loathed the entire process and everything associated with it.

My own test had been a cinch, at least the medium section. I was high as a kite and the dead guy they brought me to wouldn’t shut up. The other parts -- clairvoyance, precognition, empathy, telekinesis? Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“I’m gonna work on this crystal cleanse thing,” I told Jacob, slipping out from under his massive gravitational pull. My apartment felt too small, like there wasn’t enough space in there for the two of us unless we were having sex.

As a Stiff, Jacob’s about as empathic as I am. But he read me well enough anyway. He showered while I set myself up in the bedroom with the diagram and the gemstones, and stayed out of my way for a good couple of hours.

The smell of food brought me out of my cave. I’d cleansed each of the stones and done my best to envision God’s love shining on down. It felt stupid, but I figured I didn’t have anything to lose by trying.

Jacob had been busy putting my kitchen through paces it’d never seen before. There was a big salad, broiled chicken, and even warm bread waiting for me on the countertop. “Wow.”

He motioned to one of the tall stools. “I miss my dining room table just now,” he said.

“I never had a reason to own one. But look at it this way. You get to sit next to me.”

We pulled up to the kitchen counter and ate. I imagined the world’s gayest food pyramid would’ve been proud of me for getting so many real food groups in.

When we were done, I took the plates and headed for the sink. “I hope you don’t mind cleanup detail,” Jacob said. His eyelids looked heavy.

“Fair’s fair,” I said. “You cooked, I’ll do the dishes.”

He gave me a small smile and headed for the bedroom. By the time I joined him, he was fast asleep, sprawled over most of the bed.

I stripped down to my boxers and reached for the light switch, taking one last look at the man in my bed. He wore only spotless white boxer briefs, the stretchy material molded to his impeccable body. The shallow scratches I’d made on his thighs the night before were still visible, though not serious. The T-shaped welt on his upper arm was red and scabbed. I wondered if I should sleep on the futon to make sure I didn’t scratch my initials into his chest while we slept. I wondered if maybe he should lock the bedroom door.

That scratching thing had to be some sort of fluke. It probably had something to do with all those needy ghosts I’d been seeing. A stress reaction.

I went back into the kitchen and got another sedative out of my jacket pocket. I’d only taken two so far, and Doctor Chance had said I could take three a day. I wondered if maybe I should take two more; it was nighttime, after all. And maybe the second one would count toward my next day’s allotment.

The liver business had me spooked, though, so I took just one, turned off the lights, and squeezed into bed beside Jacob.

As I stared up at the ceiling and waited for the drug to kick in, I considered taking one of my remaining Seconals along with it, worried some more about my liver, mentally smacked myself for not taking the damn Seconal instead, and then wondered if I could make myself throw the new pill up so I could take a Seconal.

Somewhere in there I guess I fell asleep.

I woke up alone in a darkened room, dead center of my bed with my arms and legs splayed wide. My head was fuzzy and my vision blurred. I forced myself upright while the room tilted around me.

I staggered to the door and threw it open, and was dazzled by the blinding whiteness of the room beyond. Roger’s midnight blue Crown Vic was there, with him thrown over the hood. His dress shirt and suitcoat were scrunched up around his ribs and his bare ass showed off its pretty curve where it tilted up to meet Crash’s hipbones.

Crash wore a stretched-out old wife-beater with a cracked band logo on the front, the tribal tattoos covering both arms standing out in stark contrast to his skin. A battered pair of jeans pooled around his ankles.

Crash leered at me like my arrival was just what he’d been waiting for. He grabbed either side of Roger’s ass and slammed in hard. “Hey, PsyCop,” he said. “How’s this for sticking it to the man?”