The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) (16 page)

Riga walked to the door.  “Thanks anyway, Sal.”  She almost said she wouldn’t bother her again, but it was a promise she knew she couldn’t keep.

 “You’ve got your soul,” Sal blurted. “It’s whole.”

Riga felt the breath steal from her.  Hand on the door, she looked over her shoulder at Sal.  “You told me a piece was missing.”

“I was wrong.”  Her gaze shifted sideways.  “You’re all there.  There’s just… something extra there too.  I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what’s there and I’ve never seen anything like it.  Just don’t do anything crazy.”

Riga smiled mirthlessly.  “When do I ever?”

Chapter 25: The Hanged Man

More training?
   Pen clenched the wheel.  She’d show Riga.  Pen had done her research, too.  And if it was the ghost of Helen’s husband they were dealing with, then she’d follow that trail.  He’d died leaving a bar on the Peninsula – maybe someone there remembered him.  Maybe he had been a regular.  Hell, maybe he was still there.

She’d need to look older.  And maybe if she stuck to soda and big tips the bartender wouldn’t give her grief.  She plotted her attack as she drove, imagining the conversation she’d have, chatting up the locals, reminiscing about her old buddy, Herman.  By the time she reached home, Pen had created an alternate, more sophisticated persona and she couldn’t wait to try it on.

Her mother waylaid her at the door, fracturing her visions of adult independence.  “Where have you been?  I’ve been trying to call you!”

“Sorry.  Didn’t hear the cell,” she mumbled.  It was true.  The phone had been turned off.

Her mother fluttered around her, birdlike.  “Have you had lunch?”

“I know when to feed myself, Mom.”

“I know you do, hon.  It’s just, we never seem to talk anymore.”

Pen regarded her mother with a mixture of affection and frustration.  Her mom had been trying to make the awkward transition from parent to friend for the last two years.  Pen still wasn’t ready for it.

“You spend more time running errands for Riga lately then you do with me.” Her edict banning Pen from working with Riga hadn’t lasted a day.

“It’s just work, Mom.”  Pen sidled past her and hurried up the stairs.  “I’m seeing a movie with some friends,” she lied.  “I’ve got to change.”

She took her time, careful to make her exit when her mother was busy in the kitchen with dinner.  Pen didn’t want her to see the heavy makeup she’d applied. 

It was twilight when she entered the Hanged Man and the bar was sunk in gloom.  The dive was another world to Pen – an older world of red vinyl barstools, tarnished brash and cheap linoleum. 

A long bar lined one wall.  Booths squatted opposite.  Three college-aged men had squeezed into one and they looked at Pen speculatively. 

Like the three little pigs
.  There was nothing pig-like about them, really, Pen corrected herself.  The men were tanned, hard and muscled. 

She averted her gaze and studied the bar.  An older, mixed-race couple sat further down, both overweight and jolly looking, though the hispanic man looked like he had muscle beneath.  They leaned close together and laughed, as if they’d been together years.

The white haired bartender regarded Pen with suspicion from beneath a pair of eyebrows like hairy caterpillars.  A tattoo of a hula girl danced on his ropy bicep. 

“Diet coke,” she said, before he could ask for her I.D.

He gave her a hard stare then fetched a glass, poured, and placed it in front of her.  He walked away without comment.

All her imagined wit evaporated.  She had no idea what to ask, and could feel the stares from the three pigs – she couldn’t get the image out of her head now – burning the back of her neck.  She nursed the coke, ordered another, then a third.  Finally, bladder full, she raced to the bathroom. 

She emerged determined to talk to the bartender.  In the hallway, she bumped into one of the young men.  He’d done it on purpose – the hall was wide enough and she was pressed to one side, but still he knocked into her shoulder.  Automatically, she muttered an apology and then wondered why she’d done so.

At the bar she caught the bartender’s eye. 

“Another coke?” he asked impassively.

“No.  I came here to ask you something and I’ve been sitting here trying to get the courage to do it but I’m going to do it now,” she said in a rush.  “My uncle, Herman Baro, was here the night he died.  The newspapers said he’d been drinking but I don’t believe it, it wasn’t like him.”  The bartender glowered at her and she hesitated.  “And I just wanted to ask you if you remember that night, anything about him.”

“He wasn’t drinking,” the bartender snarled.

“I know!  I mean, I couldn’t believe he was…“

The man swung the rag off his shoulder and began wiping down the bar with long, angry strokes.   “I told the cops.  They tried to blame me for it.  His wife – your aunt? – threatened a lawsuit.  I nearly got my license pulled.  But he ordered one beer and didn’t drink it.  That’s the only reason I remembered them, it was a damn waste of a beer.  So why are you really here?  Trying to sniff out some money?”

“No!  It’s just – nobody ever tells me anything.”

“Huh.”  He polished the bar more vigorously.

“You said ‘them.’”

He looked up at her, his eyes a searing, pale blue.

“He wasn’t alone?” she asked.

“With a woman.  Police asked me about her, but I didn’t know who she was at the time.”

“At the time?  Do you know now?”

“Local councilwoman, Faye something.  I don’t pay attention to politics.”

The man who’d bumped her sat at the bar and slung an arm around her shoulder.  “Can I buy you something?”

She shrugged out from under him.  “No thanks.”

He reached for her elbow and she jerked away.  “Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly,” he said.

“She’s jailbait,” the bartender barked.  “Go be friendly to someone else.”

He pushed away from the bar, his eyes narrowed piggishly.  “Don’t tell me my business, old man!”

The hispanic man heaved his bulk off of his barstool.  “Problem, Fred?” he asked, his voice mild.

“These boys were just leaving,” the bartender, Fred, said.

The first little pig cursed, knocked a glass skittering across the bar, and slouched out.  His two friends followed, shooting angry looks at Pen and Fred.

“This isn’t the place for you, kid,” Fred said.  “You got your answers.  Go on home.  I don’t need any trouble.”

Pen flushed and slid off her chair, leaving a wad of cash on the bar.  Outside, a streetlight feebly illuminated one corner of the lot and she walked towards it.  Deep in thought, she didn’t see them.  A hand grasped her above the elbow and spun her backwards, slamming her into a parked Audi. 

The first little pig pinned her shoulders against the car.  “Think you’re funny, getting us tossed out?”

“No!” She shook her head, bewildered by the suddenness of the attack.  “I didn’t mean anything.”

She heard one of the others snicker. 

“Come on, Tony,” the third pig said, putting a hand on his arm.

Tony shook it off, his hands slipping closer to Pen’s throat.  “So how are you going to make it up to me?”

“Wha—what do you mean?  There’s money in my purse, you can have it.”

The second, a beefy blond, wrenched the bag from her hands and searched it.  “Got her wallet,” he said.  “Ten bucks.”  He pocketed the money in his jeans and dropped bag and wallet to the ground.

The light above them went dark.  Pen’s vision was reduced to shadows and silhouettes.

Tony pressed closer.  “I don’t think that’s enough.  What else are you going to give—?”

The pressure on Pen’s collarbone released and something crashed to the graveled lot. 

“That’s enough,” a female voice said.  “We don’t want a fight.  Pen, go to your car.”

“R—Aunt Riga?” Pen’s voice trembled.

Riga was a slim silhouette in the darkness.  “Go to your car and wait for me there.” 

Pen straightened and a blow to her chest shoved her back against the Audi. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the blonde asked.

Pen heard scrabbling, saw the figure of Tony rise. 

“I don’t want a fight,” Riga repeated.  Her eyes seemed to glow, eerie in the moonlight.

“Well, you’ve got one,” Tony snarled.  He swung at her.  Pen saw Riga move toward him.  There was a grunt as Tony’s head flopped suddenly to the side.  He doubled over, a gasp and a groan as Riga kneed him in the stomach then the groin.  She spun him under her arm and he landed on his back, his head hitting the ground hard.

Riga turned to the others.  The blonde released Pen, took a step forward and then lashed out with a round kick.  Riga stepped to the side, but not quickly enough to dodge the blow.  Her frame shook with it.  She trapped his right leg with her own and grabbed his shoulder, then spun him backwards, sending him onto his back.  Riga dropped, her knee driving into his groin.  A ghastly cry issued from his lips and he curled into a fetal position.  Pen heard the sound of vomiting.

Riga turned back to Pen and the last man.  “I don’t want to fight,” she said.

He put his hands up in a warding gesture, taking a quick step backwards.  “Hey, Lady, I don’t want to fight, either.”

“Pen, go to your car and wait for me there,” Riga said.

Something metallic glinted in Tony’s hand.  Pen shrieked, pointing.  Riga spun around, too slow, as the knife arced toward her leg.

Pen felt a rush of air pass her face, something whirled out of the darkness.  There was a crunching sound, a howl.  Tony’s hand disappeared beneath a dark shape the size of a bread box.  It sprang to the top of a Camaro.  The car’s roof buckled beneath it. 

 “Sneak!” a husky voice hissed from the darkness.   A stone creature paced the length of the car roof.  The Camaro groaned beneath its weight.  In one swift motion, the creature plunged the knife into the car with a taloned… foot?  Hand?  “I hate bullies!” the thing grated.  The knife handle quivered, upright.

The man beside Pen whimpered.  “My car.”

“Oh!  Is zees yours?”  The thing stomped down the windshield.  The glass splintered and crackled ominously.  Upon the hood the creature raised a talon, took a long look at the man, daring him, and clawed the hood.  “And I also hate cowards!”

Pen looked to Riga.  Her aunt’s hair was dancing as if windblown, her expression dark with rage. 

Riga took a long, shuddering sigh and her hair fell limp.  “Thank you, Brigitte.  Would you please make sure my niece makes it safely to her car and waits for me there?”

The gargoyle took one final, malicious swipe at the Camaro and then soared into the air. 

Pen stood frozen for a moment, indecisive, then sprinted for her car, gravel flying from beneath her running shoes.   When she reached her Bug she stumbled, bounced off it, then realized she’d left her bag and keys in the lot.  She took a step to return, then hesitated, putting one hand upon her car for support.  What had she done?

As if from thin air, her bag fell to the ground before her.  The creature from the car settled into the branch of an oak.  “We women must stick together, no?  Do not fear, brave Penelope.  I will not let those pigs come near you.”

Pen felt tears spring to her eyes.  Ghosts were one thing, but what the hell was this?  What if Riga didn’t come back? 

She wouldn’t cry.  Pen looked around and saw that her aunt had parked behind her.  She sniffed.  The creature was watching her.  She should say something.

“What will – what will Riga do?”

“Her enemies are at her mercy so that is what she will show them.  That is why I am proud to call her friend.”

“What—“ Pen wanted to ask what the thing was, but thought it might anger the creature.  “How do you know Riga?”

“We met in Paris.”  The gargoyle paced the branch and it creaked beneath its weight.  “I was the prisoner of a terrible necromancer – a madman!”  She tossed her head.  “But Riga and I fought him together, and together we vanquished ze fiend!  She set me free, and it is my honor to serve her as a free gargoyle and as her friend.”

“Oh,” Pen said in a small voice.  “That’s nice.”

Five minutes passed.  Ten.  Finally, she heard footsteps.  “Aunt Riga?” she called out.

“It’s okay.”  Riga emerged from the darkness. 

“What happened?  What took you so long?  What did you do?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll live.”  She looked around, spotted the gargoyle in the tree.  “Thanks Brigitte.  That was… unexpected.”

Brigitte examined a talon.  “I was bored.”

“I think my niece and I need to have a talk now.”

“But of course!  You must scold her for her foolishness, and then you shall comfort her.  I shall leave you to discuss this night.”  Brigitte nodded her head to Pen.  “Until we meet again.”  She sprang from the branch and soared into the darkness.  The branch splintered and crashed to the ground.

Riga gave Pen a long look.  Pen was pale and her hands shook – she was in no shape to drive. 

“Come on,” Riga said, nodding toward her car.  “Let’s get out of here.  I’ll drive you back for your car later.”

“What was that thing?” Pen said.

“A gargoyle.”

“But –  What else exists?  Faeries?  Vampires?  Santa Claus?” Pen said with a shaky laugh.

“Yes.  Come on, it’s been a tough night.”  Riga got into the car and leaned across the seat, cracking open the passenger door.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Pen got inside and buckled up. “You fight dirty.”

“Unlike three grown men attacking a teenage girl, you mean?” 

Pen shrank into the leather seat and fell silent. 

Riga was shaken too.  She wouldn’t have been able to beat them if she’d fought fair.  They were stronger and faster.  The alcohol had slowed their reflexes, but they knew what they were doing.  Riga’s arm throbbed where she’d been kicked and she wondered at the odds of having two punch ups in one day.  She felt a shadow of the fury that had raged inside her when Tony pulled the knife.  Her anger had tapped into a well of raw power – she could have obliterated them with a word.  If Brigitte had not shown up, saving her from injury and crushing that car, Riga thought she might have done it.  It wasn’t a happy thought.