The Talented (2 page)

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Expanding my mind beyond the door I could “see” the small room beyond. The only notable feature of the room was the presence of a small freight elevator with only one button marked “Up”. Dirty grooves worn into the gray linoleum marked a path from the elevator out into a hallway that circled around the perimeter of the building, ending in double doors hinged on the outside like on a saloon from the Wild West. Those grooves were my ticket out of here.

I pulled open the door and briskly followed the grooves down the hall. A pair of casino employees approached. Their crisp, red polyester jackets with gold nametags meant that these were front-of-the-house employees. All of a sudden I realized that they were looking right at me so I quickly influenced their thoughts as best I could to ignore me. They walked right by, a small wave of suspicion in their way, but kept walking. Then one stopped.

“Excuse me, sir,” he called out. This area is for employees only. You shouldn’t be back here.” I froze, then casually turned to face him. My accuser looked familiar. He wore a bushy mustache and round silver spectacles that made him look a bit like Teddy Roosevelt, and surprisingly his nametag read “Ted”. Maybe he was a history buff. Time to improvise.

“Good work, Ted!” I replied with a proud smile. “I’ll make sure that John knows you’re watching out for intruders. Security is everyone’s responsibility, not just something for John and I to worry about.”

Doubt played across Teddy’s face and thoughts. “John?” he asked uncertainly.

I raised my eyebrows to express my disbelief. “John LeBlanc the security chief? My boss?”

Ted thought about the secretive security people at the casino. Nobody really knew them. They were on the staff, but at the same time they stood apart. To those guys, everyone on the staff was potentially stealing from the company. And then there was the issue of dress code. The lower level security folks wore dark suits and patrolled the casino floor, but the big shots in security sat in the back of the house, analyzing video for signs of cheating. What a life. It’s like money for nothing. And this hip-looking young man with the split lip wore expensive-looking jeans and a blazer. He might just be some smart-mouthed kid, but if he were actually telling the truth here, he could make life very difficult. Not worth the trouble.

“Oh, right,” Ted replied amiably, “Of course. Sorry for bothering you. You really should wear a badge like the rest of us, though.”

My smile melted into a frown. My voice dropped down a register, I responded, “We are not like the rest of you, Ted. Remember that.”

Poor Ted turned white and squeaked out, “Of course,” before scampering off feeling lucky to still have a job. I felt bad for scaring the guy. Well, not too bad. He will get over it.

The groove in the floor continued just as I had envisioned it, ending at a thick set of double doors with dirty steel kick plates at the bottom and cloudy fiberglass windows at the top. Pressing my face against the window, I could see an empty loading dock big enough to accommodate three trucks. The garage doors were closed, probably locked, but next to them was a regular door with a bright exit sign suspended above it.

By some miracle I got all the way to the fire exit unmolested. The push-bar door handle was labeled with a red sign saying EMERGENCY EXIT – ALARM WILL SOUND. I paused for a moment, took a breath, and pushed my way through, bracing myself for a blaring alarm. It never came. The door opened up into a wide alleyway facing the dock of the building next door. The sour but familiar smell of old urine hung in the air of the calm September night. Although nobody was in sight it was clear to me that there were other minds in the shadows of this alley and not all of them were sane. I rushed past the dumpster toward the street. The line of taxis that waited along the street seemed fortuitous enough. I stepped out of the alley and turned right, only to see the bottom of the marble steps leading up to the front entrance. Standing six feet in front of me was none other than John LeBlanc, turning his head in my direction. With as much haste as I dared, I drew back into the shadows and kept still in the fetid air. The sound of footsteps approached the entrance to the alley, then stopped. LeBlanc wasn’t sure of what he saw, but had no desire to enter that alley on no more than a hunch. The steps receded back toward the casino entrance.

I stealthily made my way to the street at the far end of the alley, then walked away. After what seemed like an eternity a cab approached, so I hailed it and headed for home.

CHAPTER TWO

I asked the cab driver to drop me off four blocks away from my hotel, then reached for my wallet to pay the fare. It wasn’t there. My driver’s license. My wallet. LeBlanc still had my wallet. I focused on the wallet in my mind, and I saw it lying atop a mahogany desk in a large office, next to a matte black revolver. The office décor must have been considered opulent in the late 1970’s. Three of the walls were paneled in walnut, and the plush Harvest Gold shag carpeting was still mostly in good condition. A large, heavy antique globe sat next to the fourth wall, which was made of glass, and overlooked twisting rows of slot machines. So, the wallet was still there. I considered if it was worth going back for it. Credit cards could be cancelled, and the driver’s license could be replaced. However, there was a picture of my real mother in there, the only one I had. That could not be replaced. Going back would be dangerous, if the gun on the desk was any indication, but I had to get that picture back. Just not today. I needed to rest and give my headache time to go away.

When the taxi stopped I shamefully willed him to think that I had already paid him, and got out. I stood and took a deep breath, reaching out to detect anyone who might be following me. No one seemed to be taking any notice of me other than a homeless person down the street planning to ask me for money. I walked past him, feeling guilty that I had nothing to give at the moment. His muddled thoughts reached me briefly. Apparently I reminded him of a former supervisor of his at the GM factory where he used to work, many years ago. Someone he didn’t like. I closed my mind to him and passed by.

Seated at the bus stop was a young woman who radiated love, happiness and hopeful anticipation. As the bus arrived she stood, but did not approach. When the door opened a nice young man stepped out giving off the same kind of nauseating feelings. Her boyfriend apparently. When she saw him her eyes lit up and she smiled. It was all too much to bear. I shut out their feelings as best I could manage and continued homeward.

When I left my last job at the car dealership, I left a lot of friends as well. Actually, they left me, but that is another story. When I moved downtown last winter it was supposed to be a new start, and I had every intention of meeting new, exciting people. It’s true that in the last eight months I have hung out with movie stars and partied with visiting hockey teams two or three times. But once the filming was done or the series was over, they moved on. You would think that with the ability to read minds and control thoughts I could have as many friends as I wanted. Unfortunately, it doesn’t really work like that. In the long term people always figure out that they are being manipulated, and wow, do they resent it. My ex-girlfriend once said that being around me left her feeling dirty and violated, although she could not explain why. You would think that knowing every thought in a woman’s head would help my relationships, but the opposite is true. I often respond to what they think, not what they say, and things get so complicated that it hardly seems worth it. Most nights I go out, meet people, sometimes enjoy their company and never see them again. At the mental hospital where I misspent my youth, I lived like a king. All the staff and patients other than Gus were completely under my control. None of the rules applied to me. Other kids had to participate in a study program since they didn’t go to school, but I didn’t feel like doing the work so I didn’t do any. On my eighteenth birthday I checked myself out, and the wave of relief felt by almost everyone there wounded me deeply. I deserved it, though.

I was so deep in thought that I almost passed my building. The Book Cadillac Hotel was the tallest and proudest building in Detroit when it was built in 1924. It had a long, distinguished history, but as Detroit’s economy and population began to decline, so did the Book Cadillac. It sat vacant for decades. Recently it was bought by a luxury hotel chain and restored to its former glory. It’s by far the best hotel in Detroit that is not attached to a casino, and as a result any number of sports teams, famous actors and traveling celebrities can be found there at any given time. It’s my home as well. The building is evenly divided between hotel rooms and condominiums. I rode the elevator up to the 27
^th
floor, where my lovely pre-furnished condo awaited. It was furnished during a rare housing bubble when deluxe features were high in demand, and it showed. In the kitchen the speckled pink granite countertops complemented the reddish tones of the dark cherry cabinets. My comfy leather sofa faced a huge flat panel TV mounted over a gas fireplace, neither of which were fired up very often. 

I grabbed the phone, flopped down on the sofa and began the tedious process of canceling my missing credit cards. Once that chore was done I reluctantly got up and appraised myself in the bathroom mirror. Terrible. Running the water until steam rose from the clear glass sink, I soaked a washcloth and pressed it to my face. The penetrating heat soothed my aches and pains. I took my time washing the blood off my face and tried to make myself look somewhat presentable. One of the consequences of hearing people’s thoughts is that I always hear the brutally honest opinion of every woman I meet on how I look. The daily stream of mental critiques on my appearance have driven me to be more than a little fanatical about working out and dressing well. I do not watch what I eat as much as I probably should, but for some reason my brain burns a lot of calories when I use my abilities. Also, at 6’5”, I’m blessed to be somewhat tall and well proportioned. The thick muscles of my chest and shoulders contrast with my proportionally narrow waist, so all of my blazers need to be tailored to fit. Like most days I wore a blazer over a t-shirt and jeans with loafers. It has become a look for me. I have an almost disturbing number of different sport coats and blazers, a dresser filled with jeans, and countless t-shirts.

The swelling of my lower lip was beginning to fade, and my almost-black curls sported a fashionably mussed look, not much more than usual. The dried blood in my hair was not very noticeable. My pale green eyes looked tired, though. I’m closing in on 25 years old and while my body looks young and fit, something about my eyes gives the impression of someone much older, especially today. After drying my face I picked up my spare debit card and went out. I was not quite ready to call it a night just yet. It was time for a drink, maybe catch some dinner afterwards. Alone, of course.

Although it was late, the hotel bar was still open and surprisingly busy. I ordered a local oatmeal stout that tasted just about perfect and sat at the bar, letting my mind rest. For some reason the time I spent with John LeBlanc still bothered me. He really, really didn’t like me. That intense feeling stuck with me like a bad aftertaste in my mouth. To him I was nothing more than a thief. I never really thought of myself that way. Doesn’t everyone use their skills to the best of their ability when gambling? Isn’t the goal to win? Casinos make money hand over fist, pitting the odds way in their favor. Ultimately, the house always wins. Well, except for when I’m in the house.

I still felt a lot better about my gambling than I did when I was working in auto sales. That was unfair as well, and the customers were regular people, not the greedy millionaires who own the casinos. I sold a lot of cars to people who didn’t need them, and I never felt quite right about it. But hey, what’s a guy with a 3
^rd
grade education to do? I need to eat. Maybe I’ll look into another line of work, something honest. Maybe tomorrow.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

I turned to my right to find a stunning beauty seated beside me. She had long, perfectly straight dark red hair, and sultry, expressive green eyes. She wore an expensive silk evening gown that matched her eyes, revealing the curves of her almost too thin body. Her bare shoulders and crossed legs were subtly defined with muscle, and her designer heels cost more than my entire outfit. She must be older than me, yet I was hard pressed to find any signs of aging.

I looked back up to her amused eyes, which showed that she clearly noticed me checking her out, and my cheeks felt warm with embarrassment. Something was off, though, and I almost dropped my beer when I realized that I was not picking up anything from her: no thoughts, no feelings, no images. That has rarely happened to me. I can read the final thoughts off a corpse, can feel the emotions of a termite, yet this woman was completely inaccessible. I could not help but push and probe a little, and as I did, she subtly grimaced, put down her glass of wine and said, “Stop that. Where I come from that’s considered incredibly rude.”

I blinked. “You…know?”

She smiled and replied, “How could I not? Just being in the same room with you makes it difficult to concentrate. It’s alarming to find so much power in someone so young and apparently untrained. I hope you know how to handle it.”

Trying to suppress my excitement over meeting someone who might know more about what I am and why, I offered my hand and said, “Adam Sharpe.”

She returned with a firm but gentle handshake, “Kate Scott”.

What do I say now? I was not accustomed to just talking and listening without the added benefit of knowing the thoughts and feelings behind it.

Kate rescued me. “I think I like you Adam, and my first impressions are never wrong.”

“It must be the split lip,” I replied, “It gives me a pouty look that drives the girls wild. Either that or the terrific bump on my head. That’s another one of my irresistible features.”