((Note: There is no sex in this chapter, but it's still a good one and you have to have a set-up before the punch.))
In the middle of the night Key sat at the foot of his bed. His cigarette smoldered down to the filter as he watched the window. Nothing was happening outside, but the traffic lights washed the ceiling. They shifted from green to yellow to red.
Almost a month ago Key was sitting at his desk staring out the same window. It was hot, but the children were out and several were outside in a near empty parking lot. The lot was a near barren field with scrub weeds growing through cracks in the asphalt, a few hedges flanking it, and a single yucca tree hovering over the lot without offering much in the way of shade.
In the lot two children carried sticks and held them like rifles and fired them at each other pantomiming the recoil as the imaginary bullets left their imaginary barrels. Each was shot several times but they continued to fire on each other. Their war raged on and three other children burst into the fray pushing these adversaries into an uneasy alliance. They made the stuttering sounds of gunfire with their mouths and threw the occasional invisible grenade, which each member of the group reacted to without prompting.
The war outside subsided, the five children were huddled together looking at something. One of the children was on the ground holding his head. The other four stood a few feet away clustered together watching the boy with rapt attention. Something smoldered next to the child on the ground. The boy's body shivered and became ashen, his hands dropped from his head and he curled into a fetal position. A small woman ran into the lot and began shrieking. Her hands were gesturing wildly as she spoke into her cell phone. The other kids just watched dumbstruck.
Key felt his guts churn and knew it was time to act or the child would die. He pulled on some latex gloves left over from an ex girlfriend who was a tattoo artist, tied a bandana around his face and went to the street level. Others joined the congregation by the fallen child. The object was still next to him, Key walked over ignoring the broken down woman. He carefully picked up the artifact. It looked like a small lump of iron with the Hebrew pictogram for "destroy" etched into it. The reek of sulfur pushed past the thin fabric around his nose and mouth. He made a quick scan of the area and tossed the smoking medallion to the side as he looked over the boy, the woman shrieked, but did not stop him. The boy's eyes were rolled back in his head and yellow drool pooled on the asphalt below him. Key pushed the child onto his back and crossed him arms. The boy's limbs were stiff from seizure. He turned to the mother, "Are you a religious woman?" She looked as if he spoke an alien language. "Christian, Buddhist, Muslim are you religious?" He yelled.
She nodded, "Yes, yes are you a doctor?"
"No, your son has been poisoned and I can fix it," she seemed to accept it, Key could hear the sirens now, he didn't have much time. "I need you to pray. Out loud!" she nodded and put her hands together in prayer.
Key lit a cigarette and began chanting. He blew a big lungful of tobacco in the boy's face and pulled a rattle composed of dried leather, bones, feathers, and small tortoise shells from his pocket. He shook the rattle as he chanted and blew another pull of tobacco in the boys face. The woman was reciting the Lord's Prayer behind him, others joined in. Key increased the volume and speed of his chant as he shook the rattle. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he could feel heat in his face and hands radiating inward to his heart. One more pull of tobacco and another round of chanting and Key's nose began to bleed at a light trickle. The ambulance was behind him he could feel it but he couldn't stop now he was very close. The boy's body shuddered and convulsed. A paramedic put his hands on Key's shoulder about to pry him away. As the paramedic hefted Key to his feet a plume of black oily smoke poured from the boy's mouth and rose into the sky. The plume subsided after some thirty seconds as the paramedics and surrounding observers watched the spectacle unsure of what they were looking at. Key collapsed and the paramedics pulled him out of the way to check on the boy.
Key was facing the child when he opened his eyes. The boy was blinking and alert, coughing up a lungful of mucus. Key stood slowly and picked up the medallion. The woman stepped in front of him, "I don't know what you did, but thank you."
Key nodded, "You're welcome," he could smell the phantom remnants of the odor in his bandana and it was making him nauseous. He took his leave quickly and with as little explanation as possible got back to his office wrapped the bandana around the medallion and put it in a small safe below his desk.
His cigarette had burned down to the filter while he sat silently remembering the boy. He moved in the dark to his safe and opened it. There were several things inside, but he wanted to look at the medallion. He pulled it from the safe and carefully unwrapped the object. It was just an inert hunk of metal with a symbol carved into its surface. There was little impressive about it. but it was still dangerous, probably more dangerous than the gun next to it. He felt weary from looking at it so he put it away and crawled back into bed. Noami moaned quietly as he put his arm around her. He closed his eyes, but didn't sleep.
* * *
Margaret Primrose worked her way through labyrinth intricate alleys to find the address in her hand. It was above a flower shop that looked as though it had been closed for a decade. She reluctantly pulled at the door to the ascending stairwell. The smell of chocolate and mothballs greeted her as she stepped upward. The air was heavy and hot and Margaret felt her adrenaline rising. This was the place where women like her died on police dramas. This building and everything about this place felt like a different country, like a different world. As she got to the top of the stairs a tattered piebald man rounded a corner and nearly crashed into her. She screamed, the piebald man merely ignored her and descended. She sat down at the top stair and cried to herself embarrassed by her own fear. She nearly turned back.
Her daughter had called and told her she was leaving for a while but something was wrong and her heart felt it. She talked to the police. They ignored her citing her daughter's phone call. She hired a private investigator only to be told the next week that her daughter was safe and didn't want to see her. So now she was here in this horrible place to find a man who could help bring her daughter home.
She stood slowly regaining a modicum of courage and looked down a short hallway of glass office doors. She walked down the hallway until she came to a door labeled:
#6
Key Investigations Ltd.
Margaret Primrose carefully turned the handle and opened the door. The room was covered in books on every available surface. The only open space was an empty chair. A door to her left opened. Noami entered with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she struggled with a necklace. She was speaking as she entered, but abruptly stopped when she saw Margaret. "I'm looking for Mr. Key," She said, trying to sound as professional as possible.
Noami's eyes grew wide "Key?"
Key was pulling a tank top on as he loped into the room. He greeted Margaret quickly. "Sorry, I haven't checked my messages, I didn't realize I had an appointment this morning," she recoiled as he approached. Between the horrible part of town and the homeless man who nearly knocked her down the stairs this was too much. Her instinct was to walk out but something stopped her. It wasn't the detective, he looked like he had come straight from some drug den with his tattooed face, and his patches, studs, and the dog collar. It was the point of no return. She had come this far into the underworld and now she needed to finish.
She resigned herself to her fate and took a quick breath before speaking. "I didn't make an appointment. I'm sorry for coming here unannounced but I'm desperate Mr. Key."
