Secret Worlds (80 page)

Karl drives a 1967 Mustang Shelby Venom. My servitude isn't the only thing we don't see eye-to-eye about. I have no use for classics.

I drive back to Phoenix and swing through downtown. The office building is five stories. According to the case file, my target is on the fourth floor. My alias is Kevin Wodderspoon. 

I decide to come back at night. Less people means less risk someone will realize I'm not the name on the badge. That could be disastrous. 

I have to admit, Karl is getting good at this game. Fake IDs are a dime a dozen, but not specific access to facilities. This is a new development. I like it.

When I reach home, I have to park the Corolla on the curb because my carport is already full with an Accord, a Civic, and an Audi.

Oh, boy. I'm in for it.

Syd storms down the front porch and across the yard. She's a foot from me as I step out of the Corolla.

“Dimitri! You couldn't—”

I grab her arm and tug her toward the house, muttering, “Not out here. Don't make a scene.”

I let go of her and unlock the front door.

She follows in behind me. “If you wanted to leave, you could have just told me, you know.”

“I had work,” I say, heading to my bedroom. I stuff the case file into the top dresser drawer and turn to find her standing in the doorway. “When work needs me, I have to respond.”

“You go into the bathroom to take calls from celebrities?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Doesn't that sound just a little bit odd to you?”

“Look, Syd, this is my job. You either deal with it or you don't.” 

After I say the words, I can't believe how simple of a solution it is. She either stays or goes. There is no third option.

She glares at me. I fold my arms over my chest and wait. Even though I'm sure she's going to blow up and leave, then text me later, my job simply isn't negotiable.

Finally, her shoulders relax, and she lets out a breath. “Okay.”

I scowl. “What?”

“Okay.” She throws her hands in the air. “You're right. I'll deal.”

We stand in awkward silence.

Then, true to Syd, she grins. “Wanna fuck?”

“I gotta work tonight.” I sit on the bed to take off my shoes. I'm not tired, but I probably should rest up before setting out to steal office supplies while a demon plays a bongo drum in my head. Someone needs to start a workers' union for genies. “I'm gonna get some sleep.”

I set my phone alarm, then crawl down into my covers and close my eyes. The bed bounces a little as Syd climbs up next to me. She settles her head on my shoulder, her body draped along my side and her hand on my chest. Within a few minutes, her breathing turns slow and deep. 

She is in my life to stay. I have no idea what I'm going to do.

***

My phone rings. I smack at it with my eyes closed until it stops. I would like to press snooze, but the droning noise in my head is quite effective at keeping me awake. Probably even better than the strange propeller alarm. 

I pull my arm from under Syd without waking her and head to the bathroom. Time to shower and get ready to rock. In and out. Then, if there's any mercy in the universe, Karl will stop making requests for a long while.

If wishes were horses, I would be in a stampede.

When I return to the bedroom, Syd is awake but lying on the bed facing the door. She gives a half-awake smile.

“Can I stay here while you're at work?” Her voice is small.

The thought makes me tingly. She would be here when I come back. Waiting for me. And tonight, I won't be returning with literal blood on my hands.

But there's always the risk Karl will send someone over, whether to clean the house or to collect the gaggle of cars. I don't know what sort of agreement his staff signed, but I can't imagine anyone keeps secrets from him. 

Maybe that's because I can't. Mostly.

“No, sorry,” I say and shuffle through the drawers.

The mattress groans a little as Syd climbs out of bed. She comes up behind me, wraps her arms around my bare stomach, and slips a hand under the fold in the towel at my waist.

If I wasn't awake before, I certainly am now.

I still and close my eyes, but it only serves to emphasize the humming in my head.

Just need to grab the safe. Once I transport it from the downtown office to the mansion, I can have a little Syd-time and make good on all the ways I've had to screw up lately.

She kisses my neck, her breast against my back as she leans into me. Her other arm slides over my shoulder.

She takes a deep breath and says in nearly a moan, “You smell so good.”

I turn around, pull her closer and nestle her pelvis against mine. I slip my tongue into her mouth. Her body relaxes. My hand sneaks under the streamers of her skirt and squeezes her bare ass peeking from her tight panties.

The hum in my head revs up. A warning. I have to get moving.

I pat her ass and then relinquish my hold on her. “Work calls, babe.”

***

When I pull the Corolla into the office center, my phone clock reads a quarter till nine. A few other vehicles sit in the parking lot, and a little security cart trudges the perimeter. Security would normally be a problem, but I have Kevin Wodderspoon's badge on a lanyard around my neck. I now work here.

I don't like leaving my gun under the passenger seat, but I don't know what the security check points are like inside. Since Karl gave me a free pass into this building, I'm going to roll with it. No weapons. No breaking windows. 

Instead, I'm playing dress-up. I'm wearing work pants, a black polo shirt, and dress shoes. A briefcase might have completed the look, but I didn't have one handy and couldn't be bothered going to the store. I doubt everyone in the entire building carries a briefcase at all times.

I cross the parking lot, heading toward the glowing glass front doors. Inside, the lobby is wide, with tile floors and turnstiles. The security desk is vacant.

Just as I think I'm in luck, a woman enters from a door behind the desk. I halt, unsure if I've already given myself away somehow. She nods at me and takes a seat at the station, then stares down in front of her at something I can't see. Monitors, I assume.

Lingering is a bad idea. People who work here wouldn't linger. So I move forward, grasping the badge. I'm already sweating. 

This is the easiest wish I've ever had, and I'm going to screw it up by being nervous. 

Just scan the fuckin' badge, Dim.

I do. The turnstile clicks and lets me pass through.

Into Bowser's lair.

I let out a silent breath in relief as I head to the elevators on my right. One of the cars is already descending, so I wait. The doors slide open with a ding. A woman steps out and makes her way toward the turnstiles. She doesn't even glance at me.

I press the elevator button for the fourth floor. My mind reels for what could go wrong so I can try to head it off. Maybe the elevator will get stuck. Maybe someone who knows the real Kevin Wodderspoon is going to cross my path.

If there even is a real Kevin Wodderspoon. My picture is on the badge. Maybe Kevin is just another fabricated persona. 

A slightly less sane guy would have an identity crisis.

The elevator lets me off. I'm already into the next level of the castle.

The hallways are empty except for a janitor pushing a large trash bin in the opposite direction. As I wander farther, checking the office numbers for my destination, I pass a break room. Inside, a television is blaring and coffee is filling the air with its warm, bitter scent. Someone's heels are clicking around. I don't look. Head down, keep walking.

I follow the turn in the hallway. The office numbers, punctuated by the occasional open conference room, are counting down to my door. I spot my target and focus my attention on the scanner mounted on the wall next to it.

One swipe, and I'm halfway through this dungeon. 

I scan the badge and—nothing.

Can't be.

I scan it again. Nothing.

My gaze is fixed onto the scanner. Is the badge reader broken? Can I ask security to let me in? If they run my badge, will they find a problem—like I don't belong here?

Oddly enough, my heart isn't pounding. I'm not even sweating anymore. I think I'm in shock. I have no backup plan. 

What could I do, anyway? Shoot up an entire office building? That sort of goes against the low key policy.

One or two cops I can handle. An entire SWAT team, not so much.

This genie has no superpowers. Just a persistent little hum that makes him do stupid shit. And he needs an answer—now. 

I'm by no means a guru at locks, but I have jimmied one or two open in the past. I walk back the way I came and flip on the switch in an open conference room. The fluorescent bulb lights up. I lean into the hall, verify both directions are clear, and then investigate the lock. The knob is lever style, and the front of it looks identical to the ones on the office doors.

I might be able to break in, after all, but that's going to require a jaunt.

The security guard pays little attention to me as I exit the building. Back in my Corolla, I use my phone to search for a nearby hardware store. It closes in less than an hour. I floor it all the way, squeal tires as I pull in, and jog across the lot.

I slow my pace as I enter the store, then scan the aisles. I have no idea where the hell anything is. The hum gives me a nudge to start looking.

I take the aisles one at a time, going down one and up the next. Now my heart is racing. Even if I get what I need here, I still have to find a way to sneak it past security and use it before someone wanders into the hallway.

Maybe Karl could have his sources double check shit before handing it off. 

I find it in the hardware aisle: a length of thick, but pliable, wire.

At least Kevin's credit card works. In minutes, I'm back in the car, the long piece of wire jammed into the backseat. I cruise toward the office, my brain running as fast as the hum will let it.

I can't just walk past security with a big ol' wire. I need something to hide it in. Something that wouldn't stand out. 

Something like a briefcase.

I hit the steering wheel. “Son-of-a-slut!”

To the big box store I go. I spend ten minutes rushing through the aisles, becoming lost in camping supplies and treadmills, and finally finding the damn briefcases next to the luggage. 

Back at the Corolla, I cram the wire into the briefcase like a lethal jack-in-the-box and snap the locks shut. Now if I can remember to look away when I open it again, I might avoid losing an eye.

I try to take deep breaths and tell myself all sorts of far-fetched hopes that this is going to end well.

When I pull into the office building parking lot, I start shaking. Hard enough I'm surprised my teeth aren't chattering.

Ridiculous. I have killed. I can pick a damn lock. 

I make it halfway to the office before I remember the Briefcase of Certain Doom. Cursing under my breath, I hurry back to the car, grab the damn thing, and burst inside the lobby.

I use the badge to unlock the turnstile. Just as I push through, the security woman speaks, without even looking up.

“Forgot something?”

I halt, muscles tense ready to flee. Then I look down at the briefcase in my hand.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say. “Can't work without it.”

She nods and takes a bite of Ramen, eyes fixed downward. 

Monitors.

This whole place has closed-circuit television. How long do I have before she spots me playing surgeon with the office lock?

I get off on the fourth floor, hoping no one is around. So far, so good. Even the janitor has moved on to better trash-emptying grounds.

I round the corner and grimace at the door. Why couldn't the badge just work? 

Why can't Karl just take a dirt nap?

Wait, no. That would leave Silvia in charge. My nights would be spent swapping bodily fluids with her or cracking the necks of all the people who have ever pissed her off.

I look both directions in the hallway, then drop the briefcase to the ground and open it like a bomb tech cutting the cable he's not quite sure is the correct one. The contents don't explode from the case, after all.

I crouch down and set to work shaping the length of wire, because doing this before returning would have made too much sense. My hands are sweaty, so I wipe them on my pants. Footsteps thud from one direction then the other, but when I halt to listen more closely, the hallway is silent. Or maybe the noise is drowned out by the hum-hum-hum.

I duck-waddle forward with my Scepter of Lock Defying Evil and wedge it under the door. The wire has a few sharp angles in it now, but I work it underneath so that the tall piece is flush with the other side of the door. The hook at the end scratches and knocks around, looking for the latch.

The hook catches. I hear a click. The door opens. 

I am golden.

I look up. A man is staring down at me, his fist clenched around the top of the wire. 

I am dead.

I lunge at him, hitting the side of my hand into his throat. He stumbles back. I slam the door shut with my foot, but the hinges glide it close with a solid click.

I grab his hair and smash his head into the desk.

His body drops to the ground, but he's still breathing. I haven't killed anyone, and I would like to keep it that way. I have no idea how far the ruckus has traveled though. If security is on their way, I have minutes to get out of here.

I look under the desk, check behind the chair, and open the cabinet standing against wall. 

No safe. 

I turn back to the room, eyes darting for any other place it could be hiding. The office isn't that big. 

I tear open the desk drawers and dump them out, knock the lamp to the floor, pull stacks of files from the cabinet. It's impossible—physically impossible—for the safe to be here.

My lungs choke for air as I continue to claw my way through the files.

I feel setup. 

Maybe it's paranoia. 

Maybe it's this goddamn hum in my skull. I smack my head a few times with my palm, but my brain doesn't start running properly again. Just humming. Growing. It knows I failed.