User:Posti/Following a Lead
Following a Lead By Bob Stein
I guess I should have stayed out of the investigation. Detectives don’t like beat officers horning in on their territory, especially when the officer in question shows them up. That’s how I ended up… oh, wait. I’d better start at the beginning.
Remember the Rodriguez disappearance? Really? You must not watch the news. Happened about a year ago. Miguel Rodriguez was one of the city’s least favorite sons – a major drug dealer whose lawyer knew every loophole in every law and court procedure. And when legal tricks didn’t work, key witnesses suddenly changed their stories, or just disappeared.
Anyway, they had the bastard cold on a Murder One charge thanks to a security video camera that caught the whole thing. For once, it looked like he was gonna lose – you can’t threaten or kill a videotape. Then his lawyer brings some guy in for a consultation, and Rodriguez vanishes in the middle of the session. I’m talking a maximum-security room in the middle of the city prison. No windows, and a guard outside the door. And guess who that guard was.
Right. Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as ‘Sparky.’ Except that after the incident with Rodriguez, my nickname changed to ‘Misfire.’ To think I used to hate ‘Sparky.’ The department screwed me over big-time. I mean, there was a video camera on the door, and it proved I didn’t leave my post for a second, and that no one came or went. But they had to have someone to blame, right?
The sleazebag lawyer and consultant both swore that Rodriguez had simply gotten up and walked out of the room. They got searched anyway, and questioned, but there was nothing to hold them on. Of course, the lawyer made a big stink in the media about how lousy police security was, and that particular ball of shit came rolling downhill all the way from the Mayor’s office and hit me square in the back.
Most guys would give up after something like that. I had pounded the streets for three years before finally working into the Response Squad – the first rung on the ladder to becoming a Detective. Then Rodriguez pulled a Houdini act and my police career was in the crapper. But I’ve always been stubborn, and it burned me to know that bastard Rodriguez had gotten away clean. So I stayed on the force and took the worst they could throw at me.
Damnation Alley - it’s the septic tank for the city, a place they send you when they want you to quit or get killed. Two out of every three murders in the city happen there – most of them don’t get more than a few sentences in the back of the local paper. So here I was, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed twenty-eight year-old in a police uniform, patrolling the heart of the drug and prostitution community. All I needed was a neon sign on my hat flashing ‘Shoot Me!’
If you go into a high-crime area all polished buttons and high ideals, you’ll be hearing ‘Amazing Grace’ from the wrong side of a coffin lid inside a week. However, I’m no rookie, and while I’m not corrupt, I have a very high survival instinct. Which means I know how to let the baddies know I am coming. If they’re dumb enough to keep dealing or pimping with me on the same the block, they’re too stupid to be in business anyway. Besides, the ringleaders know that a minor arrest here and there keeps the public satisfied. The police look like they are doing their jobs, and the drugs and prostitutes continue as usual.
You want Serpico? Rent a movie. Hell, when the pushers AND the prostitutes include kids who should be in grade school, you turn a blind eye. Besides, I had bigger fish to fry. Rodriguez ran one of the biggest operations in the city – no way he would walk away from it. I figured that if I was patient, made some contacts in the Alley, I’d hear something eventually. And helping catch Rodriguez just might restore my career.
So I walked the streets, doing my best to ignore the trash. There was an uneasy truce for a while. Then I caught a John beating up on a kid prostitute and broke his arm when he ‘resisted arrest.’ Saved the little girl’s life that night, though she ended up dead of an overdose a few weeks later. Anyway, after that, I was accepted as one of the family. Oh, they knew I’d still arrest them if they did stuff too openly, and I knew they’d shoot me in the back if I got too nosey. I didn’t say it was a –close- family.
Actually asking for information on Rodriguez would have been suicide, so I had to wait weeks before rumors finally started to reach me. Rodriguez was still running his operation. Rodriguez was back in town. Rodriguez wasn’t Rodriguez any more. That last one caught my attention fast. It had been three months since the disappearance, but his face was still on the Post Office wall. Maybe he had gotten some plastic surgery to change his features. It wouldn’t help him – with modern DNA testing and retinal scans, he could still be identified.
I tried working through the Precinct first. The Detectives weren’t interested in rumors. Truth be told, I think they had heard them already. In any case, I was told to bugger off and walk my beat – the case was under investigation by trained professionals. Naturally, I followed their wise advice - until I got out of the building. After all, it wasn’t –their- career on the ropes.
It took some dealings that I’m not proud of to dig down into Rodriguez’s world. Taking small bribes here and there that turned into bigger bribes. I never spent the money, honest. It’s all still in a safe deposit box, addressed to Internal Affairs. But I had to establish myself as a crooked cop to join the sludge of humanity surrounding Rodriguez.
One night, right at the end of my beat, a Latino kid pulls up in a junker lead-sled. You know, the beat-up old cars that have the chassis scraping the ground and a speaker system that makes the ground shake? Anyway, this Homeboy – who looks like a barely pubescent Ricky Martin – leans over and flashes a movie-star smile at me. “Say, Sparky! Got someone who wants to meet you. Could be some real bucks in it for you, if you ain’t as stupid as you look!”
I didn’t know this kid from Adam, and here he was calling me ‘Sparky.’ The comment about being stupid-looking wasn’t as true then as it is now, but getting into the car wasn’t my smartest choice. He could have been planning to blow my head off as part of a gang initiation. Still, a cop has to trust his instincts, and mine were telling me this was the chance I had been waiting for.
He rolled the moment I was inside, laying twin trails of rubber for half a block. The outside might look ratty, but there was some serious machinery under the hood. Once I relaxed my grip on the armrest and looked around, it was pretty obvious that Homeboy was into some major dealings. The sound system was worth more than my Taurus, and he was wearing what looked to be a real Rolex. That was the problem with drugs – how do you tell a sixteen year-old kid to flip hamburgers at McDonalds for minimum wage instead of raking in fifty grand a month dealing Crack?
There was no conversation. I was mildly surprised when we drove out of Damnation Alley, but didn’t start to worry until Homeboy took the interstate out of town. He would grin at me every now and then, as if he had some great joke in mind. By the time he took the off-ramp to the shipping terminals, I was truly afraid the punch line would be a .38 bullet in my brain.
He used a pass card to open a security gate, and pulled into one of the dozen or so storage yards surrounding the docks. Stacked shipping containers towered over us, rusty mountains that almost vanished as they reached up into the night sky. We wound between them, finally stopping by a sagging, rusty mobile home that might have served as an office a dozen years ago.
“Go on inside, Sparky.” Homeboy gestured at the trailer. “Don’t keep the Man waiting.” I could tell I’d struck pay dirt from the way that he said it. I got out and headed for the trailer door, half-expecting a slug in the back. However, the car rumbled slowly off behind me. The door was cracked open, and showed light that was not visible through the windows.
I felt like an idiot. OK, I was an idiot – coming here alone, no one even knowing where I was, much less having any kind of backup. All of a sudden, I could think of a lot of new careers I could try. But it was too late to back down. Forcing myself to at least look calm, I knocked.
“Come in, Officer Sparks.” The male voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Rodriguez. Another Drug Lord looking to buy me off?
Opening the door, I stepped in and did a double-take. The plushest lawyer’s office had nothing on the interior of that ancient mobile home. Polished wood paneling, thick green carpet, even a fireplace crackling away in the corner.
“Come in, Officer. Make yourself comfortable.” The speaker was sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, his face obscured by shadows that shouldn’t be there. “Would you like something to drink? Anything at all?”
“How about a cherry Coke?” I was trying to be funny, but the man simply pointed to a small counter near the fireplace. A soda fountain glass filled with dark, fizzy liquid was sitting there. I blinked and walked over to pick it up. The surface was still foaming, as if the drink had just been poured. I took a cautious sip – Cherry Coke. Not the canned stuff, but an honest-to-God soda fountain Cherry Coke, with real syrup and a maraschino cherry in the bottom of the glass.
Funny the things that can scare you. The moment I tasted that drink, I was absolutely terrified, and I didn’t know why. Except, maybe, that there was no way for this guy to know I’d ask for a Cherry Coke. Hell, I hadn’t had one since I was a kid. Had to be my subconscious at work – the drink must have been there all along, and I somehow picked up on it. Right?
There was another of the big leather chairs there and I sat down, still holding the Coke. Even from a different angle, the man’s face was in shadow. That was almost as creepy as the soda. The light was even everywhere else in the room, and there was nothing around him. I took another sip of the drink, then cleared my throat. “So, what can I do for you?”
The trailer door opened suddenly, and Homeboy came sauntering towards me. I tensed, but he walked past and grabbed a drink from the counter that hadn’t been there a moment before. Then he plopped down in the remaining chair and grinned at me. “So, Sparky. Whatcha’ think of my Man?” In the light, this kid was pretty stunning – perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair. He was almost a parody of boy-band heartthrobs - and his tight jeans made it pretty obvious that puberty had been more than kind.
“We haven’t really had time to chat, Miguel.” The man in the corner tented his fingers. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice. “I thought you might want to handle things.”
I blinked. Miguel? But then, that was a common name in the Latino community. Odd coincidence, though.
“Yeah, right!” The kid leaned forward, staring at me intently. “Life’s gotten a little tough for you, hasn’t it? How do you like pounding pavement in Damnation Alley?”
The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, but I tried to look casual. “I got screwed by the Commissioner. They know I didn’t let Rodriguez escape – but I was the one that got crucified.” I shrugged. “Shit happens.”
“Yeah.” Miguel giggled. “It sure does. So, you fixin’ to get even? Screw the police like they screwed you? I could use a cop on the inside. Someone to feed me information, maybe even liberate some evidence now and then. You interested?”
This kid was the Boss? I had a pair of dress shoes almost as old as he was. Alarm bells were going off in my brain. What the Hell was I mixed up in? Then I suddenly understood. The rumors, even his name made sense. Feeling confident again, I leaned back in the chair and gave Homeboy a smug look. “Maybe. Not for free, though. You’re Rodriguez’s son, right? Running things for the old man while he hides out?”
Homeboy laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and my smugness began to evaporate. “Hiding? Fuck, man. Your maximum-security room couldn’t hold me. Why should I worry about some piss-ant flatfoot who won’t follow orders?” He leaned forward with a cold smile. “You wouldn’t let it go, would you? They told you to forget me, but you’re too stubborn.”
“Rodriguez?” I stared at the boy, trying to find some trace of the hawk-faced, thirty-something drug lord. “Bullshit! There isn’t enough plastic surgery in the world, unless you also happened to find the Fountain of Youth.” Then something else he said struck home. The only people who knew I’d been tracking Rodriguez were the Detectives on the case. I hadn’t even told the Commander, afraid of an insider leak. Someone on the force had ratted me out. I was a dead man.
I jumped up suddenly, jerking out my gun and pointing it at the kid. He didn’t even flinch. “OK, Rodriguez, or whoever you are. I’m tired of this shit! We’re gonna take a little trip down to headquarters. This pistol has a hair trigger. Even if one of your buddies shoots me, I’ll still take you out.”
“A hair trigger?” The man in the shadows spoke up. “That’s a good idea.”
The cool, reassuring sensation of steel under my finger abruptly vanished, replaced by something very soft and flexible. Sure enough, I looked down to see a lock of blonde hair inside the trigger guard. My mouth fell open, and I’m ashamed to say I wet myself. Like I said, it’s weird the things that will scare you.
Miguel must have seen the spreading stain. “What’s the matter, Sparky? Don’t think it’s bullshit now, do you?”
I could see the truth in his eyes now - cold, hard eyes that I’d seen before. “But it’s impossible! I mean, you’re a kid!” Initial panic was fading into the sick realization that I wasn’t leaving here alive. Yet even that knowledge wasn’t enough to kill my curiosity. “How did you do it? How did you escape from the room? They searched everywhere! Even your lawyer and that… ” I suddenly remembered where I’d heard the shadow man’s voice before and spun to face him. “The consultant!”
“So nice to see you again, Officer Sparks.” The man rose from his dark corner and nodded cordially. Unlike the rejuvenated Rodriguez, there was nothing remarkable about him at all. Average height, brown hair and eyes, average build - he could be any one of a million store clerks and insurance salesmen. “Though I am afraid you are not quite so happy to see me.”
“You want to know how I got away?” Rodriguez sneered at me. “I think you should get a first-hand demonstration. Do him! Now!” When the shadow-man did not respond, he stood and glared at him. “I said now, Wizard!”
Wizard? As in abracadabra and hocus-pocus? The concept was impossible. Just like the teenage Rodriguez.
“I think not, Mr. Rodriguez. I find him interesting. Someone I can work with.” The Wizard regarded me a moment, then shifted his gaze to Miguel. “You, on the other hand, are not worth the trouble. I believe you wanted Officer Sparks to see how you escaped?”
The boy’s cold sneer was suddenly replaced with a look of pure terror. “No! I paid you! We had a deal!” He began backing away, and I took no small satisfaction in seeing a dark stain spreading on –his- pants.
I heard the Wizard say something. The sounds are still in my head, but I can’t figure out if they were foreign words or just nonsense. Then I jumped back as Rodriguez started to glow. I’m talking poker-in-the-fire glowing, as if someone had turned on a thousand-watt bulb inside him. That incredibly handsome face darkened and twisted into the stuff of nightmares – bulging eyes, pinchers, and long antennae that pushed out of his skull. I think he screamed – I know I did. Then the monstrosity collapsed into itself, leaving a pile of clothing that evaporated into a cloud of blue smoke. I stared down as the haze cleared, revealing a medium-sized cockroach that dashed for the wall – only to be crushed under the Wizard’s brown loafer.
“That takes care of Mr. Rodriguez.” He smiled easily at me, and raised one eyebrow. “Now, what shall we do with you?”
This is the point where the hero says something really witty, or suddenly pulls out that hidden second gun and blows the bad guy away, right? Wrong. Hell, if I had thought throwing myself at his feet and begging would have helped, believe me, I’d have groveled with the best of them. But I knew deep in my gut that whatever this guy was, compassion wasn’t part of the mix.
Very slowly, I lay the useless gun on the floor and raised my hands. “Look, mister. I don’t know who or what you are, and I don’t want to know. Nothing you’ve done so far is against the law.” That much was the truth - there were no laws on the books then about magical transformation. “Rodriguez was headed for the electric chair when he escaped, so I figure you saved the State some electricity. How ‘bout you let me walk out of here, and I promise not to tell anyone what I saw? No one would believe me anyway.”
“What? No heroics?” The Wizard gave that cold smile again. “And I thought I’d found myself a fierce warrior, a lion who was ready to wage war with the system. But you’re not a warrior, are you? Not too smart, either. Still, you have a stubborn streak that I find amusing, and surprising resourcefulness and patience. You would have probably made a very good Detective.”
His use of the past tense told me all I need to know - he did not plan for me to leave. Using peripheral vision and memory, I tried to come up with some method of escape while I tried to buy some time with more pelading. “With Rodriguez gone, my career is down the tubes anyway. There aren’t any ties for me here. I’ll move away, start over somewhere else.” God, I actually -was- begging!
“I am sure you’re a man of your word, Officer Sparks.” The Wizard sighed and shook his head. “However, I do not like loose ends. Which brings me back to my original question. What do I do with you?” The he smiled suddenly, and he began uttering those sounds again.
There were heavy drapes on the far wall, about the same area where I’d seen a cracked, dirty window from the outside. I launched myself towards the curtains, hoping I wouldn’t end up slamming into a solid wall. For the first time tonight, luck was with me. I sailed cleanly through the opening just as the entire trailer exploded. A ball of flame followed me out of the window, creating a blast of heat and pressure that seemed to pass through me.
The drapes protected me from the broken glass, and may be even the fire, but they also tangled up around my arms and legs. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me dazed. It took another moment or two to realize that the trailer was completely dark and silent.
Scrambling up, I moved over by the nearest stack of containers, half expecting the guy to come flying out on a broomstick. Yeah, it sounds stupid now. But when you have just seen a gun grow hair and a boy turn into an insect, broomsticks and black cats just seem to fit. If there had been more light shows, strange sounds, even a flicker of movement, I would have run like Satan himself was after me. For all I knew, that was exactly who the guy was.
But there was nothing. I could see into the trailer now, thanks to the shattered main window. The inside was dark, and I noticed that the front door was hanging partly open. Thee was no sign of smoke or fire, and despite the force of the explosion, the only visible damage was the broken window. Actually it was more than that. The whole place felt different. Abandoned.
I had to check it out. Yeah, I really was that stupid. But my hat was lying on the ground, and once I slipped close enough to pick that up, it was obvious that the trailer was empty. Nudging the door open with one foot, I crouched low and peered inside. I could just make out a ratty, broken recliner in the dim light filtering in from the pole lamp outside. The trailer was a dump, floor covered in trash, the ceiling and walls stained and sagging. The fireplace and leather chairs had vanished along with the Wizard.
I fumbled for my flashlight, pulling it out of the belt loop and turned it on. Some scrap paper slid across the floor, stirred by a breeze coming in through the broken window. No one had used this trailer as more than a garbage dump in years. Then the beam reflected off of something shiny on the other side of the recliner. My gun. I went inside and picked it up. The trigger was cold and hard, solid metal again.
God! Had I imagined the whole thing? Or been slipped some sort of drug? Actually, both possibilities were a huge relief compared to what I thought I had just witnessed. Very slowly, my heart began to drop to a normal rhythm as I holstered my gun. I’d call in sick, maybe even make an appointment with the department Shrink. And tell her what? That I saw Rodriguez as a teenager who turned into an insect? That would go over big.
Shaking my head, I turned to leave, only to freeze as something crunched under my shoe. A cockroach. My heart started pounding again, and I nearly fell over my own feet as I scrambled back out of that trailer. I didn’t stop running until I was pressed against a stack of containers on the other side of the lot. Only then did I realize how stupid I was being. Freaking out over a cockroach? There were probably thousands of them in that ancient mobile home.
Except that Homeboy’s lead sled was still parked next to the fence. I approached it cautiously. Empty of course, but just as I remembered it. The keys must have been in Rodriguez’s pocket when he turned into… I blocked out that nightmare, knowing what I thought I had seen was impossible. Even so, something had happened. Discounting everything else, I was still standing in the middle of a container storage yard about ten miles from my beat.
Getting back to Damnation Alley was harder than you might think. I couldn’t call in on the radio without having to do a lot of explaining. Luckily, there was a working payphone a few blocks away, and the cabby was smart enough not to ask questions. My shift sergeant wasn’t too happy when I finally checked in, but I wasn’t late enough to get more than slight snarl. Which left me free to go home and get quietly and completely drunk.
It’s surprising how much a hangover helps you cope with the impossible. When breathing hurts and your head spins every time you try to stand up, misfiling horrible memories under ‘Great hallucinations I have had’ comes as second nature. Less surprising was the rather brief mourning period caused by Rodriguez’s disappearance. There isn’t a lot of sentimentality in the drug and prostitution world – they were back to business as usual with someone else was running things in less than a week.
Of course, I was totally screwed. Though I continued to deny my memories of that night, I knew in my heart that Rodriguez was gone. Which meant I had no way to redeem myself with the Precinct. On the flip side, I was suddenly a lot more popular on the streetr. Whores and junkies were waving and smiling, even some of Rodriguez’s old people. It seemed that Homeboy had told a few of his friends how he was going to waste a nosy cop. So when I returned from the ride and Homeboy didn’t, they all figured that I had wasted him instead.
That kind of assumption can be really helpful in Damnation Alley. However, word also spread to the Precinct, probably through whoever had sold me out in the first place. Not officially, of course. Still, the few people I had trusted were suddenly ‘unavailable,’ and other doors now opened to me led to places I did not want to go.
If I really was a crooked cop, I’d actually have been in a good position. When the Precinct has someone who can survive the Alley, they don’t particularly care if that someone is taking a little extra on the side. Call it a Hazardous Duty bonus that the department doesn’t have to pay. Most of the officers working ‘shit details’ tend to have a little more spending cash than the regular Joes. Of course, their widows tended to collect benefits a little sooner that those of the regular Joes as well.
However, there wasn’t a Mrs. Sparks or Sparky Junior to complicate my situation. And tolerated or not, accepting bribes made me feel dirty. Problem was, I’d started to accept them to get close to Rodriguez, and you didn’t suddenly stop accepting ‘favors’ without raising fears. So that safe deposit box got heavier, and my soul got darker and dirtier.
I figured that was why I started having the nightmares. They began the night of that meeting with Homeboy - nothing really bad at first. Curious, really. The lead sled would pull up next to me, and when I looked in, there was that Ricky Martin face grinning from the top of a cockroach’s body. Or sometimes I’d be riding a giant bucking cockroach like a cowboy, while a very ordinary-looking man applauded from the side. Not exactly visions of sugarplums, but I only woke up in a sweat once or twice.
The second week, my subconscious upped the ante a bit. I’d be in that dump of a motor home, trying to find a way out while a huge shoe came down to crush me. Sometimes I’d dream I woke up as Homeboy, only to turn into a cockroach myself. And the Wizard was always in the background, sometimes nothing more than a reflection in the mirror or a shadow on the wall. He never seemed to do anything threatening - just watch me and applaud the end, no matter how horrible it might be.
I could have tried talking to the Department Shrink. Problem was, the truth behind my dreams was a lot scarier than the dreams themselves, and it was also a lot more likely to get me locked up in a padded cell. So I tried to cope. Cigarettes made me sick, and even when I forced myself to stick with them for a couple of days, they didn’t help with the nightmares. So I tried caffeine, chocolate, and yes, donuts. At least until I realized my uniform was getting tight real fast.
I was surprised how fast I bulked up. After all, I walked a good 20 miles or more every night. Maybe it was just age. Lots of guys start get heavier when they approach 30. And the sparse body hair I’d had since my late teens suddenly started to thicken all over. Again, a pretty common sight in the locker room. At least I wasn’t losing anything on top – if anything, my hairline actually seemed to be dropping.
Cutting back on sweets didn’t help at all. Neither did eliminating all sugar, even in my coffee. Then I tried eating a lot of salads and vegetables, cutting out meat and fats. Though I developed quite a taste for romaine lettuce and carrots, my waistline continued to migrate outward. Funny thing was, I didn’t feel heavy or awkward. Except for having tight clothes, I seemed to have more energy than ever. At least some of it was muscle. On one of my increasingly infrequent busts, I grabbed a dealer who was giving me some lip and pushed him back. He landed about thirty feet away. After that, I cut out the caffeine.
Despite all those problems, and nightmares that now left me wide-awake and shaking, I didn’t go to the doctor’s until my hands and feet started to get stiff. Extra weight and bad dreams were things I could deal with - arthritis at 28 I could not.
So I made an appointment with Stanley Pecksok, the doctor that performed my medical exam for the police academy application. We saw each other once a year for my regular checkup, with an occasional visit when I got a flu bug and once for a sprained ankle.
The first real indication of trouble came when the nurse asked me to step up on the scale. You know, those big digital ones where everyone within fifty feet can see the readout? Two hundred and eighteen pounds! I had never weighed more than one seventy-five in my life! The nurse clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she wrote down the reading. My first thought was that the scale had to be wrong, but I knew better. Even so, it was still a shock. That was more than a forty-pound gain in less than three months!
I followed her to the examination room, where she told me to strip to my skivvies and wait for the doctor. It was rather obvious she had no desire to see me in that condition, rapidly pulling the door closed before I started unbuttoning my shirt.
That was more than a little humiliating. Not that women ever threw themselves at my feet or anything, but I had always been passably good-looking package. Some of the prostitutes in the Alley would flirt with me every now and then – male and female. Thinking back, though, it had been a while since any of them had said anything.
The next signal was Pecsok’s reaction when he came in. Granted, I didn’t expect him to really remember my name without looking at the chart first, but this time he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.
“Jon?” He looked at the chart again, frowning. “Jon Sparks?”
The bewildered look in his eyes told me just how wrong things were. It probably sounds ridiculous now, but God’s honest truth, when I turned and looked in the examination room’s full-length mirror, it was the first time I really saw what had been happening to me.
All I had in the apartment was a small mirror over the bathroom sink, and the changes had been spread out over weeks. Even when my chest and arms started to go Neanderthol, I had never thought to check the rest of my body. Seeing everything all together was a real shock. My back was almost completely covered with an even heavier layer of straight brown hair that continued down my butt and thighs, with a thinner coat spread evenly over the rest of my body. The proportions looked weird, too, like my body was a little too long. Worse, my protruding belly looked more like I was pregnant than fat.
Taking a step closer, I looked hard at the face I had shaved just that morning and compared it to recent memory. God, How could I have not noticed before? My hair was darker all over, more dirty blonde than the near-white it had been most of my life, and had grown down the back of my neck to blend into the dense coat on my shoulders. And my ears looked weird – maybe it was the black fuzz that almost obscured the edges, but they seemed both larger and higher than they should be.
The examination itself was pretty routine. I remember mumbling answers as Pecsok went over the standard questions. Recent weight gain was obvious, and I told him about trying to diet. I don’t think he believed I was living off of salad. And it almost made me laugh when he asked if I had been under any unusual pressure at work.
You’d think that with all this weird stuff going on, my blood pressure would be sky-high, right? Wrong. Both readings were lower than normal, and my heart rate was down to about 58 beats per minute, as opposed to the normal 70. My temperature was up a bit, but not enough that the doctor showed any concern. In fact, he joked about recommending gaining weight to all his patients.
It took a good twenty minutes to get to the reason I had actually come. He looked at my fingers, moving them back and forth as he felt the joints and asked questions. No, it didn’t hurt. No, I wasn’t having trouble holding things, and my grip was as strong as ever. No, I didn’t use a computer much. The problem was both my hands and feet felt less flexible, almost like I was trying to move them through sand.
There was no obvious swelling of the joints, or any other indication of arthritis. Pecsok said the stiffness could be related to job functions, and recommended orthopedic shoes and gloves for colder nights. My hair growth was put off to age and genetics – a little unusual, but nothing to worry about. In the end, all I got was a photocopied page with calorie charts and recipes to help with the diet and orders to call him if any of problems got worse. Oh, he did set up a lab visit for blood workups. I didn’t bother to go. Something was very wrong with me, but I was pretty sure normal medicine wasn’t going to be any help.
It was obvious that the ball of fire that followed me out of the trailer window had done more than singe my clothes. What I thought had simply been an impression of heat passing through me must have been a spell of some sort. Yeah, it took me long enough to figure that out, but remember, most of the world still thought magic was all sleight of hand and trap doors.
Anyway, that left me with a couple of things to figure out. First of all, what was happening to me? The fur seemed to rule out joining Homeboy as a cockroach -–I was grateful for that much, anyway. Besides, I was getting larger, not smaller. Not just heavier, but taller, too. That was a strange bit – my pants legs actually started to bag a little, but my body got longer. Wonder what the Doctor would make of that? My shirts wouldn’t stay tucked in, and with the increasingly prominent belly, I started looking like a cartoon plumber in desperate need of a case of Nair.
The other big question was could I do anything about it? Some people would run and hide until whatever happened was done, or go screaming and wailing about their terrible misfortune. Screw that. As long as I could still think and move, I had a chance. And as for terrible misfortune? Well, I figured that Rodriguez would have blown me away himself if he hadn’t thought the Wizard would follow orders, so every minute after that meeting was a gift.
I decided to make use of those gifts to find the Wizard. Yeah, that’s right. I decided to go looking for him. What choice did I have? It’s not like there’s a “Spells R’ Us” on every corner. As far as I knew, he was the only person in the world, in the universe, maybe, who had the power to do whatever he had done to me. Which meant he was also the only person who could make it stop.
The logical first stop was Rodriguez’s lawyer. After all, he was the one who had gotten the Wizard inside the holding cell. Daniel Cohen was his name, a sharp, smooth-talking criminal lawyer that would cheerfully defend his own mother’s killer. By a rather strange coincidence, it turned out he had left on an ‘extended vacation’ just a few weeks after Rodriguez disappeared. No contact address or phone, of course. I wondered if the vacation was voluntary – or permanent. Not that I would shed any tears to find he was now a sewer rat, but it seemed that my search had hit a major dead end right before it started.
Of course, I checked out other possibilities just to be sure. Damnation Alley has a wealth of resources for the truly desperate. No, not the neighborhood dealers and hookers. I’m talking the really weird shit - Voodoo, occult, pagan cults. You know, the people who base their whole religion, their way of life, on the belief that things like what was happening to me were possible? Right. At least, until they actually come face to face with it.
Most of them thought it was a joke at first, though a few got nasty when they got the idea I was part of some Police sting operation. All I had to do was take off my shirt to get past that part. That was when the reactions got interesting. One old black lady who professed to be a witch screamed and ran into the back of her store. Madame Pomfrey, the card-reading mystic, actually touched my shoulder and then snatched her hand back as if the fur were hot. She ordered me out and closed up shop for the rest of the week. And I got laughed at by ‘Snake’ Simmons, the occult bookstore owner. He said that the whole idea of magic was total crap, and that I needed a good shrink and a can of shaving cream.
Then there were the opportunists who figured they could take advantage of my desperation. They offered magic ointments, special incense, sacred crystals, and guaranteed to combat the mysterious forces at work within my body/soul/karma/spirit/ whatever. All total horse shit, of course. No, that wasn’t a joke. How do I know? I tried them all. Every herbal salve, stinking aromatic, and hunk of quartz they offered ended up in my apartment.
Real help came in the unlikely form of a 17 year-old prostitute named Cindy. She was a newcomer to Damnation Alley, but supposedly had been turning tricks in another city since she was 11. Anyway, I was shuffling through my beat almost a week after my visit to the doctor when she saw me for the first time. By then, I was getting used to stares and whispered comments, but she practically had a nervous breakdown.
Granted, I was looking pretty rough, and my voice had developed a wheeze that wouldn’t go away. An asthmatic Neanderthal, if you will. So I did my best to ignore her as she huddled behind some of the older hookers. Patti, the redhead, shrugged. “Don’t take it personal, Sparks. She has some pretty strange ideas, anyway. Said her best friend turned into a cat woman last Halloween.”
“What?” That got my attention real fast. Like I said, this was before everything leaked out. I figured the Wizard was just a freak thing – I mean, if people started turning into animals and cockroaches, I’d have heard about it on the news, right?
Actually, I had. It took some work to get the kid to talk to me, but when she finally described what happened to her friend, it all came back to me. The Halloween party at a Chicago nightclub called the Raucous Chicken, where everyone had actually become whatever they were dressed as. There had been some wild news stories right afterwards, but then it all got pretty much written off as hallucinations or elaborate hoaxes. Remember, it was months before the Government cover-up got exposed.
You can’t blame them, really. How do you tell the public that thanks to a powerful magic user from another dimension, we have real witches, monsters, and superheroes wandering around? And Wizards who can turn drug dealers into cockroaches and police officers into jackasses. Yeah, I’d figured out what was happening by now. Well, in truth, I heard some little kid telling her mommy that I looked like Eeyore. That sad donkey from Winnie the Pooh?
Now I had a couple of answers – what and how. I still didn’t know why he had done this to me, or where he was. I figured if I could find him, I might get the why. Trouble was, the lawyer was my only solid connection. The Wizard had apparently covered his tracks pretty well, but I was determined to locate him at all costs. Hell, what did I have to lose? So I emptied what was left of my bank account, got every cash advance my credit cards would allow, and started talking to Rodriguez’s former flunkies.
Luckily, most of them thought I had whacked Homeboy and didn’t require too much of my limited resources to tell me they didn’t know anything. And I knew enough of the truth to discount the majority of bullshit. Even so, it took about half my cash to find out that Charlie, one of Rodriguez’s gay pimps had helped arrange his makeover. That same pimp had vanished about the time that Rodriguez did, but I checked out his place, anyway.
The young man who opened the door looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. I knew the feeling. Early twenties, with that almost-pretty look so common among the male prostitutes. It was easy to understand his haggard appearance. A baby was screaming in the background, the kind of wails that either rip your heart out or make your head explode.
The guy stared at me when I asked about Charlie, and for a bit I didn’t think he actually listened to a word I had said. Finally, he motioned for me to follow, and walked into the back room. My heart leaped – maybe I was finally getting lucky! Then he stopped at a battered crib stuck in a corner of the filthy apartment. The room reeked of dirty diapers, so strong to my enlarged nostrils that my eyes watered. There was a tiny infant in the crib, maybe a month old, fists balled up and squirming as it shrieked.
I stared at the naked little boy, feeling a chill. “OK, you run a lousy daycare. What about Charlie?”
“You’re looking at him. We were in bed together about a month ago, and he started to shrink. Only took a few minutes to end up like this. Hasn’t stopped screaming since. Doesn’t eat or drink. Doesn’t sleep. Just screams and stinks. Don’t think he’s aged a day, either.” The young man smiled bitterly. “ I took up with him because I like older men. Pretty funny, huh?”
Up to that point, I’d figured Rodriguez had suffered the worst fate imaginable. Given the choice between being a dead cockroach and eternity as a helpless, terrified baby, the sole of the Wizard’s loafer suddenly didn’t look all that bad. I backed away, cold and shaking, and then spun and puked up a bag of carrots.
We went back to the living room, where I tried to apologize for the mess. He gave a short, hollow laugh. “Like I’d even notice?” Then he fell back into a chair. “So, you obviously got screwed by the Wizard.”
“You know about him?” I wiped my mouth off on my sleeve. “Do you know how Charlie got in touch with him?”
“Why? You aren’t stupid enough to be looking for him, are you?”
I nodded. “Unless you got some better idea, I don’t know any other way to stop this.”
His eyes flickered down to my crotch, and a faint smile formed. “Could be a lot worse. You seem to have your mind, and some of your change looks pretty interesting. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in…?”
“Don’t even go there.” I felt my ears shift slightly back as a flash of anger came and went. “If I turn into an animal, I might as well be dead. Maybe I can talk him into changing me back. But I got to find him, first.”
We both cringed as a particularly loud shriek split the air. He sagged suddenly. “All I know is, Charlie talked to a friend of his in Chicago. A female impersonator, does Marilyn Monroe at one of the big clubs downtown. His name is Wayne – don’t know the last name. That’s all I got.”
By now, the constant screaming had gotten to me so bad I would have probably left even if the guy did have more information. He got up when I nodded and followed me to the door. The hallway provided some relief, and I took time to ask a question that had nagged me since I first saw Charlie. “Why do you stay?”
The young man gave that hollow laugh again. “Because the fucking Wizard screwed me up, too! We are bonded somehow. I can’t get more than fifty feet away from Charlie without a major panic attack. If you happen to see him, tell him I think he’s a major shit. If I’m lucky, he’ll kill me.” Then he slammed the door in my face.
Baby Charlie joined the cast of my nightmares, still screaming as the Wizard pulled him out of a filthy crib and handed him to Marylyn Monroe. The dead starlet struck a motherly pose, then looked directly at me with a nasty leer. “Hey there, big boy! Wanna have some fun?” She twisted around as a blast of air sent her skirt flying up over her waist, presenting me with a naked and very female donkey’s hindquarters. I could feel myself changing more as I moved to her, screamed and cursed the Wizard as my arms stiffened and my face pushed out, knowing that I was losing myself and helpless to stop. A coarse braying joined the infant’s shrieks, and then I woke up in a cold sweat.
As bad as the dreams were, I still dragged my feet over going to Chicago. Oh, I told myself I was being cautious, checking out all the other leads before I did anything drastic. Truth was, I was afraid. At least, until I looked in the mirror a few days later and saw that the eyes staring back at me were brown instead of blue, with pupils that had a horizontal cast to them. You know the old saying about eyes being ‘windows to the soul’? Well, these windows belonged in a stable.
Even with that proverbial cattle prod to the balls, it took another day to actually make the trip. I had to kill my mother off, at least for the Duty Sergeant, in order to get emergency leave. There wasn’t much chance I would be returning, but there was no point in burning bridges. On the other hand, I didn’t want to leave a lot of loose ends, either. I gave my potted plants to a neighbor, unplugged everything in the apartment, and threw together a last will and testament with one of those do-it-yourself kits. It probably looked like I was planning to commit suicide. Maybe I was.
First class airfare cost about two weeks’ pay, but I probably wouldn’t have fit in one of the Coach seats anyway. Besides, if I had to blow my credit, I might as well go for the gold. If I survived, I’d find a way to pay it all back. If I didn’t, well, tough luck for MasterCard and Visa.
Finding a specific Marilyn Monroe impersonator in Chicago was a lot harder than I expected. Would you believe there were six appearing at different clubs? And not one of them was named Wayne. I was contemplating some serious bodily harm to Charlie’s babysitter when a stagehand volunteered – with the help of a C-note – the information that the Marilyn I wanted, one Wayne Bulger, was locked up in the Chicago General loony bin.
By then it was about four hours past normal visiting, so I treated myself to a room at the Omni Chicago hotel. You know, mint on the pillow, mini-bar, and a fruit basket? I had room service bring up a $21 Caesar salad at 3 a.m. – and fell asleep in the middle of eating it.
The dream was different that night. I was walking my beat in Damnation Alley, nodding to the regulars as I passed. They all smiled and waved, and the girl prostitute came running over to feed me a carrot. I felt a sting in my rump, and looked back to see the Wizard sitting on an ancient peddler’s cart. A cart I was pulling as a donkey. The Wizard flicked his whip at me again. “Come on Sparky. We have a lot more work to do.” And I could see that the space behind him was piled high with bodies.
Although it was disturbing, this new nightmare came and went without waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. I was still dead asleep when the maid knocked on the door at noon, and I actually felt rested for the first time in weeks. I absently noted greatly enlarged ears and more prominent teeth as I washed up. Maybe I was getting used to the changes, but even the discovery that a short tail had emerged overnight didn’t phase me. A hot shower, larger clothes, and a pullover cap did wonders to make me look presentable. Still no prizewinner, but as long as no one looked too closely at the details, my Police ID should pass muster.
Happily, the hospital administrator was in a good mood when I called with a plausible and only slightly falsified story - I was investigating the disappearance of a drug pusher, and Mr. Bulger was the only lead I had been able to track so far. He had no problem allowing me to talk with Bulger, though he did warn me that the man probably wouldn’t be much help. We met in the hospital’s lobby a few hours later, and after giving my badge a cursory glance, he escorted me up to the Psychiatric Ward.
“You might be in luck.” The Ward nurse met us at the elevator, showing only the slightest shudder at my appearance. “She’s been singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to President Kennedy this morning. That was a good day, if I remember right.” When she saw my bewildered expression, she shook her head. “I guess you already know Wayne was a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. About a month ago, his act suddenly got a little too realistic. He seems to be reliving her life, jumping around with no real order. The detail is pretty scary – I guess he is making things up in his head, but it all seems so damn real!”
I frowned, remembering Charlie. “What kind of details? Is he really her now? I mean, physically?” They both stopped and stared at me, and I had to regroup. “In his mind. Uh, does he act like he is a woman?”
The nurse snorted as she continued to the end of the hallway. “Does he ever! It’s not just that he’s effeminate. I’ve seen some of her old movies. He has the walk, the voice, and every little gesture down pat. Even details of her life that aren’t common knowledge. I made a bet with one of the other nurses that it was all made up, and did some digging. So far, almost every single reference has checked out. And I couldn’t disprove any of the rest.” She stopped at the last door on the right. “Here you go. He isn’t dangerous, except to himself.”
“Dangerous?”
“He was brought in here the day he relived one of her drug overdoses.”
“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, I waited for her to knock and open the door. A familiar, breathy voice invited us in.
Wayne might have been having a good day, but he looked like Hell. About medium height and build, he had thick, tangled bleached blonde hair with a couple of inches of dark brown at the roots, and enough makeup to scare Tammy Faye Baker. Combined with a hospital gown hanging open in the back, he looked about as much like Marilyn Monroe as I did.
At least, until he saw us and sat primly on the bed. Now, the actress he was supposed to be imitating had died before I was born, and I might have seen her in a couple of old movies on the late show. But I knew I was in Her presence. Not an act. Not a delusion. This really was Marilyn Monroe.
She was very nice, actually. Excited from having just left the White House, her eyes were bright and she couldn’t stop smiling. I’m not sure how she saw us. A group of fans, perhaps, or reporters looking for tidbits.
Unfortunately, my questions about Rodriguez brought a blank stare. Of course, there was no way Marilyn would have known him. She did know a Charlie, but he was the prop man on her current film – Something’s Got to Give. Then she stood up, explaining that she had to catch a plane back to Los Angeles. She fished around in an imaginary pocketbook, and handed us each something – her agent’s card, it turned out. We could call or write, and she’d make sure we got autographed photos. Then she gave the Administrator a peck on the cheek, and turned to do the same for me.
As her lips brushed my hairy face, her fingers dug deep into my shoulders. That husky voice deepened, and Wayne Bulger whispered into my ear. “My place. Look for the Wizard with Dorothy.” He pulled back, and our eyes locked. For just a moment, I saw a desperate, tortured soul. Then he blinked in confusion, and Marilyn was back.
The others did not see the momentary lapse. I managed to smile and wave as Marilyn traipsed to her waiting limousine, thanked her driver, Fred, and settled back on the bed for the ride to the airport. The nurse herded us back out, smiling as she shut the door. “Well, if he has to be crazy, at least he is happy.”
Happy? I thought I might be sick again, but managed to retain lunch. Bulger must have been infatuated with Marilyn Monroe. Perhaps he had wanted to know what it was like to really be her. And Charlie had been an older man with a young lover. Had he wished for youth? I shivered suddenly. The Wizard had said I was interesting. Considering what I had seen of his work so far, the old Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’ seemed very bad indeed.
Finding this monster suddenly wasn’t quite so appealing to me. Still, Bulger had tried to pass on something to me. Was the Wizard staying in his apartment? That seemed unlikely. And who was Dorothy? Every survival instinct was telling me to turn and run as far and as fast as I could. Except, I wouldn’t be running much longer, at least, on two legs. What else could the Wizard do to me? I shut that thought down quick.
It was pride that kept me going. I just couldn’t give up. I was close – I could feel it. Sort of like coming up to a really big accident on the highway. You can see all the lights and people, know that there is something ugly up ahead. And you still end up looking for the bodies and the blood, even though you tell yourself you don’t want to see them. Of course, in this case the body was likely to be my own.
I had to dig to locate the address listed in Bulger’s hospital file. Not surprisingly, it was in Chicago’s version of Damnation Alley. As far as John Q. Public is concerned, a professional female impersonator is as socially unacceptable as a whore or a drug dealer. That tends to make the misfits and miscreants become reluctant allies - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that crap.
The cabby I finally managed to flag down wouldn’t go closer than five blocks away, so I had to walk through a criminal wonderland that didn’t know I was a cop. The WASP Poster Child I had been just a few weeks ago would have been beaten, robbed, and perhaps murdered long before he reached the crumbling brownstone that contained Bulger’s apartment. However, no one wanted to get close to the shaggy, ugly stranger shuffling through their midst. In a way, that hurt almost as much as a knife wound.
The building super, a withered old lady who might have been a hooker in her youth, wasn’t quite so quick as the hospital to cooperate with an out-of-state cop. She demanded to see a warrant, but eventually accepted a picture of Benjamin Franklin as a substitute. As I reached the top of his landing on the third floor, I discovered I had wasted my money.
Bulger’s door had been kicked in, and even in the dark it was obvious that his place had been ransacked. What furniture remained had been smashed apart, and the walls were spay-painted with a wide variety of colorful (no pun intended) messages. Even the bulbs had been removed from the ceiling fixtures.
I squinted in the dim light from the hall, trying to spot anything that might tie in with Bulger’s one whispered clue. The thieves and vandals hadn’t left much. Movie posters hung in tatters from the wall, with streamers of ruined VHS tapes tangled on the floor. Discouraged, I kicked idly at some old magazines. The trail was suddenly gone.
“Get the fuck outa here, you piece of shit!” I spun suddenly at a shrill, angry voice behind me, and saw someone in the doorway brandishing a large crowbar. “Isn’t it enough you assholes ruined almost everything he had?” With the light behind, the person’s face was lost in shadow, and neither the silhouette nor the voice identified gender. For just a moment, I felt a quick thrill of terror, remembering the Wizard’s similar dark mask. But this self-appointed guardian lacked the presence I had felt before, and I realized it must be either a neighbor or a friend. Perhaps both.
I raised my hands. “I’m a police officer! Mr. Bulger told me to look for something here.”
“Bullshit!” The crowbar lifted a bit higher. “Wayne is locked up in the mental ward! And the fuckin’ police didn’t even come out when his place was trashed.” The voice dropped a bit, and I decided it was male. “If you’re a cop, show me your badge!”
“OK. It’s in my jacket pocket.” I pulled it out very slowly, and opened it so he could see my shield. “Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks. I’m investigating the disappearance of a drug dealer.”
“Wayne never did drugs in his life!” Then the voice faltered. “Well, not until just before…” Then the guy stiffened and stepped back. “Move closer, into the light where I can see you.”
Sighing, I vary carefully stepped into the small rectangle of light from outside.
“Oh, fuck!” He spun suddenly and took off down the hall as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels.
I ran out into the hall just in time to see the door at the end of the hallway slam shut. Granted, by that time I was no beauty contest winner, but his reaction seemed pretty extreme. Still, considering the state of Bulger’s apartment, he was also the only hope I had of continuing.
Standing off to the side, I knocked three times. “Um, sir? Look, I really am a police officer, and I did speak to Mr. Bulger at the hospital tonight.”
“Go away!” There was no mistaking the fear in his voice. “I’m calling the police!”
“I –am- the police, mister.” This sudden switch from armed defender to quivering coward was more than a little bewildering.
“You’re one of THEM! What did you ask for? To be hung like a horse?” He gave a short, hysterical laugh. “Keep your fucking Genie! I don’t know anything! I don’t want anything! Except to be left the Hell alone!” He was pretty close to the edge – so scared that he might do something really harmful to himself or me if I handled this wrong.
“I didn’t ask for anything.” I paused a moment, and then plunged ahead. At this point, the truth was all I had. “Look, I am not lying about being a cop. I was chasing a drug dealer who escaped from a locked room at the police station. He turned up a couple of weeks ago, except he was a kid.” When there was no reaction, I continued. “He took me to meet someone. Really average looking guy, like an accountant or store clerk. That guy turned the drug dealer into a cockroach, and did something to me. Said he thought I was interesting.” I swallowed hard, trying to moisten a suddenly dry throat. “I’m trying to find the guy again. Wayne was involved in getting the two of them together. I don’t care about that. I just want to locate the Wizard. Maybe he will change me back.”
There was another short laugh. “Why? You that anxious to join the animal kingdom?”
A good question. It was pretty obvious that the Wizard liked to play games with people – the old ploy of granting your wishes in the worst way possible. His victims were either dead or wished they were, and I had no reason to believe he would help me in any way I wanted to be helped. So why was I trying to hook up with him again? Turning into a jackass wasn’t exactly my life’s ambition, but there were far worse fates out there. I had seen three of them.
Ironically, the memory of Homeboy the cockroach provided an answer – the Wizard wasn’t unlike a cockroach himself. No, I would never tell him that. But for all his incredible, terrifying power, the Wizard was trying to stay out of the light. Why? When you can change weapons into hair and people into anything from bugs to infants, why not flaunt it? Because he was vulnerable. I could have probably shot him if I had fired first and asked questions later. And I doubted he could protect himself from multiple attackers, or at least, from snipers he couldn’t see. I needed to expose him, turn on the lights and let the world see what he was before he could scurry back under whatever rock he usually hid under.
I guess I had been lying to myself all along, entertaining a silly notion that he would wave his hand and zap me back to good old Sparky, neighborhood cop. That hope suddenly evaporated. I was facing the equivalent of a terminal illness. Funny thing was, I felt better knowing that. Instead of wasting my time looking for a cure that didn’t exist, I had a real purpose with at least a slim chance of success.
Except that I seemed to be out of leads. “The bastard who did this to me has hurt a lot of other people. But he can’t stop a bullet. Or at least, a lot of bullets. If I can expose him, let people know what he is and what he does, maybe he can be stopped. But I have to find him first.”
“I don’t know anything! Wayne and I worked together, and I guess we were friends, sorta. But I never got involved with that fuckin’ Wizard. Never met him, never wanted to. I warned Wayne not to screw around with someone like that, but he seemed to think he had some kind of insurance. Next thing I know, he’s overdosing on pills because he’s depressed that Joe DiMaggio doesn’t love him anymore!”
I found out later that DiMaggio was Marylyn Monroe’s husband off and on towards the end of her life. Right then, however, I didn’t care. “Were you able to save anything from Wayne’s place before it got robbed? He broke free of Marylyn for just a few seconds tonight, right after I asked him about the Wizard. He told me to check his place. Did he have a girlfriend? He said to look for the Wizard with Dorothy.”
There was a long silence, and I was afraid that I had reached the end of the trail. “Stay there. Dammit, I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this. Shit! Shit! Shit!” His voice trailed off – moving away from the door. After a few minutes, locks clicked and the door opened to reveal a thin, haggard-looking young man with a page-boy haircut. The voice and the features were vaguely familiar, and his remark about working with Wayne suddenly brought it all into focus. “Judy Garland! You’re a female impersonator, too!”
He managed a wry smile. “Wayne called me Dorothy – he liked my Wizard of Oz outfit.” A small key on a plastic fob was suddenly thrust in front of my face. “Here. Take it. I’m probably fucked already just by your coming here, so I might as well do what I can to help.”
I took the key and looked at it carefully. The fob was from Nations Bank, and the key had a number on it. “A safe deposit box?”
‘Dorothy’ shook his head. “A locker in the YMCA over on Augustus Avenue. Wayne’s idea of being clever. He told me to give it to the police if anything happened to him. You’re the police, so I’ve done my part. Now get the Hell outa here and don’t ever come back!” The door slammed shut before I could even say thanks – a reaction I was getting used to.
It was late evening by then, and I had to walk even further before I could get a cab to stop. Augustus Avenue turned out to be on the other side of Chicago, and the driver insisted on payment in advance. Guess my appearance combined with the locale didn’t inspire confidence. My new tail felt like it had lengthened quite a bit during the day, and probably made a strange-looking bulge in the back of my pants. Worse, everything was a size or two small on me, making movement uncomfortable. I was steadily losing ground to the jackass – physically, I was already past the halfway point. How long did I have before I really was an animal?
Although the ride was ungodly expensive, it was uneventful and the cabby actually took me to the door. The YMCA itself was pretty seedy – probably built back in the early thirties, and last painted in the early seventies. I started absently humming the old song by the Village People, only to stop when the sounds I was making actually registered. I’d never been Frank Sinatra, but my voice had always been on key before. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make musical notes.
Something very basic had changed in my voice. Not a big thing, I guess, but it bothered me more than anything else that had happened. It was a stupid reaction, considering the fact I now had a full-fledged tail uncomfortably squashed under my shorts and enough body hair to qualify as bona-fide fur. In fairness, I didn’t look at myself that much, so the physical changes were more uncomfortable than frightening. My voice had been the constant identifier, though, the link to my ‘real’ self. And now it was gone.
I stood outside the old building for a few minutes, feeling sorry for myself. What else had changed today? It was easy to see that my arms had lengthened, thicker hands hanging several inches further down from the sleeves than they should. How much longer would I be able to pass for a human? Finally, I decided that it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was getting the Wizard. It was a race now. Could I solve the puzzle before I changed too much to function?
The white-haired old man at the YMCA desk looked like he might be an original fixture, and he scowled at me as I approached the desk. “Twenty dollars a night, in advance.” Like the cabby, he had an obvious mistrust of Ugly. Especially Ugly dressed in obviously too-small clothes and stinking of a barnyard.
That posed a problem. I had a feeling that my badge wasn’t going to carry a lot of weight here. This fellow looked like he probably took his job seriously, which meant that I’d need a search warrant to look in Wayne’s locker - a search warrant that I wasn’t going to be able to get legally.
I did, however, have twenty dollars. So I checked in, got key 238, and went upstairs. The tiny room was barely big enough for a twin bed and nightstand, with a lovely view of the next building’s brick wall. It was a major fall from last night’s luxury, but the sheets were clean and there was a lock on the door. And I saved myself about $300, though the cost factor was unimportant.
After locking the door behind me, I took advantage of the cracked, spotty mirror hanging over the bedside table to take stock of my condition. There was more than idle curiosity at work when I stripped – my grossly over-stretched underpants were giving me a serious wedgie.
As much of a physical relief it was to remove the tight clothing, I almost wished I hadn’t. It was one thing to feel a tail curled inside your pants, but quite another to look back and see that tail twitch in response to your thoughts. Curiously, the tufted appendage looked quite at home over what had become jutting, furred buttocks. An ass’s ass, so to speak. I also had an ass’s torso, barreled out with no nipples or bellybutton. The bulge that interested Charlie’s boyfriend had filled out even more, gaining a dark animal sheath along with substantial size. No wonder my underpants hurt.
The only part of Jonathan Sparks that I could recognize was my face, somewhat distorted by oversized teeth and a broader nose, but still more human than donkey. On the other hand, my ears had migrated higher on my head, becoming elongated and furred in the process. I didn’t have another day. In truth, looking at the deformed animal in the mirror, I doubted I would survive a short nap. If I was going to solve this mystery, I had to do it now.
Leaving the outgrown briefs on the floor, I got dressed again, fumbling a bit with the various fasteners. Then I headed down to the basement. Lodging included full use of the YMCA facility, including the locker room. A swirl of odors filled my nostrils - ammonia, with touches of sweat, mildew, urine. Not really unpleasant, just stronger than I would have expected. Or was that due to a change in my sense of smell?
There were some kids over in a corner, looking like they were drying off from swimming class. A couple of obvious weight lifters were talking football. They all fell silent when I shuffled in, stared a moment, and then slowly resumed their conversations. I was vaguely insulted when the boys shifted around to the far side of the locker - did I look like a pervert?
The number on the key was 121. I found the one-hundred series lockers in the far corner. Several of the doors had been ripped off, and for a moment, I was afraid that Wayne’s locker might have suffered the same fate as his apartment. But no - locker 121 remained intact. I had to work to get the key in, and then wiggle it a little to turn the lock.
There was a single manila envelope inside. I pulled it out, surprised and a little disappointed in how light and thin it was. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable opening it there. One of the boys seemed to be staring at me a lot. And the black weightlifter kept glancing over my way. Curiosity? Or maybe one of them wasn’t what he appeared to be.
I slipped the envelope into my coat and headed back upstairs. Instead of going straight back to the room, however, I took a detour out the side door to a small Korean market I’d noticed on the same block. The YMCA didn’t have room service, and I was more than a little hungry. So I bought a head of lettuce, a loaf of bread, and some bottled water. As I pulled out my wallet to pay for them, I glanced out the window and saw the first police car pulling up outside the YMCA. An unmarked unit joined it, and a chill ran up my spine as I saw the detectives pull their guns as soon as they got out.
They were looking for me. There was no reason I could think of, but my instincts were screaming at my head to run and hide. Luckily, the Korean storekeeper had his back to the window, or he might have realized my sudden anxiety wasn’t over the price of his goods.
Normal procedure is to have one officer remain outside just in case the target of the raid slips past. These guys didn’t follow procedure - they had all the earmarks of a posse on the trail of a killer. Weapons out and ready, charging in like the U.S. Marines. I watched them go dashing inside, and made a timely exit from the store just as the last one disappeared inside.
So much for a quiet night at the YMCA. I hurried to the end of the block and turned left, looking for some place to hide. Just my luck it had to be a residential block - crumbling brownstones spotted here and there a few that had been recently refurbished. I was getting nervous. It wouldn’t take long for that posse to figure out I wasn’t home. And I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
One of the brownstones was still under construction - I realized that the doorframe was empty just as my oversized ears picked up the sound of engines roaring into life around the corner. There wasn’t time to think, or even check to see if anyone was watching. I vaulted over the sawhorse protecting freshly poured concrete steps and dove inside. One of the police cars roared past moments later - they had to have seen me. I was scared to move, to even breath.
I finally eased up to a sitting position and glanced cautiously out of the opening. A cab rolled past, and about a minute later, an old lady passed by walking her dog. The dog sniffed in my direction, but its owner was impatient and pulled it past before it could do more than give a puzzled woof at my strange scent.
Why had the police come after me? Had someone at the YMCA called them? The old man? One of the kids? How could anyone have known I was heading there? I hadn’t known myself until I got the key from Dorothy. Which reminded me of the envelope stuffed into my coat. There really wasn’t time to look at it - the police would be doing a house-to-house as soon as they could get backup. Still, I had to find out what all the fuss was about.
The envelope proved to be too much for my numb, thick fingers, and I had to tear it open with my teeth. It held a 4x6 color photograph and a business card. That was it. I shook it a couple of times, and peered inside just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. The business card was for one Benjamin R. Drake, CPA - taxes prepared, business and personal accounting. Someone had scrawled ‘Magic User’ on the back in red ink. Then I looked at the picture. It was the Wizard. He was in a brown suit, carrying a battered leather briefcase. A dingy office was in the background, with a sign reading Carter, Lewis, and Parker - Accountants. The number by the door matched the address on the card - apparently, he worked there but didn’t rate his name on the marquee.
So, the Wizard had a name. And a profession. A glorified clerk with the power of a God. I wondered if he was still maintaining that boring life, a secret identity to protect his darker side. It was a good cover - if I hadn’t actually seen him in the trailer with homeboy, I’d never connect this dumpy-looking accountant with someone who could turn a man into an insect with a wave of his hand.
This was what Wayne Bulger had lost his mind over. And why Charlie was stuck forever as a screaming infant. The Wizard wanted to keep his real name a secret. He must have been testing out his abilities with Rodriguez - a big payoff and a customer half a continent away who was just as anxious to keep his transformation secret. Power had made him sloppy, and he’d allowed people to find out who he really was. Only a few, however, and now he was trying to clean up after himself.
What now? I knew his real name, but what good was that, really? The police would laugh at me if I went in to the station and tried to report his crimes. He turned a drug dealer into a kid, and then a cockroach. Changed a male prostitute into a baby. And screwed up the mind of a female impersonator. Oh, yes. He was also turning a police officer into a donkey.
That’s when it hit me - I was all the proof I needed! The change had already gone way beyond anything that could be explained by age or genetics. All I had to do was turn myself in, and we could nail Benjamin Drake, CPA, to the wall. Suddenly feeling confident, I stood up and took a step towards the door. But my balance was suddenly thrown off, and I pitched forward just as large chunks of plaster exploded from the wall behind me.
“Shit!” I flattened myself as best I could, fighting arms and legs that didn’t want to bend properly. My body had just lost bipedal status, but I was more concerned about the bullet holes. If I hadn’t fallen, they would have been in me, not the plaster. A sniper, maybe more than one, had tried to take me out. It seemed impossible – no warning, no chance to surrender. No police department worked that way, even with known murderers. What the Hell did they think I had done?
“Not very friendly, are they?”
My guts iced over as the Wizard’s voice came from the back corner, but I rolled over and grabbed for my revolver in a desperate attempt to shoot him. It was a wasted effort – my arm wouldn’t flex enough, and the solid lump that slammed painfully against my thigh was more hoof than hand.
Drake didn’t even flinch. There was just enough light to make out his face. No magical shadow blocked my view – he didn’t need to hide from me anymore. “If you had tried that back at the trailer, you just might have killed me. I was very careless then. Of course, I was just learning about my powers, and I thought I could do anything.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I had trouble getting the words out, having to fight a mouth that had changed substantially in the past few minutes.
“I made some serious mistakes when I first discovered my powers – the unfortunate business with Mr. Rodriguez was the worst of them. It created a rather messy trail that I had to erase.” He smiled. “And you were just the person I needed. I suppose I should have been grateful to Miguel for bring you to me that night.”
“I’ll never help you! I…” My rough, wheezing voice trailed off as the truth came crashing down on me. I had followed the trail in ways that the Wizard could not, using contacts and experience to track down and talk to everyone involved, eventually digging up the one piece of evidence that identified Drake as the Wizard.
“That amusing stubborn streak of yours has served me well. I actually didn’t know about Wayne’s envelope at the YMCA – but I suspected there might be something somewhere. So I trusted my fate to your resourcefulness and patience. As I suspected, you made a very good Detective. Too bad your own police force did not recognize those qualities.”
My clothing had been getting painfully tight and most of it started to rip apart when I struggled to sit up. “Why this? Why did you have to turn me into a farm animal?” I knew I had lost, knew the end was coming fast. I was more donkey than man now – my thoughts would be fading soon. When Rodriguez had been crushed under the Wizard’s shoe, had he been aware of death as a man or simply died as a common roach?
He shrugged. “You had to be desperate enough to come after me and still be able to function. By the time you noticed getting younger, you’d have been a kid that no one took seriously. And a lion would be too hard to control. Besides, the form seemed to fit your personality rather well.”
Giving up on trying to assume a human sitting position, I pushed myself up on almost completed forelegs. Just as I prepared to shout back some clever retort, the Wizard suddenly jumped back and shouted, “Duck!”
I dropped to my side as another volley of bullets took out more of the wall, wheezing from a cloud of plaster dust that filled the room.
“You may want to stay low, Sparky. I’m afraid your fellow officers out there are rather determined to kill you.”
“Why? What did you do to them?” My heart was pounding – even faced with life as a dumb beast, I did not want to die.
“Nothing.” Drake shrugged again. “Well, nothing to them. However, I paid a follow-up visit to each of your contacts along the way. You’ll be happy to know that Charlie has stopped screaming. Now he lies in his crib all day and peacefully sucks on a pacifier that used to be his lover.” He chuckled. “Rather appropriate, don’t you think?”
What was it the young man had said? If he was lucky, the Wizard would kill him? I shivered, wondering what he had done to Wayne and ‘Dorothy’. “They couldn’t hurt you any more. Why did you have to kill them?”
“Oh, none of them are dead, exactly. Even the pacifier is aware. They were markers along the trail, landmarks that had to be removed. And I was able to use them for a clever bit of misdirection. Magic has always been linked to sleight of hand, Sparky. And I made sure that the audience kept its eyes on the rabbit – or in this case, the donkey.”
Suddenly it all came together in my head, and I stared up at him with a mixture of horror and admiration. “You bastard! They think it’s all been me all along!”
Drake smiled broadly. “I was hoping you’d figure it out. Rather clever, don’t you think? You were the one common link for everything, from Rodriguez all the way here. The Chicago police have been after me ever since the night of the party. I was rather overwhelmed by the sudden power, and transformed a few officers who tried to detain me. I understand they became valuable members of the K-9 Corps, but the law has been out to get me ever since. That squad of assassins out there has been waiting for the chance to kill me for months.”
All emotion drained out of me. I was beaten, utterly and completely destroyed. Instead of catching the bastard, I had been his best ally. The sniper’s bullet’s didn’t seem so terrifying. “And now I get to die in your place.”
“That was my original plan. However, I think you deserve a better reward than being ripped apart by a hail of bullets.” Drake raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I think I have a far better solution in mind. Another bit of showmanship. Always leave them wanting more.”
He leaned over and picked up the envelope where it had fallen out of my shredded coat. Pulling out the photo and business card, he smiled, and then showed them to me. The picture now showed me walking my beat in Damnation Alley, and the business card was one of my police contact cards. “It’s all in the details, you know.” Then he dropped the envelope back on the floor and waved his hand.
The floor seemed to open up suddenly, and I was falling, screaming. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here. Yep, this exact same pasture, though it was a lot emptier then. And I was exactly the way I am now. He’d left me enough of my face to be recognizable, even though I look mostly like a jackass from any distance. His safety, I suppose. If things ever get really dangerous, he can simply drop me back in Chicago, or anywhere else for that matter. You see, pretty much every police officer, soldier, and special agent in the country has standing orders to shoot Officer Jonathan Michael Sparks, also known as the Wizard, on sight.
Drake made one mistake, though. He didn’t do anything to my mind. In fact, he seems to think it’s amusing to keep me as a pet. I get trotted out whenever he has company to perform tricks – he set up a voice-controlled computer that understands this braying of mine, and has me answer questions and do math.
However, when he is gone, I can use the computer for other things. Like searching the Internet, and sending email. I constantly look for anyone who can help me expose him, tracking down every lead, every newspaper article and web site question. I know he is looking for them too, and I keep trying to find them and warn them. Like I tried to warn you. I was so close. If you had just gotten that email an hour or so sooner, you would have escaped him, instead of winding up here as a sheep. I still can’t figure out how he got to you so fast, but I will. I never stop as long as I can follow a lead.
The end.