Blood of Gemini

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Not even the sight of Leah’s spiky blonde locks bobbing from side to side improved my mood as I watched her jamming to the tunes filtering through her headphones while she belted out her own rendition of “Crazy Train.” Fitting, I mused.

“Whaassup buttercup?” she drawled, taking in my bemused expression.

“Besides the fact you’re butchering a classic, you mean? Perhaps you should consider lip-synching. Silently.”

My best friend slowly removed the headphones and put her hands up in surrender. “Whoa. What’s the matter with you? Someone replace your Lucky Charms with Shredded Wheat? Wait—Nicoh didn’t eat all my Nutty Bars again, did he? If that furball so much as—”

“No, wisecracker. Two words: Winslow. Clark.”

She nodded, letting out a low whistle as she plopped onto a kitchen stool. “I take it Mort couldn’t help, then?”

“He said he wanted to look into a few things. In the meantime, I’m biding my time…festering. Clark could be anywhere right now, meaning he could strike at any moment. And we both know what he’s capable of.”

Leah pressed her eyes shut and shuddered, recalling the time she’d spent as Clark’s captive—a ploy to elicit my attention and my compliance—though in the end his intention had been to kill us both.

“Hey—” I started to comfort my friend but she quickly waved me off.

“Let’s not do this again, AJ.” After everything that had gone down the past year—including the number of times we’d gotten ourselves into trouble or nearly killed—she was ready for the dramafest to stop. Period.

I couldn’t disagree. It would be refreshing to go back to our normal lives, the ones that had been regularly scheduled and already in progress. Not that those lives had always been filled with puppies or an endless supply of gummy bears and margaritas but they’d been our lives.

A look passed between us—we both knew good and well—even if Clark was no longer a threat and there was no danger on the horizon, our lives would never be normal again. Somehow, I was okay with that, and given the calmness that washed over my usually impish, energetic friend, I knew, she too, had made peace with it. Her comment had not been one of pleading or evolved from a place of fear—it was a resolution.

We would not grant Clark another free pass.

Mort called shortly before 9 a.m. the following morning, as I was collecting my camera equipment for my first client and almost immediately, I noticed his tone was unusually curt.

“I was able to gather some information but I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Can you meet?”

“Okay...I have a photo shoot at the Desert Botanical Garden that will take the bulk of the morning but I can drop by your house after—”

“No, no...” Mort interjected, his voice sharp and impatient, borderline hostile, “that won’t work. The Andean bear exhibit at the Phoenix Zoo—do you know it?”

I was surprised by his choice of location, which was just a quick shot up Galvin Parkway from the botanical garden.

“Yes, I know where that particular exhibit is located but—”

“Be there. 1 p.m.”

I stared at my phone and had it not been for our previous interactions, would have called him out for his rude behavior. Now, he just had me worried.

“Alright... Is everything okay, Mort? I mean—”

“Not now, Arianna.” The way he enunciated every word made it sound like he did so through gritted teeth. “Just be there at 1 p.m. And make sure you come alone.”

The connection ended, leaving me confused and more than a little concerned for the retired newspaperman. The rumbling in my belly wasn’t helping matters, though it could have just been the peanut M&Ms I’d had for breakfast, colliding like balls on a pool table.

Typically a warm, gentle man, Mort had been uncommonly harsh and commanding. Whatever he’d learned, it couldn’t have been good. I called Leah, knowing she would be disappointed about his insistence I come alone, which also prevented Nicoh from accompanying me—definitely a curious curiosity.

“And here I thought old Mort liked me best.” I pictured Leah pulling on the ends of her hair as the corners of her mouth turned down.

“Um, no...sorry. I think he actually likes Nicoh best.”

My attempt at lightening the mood fell flat on its big fat face as Leah snorted into my ear. “Whatever, AJ, it certainly doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, considering he’s left his favorite out of the fun.”

“Yeah, what do you make of that?”

“Who knows. You said he sounded irritable. Maybe he had to call in a few favors to get your information? I know I’d be pretty crabby if I had to call in another one for you,” she grumbled. “In fact, if I had to count the number of unsavory things I’ve had to do to get your skinny hiney—”

“Is that right?” I was incensed she was taking Mort’s request out on me by bringing up old dirt. “Well, I think we’ll all benefit from finding out where Clark is, don’t you?” Her silence told me she’d conceded the point—a rare occurrence. “So, if I’m going to tackle this meeting without the benefit of your expertise—how do you suggest I proceed?”

“Well...” she spoke slowly as her mind switched into reporter-mode, “if Mort wants to meet with you away from his home, alone, it means he’s worried. Perhaps he believes he’s given whomever he contacted reason to keep tabs on him, which would explain the need to meet at a public location.”

“Okay, so he’s being cautious.”

“Or completely paranoid.”

“Maybe…I think we need to operate under the assumption he has good reason to be concerned and take it at face value.”

“Um…hello? What did you do with my best friend? Geez, AJ, when did you become such a cynic?”

“When Winslow Clark decided to claw his way out of Hell and set up shop in my backyard, that’s when.” As she scoffed in my ear, I added, “So that’s all the sage advice you’ve got stored in your bag of tricks?”

“As if,” she huffed, “just try to get him to tell you as many details as you can—who gave him the info, what and how they said it, how they know it, blah, blah, blah. And as a final tip—record it all. Whatever it is, my gut’s telling me something hinky is about to go down.”

Hinky or not, I didn’t need Leah’s gastric intuitions to tell me the crazy train was on a collision course with yours truly.

I was glad to have my work to keep me occupied for the next several hours. I certainly couldn’t afford to have my impending meeting with Mort distract me from my professional duties, or the payday it promised. I was fortunate to have had early success with my freelance photography business, which by no coincidence I’d named Mischievous Malamute—a result of a few awkward predicaments Nicoh had put me in at the beginning of my career. In hindsight, perhaps I should have reconsidered allowing him to accompany me to my shoots but after a few near-misses, snafus and a great many apologies, I’d continued to tote him with me from location to location. Or maybe it was vice-versa.

Needless to say, Nicoh was less than thrilled about being left behind and verbalized as much as I hauled my equipment from the house to the Mini. Of course, the howling and moaning increased two-fold as I backed out of the driveway. I cringed, thinking of the poor neighbors, who were likely hustling to their fallout shelters. One of these days, I’d probably receive a lovely note on my front door, compliments of the city, informing me of the various code violations I was infringing upon. Violating the strict noise ordinance and harboring wild animals without a permit would likely be the starters. Yup, Nicoh was gonna make me pay. Today, he’d probably howl until he was no longer able to hear the rumble of my tiny engine before heading into the backyard to leave a special treat for my homecoming.

On a brighter note, my client was an absolute peach and things ran smoothly throughout the shoot, leaving me with time to spare. I grabbed a caffeinated beverage and reorganized my tote so that my cell phone would be in a prime recording position, as Leah had instructed. It would probably turn out to be overkill but considering we’d both gotten those gut feelings, a girl couldn’t be too careful.

I gave the application a quick test to ensure the quality was good and that it wouldn’t fall to the bottom of the bag when jostled. Sure, I could have just as easily put the darn thing in my back pocket but after a recent butt-dialing incident at my friend Charlie’s penthouse, I was hesitant to place the phone on my person. There was no sense validating my cellularly challenged reputation. I grimaced at the recollection but as I paid the zoo’s admission and proceeded to the Andean bear exhibit, my discomfort quickly evaporated as I recounted the childhood moments spent at this exhibit, hoping to catch a glimpse of the spectacled bears—aptly nicknamed for their unique facial markings.

As I reached the enclosure Mort had indicated, I wondered why—of all the exhibits the zoo had to offer—he had selected this exhibit? My stomach formed a volleyball-sized knot, sending signals to the rest of my body, along with an unnerving tingling sensation in the remainder of my extremities. I cursed, wishing I’d not encouraged the barista to be so liberal with the extra shots of espresso. I blew out a long breath and proceeded.

Mort’s back was to me as I approached. The ground crunched under the weight of my shoes, causing him to turn. I squinted, taking in the man’s features. My mind flashed to a photograph I’d seen while searching for clues related to my sister’s murder. He had aged a few decades, given the crinkles at the corners of his dark eyes and slight loosening of skin across his angular jawline but he was a mirror image of one of the men in that photo—still retaining his ruggedly handsome looks and mop of hair, now laced with silver.

A man who was most definitely…not Mort Daniels.

“Hello, Arianna. My name is—”

“Martin.”

Surprised by my acknowledgment, he rubbed his hands together, contemplating how to proceed now the cat was out of the bag. A long moment passed before he raised his head and looked me straight in the eye.

“Yes, Arianna. My name is Martin Singer. I am your father.”