Sixth Grave on the Edge

“I know you are, sweet boy, and if Cookie gets ahold of you, you’ll be even sorrier.”

“Okay.”

I blew him a kiss and hung up.

Pari had put on her sunglasses, as she did whenever she was around me. She could see my light, said it blinded her. She spotted Garrett as we got out, and her eyes danced a bit before asking, “So, what are we doing?”

“I’m being bugged by everyone from APD to the Mendoza crime family.”

“You do like to piss people off.”

“I didn’t do anything to either one of them. The Man’s got it in for me.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, offering yours truly a tender-ish pat on the back. Either that or she was trying to dislodge my larynx.

I coughed and introduced them. “Pari, this is Fitz. He’s my new driver. I’ve decided I need a driver at my beck and call, and he’s really cheap.”

“I’m Garrett,” he said when he took her hand.

She surveyed him from head to toe.

“Fitz, this is Pari. She’s a killer tattoo artist and has only been to prison twice.”

“I’ve never been to prison,” she corrected, unable to take her eyes off him. “You have an incredible aura.”

That was it. I’d seen enough to feel slighted for her main squeeze. “What about Tre?” I asked her, appalled. She’d been dating her employee for a while now. The whole thing screamed sexual harassment lawsuit, but they’d seemed happy.

“His aura is fine. Garrett’s here, however, is quite unique.”

“Really?” I asked, squinting my eyes. I could see auras. Kind of.

“Quite unique.”

“My bugs?” I asked her.

“Oh, right.” She unloaded her bag and brought out a handheld device that I assumed swept for bugs. Then again, she could be a total charlatan. How would I know?

“I am thinking about adding surveillance of some kind. Like motion detectors and cameras. I’m tired of people breaking in without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Normally, I’d say a camera was a bit much, but in your case, I’d recommend two and possibly some type of explosive booby trap.”

She turned on the device and started waving it over and under the most obvious places to hide a bug. She found one almost immediately and reached under my windowsill. It looked like a small black button.

“Very state of the art,” she said. She handed it to Garrett, who agreed with a nod.

“I doubt this came from your captain,” he said. “The government would never spring for such high-dollar equipment.”

“The Mendozas?” I whispered, not wanting them to hear me.

He held it up to the light and turned it in his fingers, admiring it. “Most likely.”

“Okay,” I said to Pari, “put it back exactly as you found it and make sure it still works. I’m going to need it later.”

She gave me a thumbs-up, then whispered, “It’s extremely sophisticated. It has a range of—” She stopped and let her gaze slide past me.

“Of?” I asked, before realizing she’d spotted my roomie.

“What is that?” she asked, straightening.

“That is a Mr. Wong. He’s my apartment mate.”

Pari had been able to see the departed since a near-death accident when she was twelve, but she could see only a slight disturbance in her vision, a light grayish mist.

“He’s a departed?” she asked.

“Yeah. He just kind of hangs in my corner. All day. Every day. He doesn’t get out much.” When she didn’t reply, I glanced back at her. She’d removed her sunglasses and stood transfixed. “What?” I asked. “You see the departed all the time.”

“You sure that’s what he is?” she asked.

That got my attention. “What do you mean?” I stepped closer to Mr. Wong. “He looks like every other departed I’ve ever seen. Maybe a tad more monochrome.” He was awfully gray.

“No, he’s not like every other departed,” she said.

Garrett watched our exchange, more interested in the receiver he was holding than in anything supernatural. He liked things he could see. Things he could touch and explain. For a guy who hailed from a family of practicing voodooists, not to mention went to hell and back, he was not very comfortable discussing the supernatural realm.

I squinted again, trying to see what she was seeing. “How do you know? What are you seeing?”

But she just stood there, her eyes glazed over, her face alight, her expression reverent. Pari wasn’t the most reverent person I’d ever known. Covered in tattoos, with her long dark hair styled in bold waves, she liked thick black liner and thin black skirts. If I had to describe her in one word, it would be rebellious.

“What?” I asked again. I turned my head this way and that. “What are you seeing?”

“Nothing,” she said, blinking out of her stupor. “Nothing at all.” She scanned the rest of the area. “But I do think I found part of your problem.” She pointed into my bedroom.

“Really?” I hustled to her side, stood there a moment, then walked into my room. Despite my earlier assessment that my bedroom hadn’t been disturbed when the intruder ransacked the place, something seemed to be missing. I rested my hands on my h*ps and looked around, trying to put my finger on it. My dresser hadn’t been disturbed. My closet seemed okay, considering it was my closet. My bed sat untouched, the Bugs Bunny comforter lying exactly as I’d left it that morning: in total disarray.