“Something sounds nice. Did I mention there’s a person wanting to cut me up into bite-size pieces?”
Neil paused, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. I knew the stance because it was one thing that he and Calvin had in common: the tendency to count to ten before deciding whether to take an argument with me to the next level.
When Neil opened his eyes again, I asked, “Feel better?”
“Nice hickey,” he retaliated, and not quietly.
I put a hand to my neck. “Shut it.”
Neil took another photo of the eye soup before setting his camera aside. “Have you looked at the note yet?”
I shook my head and took a wary step closer. “I wasn’t allowed.”
With gloved hands, Neil picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it. In identical Spencerian penmanship was one sentence:
A most peculiar war of intellect began and ended with a skull.
A Collector.
Underneath that—another drawing of an anatomical body part.
Neil was silent.
“A battle of wits,” I stated.
“Between who?”
“And to what length?” I said, instead of answering. “I mean, are we talking Odysseus crossing enemy lines inside the Trojan horse, or a game of questions between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?”
“I don’t think the note is suggesting a work of fiction,” Neil replied.
“No, I don’t believe so either,” I answered. “I only mean, a war of intellect can be both a literal or figurative battle. This note is extremely vague.”
“Well, which one involved a skull?”
“Do I look like fucking Wikipedia?” I shot back.
Neil clenched his jaw. He looked over my shoulder toward the living room, then said, very quietly, “I’m going to tell you about our other case because I think—for once—you being involved is a good thing.”
I shook my head and put my hands over my ears. “I don’t want to know.”
“Tough shit.”
“La, la, la, I can’t hear you.”
“Hey! Encyclopedia Britannica!” Neil snapped. “Listen to me.”
I lowered my hands. “Are you going to tell me about Frank Newell going missing? I’m aware. Why do you think Calvin is bringing me to a hotel?”
“Okay, fine. Did he also tell you this is the exact same message Frank got? Along with a delivery of human toes?” Neil waved the note for emphasis.
“The toes I knew about. Calvin… didn’t mention the note,” I said stiffly. Then a curious thought occurred to me. “Was this the only message Frank received?”
Neil shot Calvin another glance before murmuring, “No. He received two—”
“With another body part?”
“Yes,” Neil said slowly.
