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“Hit it, Kato.”
The station house waited, grimly clerical— the sort of oppression that was done for your own good. Then again, I guessed it was no more oppressive than a dress code. The system has benign, bureaucratic coercion down to an art form. And that exact arm from was architecture, to be exact.
“Best to let me do the talking,” Professor Hernandez offered.
“Really?” I asked, glancing at his pirate coat.
“Fair point.”
He shed the black silk, leaving him in a white shirt and dress pants. There were still his boots with their pointed fronts and clicking heels, but there was nothing to be done about them. He would just have to step lightly.
We didn’t have long to wait, my timing often better than fate. On the way into the station, Anastasia came out, reeking of gasoline, and her makeup a mess. It looked like she’d been crying.
“Ana?” we both asked her at once.
“Eduardo. Claudia.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I said.
“It was awful. These guys came into the shop; I didn’t know them at all. One of them looked like some kind of priest and was babbling about me being a witch, and then they grabbed us and started splashing gas everywhere. I thought they were going to burn me. That’s what the priest guy said, ‘burn the witch,’ he said, but then Sven went into some kind of berserk mode and totally wrecked their shit!”
The deluge of language crashed into our ears. It was as if she’d been holding it in for years.
“I told the cops,” she continued. “I told them exactly that, exactly what happened. They didn’t believe me, though. They wanted some other story, I guess. Something that made it all somehow my fault. Like I was asking for it or something. They had to let me go but Sven is still there; he’s being charged.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know. The guys were pretty fucked up. Probably assault or something, even though he was protecting us.”
“That’s fucked up,” I announced, marching toward the entrance, ready to make an absolute ass of myself.
“Hold on now,” Professor Hernandez said, definitely the adult in the situation, “what are you going to do?”
“Give them a piece of my mind, demand they let him go.”
“So you can join him in the cells?”
“Oh.”
“Might it be better to call Seth? Suspicious Activity has a really good legal department, so it’s probably best to let the pros handle the negotiations on the hostage release.”
“Okay,” I said, my raging anger turning to a cold calm.
“Come on, we’ll get things sorted out.”
We piled into the hearse and ventured to Professor Hernandez’s house. Astoundingly small, the space was breathtaking in its gothic beauty, much like the rest of his existence.
“This should fit,” he said, returning from the bedroom, proffering a beautiful black dress in the same black and silver dragon design as his pirate coat, “it was going to be for your next birthday but oh well.”
“Thank you,” Ana said, fighting tears.
“The bathroom is that way.”
Wandering in that general direction, we sat down as the shower started up in the distance.
“Can I get you something, some food or a drink?”
I hadn’t eaten in hours, crisis striking right from first light, self-preservation the furthest thing from my mind when my master was missing.
“I could eat,” I said.
From the kitchen there arose a clatter. I could only wonder what was wrong. Sitting on my hands, not wanting to get in the way, I waited patiently, Professor Hernandez soon reappearing with a plate of grilled cheese, stacked and cut like an art instillation.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, tears beginning to roll.
Grilled cheese was always something I just ate because I was hungry. But this grilled cheese was like a taste of heaven.
“Lovely, no?”
“Yes.”
My world was falling apart but at least I knew the hows and the whys. I also had allies. Ana, Professor Hernandez, and soon Seth Black were standing with me against the storm. I was glad for the company.
Chapter Nine – Sven
You could get used to anything, given enough time. Even if it was being locked in a room the size of a storage locker for months on end just waiting for a trial.
No one had died, so I wouldn’t get life. Ten to fifteen according to my lawyer. I could still be in my forties, though it wasn’t the time that threatened. It was the distance. Away from Claudia, away from my work. The only two things that gave life real flavor.
There was no official death penalty in Washington anymore, but they were pushing me toward my own.
Clangs like a dead gong in my head shook me awake.
“Mail,” Molly said, coming in.
There was a time that they would put it through the bars at a safe distance. As they got to know me, I was ruled safe, and they ventured closer.
Technically, I was on remand, and was supposed to be treated as though I wasn’t guilty. That didn’t stop them being cautious. I wonder if Molly had seen the photos they showed me in interrogation.
