The Empathic Detective: A Mystery Thriller Page 5

  “I see what you mean. It wouldn’t have to be related to height, it could be some other distinguishing characteristic. The child wouldn’t necessarily think about their differences until others brought it to his or her attention.”

  Bryce nodded as Parker thought on it some more.

  “But in your case it wasn’t a physical difference, it was mental. It was processing things internally. You had to handle not only yours, but the emotions of others as well. So for you, it involved a social adjustment as you learned your abilities were different.

  “I think a better comparison could be made with a child prodigy. A math genius, for instance, wouldn’t consider how he was different from others, until years of interaction made him realize the fact. Or maybe a child with an exceptionally high IQ might not consider how mentally inferior her playmates are until she grows old enough to process the fact and learn how to cope with it on a social level.”

  He nodded again, slower this time, thinking about it. Then he shrugged.

  “Perhaps that’s a better way to put it. But I never considered myself ‘superior’ to others. And I’ve been slow to ‘cope with it socially.’”

  She leaned back in her chair. The sky had turned completely dark, and the city glowed below. Music drifted through the air, a steady thump thump thump of a dance rhythm.

  “Where’s that coming from?”

  “Well, speaking of proximity, I chose the farthest lanai this side of Nightsky tonight because to our left, a few hundred yards away, is one of the hottest clubs in town: Mile High Alamo.”

  “What’s so special about the Mile High Alamo club?”

  “I’m betting that Desiree Lamont will show up there, at some point.”

  Parker arched her eyebrows.

  “Oh? Why would she do that?”

  “She’s a part owner. I found out about it while going through the Lamont’s paperwork.”

  She looked over at him and he smiled. In the dimming light, he reminded her of the Cheshire Cat.

  Chapter Five

  Parker woke up to a light buzzing from the phone implanted under her right earlobe. A virtual screen appeared in the air near her face, showing the name of the caller. She stretched in the chair, pulling it out of the reclining position, and lightly tapped the virtual screen.

  “Hi, dear . . . Yes, we’re on a stakeout . . . I don’t know. I think I’ll be home soon, though. I guess it depends on if our person shows up or not . . . Okay, love you too. Bye.”

  The screen disappeared. She stretched again, and looked down at the remnants of their meal. Her dish had been braised ribs and tortellini.

  “Too many carbs. And I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine. Sorry to conk out on you like that. What time is it?”

  “Few minutes after midnight.”

  The remains of a second cigar smoldered in the ash tray near Bryce’s plate. Only a few bits and crumbs betrayed his meal: Romanian meatballs wrapped in grape leaves, one of the chef’s specialties.

  The thump thump thump of a dance beat drifted over the wind from Mile High Alamo next door.

  “Do you think she’ll—”

  He stopped her suddenly, holding his hand up.

  “She’s there. I can feel it.”

  He froze in that position, his brows furrowed, concentrating. The thump thump thump of the music continued over the breeze.

  “Can you feel her?”

  “No. But I can feel her effect on people. Every guy in that place is suddenly burning with lust. And all the women are going insane with rage. Let’s go!”

  He stood up quickly, and headed for the door. She grabbed her purse and hurried after him.

  -+-

  They jumped into Bryce’s car, floated up and over to Mile High Alamo’s parking lot. It was full of cars, unlike Nightsky’s. Bryce waited a moment, hovering. Finally a car left. He rushed down to park before another car could grab the space. Somebody going for it honked at him in annoyance.

  They jogged over to the entry queue, a line of people spilling back into the parking lot. A bouncer guarded the pneumatic tube, the entry to its transport container blocked off with a velvet rope.

  Bryce led Parker around the end of the line, heading to the front.

  Somebody shouted, “Boo! Line jumpers!”

  Bryce ignored them, as well as the feelings of irritation swirling around those they passed.

  “What are we going to do, Bryce? Flash our badges?”

  “I’m not sure that’d help much. Technically, the club is outside our jurisdiction. Let’s try another way, first.”

  They approached the front of the line. The muscle-bound bouncer saw them coming and crossed his arms in skepticism as they drew near.

  The people near the front of the line were more irritated with them than those further back, Bryce noted. He ignored them, too.

  “Ms. Lamont asked us to join her.”

  The bouncer’s eyebrows arched high, and he pursed his lips in a silent “Oh.”

  He touched a com link.

  “Hey, Mikey? Yeah, got a couple of people to see Ms. Lamont. Can you verify them for me?”

  After a moment, a slightly breathless voice came back over the link.

  “Aw, man, she is super busy right now. Just send them on up.”

  He unhooked the velvet rope, letting Parker and Bryce enter the transport tube.

  Somebody in the line said, “Hey, man! She wants to see me, too!”

  “Nice try, but no,” the bouncer said, laughing.

  He pressed a button and the transport container shot upwards.

  “Nice work, Detective.”

  Bryce smiled. “Always try the easy way first.”

  They passed the red line, marking entry into free airspace. Soon, they passed extensive netting stretched around the tube for several yards in all directions.

  “What’s the deal with the netting? Is that to catch anyone who falls off?”

  Bryce nodded. “It’s standard with all these floating clubs.”

  “Is that a law or something?”

  Bryce shrugged. “I think it’s more for liability purposes. There aren’t many laws up here.”

  She pointed toward a set of six other tubes some distance away.

  “What are those?”

  “Emergency exits, I bet.”

  Their container slowed as it neared the top of the tube. They rose through the floor near an artificial escarpment outside a building vaguely resembling the real Alamo. The sound of dance music blasted out from the club, the THUMP THUMP THUMP of the bass louder and more pressing, penetrating their bodies.

  No one manned the desk near the tube.

  “Everyone must be inside. Come on.”

  They made their way uphill and walked toward the entrance. Two massive oak doors hung open. Inside, the music throbbed louder. The club was dark, with pulses of red and purple spotlights flashing through machine-generated fog.

  Through the volume of the music they could make out screaming. A young woman ran past them, her face bloodied. She ran screaming out the door and down the hill, then over the edge. Her scream faded as she fell.

  “Good thing they have those nets!” Parker said. She had to shout at Bryce to be heard over the music.

  They turned back toward the inside of the club, entering through the doors. Every woman inside fought with another. They stepped out of the way as two women tumbled down on the floor, screaming and biting, pulling hair, slapping, punching. One got on top of the other and beat down on her opponent’s face. They rolled over, changing positions, and the one now on top clawed at the other’s eyes.

  Movement on the dance floor caught their attention. They moved further inside, acclimating to the dimness, noise, and flashing lights as groups of women fought beside them.

  All the men in the club seemed to be on the dance floor, cavorting in a circular pattern, hips gyrating, fists pulling in and out, toward and away from their waists.

  In the middle of the circle
, Desiree Lamont danced slowly, her hands waving in gentle patterns, adjusting the pace and flow of the men dancing around her.

  Two large men danced close to her, both well over six feet and muscle-bound. She stretched out her arms to either side, and made little lifting motions with her hands. Between the two of them, they lifted her up on their shoulders, and began turning her in a circle in the opposite direction from the men dancing around her.

  She laughed as she saw the women around the club fighting with one another, clapping her hands in delight when one near the bar found a bottle to use as a club and beginning swinging it.

  Slowly, the men turned her to face toward the entrance.

  “You need to hide!”

  Bryce had to shout into Parker’s ear to be heard over the music.

  “What? I’m not leaving you here in this! We’re partners, remember?”

  “She can control you as easily as everyone else in here, but I think you’re safe so long as she doesn’t see you! Hide!”

  A look of realization came into Parker’s eyes. She nodded, and ran off through the crowd of fighting women, disappearing in a dark corner of the club.

  Bryce heard a sharp command bark out. The music stopped. The fighting stopped. Girls with bloody faces, ripped blouses, and tussled hair picked themselves up off the floor.

  The dancing stopped. The men who had been gyrating in circles around the dance floor looked around, confused.

  In their middle, still on the shoulders of the two big men holding her, Desiree Lamont stared daggers across the floor toward Bryce.

  “Hello, Detective.”

  They locked eyes for a long moment. He felt a strong wave of lust washing over him, and an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

  He took a step forward as an all-consuming desire for her gripped him.

  Then he stopped, fought with the emotion, forcing it down. He broke from her gaze, staring at the floor as the battle within him raged.

  When he looked up, he had control again. Her face fell. She knew she had lost.

  The attention of everyone in the club shifted toward Bryce. He felt their emotions churn as the rage from a hundred women shifted from one another to him.

  The women screamed and raced toward him. The men on the dance floor felt uncontrollable rage, too, and pushed past them to reach his location.

  BLAM!

  The shot rang out from a dark corner of the club, whizzed past Desiree and thunked into the wall behind her.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  The rage of the crowd dissipated, shifting immediately to panic. The crowd surged for the front door, knocking down chairs, tables, and people.

  Someone kicked over a strobe light. It broke into shards and made a cascade of sparks. The sparks fell on tablecloths and a discarded jacket, and quickly grew into flames.

  Bryce struggled against the crowd, trying to make his way to the dance floor. The two jocks dropped Desiree and joined the rush for the exit. She stood back up, waving her arms, trying to reassert control of the crowd, but it was too late. They were screaming and stampeding, crushing one another, running out the door, jumping off the edge to the waiting nets as the fire inside Mile High Alamo spread.

  Finally the crowd passed him, and Bryce had a clear view of the dance floor. He drew his gun.

  BLAM!

  The bullet grazed her shoulder. She screamed, more in fury than pain, her face contorting into a mask of hatred. Then she turned and ran for a rear exit.

  Parker ran up beside him, gun drawn. Bryce looked at her, mentally thankful for her presence.

  “She’s headed for the emergency tubes.”

  They ran out the back door after her. Lamont was halfway down the hill, running toward six transport tubes marked “Emergency Use Only.”

  Parker raised her gun, aiming. Bryce put a hand on her arm.

  “Don’t. There’s no backstop. Your bullet will go out over the city.”

  She lowered her gun, frustration radiating from her. Lamont rushed into one of the tubes, turned to face them, gripping her wounded shoulder. She pressed a button and dropped quickly out of sight.

  “Come on!”

  They raced for the tubes, crowded into one of them. Bryce hit the button and they dropped, the Mile High Alamo disappearing above them.

  They quickly descended toward the netting, where scores of people thrashed, unable to gain footing. Bloodied and panicked survivors jumped off the edge above, one by one and sometimes in groups. Those who didn’t move out of the way quickly enough were pummeled as new people jumped on top of them trying to escape the chaos above. The nets held, tumbling and bouncing with each new body.

  Parker and Bryce raced downward, through the nets, past the red line, down toward the parking lot. Below them, a figure ran from the tubes toward the cars.

  “She’s out. Keep an eye on her, see which car she gets into.”

  They watched as Lamont opened the door of a sleek black sports car, and jumped in behind the controls.

  Their transport tube slowed as it approached the parking lot. Lamont’s car floated up and out, heading toward the city.

  “Don’t lose her!”

  Their door slid open and the detectives raced toward Bryce’s car.

  They heard sirens. A giant red fire truck with the letters “AFD” on the side slowly floated above the parking lot, laden down with water and men, search lights pointed up. The lights picked out the netting below the club. It looked like a giant web crawling with insects.

  “Remain calm,” a voice over the truck’s PA system blared out. “Help is on the way!”

  The fire truck continued to rise toward the burning club as Bryce and Parker jumped into his car. Bryce shot the vehicle up in the air as their doors closed, and turned it in the direction Lamont had taken. He flew down toward the city at breakneck speed.

  “Do you see her?”

  Down below, the cars above the old I-35 jostled for position. Lamont’s sport coupe was nowhere to be seen.

  “She’s gone, Bryce.”

  Chapter Six

  Bryce settled his car down in the parking lot of a restaurant floating above Lake Travis. A sign nearby read, “Lake Travis Floating Yacht Club & Restaurant.”

  No imagination in the name, Bryce thought.

  Down below, a dock for boats on the lake connected to the floating restaurant above via a transport tube. A couple appeared in the tube, the floor of their container rising until level with the restaurant floor. The container hissed to a stop, and its door slid open. The couple smiled at him. He smiled back, and kept walking.

  Inside, he pointed for the hostess toward his party out on the patio. She let him pass her station, turning her attention to the couple behind him, and he walked out to the table where Parker and her husband were seated.

  They turned and looked as Bryce approached. Mr. Parker stood up and reached out his hand.

  “Dan Parker.”

  “Jerry Bryce.”

  They sat down and a waitress brought a menu over. Bryce thanked her and asked for a glass of iced tea.

  Bryce glanced over at Dan, sizing him up. A man of medium stature, he stood only a couple inches over his wife. He had decided to shave off all his hair in response to going prematurely bald. He made up for the lack of hair on his head by sporting a long goatee, which flowed a few inches off his chin, ending in a point.

  This is apparently a trending look in techie circles at the moment, Bryce thought, recalling a few other Silicon Valley types who had been on the news lately sporting identical beards.

  “So what’s good in this place, Jerry? Emily and I are still exploring all the restaurants, and we haven’t been to this one yet.”

  “I like the quail wrapped in bacon with avocado slices. Good stuff.”

  The Parkers nodded, and agreed to try it. Dan signaled for the waitress.

  As they placed their orders, Bryce began his customary scan of emotions emanating from the restaurant’s patrons. Nothing seemed out of s
orts. A vid screen nearby showed the twelve o’clock news, featuring scenes of the fire at Mile High Alamo. It switched over to a shot of firefighters rescuing people off the safety nets.

  Their conversation drifted through light topics. It was a holiday for most people, so Dan had the day off from work. Emily had taken a half day, and planned to go back to the station with Bryce after lunch.

  A crowd of fraternity boys at a table near theirs stood up, finished with their meal. As they walked toward the exit, one of the students flashed them a “Hook ’em Horns” sign.

  Bryce raised his thumb up in a return salute.

  “Gig ’em.”

  The student frowned, then filed out the door with the others.

  Emily smiled at him. “Are you an Aggie?”

  Bryce nodded, his eyes following the frat boys as they wandered through the parking lot toward their cars. The irritation the student felt quickly dissipated.

  “I went to college at University of North Texas, up in Denton for my bachelor’s. But I got my master’s at A and M.”

  “What’d you major in, Jerry?”

  “Psychology. Not in preparation for police work, really, but because the topic interests me. I presume you were a computer science major?”

  Dan nodded. “Cal Tech.”

  “Impressive. So, did y’all meet in college?”

  “No, but shortly afterwards. I’d just moved to the Bay Area and was attending a party with a bunch of other nerds . . .”

  Emily giggled.

  “. . . and in walks the most attractive cop I’d ever seen, working security for the place.”

  Emily blushed. Bryce smiled as he felt love radiating from both her and Dan.

  “So I steeled up my nerve, and asked for her number, and somehow, amazingly, a year later we were engaged. Still not sure how that happened. I mean look at me, right? And look at her. Miracles do happen.”

  Emily laughed again, and reached across the table to grab his hand.

  “He’s a keeper. And he’s far too modest. He used to have all his hair.”

  “That’s right! Thank God I convinced her to marry me before it all fell out!”