Striking Sparks (PsyCop Novelette 2.1)

Andrew circled the block for the fourth time. He hadn’t realized parking would be so horrible downtown. He thought he would get there in plenty of time if he left work at three, but he’d had no idea he should have given himself half an hour to find a parking space.

He went one block deeper into the side streets and spotted a gap in the parked cars. He was halfway in before he saw the fire hydrant beside the curb. He stared at the hydrant in disbelief, as if it had just appeared there to make his life miserable. Didn’t it know how important today was? Didn’t it realize that by this time next week, Andrew would be married?

Didn’t it realize that he was scared to death?

The blast of a horn snapped Andrew back to attention. He glanced in his rearview mirror. The guy behind him was Mexican, or Hispanic, or whatever the correct term was. He looked tough. And not very happy to be waiting around while Andrew tried to park his car.

Andrew circled for eighteen more minutes before he found a spot. He walked as fast as he could. Even so, when he got to the storefront he’d been circling and circling, by the time he reached the front door, the rectangular fluorescent sign that said “open” had been unplugged.

The Tarot Card Palm Reader sign was off, too. “This can’t be happening.” Andrew pressed his face to the plate glass window and cupped his hands beside his eyes. There! There were candles burning inside. That meant the psychic wasn’t gone yet. Because nobody just left candles burning, not with the possibility that they’d start a fire and burn down the whole building. Right?

Though this psychic, from what he’d heard, was real. Why shouldn’t she leave candles burning if she knew the building would be safe?

Something moved inside the storefront, maybe—or maybe people passing him on the sidewalk were casting reflections that he mistook for motion inside. Andrew pressed his face into the glass harder, ignoring the gritty feel of the grime-coated glass against his forehead. “Hello?” he tapped on the glass to see if maybe the palm reader was still there, and maybe he could get her attention. Nothing moved. No lights came on. Andrew knocked harder, with his knuckles now, rather than his fingertips. “Hello?”

“It’s closed.”

Andrew jumped and spun around to face whoever had snuck up on him. His hand went to his wallet, patted it to make sure it was still where it was supposed to be, in his pocket.

The man who’d scared Andrew half to death wasn’t even looking at him. He had a hand cupped around a cigarette and was busy attempting to light it despite the wind. He wore a leather biker jacket covered in safety pins and small, round badges with band names on them Andrew might have heard of, might not, and his bleached blond hair was spiked out stiff like dozens of sharp nails.

He stopped flicking his lighter and glanced at Andrew. “What?”

Andrew had been staring at his silver nosering. “Someone might still be in there.”

“Nope. Saw her leave.” The unlit cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “Lydia hates to miss the 5:07. You’d need to shove a big wad of money into her hand by five to keep her off that bus.” He cupped his hand around the end of the cigarette and started flicking his lighter again.

“Damn it.” Andrew kicked the building’s concrete foundation.

The smoker stopped flicking the lighter for a moment, raised his eyebrow, and then went back to trying to light his cigarette. “What’re you so stressed about? Having your palm read is usually something people do for fun, you know.”

“It’s just…I drove all the way here from Arlington Heights. I had to get time off to leave early and everything. And now this.”

“What’s the big deal? Just come back tomorrow. You don’t work Saturdays, do you?”

“Oh, Forget it.” Andrew turned toward the sidestreet that led to the other sidestreet where he’d eventually parked his car. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get a reading.

“Hold on,” said the smoker. “Help me get this thing lit.” He handed the lighter to Andrew and shielded both sides of his unlit cigarette from the wind. Andrew flicked the lighter; the metal wheel was already warm from striking sparks. He managed to get a small flame. The wind blew it out.

“C’mon, I won’t bite. Block the wind.”

Andrew repositioned himself and flicked the lighter a few more times. Cigarette met flame, and the edge crackled as the smoker inhaled. He blew a stream of smoke over Andrew’s shoulder. “Want one?”

“No, I don’t sm…I never really picked up the habit.”

“It’s never too late to learn. How about a drag?”

Andrew stared at the glowing cherry of the cigarette. The fingers of the other man’s hand were stacked with silver rings. Some had esoteric-looking symbols etched into them, and others were set with stones. There was a gigantic hunk of jade on his forefinger, pale green, the color of the sugared almonds that Meredith had been bundling into tiny mesh bags all week. Two green, two blue, and a white, tied with a pale green bow and a pair of fake plastic wedding rings. There was even a poem that went with them:

Five sugared almonds for each guest to eat.
To remind us that life is both bitter and sweet
Five wishes for the new husband and wife
Health, wealth, happiness, children, and a long life!

Andrew took the cigarette, placed it to his lips, and inhaled. His fingertips smelled like butane.