Vandermein

XX

We were in the Detective's car. He was driving, my wife in the passenger seat and me in the back. The ex-wife, the invisible woman, was still unconscious and packed neatly in the trunk.

Unthawed, I was able to think and see more clearly. This car was a mess: wrappers and cups littering the floorboards, dark stains of dubious origins marking the upholstery. It was an old vehicle as well, perhaps ten to twenty years since its manufacture.

In my mind, I always assumed that Bill was well-to-do. Nothing like me, of course. I was a celebrity, a member of the upper crust. But I didn't think he was doing badly. In the course of the last couple days, I'd learned much about my nemesis, and none of it very fun.

"Turn left on Alameda Avenue," the GPS chirped. We were headed to Kenzie's mother's house. Ji-Min the demon was a force of nature, and Veronica was clearly ignorant of what she was getting herself into when she tried to invade the residence.

But why would she want to be there in the first place?

"Are you two hungry?" Bill asked in an almost pained tone.

I was hungry, though I didn't realize it until he asked. I'd missed at least four meals. "I am. What are you thinking?"

"I'll drive through somewhere."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Ever."

He was still mad at me, and who could blame him? It didn't seem like his anger overflowed too much toward Kenzie. They engaged in small talk about the scenery, living in the city, local politics. Kenzie was not a villain, and her status as an accessory and beneficiary to a villain did not earn the detective's ire. Maybe he was hungry for any kind of intimacy, even idle conversation with an enemy's spouse. Maybe not. Who could tell? It seemed I didn't know the man.

We drove through a Burger King, its bright menus and fragrant aromas jarring against the events of the day. I almost laughed as I asked for a whopper, the idea of eating fast food so comical in contrast to the body in the trunk.

Bill ate his food as he drove expertly, the kind of skill picked up by one who habitually works through meals. I nearly inhaled my burger and fries, and neither sat particularly well in my empty stomach.

We pulled up to Ji-Min's bungalow on the outskirts of town. To the lay person, this place could have been seen as an easy mark. The home was small on the outside, a modest, handsomely manicured property fit for a retiree.

We got out of the car and Bill and I retrieved Marie's limp body from the trunk.

"She's going to be alright? This won't have lasting effects?" The detective asked.

"She'll be okay. I must say, she didn't seem to have the same concerns for you."

Bill exhaled. "Evil done against evil just multiplies its strength."

It wasn't as wise as it sounded. I told him as much: "That's not as wise as it sounds."

He shrugged. The detective's philosophy was simple, sophomoric, and look where it got him: a homicidal ex-wife and a beat up old car. How long did he plan to roll over for the sake of his precious ethics?

Kenzie went up to the front door and rang the bell. A shrill voice came over the intercom. "What?"

"It's me."

There was a pause and a pad came out of the wall. Kenzie pressed her hand on the pad and looked into a small hole invisible from the street.

"Were you followed?" The voice asked.

"No."

"Your friends, are they trustworthy?"

"Yes."

"I will hold you personally accountable if they break anything."

"They won't break anything, eomma."

We were coming up the walkway when there was the sound of gears turning and metal moving in the door. Ji-Min stood there as the front door opened, her hair perfectly permed and colored dark black and her face set in a permanent scowl.

"In, in!" She chided all of us. "She dead?" Ji-Min pointed to Marie.

"Sleeping," I answered.

"Ay, this is no bed and breakfast. Get her in and wake her up."