Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 34

If you can manipulate what happens "upstream," you can manipulate its echo "downstream" on the material half of the universe. This is true for one person or several people.

Herman's Six Reasons

Reason Number Four

The park is empty, save for the body. Zandra makes sure of it before she rolls over the railing and hobbles a dozen yards through loose rock to the edge of the waterfall pool. She's more anxious for how she'll react to the sight of the body than the body itself. Too many memories.

I'll be OK if this is all in my head.

The body, gently resting like a semi-colon in the water, assures her she is not imagining things with a high-definition glimpse of Herman's swollen face. And her pulse, already well-versed with keeping Zandra steady around dead bodies, remains as smooth as the water downstream from the body. It's disturbing to feel so relaxed.

A large, stray leaf slips down the waterfall and spins off Herman's forehead as it journeys downstream. A moment later, it splits a slower-moving clump of seed pods like a bowling ball through pins.

Zandra doesn't need to stand and stare at Herman's remains any longer than that. She turns away, then looks down at the rocks by her feet. For some reason, her mind wanders off to who put the rocks there. They weren't a natural feature of Soma Falls to begin with. Even the waterfall itself had to be coaxed out of the surrounding woods. Saw down a tree here, install some rocks there, plow the earth this way or that way. Suddenly, a downhill trickle assumes a whole new personality.

The city put the waterfall here, just like they put Herman here. And David.

The breeze blows something across her feet, and Zandra stomps on it before it can flutter away. It's a 3x5, rectangular recipe card. Zandra immediately recognizes the handwriting on it as belonging to Herman.

Zandra slips the lawnmower knife out of its sheath and spears the card. Raising it to her face, she expects something esoteric to be looking back at her, maybe even Herman's Six Reasons. Instead, she finds something even more puzzling.

A blueberry muffin recipe? It must've fallen off of Herman in the last moments of his life. Of all the things this weirdo could've had on him, he keeps a blueberry muffin recipe close to his chest?

It's only fitting for someone like Herman, Zandra supposes, so she stuffs the recipe card away. That's when she hears the crunch of someone walking. Her shoulders slump even more than usual when she turns to see who it is, although she's far from surprised.

"You're very good at finding people," the man with scars on his face says, emerging from behind a tree.

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" Zandra says and squeezes the handle of the lawnmower knife.

The man with the scars on his face lowers the digital SLR camera in his hands and says, "Honestly, Zandra, you're right. That would be easier. I tried telling Gene, but he's an insurance man first, remember, and a bag of old piss second."

Zandra looks down at the lawnmower knife.

The bastard brought it to the bunker knowing that I would pick it up. Must be nice to go in and out of a police evidence locker as you please. Now it becomes my problem. It looks like I stole it back.

He knew I would go to Soma Falls after I figured out Herman was missing. All he had to do was wait with that camera for me to show up with the knife. I've been had.

"So he knows I'm absolutely fucked in court, but he's still setting me up for murdering Herman as insurance, is that it?" Zandra says.

"Exactly. Photographic evidence of you hunching over Herman's body with a knife in your hand. I stabbed him, but it's your problem. You've got to admit, this really is a nice plan from Gene," the man with the scars on his face says. He slips the camera into a leather satchel strapped to his shoulder. "Take it as a compliment. Gene sees you as too resourceful to not lay down backup plans. And isn't a backup plan what insurance is all about?"

Zandra wants to scream, but she hacks into her sleeve instead. She pours bile from the churning hate in her guts and counts the paces between her and the man in front of her. It's beyond the stretch of 21 feet, roughly the distance person A with a knife can get to person B with a gun before person B draws the gun. It wouldn't matter with her bad ankle anyway, but the analysis keeps her head focused. Zandra can't stand losing control, especially over herself.

That's called the Tueller Drill, for anyone keeping score at home, and you ought to know it if you lug around a knife on a quest for revenge.

"I'd be lying if I said I gave a shit," Zandra says.

"That's half of it. The other half, if you ask me, is that he's got a thing for you. Always has. People with brains like his and yours, they should be scooped out and studied by science. When one brain meets another, it's, well, magic," the man with the scars on his face says. He pulls a pistol from the satchel as casually as a candy bar.

Then marry me if you're going to fuck me this much.

Zandra motions to Herman's body, presently making a slow escape out of the pool beneath the fall and inching downstream. "So why didn't he like Herman?"

"Beats the hell out of me," the man with the scars on his face says. He wags the pistol at Zandra. "Time for us to go."

Not today, motherfucker.

"Go where?" Zandra says.

"To a safe place where you can wait until your court appointment. Gene's had enough of your running around. Time to get to business," the man with the scars on his face says.

Zandra digs her feet into the gravel. "I feel plenty safe right here."

"Oh, come on. You know you're finished. Let's just get this over with," the man with the scars on his face says. "Aren't you tired of all this drama? Prison might be a relief."

If you think 25 years of waiting for my moment ends like this, you're wrong.

I'll dig even deeper into the hole you put me in until it's big enough that you fall in. I won't stop digging until we reach hell.

A surge of energy shoots through Zandra, and she channels it into clearing the distance between her and her opponent. Lawnmower knife in hand, she thinks back to how easy it was to stick the blade into Dvorak. It shouldn't be any different this time.

The gunshot that follows sends Zandra to the rocks beneath her feet.