Chasing Robes & Shadows

She walked to the doorway and stood next to Henri. She saw but couldn't hear Sheryl with Patrick and Cherry, the mystery man put his hand out to the young woman.

Shaw recognized the face. Once Pearson had slipped her the name she'd found mug shots and no shortage of public photos as well as a dozen the family had provided to the department. She was a natural Scandihoovian blonde but the pictures showed almost every hue imaginable, natural or not, including one a few weeks before the fire with red stripes in her blonde hair. Now her hair was dyed in alternating streaks of indigo and black and flowed straight over her shoulders and to the small of her back. Black motorcycle boots, black tights and a black miniskirt, a black leather jacket with small-link chains stretched from pocket to pocket over a tube top that matched the purple in her hair. Heavy black eyeliner brought a raccoon to Shaw's mind. Five-four or so, the nice figure prominent in many of the pictures was mostly obscured by the unflattering clothes. Yes, it was her. The get-up made sense. She'd draw eyes but most people would look away quickly, the 'punk lite' look wasn't common but it was visible enough that the majority of people wouldn't look twice and they ignored such people or even actively avoided them. Only family or close friends would see through the disguise and even for most of them it might take more than a glance.

"Have we met? You look familiar. Been on the game?" Henri's sotto voce didn't bother with the accent.

"Part-timer," her response as low, they caught eyes and she winked, "but tonight's my own time."

She was known by the right, well, the wrong kinds of people. And accepted, more or less. If she made it out of here maybe she'd still have a job. He sniffed hard.

"Good. Not splitting with one more."

They watched Sheryl's nod to Gypsy, her red dress an open vee to her navel, the merest nod returned. She put her hand on the chin of the bank president slash church official and kissed him and her hand went to his crotch. Henri sniffed.

"Don't get in our way, amateur," he said, "got work to do."

Eyes left Sheryl and her strange pair and locked onto the kissing couple. Gypsy broke the kiss and grabbed a woman that might've been her first target's stout wife and kissed her hard. Shaw saw Sheryl's cagey smile as she centered herself and put a hand on each small back and led her oddest guests through a doorway that led into the kitchen and more utilitarian sections of the house. Henri went through a doorway in the opposite direction.

'Shit,' on repeat ran through Shaw's mind. She'd expected a confused twenty-three year old young woman amid oversexed people twice her age and more, she knew how to approach such kids and had helped more than one out of dire situations. Finessing around Sheryl she'd mostly expected and if she got some answers leaving the young woman here if she was of sound mind wouldn't have bothered Shaw.

But pulling this Irish joker from the deck threw those plans out the window. That both of them being here didn't seem accidental made it worse and Sheryl's apparent involvement confused the picture even more. Shaw had last seen that woman's husband on the lower levels so maybe it was just her. But Patrick wasn't simply a boy toy. Based on his IDing and approaching her Shaw had the clear feeling that what he was, whatever that was, wasn't on the side of the angels. Another question was whether Sheryl knew about that side.

Shaw smiled tightly when she saw the mustached man who'd poured her wine reverse Henri's path and enter the room, he stopped and arched an eyebrow at the center of the room as Gypsy Rose did a slow striptease, a jazz number heavily dominated by a languid baritone sax poured from a portable CD player, apparently chosen from a pile of three or four CDs. For its first time on the circuit the house was quite well prepared. Plentiful supplies like condoms and lube was basic, planted pros was solid, small but well-built CD players placed in rooms with pre-selected CDs chosen for their mood was top level.

Victor smiled and tilted his head slightly when the stripper fully revealed silicone-enhanced breasts and slowly rotated to ensure everyone had a view. One hand held the bunched gown around her waist and the other pulled hairpins to let her hair fall in waves. Her audience was rapt.

Shaw's eyes caught the older man's and his attention left the showpiece and he smiled. She smiled back, then lifted her hand to mime sipping from a wine glass. He nodded and worked his way around the perimeter of the room as Gypsy gyrated as she lowered her gown down her legs and stepped out of it to leave her in heels, stockings and a g-string. Shaw smiled at Victor and pointed to his empty wine glass and he nodded, she slid her arm around his and they turned their backs as the dancer grabbed the hands of her 'youngest' spectator and coaxed her to follow her lead. The woman had fifteen years on Shaw and another decade on top of that on her dance partner but she was decently fit and received a round of verbal approval, although her eyes told Shaw she was stoned on more than just Gypsy's nude beauty. Gypsy turned her and slowly unzipped the woman's dress with one hand as they both swayed and slid the other hand under the cloth to follow flesh to embrace a breast. The woman shivered and used her hand to press Gypsy's more tightly as the stripper worked her partner's dress off of her shoulders to cheers and encouragement.

"Shall we let them party," Victor whispered into her air and she led them from the room and into the adjoining kitchen, "and---"

She silenced him with a fingertip to his lips, followed that with a quick kiss as she led him to the island counter covered with a variety of wine bottles. He looked confused but he shrugged and stayed silent. But her attention was focused in her ears, Sheryl and her special guests weren't in this room, beyond Shaw knew there was a large utility room that served as an informal dining area along with a pantry and beyond that an attached garage. Other than the dancing crew in the next room everyone else was on the lower levels.

Well, there was a half floor above, two large bedrooms. But the way up was back the other way. She released Victor and sidled toward the far passage on her toes to avoid her stiletto heels clicking on the tiled floor. She picked up a corked bottle of Pinot noir and a wooden-handled vintage style 'T' corkscrew and mimed to Victor, he smiled and took the bottle from her but found a sommelier's corkscrew instead of hers. She wasn't a Pinot fan but its cork and seal were in place and she distrusted anything already opened.

Then she heard it. A voice. Low in volume but not timbre. She shuffled toward the far passage and edged as far as she dared while she tried to keep her eyes on Victor and stand loosely against the countertop.

It wasn't Sheryl's mezzo, it was higher, slightly slurred.

"Your friends She...," a gap, "... Oswald was intere..."

The voice wavered out of hearing, as if unsure. Or a painful memory. The dead Nevada legislator, the black robe Peter had clubbed, had been Oswald Osborne.

"... didn't make it ... no time. The fire..." At that the voice went silent.

"That's all fine, love," 'Patrick's' brogue was like a blanket and she heard shuffling, "that's why I'm here. You're sure you want to leave America?"

Shaw's face reacted, Victor saw and his face showed questioned confusion as he pulled the cork free of the bottle with a clear 'pop.'

"Yea---." That high voice stopped suddenly, Shaw stiffened as she heard hard exhales in the room.

Shaw moved closer to Victor as steps approached when a wailed scream and a crash from the dining room overruled every other sound. A second of silence was broken by a renewed sound that could've been a laugh or a wail.

"What the hell...," fast clicked steps neared the kitchen from the pantry and Sheryl appeared, an expression Shaw read as more angry than concerned, likely from the interruption. It turned to a momentary surprise as she caught sight of Shaw who held two wine glasses and Victor poured but she didn't slow until she was in the passage that gave her a view of whatever confused mess had led to the mixed moods in the dining room. She exhaled loudly and shook her head. Victor set the wine bottle on the counter.

Patrick and Cherry followed at a slow pace, two steps into the kitchen Patrick caught sight of Shaw and glared for a moment, his face softened before Victor could react, but Shaw read the big Irishman's real mood. It wasn't welcoming.

Cherry seemed oblivious.

"Patrick, love," Sheryl had half turned, "can you be a dear and come help me untangle this mess."

His fake smile back, his glance told Shaw he wouldn't forget about her but he stepped quickly and followed Sheryl through the passage.

"Give me a moment," Shaw whispered to Victor as she kissed his cheek. She stepped quickly to stand next to a stationary Cherry, who offered a slight smile and a vacant stare into the far room.

"You know that Adam and Eve are alive, right, Cherry?" Shaw's question had an immediate effect as the younger woman stiffened.

"Yeah, they made it out. But you didn't see that, did you?"

The young woman's face was hard and angry as she turned her head and glared, her head tilted up slightly to look the older woman in the eyes. But her expression showed confusion and Shaw was certain she also read surprise.

Cherry hadn't known that. Which would make sense if she'd made it out on the far side where the Wolfman said he'd escaped and had seen her, well, a black-robed female with blonde red-striped hair. She'd seen Adam and Eve near her and Peter on the opposite side of the flaming building. It had to be them, she'd seen a couple that perfectly fit the description Wolfie and Bonnie had given her.

Except the cock. He'd regained his loincloth and had his boots. Eve had her boots and loincloth but was topless, she'd not bothered with the bikini top Bonnie had described. But she HAD retrieved and placed around her neck her stuffed plush coiled snake despite the need to escape the raging inferno. Bonnie had made clear the black robes had removed the snake before they'd had the couple fuck. Both humans and the snake were covered with black soot and what looked like burns, but when Shaw had seen them they'd stood together and calmly watched the inferno before they'd melted away with much of the crowd before the police and fire cordon had been fully established.

"How? Who..."

"You didn't see poor Oswald during the fire?"

"He's dead," definite sadness in the voice, "what the papers all said. He went aft..."

Cherry went silent as her eyes darted, she was on ... something... but not so far gone as she seemed. Shaw couldn't be absolutely certain Cherry was unaware of the events just prior to Oswald's death and therefore the roles of her and Peter in it, but this was probably as certain as she'd be.

"Why do you want to go to Ireland? Your family's desperate to find you..."

Shaw glanced quickly and saw Patrick manhandle a topless middle-aged woman who was lost in the throes of stoned laughter and put her into a chair. Other furniture was overturned and Sheryl guided a male guest to a chair, his gut almost large enough to hide his erect but unimpressive prick. Gypsy had removed her g-string at some point and stood with her hands on her hips with only garters and stockings, her one-time dance partner was on the floor at her feet and laughed maniacally. The call girl/stripper's expression made clear her frustration dealing with these amateurs.

'Why you get the big bucks, Gypsy,' ran through Shaw's mind before she dismissed it. With Sheryl involved she probably was getting a pretty bundle for this, half for services rendered and half for staying quiet afterwards.

Either side of her stood the bank president slash church official and his wife. Each was mostly naked. His prick was above average. His wife's tits had the obvious advantage of a surgeon's intervention and while chubby she was reasonably firm otherwise.

Each stood with another attendee of the opposite sex. Not with one another. Each woman stroked the nearest cock. Two partially naked men lifted an easy chair back upright and one sat heavily on an arm as they both broke into stoned laughter.

"Fuck 'em," the young woman spat out and pulled Shaw's full attention back, "don't care about me, just don't want me to embarrass them."

"Who are Sheryl's friends? What are they giving you?"

Cherry's eyes came into better focus. She was on something but she was still aware and she'd regained her footing after Shaw's surprise opening.

"Who are you? You a friend of Sheryl?"

"More or less," Shaw glanced toward the knot of laughter and cries, saw Sheryl and Patrick had apparently wrangled the crowd into some sort of order, time was short.

"But more, I saw Oswald at the end," Cherry's eyes focused harder on her, "he was with two skinny kids, a boy and a girl in a red dress, and another woman in one of those black robes like him. But none of them made it out, I couldn't help them."

Those raccoon eyes blinked and her face morphed from anger to doubt and finally to something with a bit of joy in it.

Yeah. This girl and knife-wielding maniacs. A fit.

"What're Sheryl's friends giving you?" Shaw saw that woman and Patrick turn their backs on the noisome crowd with too much exposed jiggling flesh that followed Gypsy's bare and shapely ass through the far doorway, likely up the stairs to one of the bedrooms on the top half-level.

Whatever that woman was getting paid indeed wasn't enough, was Shaw's last thought on the subject before she focused on Patrick's enraged glare.

"Machines. Giving us little machines, tiny ones... project in Europe...," Cherry seemed oblivious to the far room. Patrick walked with Sheryl but his body language was stiff and he was clearly unhappy.

'Machines?' The oddest answer for a very odd evening.

"Cherry," Patrick's voice was controlled but it was an order and caused the young woman's head to snap around to look at him, "you don't want to talk to that woman, does she Jackie?"

"Just saying hello, I like her hair."

Sheryl looked at Patrick's glare then at Shaw and her eyes narrowed. "Do... I know you?"

"She's my friend, Sheryl dear," Victor stepped to Shaw and held out a glass of wine and stood beside her with a soft smile.

"That's ok, Sheryl," Shaw said, "I'm not really in the mood tonight for your lovely party. Sorry, Victor, you're such a dear but I think it's time for me to leave."

She touched Victor's solid cheek and followed it with a kiss before she took a single step away from him. In the brighter light of the kitchen Shaw's gaze paused for a moment on Sheryl's face. There was... the slightest bit of color at the woman's left eye, like a faded bruise, she knew such well from her encounters with the denizens of the City's underbelly. Sheryl looked at Shaw then at Victor and the tint was gone. Had it been a shadow? Another reason to be jealous of the older woman, she looked like she did with only the lightest touch of makeup. Life was so unfair.

"I'll see myself out," Shaw said and half turned toward the room behind them, that utility area offered a front entry with a refuge for discarding boots and coats that would be needed in winters this high in the canyon. She heard Victor's inhale but cut off any statement he had in mind when she walked away quickly, went through the passage and quickly exited the house. Her car was in a turnout a hundred yards or so further up the canyon, there was one house halfway to that spot but parking was not plentiful this high and this house's wide driveway was full and there were few spots along the road. There was a paved walkway along this side of the road, a steep wooded slope rose from the other side.

She walked quickly and listened for steps behind her, half expected that Victor to follow. She'd never met him before this evening and he just seemed one of the attendees, clearly an acquaintance of Sheryl's but not as dissolute as most of the guests. That said, this party seemed little more than cover for whatever that woman had going on with Patrick and Cherry.

'Little machines?' What did that...

Shaw was lifted from the pavement by something, someone, a large shape who'd sprung from the brush to her left. Strong arms wrapped her and a hand went for her mouth but she twisted quickly and it missed and ended up on her chest just below her throat. Her toes met the pavement just before the heels of her shoes as the grip on her shifted.

"You'll drag me off, Patrick," Shaw's husky growl between quick breaths, "but we'll see how deep I get this corkscrew into your eye while you do it."

He'd frozen with her in his grip. Her right hand held the wooden-handled corkscrew with the gleaming metal tip just against the large black pupil of his left eye. She was impressed that he held the eye open, the distant streetlight just sufficient that she saw the narrow iris that was ironically the same color as her dress that surrounded the inky darkness of her target. His breathing was hard but controlled.

This possibly wasn't the worst situation he'd ever been in, Shaw thought.

"I'm ex-cop, kicked off the force for snorting a bust. Freelance now, Cherry's family hired me to find her," Shaw lied but only by degrees, "just want to know she's alive. What I do now. I'll tell them she is but doesn't want to see them. Ever. They hate her, she hates them, they'll believe that but she's still their first born child. I hope you understand that."

His hold on her stayed and he made no other move, didn't challenge or further threaten her. There'd been a Jacqueline on the force and she'd indeed been fired a few years back for dipping her nose into the evidence room. But anyone with any two of time, money or determination who scratched Shaw's claim would see past that veneer. Sheryl had the money to track her all the way back to her childhood, Shaw hoped they simply wouldn't care.

"Not a word about Ireland but I'll tell them she's off to fuck her way across Europe, they're big religious people, I'm guessing you know that. They're mostly worried she'll embarrass them but will be a bit relieved if she's alive but gadding about the wrong side of the Atlantic, not so much worry anyone here will ever know and they're rich, it's not like she hasn't been to Europe before."

His grip loosened slightly but he kept his head still and the corkscrew's aim stayed. He was good, damned good, Shaw thought. He's a pro. Cop? Soldier? Heavy?

"You're good, 'Jackie,'" he spat out her 'name,' "palmed that from the kitchen, right?"

She smiled but said nothing. He released her by very slow degrees but kept his head still. She backed the spiral tip of her weapon off an inch.

"You're good too, 'Patrick,'" she used only slightly less vehemence with his name, "made me in an instant."

"Sheryl's too soft," he spread his arms slowly and they each shuffled backwards to gain some distance, "you'd be the bottom of that pool this'd been my place."

"Corkscrew in your kidney," she smiled broadly, "so you'd join me down there."

"I'd say 'be seeing you,' but if we do only one of us walkin' away," a posh British accent morphed into a thick American drawl.

"Depends on who sees whom first," Shaw deepened her voice before they smiled grimly at each other and moved further apart. She had another fifty yards to her car, Sheryl's neighbor was ten yards behind Patrick. Or whatever his real name was. She glanced back, knew the path curved slightly, kept her eyes mostly on Patrick but didn't ignore the space before her car. Cherry jumping her would only be a slight surprise, but her lie about Bonnie and her Wolfman dying in the fire seemed to have cheered that young woman, she'd obviously recognized the 'thin girl in a red dress' comment.