Genie for Hire (22 page)

Late in the day, when the rain cleared and the hot sun dried
the streets, Biff went out for a long run around his neighborhood. A truck from
a company called Gomez Moving was parked down the street, and though he knew
Gomez was a common Hispanic last name, he thought of Gomez Addams, the
patriarch of the cartoon family.

He could just see Morticia flouncing out in her tight black
dress, carrying a single box. Wednesday, Pugsley, Lurch and Uncle Fester, all
pitching in. Even Thing scurrying across the lawn with a carton in its fingers.

Monday morning, he woke early and went for another brief run.
He left Raki in a palm tree outside his townhouse and drove to the Bolshoi Gym,
arriving in time to meet Igor Laskin there. “How was that party you went to
Saturday night?” Biff asked, as they worked side by side on the leg press.

Laskin shrugged. “Was okay. My girlfriend, she is young. She
is old soul, so we are fine. But her friends? Like spoiled children.” He shook
his head. “I was born in Russia, you know. I live there until I am fifteen.
Then come to US with my parents. We have nothing. Not even pot to piss in.”

He finished his set and stood up. “We have to depend on
relatives for everything. Right away, I am working hard. Making money. But
Natasha’s friends? Always Mommy this and Daddy that.”

He stalked over to a bicep curl machine, and focused his
anger on it. Biff followed him, working calmly, waiting for Laskin to speak
again. By the time they had both finished twenty reps, Laskin had regained his
composure.

“Natasha and I, we dance at party, we have drinks, we make
good time. She go to college in August.”

“Here in Florida?” Biff asked, as they walked together to
the weight benches.

Laskin shook his head. “Yale. In Connect-you-cut. But maybe
I move up there, too. Only if her father does not now.” He smiled wolfishly,
and sat down on the bench. Biff moved over to spot him.

They worked out for the rest of the hour, and parted with
plans to meet again. “I like you, Bill,” Laskin said. “You are good guy.”

“You too, Igor,” Biff said.

As he was driving back to his office, Hector Hernandez
called his cell. “I’ve got a contact with Customs who can get you on the roster
as a supervisor, though you won’t actually work there,” he said.

“I love that,” Biff said.

“Yeah, well don’t spread the word around. You have a pen?
Here’s his fax number.” He dictated the number, which Biff wrote down on a
notepad provided by Baba Go-Nosh while he was stopped at a traffic light.

“You’ll have to send him a copy of your driver’s license and
one other photo ID,” Hector said.

“Will do. You can tell him it’s coming in under the name
Bill Adams.”

“Bill Adams? Who’s that?”

“Call it protective coloration,” Biff said as the light
changed and he started moving again. “Don’t worry, everything will show up
legit.”

“This guy thinks you’re doing research on customs procedures
for a dissertation at UM,” Hector said. “You have no legal authority there.
You’re strictly an observer”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything I’m not supposed to.”

“You’d better not. If this blows up I could get in real
trouble. But I want to catch these bastards as much as you do.”

When he parked at the Aventura Beach Shopping Center and got
out of his car, Raki jumped down from the frond of a palm tree and landed right
in front of him, chittering away.

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t come with me this morning,”
Biff said. The squirrel scampered into his office and climbed up to the second
shelf of the bookcase. He ignored Biff and began sniffing one of the books
there, an ancient compilation of Turkish recipes.

“Be that way,” Biff said.

He checked his emails. Nothing from Farishta. Then he added
notes to the case file on everything he’d done all weekend, and by noon it was
time to drive to Presidential Circle in Hollywood and check on Carlos Cardozo’s
lunchtime routine.

“You coming?” Biff asked Raki. The squirrel followed without
saying anything, stationing himself on the floor of the passenger side of the
car with his back toward Biff.

Biff drove north along route 441, then along Hollywood
Boulevard to the big glass building. This time he parked and left Raki in the
car with the windows open, to stew in his own squirrely discontent.

Biff stationed himself in the lobby with a newspaper, and around
twelve-thirty, Carlos exited the elevator, talking on his cell phone. He wore a
gray wool sports jacket, black slacks, and a white dress shirt open at the
collar. There wasn’t a single touch of color on his body, and Biff had the idea
that he and Dilenys were very well-matched.

Carlos walked over to the deli, speaking rapidly in Spanish about
the procedure for removing an ingrown toenail at a podiatrist’s office. Biff
regretted his ability to speak Spanish and to hear so clearly. With a deep
sigh, he folded the paper and followed Carlos to the deli.

As Carlos finished his call, he slipped his phone into the
outside pocket of his jacket, and Biff got in line behind him.

As Carlos placed his club sandwich order, which included
excruciating details about the bread, the mayonnaise, and the crispness of the
bacon, Biff reached forward. With the lightest of touches, he retrieved the phone,
slipping it into his hand so quickly that barely a heartbeat passed between the
time his hand extended to the time he had the phone.

Fading back, he returned to his place in the lobby, and with
the newspaper as cover, he slipped Carlos’s phone into a square black device
that he’d found through a genie friend in London who was also an electronics
whiz. It would capture all the data on the cell phone, regardless of make or
model, using a combination of advanced electronics and a touch of genie magic.
The process took a few minutes, and by the time Biff was finished Carlos was on
his way back to the elevator.

Biff had to accelerate his pace in order to slip into the cabin
just behind him. The cabin was crowded, which should have made it easier for
Biff to get Carlos’s phone back into his pocket. But there was a slim young man
with wispy blond hair who was very interested in Biff. He felt the man’s
attention on him like a laser.

Sometimes he was sorry he had picked a body to inhabit that
was so attractive. Lots of women—and men, too, he had discovered—found a tall, dark-haired
bodybuilder very attractive. On various cases, he’d been ogled, romanced, even
groped. He usually took it all with good cheer and a dose of flattery, but this
young man’s attentions were getting in the way of his job, and that made him
cranky.

Cardozo’s office was on the fifth floor, and as the elevator
stopped at each level and a few people stepped out, Biff kept hoping the young
man would be among them. But he stayed on until five. And then Cardozo’s cell
began to ring.

Who in the world would choose
La Cucaracha
as a ring
tone? Carlos Cardozo. Biff couldn’t wait any longer. As the doors opened on the
fifth floor, Biff transformed into a puff of smoke, deposited Cardozo’s phone
back in his pocket, then reformed himself.

He could perform that kind of action in the time of a single
human breath, so even someone who was watching him closely wouldn’t notice.

Cardozo pulled the phone from his pocket and stepped off the
elevator. Biff held his hand out to the blond guy, ushering him out of the
elevator, but he stayed where he was. Fine. Biff let the door close and pressed
the button for the first floor.

Once he did, the man said, “I’m interested in you.”

Biff turned to face him. “Excuse me?” Looking more closely,
he saw that the man was so beautiful he looked almost ethereal. He had a small
nose, dark eyes and lush lashes. He was tall and slim, and wore white slacks
and a white T-shirt printed with a pattern of white butterflies swarming around
in tiny cyclones.

“Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not gay,” Biff said.

The young man smiled. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong
intention. I’m not interested in having sex with you. I just want to know what
you are.” He turned his head in a questioning gesture. “So, what are you?”

The elevator doors opened on three and a group of office
mates got on, laughing and joking, so Biff didn’t answer. Instead he focused on
the young man, who stood there quietly, smiling. He recognized the energy; he
should have spotted it earlier, but he was too focused on returning Cardozo’s
phone.

More people got on, and then the elevator emptied at the
first floor. Biff and the young man were the last ones left. “Let’s talk,” Biff
said. He walked across the lobby, back to the quiet spot where he’d been
sitting. “I guess we should sit down.” He pulled out a business card and handed
it to the young man. “I’m Biff Andromeda.” He sat on the couch. The man took
the card, then settled into the one across from him.

 “You give off a very interesting energy signature,” the
young man said, looking at the card.  “And that business with the cell phone in
the elevator—that was impressive.” He looked up at Biff. “You can call me Syl,”
he said. “My real name is quite long.”

“You’re a sylph,” Biff said, nodding. “I thought so.” A
sylph was an air spirit, often inhabiting butterflies. “I’m a genie.”

Syl’s mouth opened in delight. “A genie! I haven’t met one
of your kind yet. How wonderful.” He sat back against the sofa. “I just emerged
from my chrysalis a few weeks ago, so everything is very new to me. Can I ask
you some questions?”

“Sure. But probably not here. You want to come to my
office?”

“Of course, if you’re not busy.”

“I have some work to do for a client. How about three
o’clock?”

“That would be excellent! Thank you so much.”

Biff stood up, and Syl followed. “You need directions?” Biff
asked, as they walked outside.

“Oh, no, I can find my way,” Syl said. “See you later!” And
then, as Biff watched, the young man transformed into a small white butterfly
with a pattern of black dots on his wings, and flitted away.

Though Biff knew there were many different kinds of spirits
in the world, for the most part he associated with humans, and he was always
surprised to run across another in such a mundane part of South Florida. There
was a strong concentration on South Beach, and another cluster in the
Everglades, Hollywood? He hadn’t known.

When Biff got back to the car, Raki was dozing in the
warmth. Biff closed the windows and turned on the air conditioning as he drove
back to his office. By the time they arrived, the squirrel was awake, and
seemed to have gotten over his snit, because he was chittering away once again.
You all right
? Biff asked.

Great
! Raki returned. Maybe squirrels didn’t have
much long-term memory, Biff thought. He was glad to have the squirrel back.
Raki followed him back into the office and promptly went to sleep on the rug in
the corner. Biff connected the device that had captured Carlos Cardozo’s phone
data to his computer and downloaded the contents. When he clicked on the data
folder, a password window popped up.

Just for grins, he put in “dilenys.” Wrong.

He did a quick online search for her birthday, and entered
that. Wrong. Their anniversary didn’t work either.

He was stumped, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then
he tried 1-2-3-4, and voila, the phone’s contents appeared.

Hardly worth the trouble to set up the password, he thought.
He scanned through the records of Carlos’s email usage. Nothing unusual there;
he wasn’t attaching any pictures to emails. As a matter of fact, he hardly used
email at all.

The only thing unusual he found was a series of emails back
and forth from a website called UnderMen.com. It looked like Carlos was a good
customer; he had bought a lot of men’s underwear from them.

But that was it. No torrid emails with other women—or other
men, for that matter, which was what Biff had been anticipating. So what was he
going to tell Dilenys Cardozo? Your husband isn’t cheating on you, he’s just
buying sexy shorts?

He opened up a new window on his computer and went to the
website. Even he was surprised at the wide range of men’s undies you could
order. Athletic supporters in a rainbow of colors and thongs in silky or satin.
Structural undergarments for men that kept your tummy pressed in, or pushed
your three-piece set forward. Boxers, briefs, and boxer briefs in a wild array
of fabrics and patterns. He was tempted to make a few purchases of his own, but
held back until the case was complete. No need to muddy the waters.

Just before three o’clock, he looked up to see the white
butterfly flit into his office, and then he watched as the creature morphed
back into the human form Biff had met earlier in the elevator, though this time
he wore a pair of baggy white cargo shorts and a white polo shirt with a black
and green butterfly on the left breast. “Hi, Syl,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Raki woke up with a start, chirping loudly. He hopped from
his pillow to hide behind Biff’s chair.

It’s okay
, Biff sent to him.
Syl is a friend
.

Raki didn’t respond, but at least Biff sensed him relaxing.

The squirrel didn’t seem to bother Syl. “There is such a
wonderful energy here,” he said, leaning toward the lamp on the edge of Biff’s
desk. “May I?”

“Sure.”

But instead of picking up the lamp, as Biff expected, Syl
transformed back into his butterfly form, folded his wings like a kite collapsing,
and dove into the lamp’s spout. A curious aura, like rainbow thrown into a
blender, arose around the lamp, and Biff stared at it. Biff could understand
why Raki was suspicious of any creature who could change shape so quickly.

Then the butterfly shot back out of the lamp’s spout and
back into Syl’s form. “Wonderful!” he said. “So much power and energy there. I
feel like a chrysalis again.”