Sliding Faces Inc: the Shapeshifting Detective

Blackmail me? Who in their right mind would f- No, I needed to continue to stay calm. Only after this Gimly lady got here could I shift into Kurt and scare the ever living s**t out of her. First, she needs to see me as a calm, young woman. Keisha would do. And then, when she spilled her stupid case, I would bulk my muscle, harden my features, and threaten to throw her through the ceiling if she decided to tell the cops. The subtle shifting in my face through the conversation would be hidden by the dim lighting. Then when this son of- A woman in her mid-fifties rounded the half wall separating the grim booth section of the café from the brightly decorated chairs and tables of the front. In one hand, she clutched her purse close to her large chest and in the other she held a glass of orange soda.  I had told her to order the soda, take it to the booths in the back and then wait for me. What an i***t. But at least she wasn’t with the Hunters. They would know who I was immediately, taze me, then drag me off without bothering to shell out two bucks. My round jaw sharpened. My doe eyes narrowed and tilted. My thighs thinned and I crossed them under the table. Was this woman just a normal schmuck trying to pull one over on me? Mrs. Gimly glanced around the dim room. Her eyes fell to me, the only person in the room, and moved over. “Are you MK?” I gave her my glare. “Take a seat, Mrs. Gimly.” She set the soda down, then slid in.  The stained glass chandelier highlighted her crow’s feet and the dusting of freckles not quite covered up by her magenta blush. Her thin lips were pressed and painted purple. A ring of gray showed at her roots from where she’d pulled her dyed red hair into a neat bun. If she was in some sort of disguise, she’d pulled off the pleasant old woman perfectly. Though, she had a decade or two to really fill out the costume. If this was really what she looked like…How the hell was a woman like this planning to blackmail me? Eyes pinned on the nervous woman, I took a deep inhale. There was no warmth in my stomach, no smile tugging on my lips, no familiarity. She wasn’t a Shifter. The hair on my arms didn’t raise, so not a Were.  I wasn’t overcome with the need to get close to her, or believe her, or run from her as I would with a Vampire covered in pheromones. And I didn’t hate her enough for her to be a Witch. “I, uh, I’m glad you took the time to meet with me,” Mrs. Gimly said. Each of her words pushed on her double chin and I did my best not to look at it. I did not want to sprout one of those when I was trying to lure her into a trap. “I meant what I said about—“  “The blackmail,” I filled in for her. “Yes, but I’m willing to pay you for the case.” I looked at where her hand had jutted out toward me, as if she’d wanted to reassure me with a pat on the hand. “How convenient. I only take cases for money.” She pulled her hand back to wring them together. “I went to the licensed investigators about my case, but they all turned me down.” Because no one would waste their time. “But Keke deserves justice.” “Your cat.” She looked up from the table with a sharpness I hadn’t seen before. “I’m not crazy. I saw that man swerve to hit him. I know that is a crime.” Tears came to her eyes. “Keke was so scared. He just stood there and watched it come toward him. I couldn’t get close enough to get him. But that…that hoolagin-” I rose my brows as if surprised by her profanity. “He knew I was there, but he went for my Keke anyway.” She dapped under her eye to keep the tear from ruining her makeup. “I got his license plate number and went to the police, but they turned me away.” The police were a little busy with the rising number of missing Human youth and the overdose epidemic on the new Were drug tagged “Full Moon.” “I thought since you were new and unlicensed,” she let her words trail, as if I would fill in my incompetence for her.  I blinked and leaned back against the booth. “Truthfully,” she began, as if she had been lying, “I thought you would take my case out of desperation.” “Even I have standards.” I leaned forward to drive my glare home. “So, let’s talk about this blackmail. What makes you think the cops give two rats asses that I’m not licensed? I don’t market myself as a private investigator directly. I’m no more legitimate than someone off craigslist with a camera.” God how I wished that weren’t true. “Your ad specifically says-” “That I work in confirmation.” “It’s still illegal to-” “But you’re willing to pay me.” “I just-” she stopped, wringing her hands again. “I need help. That man needs to go to jail.” “As I stated in my email, whoever hit your cat is not going to do any jail time. At most, he might get a fine. Is that really worth pissing off a stranger who could very easily throw you over her shoulder and into the nearest ditch?” Mrs. Gimly’s lips parted. “I-I could have the police shut all this down.” “I’m not taking your case, Mrs. Gimly. If you find that unfair, and want to tell the police about my supposed lack of licensure, then be my guest.”  I smiled. The action squared my jaw, furrowed my eyes, broadened my shoulders, and bulked me into the gruff voiced Kurt. “I will have all the more time to put my skills to the test ruining your life.” When the woman was properly cowering, I stood. “Good day, Erianne Gimly, fourth grade teacher at Quincy Elementary. May your 2015 blue Honda Fit  not break down on the way back to 4452 Elm.” Her thinning brows rose in surprise, and then her entire face crumpled. She brought her hands to her face and let out the saddest cry I’d ever heard. She did her best to muffle her sobs, but the jolting of her shoulders was proof enough. Mom once explained that I had a little Kay in my stomach that would kick up a storm when I needed to do the right thing.  “Most people,” she had said, looking down at my young face covered in crust crumbs, “have a voice in their head that tells them right from wrong. You, being my special little shifter, must have gotten that voice trapped in your stomach.” It had been a stomach ache from the bake sale pies, but my body didn’t get that revolution because Little Kay was kicking up a damn storm over Mrs. Gimly’s antics. “What am I going to do?” she boohooed. What a faker. Was that supposed to wipe away the fact this woman was trying to blackmail me into taking her stupid case? I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, downsizing into Keisha again. “Why is this so important to you? Mrs. Gimly dug into her purse for a tissue. “He was all I had left.” I took a deep breath. I could just walk away and leave her to cry. I knew her husband had died four months ago as the most recent victim of road rage or lost a game of chicken with a light pole, however you thought about it. She filed a missing person’s report on her son, Sam, three months ago which has yet to be resolved. The police probably hadn’t gotten to him on their long list of missing humans. Three weeks later Mrs. Ginmly had found Keke, according to her online ad for the Norwegian Forest cat. “You should have tried the sob story first,” I said, sliding into the booth. “I still want the money.” Mrs. Gimly looked up, hope in her brown eyes.  “And your word that you won’t rat me out. I may not be licensed, but I’m just as good as those other PIs.” If those other PIs had only been at it for the last year and had no training whatsoever. But, I paid the bills so that’s all that mattered. “You’ll help me?” “I’ll take your case, yes,” I said. “For money.” “Yes, I have money. Thank you.” Tears still clung to the woman’s mascaraed lashes, but she’d done a great job of not messing up her makeup. Sorrow still tugged at her cheeks. I had seen that look enough in the mirror to know it wasn’t faked. “Walk me through the event. Why was Keke outside?” I asked, pulling my phone from my pocket to take notes. “He got antsy a lot. He did this cute thing where he’d paw at the door, as if he knew how to open it,” she smiled. “So I let him out to get fresh air and the like. Usually, we’d like to sit on the porch together. I’d gossip about the neighbors or talk about my job. He’d nod along like he was really l-“ “How did Keke end up in the street,” I asked, cutting her off. “Or did the assailant drive onto your yard?” Her mood soured. “No, no, he didn’t. That day, Keke was preoccupied with a smell. He had his nose to the ground and was sniffing into the street. And that’s when-“ “What kind of vehicle was it?” Mrs. Gimly dabbed her eye. “A shiny, black pickup. One of those Fords. He’d made his tires really big. Overcompensating probably. You know how they say.” I typed the description in. “How fast was the truck going?” “That’s just it, it had been parked there for the longest of times. I figured the man was waiting for someone he’d been there that long.” “What time was it?” “Nine in the morning. We go out for Saturday morning tea.” “So, it’s nine in the morning, Keke is in the middle of the street and the truck is parked?” “But then, I hear his engine. It’s so loud, I hear it at least several times a day-“ “Do you think he lives in the neighborhood?” She frowned. “Heaven’s no. It’s only been for a week or so and no one new has moved in.” I’d need to investigate close first. “Which house was he, was the driver a man?” “A balding man with a red face.” “Red?” “Like he was angry or straining or something. And his mouth was open and he bounced as he drove away.” Her hands tightened. “He was gleeful after what he did.” “Was he white, Hispanic, black?” “He was Caucasian. Maybe in his forties.” I nodded. “So, Keke is in the street, the truck revs up and?” “Aims right for him.” More tears. “What makes you think he aimed? Keke was in the middle of the street right?” “He’s a fifty pound cat. How could you miss him? And he aimed the tire right for him.” She closed her eyes. “It was so horrible. The blood. He was…He was squished.” The last word was the beginning of a long screech before a cry. “Then he just drove off? He didn’t stop?” “He didn’t even slow down!” I nodded. It was possible the man hadn’t seen Keke if his tires elevated him high enough. He could have been distracted or in too much of a rush to notice the cat. That could explain the “swerve” Mrs. Gimly saw. But this woman wouldn’t see that as fact. She probably wouldn’t be satisfied with anything short of the man in handcuffs pleading for mercy. “You said Keke was fifty pounds?” I asked. “That’s pretty big for a cat. Even that breed.” She smiled. “I know. He was really dense under that fluff of fur. I wouldn’t be surprised if that hair alone was twenty pounds.” I returned the smile entirely for her benefit. “Was he overweight?” “Not at all. He was just a solid, big cat. I figured someone must have owned him. You can’t get beefy like that on the streets.” Unless the cat had taken up to begging for pizza. “Any hits on your ad for the cat?” “Nothing. And I’m glad. Keke was good for me. He let me cry with him and cuddle him at night. It helped.” “Any signs of abuse on Keke when you found him?” I asked. When she shook her head I continued, “how did you find Keke?” “He found me. I was crying on my porch. I had been out looking for Sam again, and then Keke just walked up, rubbed on me, and let me pet him. I put the ad up,” she blurted. “He’s a good cat. Someone is missing him I’m sure.” I nodded again to acknowledge I’d heard her, then went to my satchel. I dumped out my stash of M&Ms and put the baggie on the table. “Fill this with as much cat hair from your clothes as you can.” She frowned. “I need to verify whatever evidence I find on this guy’s tires match your cat.”  While she worked, I updated my notes with more information and steps.  “Write down the driver’s license for me,” I said, sliding her an old receipt. I hadn’t exactly been planning on taking real information from her. My ticket to a free Whopper would have to do. She scribbled it down in loopy letters, then slid it and the baggie filled with brown and white fur over to me. She watched me put them in my satchel, then met my gaze. “Are you really going to help me?” The suspicion and hope in her voice struck me. She sounded like I did when I told a date about being a Shifter. It never ended well. “For money.” I tapped the table. “My base rate is forty an hour.” She nodded. This woman would be eaten alive by anyone with a malicious bone in their body. I could have said seven hundred and she would have taken it. Who plans to pay the person they were blackmailing? How much did this stupid cat really mean to this woman if she was willing to threaten blackmail in the first place? Maybe this was a weird form of grief.