Annie Hansen Mysteries

Chapter 2

“Kids,” Mrs. Powolski called up from the kitchen. “Breakfast"s on, and the rent cheques are due.”

Samir and I paid the rent with my Justice Department"s salary and his pension. I had a little money put away, too. His pension was a Canada Pension Plan draw for the severely handicapped—although Samir was only 21 years old, he could still get a pension "cause of his bad legs.

Samir isn"t handicapped in my opinion. He got a disability, like me, but that ain"t handicapped unless you let it be.

“I got work to do today, right away!” I called downstairs. “I"ll pay my share when I get home.”

Guess you"re wondering what I do for a living, for the Justice Department. I"m not a cleaner and I don"t work in a kitchen. I work parttime but it"s a good job. After all, I got the G.E.D.—the General Equivalency Diploma, I earned my high school the hard way, at Central High in Vancouver, and also what the street people know as the Canadian Hard Knocks University. If it weren"t for Constable Tom arresting me for shoplifting last year, and the court giving me a second chance, I don"t know where I"d be.

I did Community Service work for Lorne O"Halloran, Private Investigator, for six months and after that, they hired me, casual like, to work on Serendipity Island for the Justice Department—I was that good. I also know a lot of the people on the street, comes in handy, and I don"t mind saying the pay is good, and I enjoy my work.

I still report to Lorne, that was one of the stips in my contract. They thought I wouldn"t work as well for anyone else but good ol" Lorne O"Halloran, Private Eye and slot machine enthusiast. That"s when my voices took over, though.

The Island was just perfect for me to live and work on since my mom died, after we left Vancouver. Serendipity was big for a place in the Gulf Islands, with a flourishing population in the amount of twelve hundred sturdy souls; five street people that I knowed of; and a d**g and alcohol problem amongst the general population. There was also an Indian nation down near the lighthouse on Modge Bay, near the float house Mom had left me. I couldn"t live there permanent because of the court case fourteen months ago when the judge said I had to live in a group home with the Powolskis.

“What, rent due again? Blasted werewolves and vampires and landlords.” The grey toad in the next bed wriggled and morphed into my handsome dark companion of six months. Samir rubbed his eyes, which appeared bloodshot.

I pulled at the Canadian flag pinned to the window and squinted out at the yard. Only the old yeller dog was there, chained to a post in the middle of the yard, and he wasn"t sleeping either.

Sometimes I saw the sun rising in the west, not the east, like a huge speckled orange and the sky was lit with fire. Those were the times God spoke to me. Or the Devil beckoned.

Samir said I hallucinate and hear voices because I"m a nut case and a private eye should not be a nut case. But I thought the voices and visions helped me a lot, they cleared my mind the visions did, and the voices made me think out of the cage. I knew the voices and the visions came from my own ego and sometimes from deep down under my subconscious. So in a way, I was talking to myself, and my unconscious mind was a powerful force. Jung would say that.