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Message-ID: <30990asstr$993071404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked)
Subject: {ASSM} Harry Long, Psychic Detective 3 (mc)
Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 17:10:04 -0400
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Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2001.  All rights, well, you know. Repost and
archive to your heart's content, just don't charge anyone for it or I'll have
to send Harry after you. You all know the rest of the drill by now.  I'm not
big on headers and/or labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever
MF, MM, FF stuff they think is necessary.  


CHAPTER 3

Do you remember back when you were a kid, how your parents always tried to get
you to fall asleep during long car trips?  And no matter how excited you were
about getting to Grandma's house or Disneyland or wherever you were going, it
always seemed to work?  And you always wondered what they did all those hours
while you were asleep (besides driving, of course).  Well, now that you're all
grown-up, you know that what they REALLY were doing most of the time was
wishing that you damned kids were doing the fucking driving and THEY were
curled up in the back of the station wagon (or SUV, nowadays, I suppose)
dreaming about Mickey Mouse.

"Harry, wake up.  It's almost showtime."
"mumble.  Showtime my ass, Nancy. Right now, I've got a gorilla in my stomach
and he's hungry."
"There's a bunch of fast food places just before downtown.  We can hit a
drive-thru window."
"Ugh.  Just no McDonald's.  Every time I go by one of those, I get endless
visions of people of all ages leaving their lunches on the sidewalks..."

White lie.  I just hated the whole "seduce 'em while they're young and they're
yours for life" process.  I've learned a little about the subject in my time,
and none of the shrinks I've encountered over my 40-odd years could hold a
candle to Ronald McDonald's gang...

I actually hadn't had a hamburger in almost a year, I figure, since they rarely
came to your door with 'em.  Unfortunately, they hadn't changed much.  Still,
the gorilla was happy for a little while longer.  I was finishing the last of
it off, when Nancy reached into a bag on the back seat and produced my pill
box.  

"Let's see, with lunch you get a big green one, a little yellow one, and two
egg-shaped white ones."
"How about a huge purple one and one of those cute hexagonal red ones instead?"
"No, that's dinner.  Along with two more white ones and another yellow."
"I miss the old days of leeches and cattle prods.  Less to remember."

I watched her carefully as I took the pills and moved them to my mouth.  She
didn't even blink.  Sigh.  That's why she's got the badge, I suppose.  Such
dedication.  

Oh, well, what can I say, it's just in my nature. 

"Hey, look at that!" I exclaimed, pointing over her shoulder.  "It's the
Goodrich Blimp!"  

Didn't even blink.  

"No, really!  It's going to crash into that furniture store!  Millions of
dollars worth of unfinished furnishings will never find good homes!"

Didn't blink, though her hand did move slowly from the steering wheel toward
her jacket vest...

"Dozens of families will be out on the streets!"

One eye slightly cocked downwards, one eye directly on my hand at my mouth. 
Right hand gently glided to her holster and playfully running her red nails
over the handle...

"Tap, tap."  Louder than anything I could say.  

Trying very hard to suppress a grin, I swallowed hard.  Beaten at my own game
yet again.

For what seemed like the first time in recent memory, she let loose with that
toothy smile I loved as she moved both hands back to the wheel of the car. 
"You're really a piece of work, old man."

"Yeah, but you know you love me, anyway."

Rolling her eyes, she smiled and gave a fake shrug as she directed the car out
of the parking lot.  "Gnaw, I"m only doing it because I need the promotion."

"How long have you been in the FBI, again?  I ventured as we swung back onto
the street.
"It'll be seven years next month."
"And you've had that gun for the whole time?"
"Yeah, it's been really lucky for me."
"I can tell."
"Hmm?"
"You've not had to fire it."
"Sure, plenty of times.  My scores have always been pretty good."
"I mean, in the line of duty.  You've never had to use it."
"Ooh, no.  Drawn it a few times.  How do you know...?"
"You're the detective. I'm only the psychic.  You tell me," I interrupted with
a smile.

She nodded.  "Of course," she said, adjusting her jacket uncomfortably, as if
to admonish the weapon for spilling her secrets.  "But as the old cliche goes,
I've known agents who have gone through their entire careers without having to
fire in the line of duty."

"Well," I said as I leaned back in my seat," here's hoping you never have to."

"I'll drink to that," she replied, and she did, lifting a soda bottle to her
lips. 

As we exited the freeway into downtown San Antonio, I couldn't help but notice
all the people on the streets.  It'd been a long time since I'd been around so
many people at one time. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.  If Nancy noticed,
she didn't give any sign.  We finally pulled up into the parking lot of a large
office building just south of downtown.  Everyone had come back from lunch, so
the lot was full of cars, but few people.  Good a time as any, considering the
middle of the night was probably out of the question...

"I guess it's too much to hope that you can get the knives and bring them out
here?" I joked halfheartedly.

"Uh, no.  The evidence is too high-profile.  It takes a ton of forms just to
get them out of the property room and into a private viewing area where you
have access.  Hopefully, Hector will have already done that..."

"Hector?"

She didn't answer at once.  Instead, picked up her cell phone and dialed.

"Hector?" I asked again.  "I thought..."

"Hector?  It's Nancy.  We're out in the parking lot right now.  Yes, he's with
me.  Did you get the forms filled yet?  Good. Why don't you come out and meet
us here.  I don't think Harry wants to come inside just yet.  Let's just say
the meds haven't completely kicked in yet."

I started to interrupt, but thought better of it.  Just have to get used to
having her spring this stuff on me and try to cope with it best I could. 
Probably my fault for not asking more questions before agreeing to this stupid
trip in the first place...

As she was hanging up the phone, I fiddled with my seat belt.  A homeless man
was wandering the lot nearby, looking for cans to sell I assume, seeing as he
had a plastic bag of them hanging off one side of his shopping cart.  The cart
was a jumbled mess of nicks, scratches and various stains and he came about it
by ill means.  I long ago realized I couldn't legally do much about most of the
things I saw, but it never stopped me from trying.  This one was especially
troubling.  

Damned meds.

Nancy turned to me but before she could say anything, I grabbed her arm and
pointed to the bum.  

"He rolled an old lady to get that cart.  I think he may have hurt her pretty
badly too.  Can't see if she was alive when he left with it, but she was
bleeding."
"You sure?"
"Well, as sure as these things get."
"Uh...I'm not sure what I can do.  Did you get a time or place?"
"No...not really.  A downtown street corner at night.  Pretty vague."
"How about a description of the woman? I suppose I could run a check for
hospital victims, but unless I can get a date, it'd be like shooting in the
dark."
"An old lady, maybe 65 or 70.  Rags and such.  Homeless too, I would expect. 
You could check the cart."

Clearly, Nancy was divided.  She knew, as I did, that he (and probably she)
were probably not right upstairs and might not have even seeked medical
attention.  And the whole thing was probably a matter for the local police.  To
make matters worse, a young, heavyset Latino man in a three-piece walked up to
our car just about that time...

"Hey, Scully, I see you finally found your Mulder.  Looks a bit on the old
side, though..."
"Quiet, Hector, we've got a bit of a situation here." Nancy interrupted
quietly.
"Situation?  Hell, it's the parking lot of a damned Federal Law Enforcement
Building. What kind of situation could possibly...?"
"Harry got a vision off that old man's shopping cart.  Seems he stole it and
injured the former owner."
"Oh, Geez.  I can't believe this.  We've got the murder case of the year handed
to us and you're out here in the parking lot of the FBI building thinking about
running some bum for something he MIGHT have done?"

With that, Nancy turned to him and straightened up to full height (which still
left her a good half-foot short of her target) and that red hair came alive
again. 

"It's a possible murder, Agent Garza, same as the one we're officially
investigating.  We might be the FBI and you might be a hotshot fast-tracker
from Washington while I'm just a low-level op from Katy, but as far as I'm
concerned, a life is a life, whether it belongs to a bum on the street or the
Pope.  And if we're going to work together, you'd do well to remember that!"

I had been watching the bum slowly ramble away with the cart, but that brought
my head back to the car. Agent Garza was similarly impressed, I assume, because
he somehow seemed a foot shorter to me now.  I started to smile, but my mind
wandered elsewhere...

"OK, ma'am, if that's the way you see it, that's the way it'll be," replied
Garza, "Madre told me never to argue with a woman with red hair, a red face and
fire in her breath...  But the evidence is only available to us for the next
hour, so you better make up your mind quick."

She stood there for a precious moment trying to discern whether to be amused or
angry.  I didn't give her the chance to decide.

"That's enough, you two," I said, exiting the car.  "Maybe I was wrong, maybe I
was right, but the guy took off while you two were arguing.  If we've only got
an hour, let's get this out of the way so I can find a bed and get some more
sleep."

Nancy eyed me rather peculiarly, but chalked it up to my sudden change of
heart.  At least I hoped that's what it was.  In any case, I started toward the
Fed Building with Hector close behind, leaving her to play catch-up.   

"Mr. Long, I hope you didn't take offense at the 'Mulder' line," Hector said as
he caught up to me.  "It's just that rumors get around and the guys already
call her 'Scully' because of her hair."  
"I don't watch the show, so I couldn't care less."
"Neither do I, for what it's worth.  But I was wondering something..."

I slowed a bit.  There were a few people gathered around the entrance to the
building and I could see a few more just inside the front door.  At times like
this, it helps me to have my attention focused on one person at a time, so I
let him continue.  

"I've never been near a real psychic before, but I hear each one is different."

I focused on him as we entered the electronic doors, letting his voice drone
out those of the other nearby people.  "There are really not a whole lot of
genuine psychics active now.  It's a very difficult life.  Very difficult to
control..."

"Can you tell me, for example, what I had for lunch?"

It was the type of question I'd been asked a thousand times in my younger days
and one of the very reasons I'd given for making very few public appearances
earlier in my life.  In short, it made a great excuse for being a hermit.  As
we neared the metal detectors, I covered my ears as I answered. 

"No, my visions are not that general.  They need an object as a focus, not a
person.  And the main factor is, unfortunately, violence, particularly violence
affecting a living person."

"Violence?" he asked, as he turned his gun into the clerk at the detector.

"Yes," I answered, hurrying through the tunnel.  "You asked if I could tell
what you had for lunch.  Normally, no. But if you, say, had chicken for lunch,
swallowed a bone which caused you to choke, then spit up the bone or otherwise
passed it from your system, then I might be able to read what you had for lunch
from that bone."

"Then, again, I might not," I continued, still focusing on him and covering my
ears.  In the range of my vision, behind him, I could see a few people staring
at us.  "There are a lot of other factors, things I can't control."

"Fascinating," he added.  "How far back can you go?  How many visions can you
see at once?"

More questions I got tired of answering long ago. I pondered the answers.  But
we were at a point in the corridor where it branched and I had no idea where to
go next.  I needed him to get in front of me. Unfortunately, we were now
drawing a crowd.  Behind Garza, another FBI agent - an older, tall, blonde,
owl-faced man - was retrieving his gun from the clerk at the metal detector. 
It had recently been used to kill a 21-year old Afro-American suspect in a drug
bust.  

Before that, it put two slugs in a 45-year old Latino boxer during a raid at a
crack house.  His right leg was useless and he was leaning against a table,
begging for mercy.

Damned meds.  Couldn't get the stupid questions out of my head.

Before that, it had been used to club a 28-year old blonde girl into
submission.  She had blood coming from her right eye and her nose was broken.  

Before that, it taken from another FBI agent in the throes of death.  He was
pleading with his fellow not to shoot.  But shoot he did, execution style, his
hands behind his back, blood flowing from his temple...

I suddenly wheeled around and looked for Nancy.  She was ten feet behind, too
far.  Behind her, the owl-man was staring down at the cursed weapon, then he
raised it ominously.

Damned meds.  

I must have yelled out something as I covered my eyes and rushed towards Nancy,
because she started to turn around just as I threw her to the floor.  The
gunshot echoed through the corridors of the building.  

As I closed my eyes and faded away, all I could think about was how glad I was
to be close enough to the gunshot as to be deafened - finally hearing nothing
but the heavenly bells of silence.


"Write what you want, how you want, and don't worry about the rest of the
world.  If you do it long enough, eventually they'll catch up."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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