“It doesn’t really,” I told him. “Yule is a religious holiday, just like Christmas or Chanukah. Santa Claus, however, while associated with Christmas, isn’t a religious figure. In his current incarnation he’s actually an icon of commercialism created by a soft drink company.”
“Yeah, I read somethin’ about that already, smartass,” he grinned. “What I’m askin’ is if you Witches celebrate Christmas too?”
“In the sense of it being a commercialized, secular holiday, sure, many of us do. But it doesn’t bear any religious significance for Pagans like it does for most everyone else.”
“So ya’ get like two holidays in one,” he stated as much as asked.
“You could look at it that way, but Christmas is the generally accepted holiday by society as a whole. I doubt you’ll find many employers who give winter solstice as a paid holiday. So it’s kind of a trade off. Besides, the actual date for Christmas was pilfered from the Roman celebration of Saturnalia anyway…”
“Saturn-who?”
“Forget it. You’ll just end up accusing me of boring you with a bunch of details.”
“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,” he nodded almost thoughtfully as he chuckled. “Anyway, the real reason I asked is Allison and I wanted ta’ invite you and Firehair over ta’ the house tonight if ya’ aren’t doin’ anything.”
“I thought you were having a family get-together this evening?”
“Yeah, we are. Helen’s comin’ over, but that’s about it. Besides, you two are like family anyway.”
“Well, we aren’t doing anything with our families until tomorrow,” I conceded. “I’ll have to check with Felicity, but I’m sure she’d love to come over. If you’re certain we wouldn’t be intruding.”
“I wouldn’t’ve invited ya’ if you’d be intruding, now would I?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to her about it, but you can probably go ahead and just count us in.”
“Good deal. I’ll let Al know. So now that we’ve got that outta the way, let’s get back ta’ the original question. What gives, Row? I know damn well ya’ didn’t blow off a chance ta’ follow Felicity around today…” He paused and gave his head a quick shake before adding, “‘Specially today… Just ta’ come down here an’ explain the meanin’ of Christmas to me. So what’re you doin’ here?”
“Would you believe I just stopped in to say ‘Happy Holidays’?”
“I just told ya’ a minute ago that I saw Firehair on TV, so I think I pretty much just said no ta’ that.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
The telephone on his desk pierced the ensuing lull with a sickly trill. My friend motioned for me to wait a second then leaned forward and snatched up the receiver. “Homicide, Storm.” Even as he spoke he kept his eyes on me expectantly. “Yeah…uh-huh…sure, I’m here. Okay. See ya’ in a few.”
He dropped the handset back into its base and leaned back once again, making the heavy-duty springs in his chair groan in protest.
“Do you need to leave?” I asked.
“Nope. ‘Nother copper is droppin’ by for somethin’. Charlee McLaughlin, you might remember ‘er,” he said.
“Sure,” I nodded. “I remember Charlee.”
Detective McLaughlin had been assigned to the Major Case Squad earlier this year when Eldon Porter had engaged in his one-man revival of the Inquisition. I had gotten to know her when she had volunteered to work a secondary job guarding Felicity and me after it became obvious that I was one of Porter’s targets.
“So you gonna tell me what’s up?” he pressed.
“I would if I knew, Ben.”
“And that’s s’posed ta’ mean?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I didn’t actually set out to come here. It’s just where I ended up.”
“Where’d ya’ start out for?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Jeez, Row.” He shook his head. “What’re ya’ up to now?”
“I wish I knew,” I answered him. “Something just doesn’t feel right about everything that’s been going on.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not exactly news, white man.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” I shook my head vigorously. “Ever since Friday night…”
“Whoa.” Ben held up a hand to stop me. “If this is about the phone call, I already told ya’ I’m not goin’ there.”
“It’s not about that,” I stammered my objection. “Not really… Well, maybe…a little…but not entirely… I’ve just got a weird feeling. It’s been way too quiet for the past couple of days.”
“What? Like no disturbances in the Twilight Zone?” He followed up his comment with an abbreviated whistle of the old TV show’s opening theme.
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, so?” He shrugged. “In my book, quiet’s good.”
“But it’s been too quiet.”
“Ya’ sure you’re not just lettin’ your imagination run away on ya’?”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“So ya’ got somethin’ ta’ work with?” he asked with more than just a hint of sincerity in his query this time. “One of those hinky visions? Some more fucked up poetry? Anything?”
“No. Not at the moment. Like I said, it’s been quiet. What I’m talking about now is just a feeling.”
“That doesn’t really help me, Row.”
“I know, Ben. It doesn’t exactly help me either.”
“Hey, Chief,” a voice came from behind me.
“Yo, Chuck,” Ben returned, looking past me. “How’s Sex Crimes treatin’ ya? Gettin’ any?”
“More than you, would be my guess,” Detective Charlee McLaughlin joked as she came into view. “And I’m being treated about as well as a sex crime can treat anyone I suppose.” With that she turned her attention to me. “Hey, Rowan. I didn’t know you were here. How’re you doing?”
“I’m good, Charlee,” I acknowledged. “You?”
“Can’t complain.” She shot me a quick grin. “Speaking of sex crimes, I saw Felicity on the news a little while ago.” She punctuated her comment with a whistle. “I’m surprised you aren’t out there playing bodyguard. I think the reporter was sweet on her.”
“I’m sure she can handle herself,” I chuckled then asked, “How’s your daughter doing?” I was almost grateful for the sudden distraction the chitchat provided.
“Great. She’s planning to transfer up to UM Columbia after the spring semester.”
“Terrific. Still planning to major in journalism?”
“Yep. That’s the plan.”
“Good deal.”
“So what brings you down here?” she asked and then continued with a good-natured chuckle. “Storm dragging you into something else he can’t figure out?”
“Hey now,” Ben interjected with a grin, “I’m not the one that transferred outta Homicide to go slummin’ in Vice.”
“I just got tired of seein’ your ugly face every morning, Storm,” she told him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “so what brings ya’ up here?”
“Chasing a hunch, actually.” She turned serious. “You got a minute?”
“Do you two need me to leave?” I asked.
Ben gave Detective McLaughlin a questioning look, and she shook her head.
“No, I trust you. Just don’t repeat anything you hear, okay?”
“Of course not.”
“Then grab some real estate,” Ben said as he motioned to another of the 70’s era plastic chairs that was positioned next to a desk behind her. “Whatcha’ got?”
“Rumor is,” she began as she slid the seat over and parked her small frame in it, “you’ve got a dead blonde with a stun gun welt on her neck.”
My friend nodded acknowledgement. “Yeah. Sure do. Looks like a robbery-assault gone south. What about it?”
“Well, I assume you’ve been watching the news and have heard about the serial rapist?”
“Yeah. Kinda hard ta’ miss. You workin’ that one?”
“Yeah, I’m up to my ass in it. Anyway, we’ve been playing some of the facts close to the vest.” She looked him square in the face. “And like I said, this is just a hunch… But the deal is, as of this past Thursday morning I’ve got eight very confused, very blonde rape victims. All of ‘em with stun gun welts and testing positive for Roofies.”
Detective Benjamin Storm’s chair canted forward with a slow rumble, sliding smoothly along with the groan of the springs beneath until all motion finally halted. The inevitable stop was announced with a dull thunk, followed immediately by the proverbial pregnant pause. He shot me a quick glance then leveled his gaze on McLaughlin.