Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 3 - Opium and Opera

../

The interior of the van is, as expected, dark, despite the daylight outside. It still smells like bleach, too. A rough man with a black hat and a skeleton bandana covering his face makes sure Zandra only looks forward.

"Best taxi in town. Don't need to even call for a ride. It just shows up," Zandra says. She folds her hands across her lap to satisfy the rough man sitting beside her, and to keep a grip over the sleeved sheath of the lawnmower knife.

"I'm glad to see we've worked out a system," a familiar voice says from behind Zandra. He sounds more charred than before, either from stress or indulgence. "These are the best kind of relationships. No phone calls. No words on screens. Nothing traceable. Just a quiet understanding. You're learning. That's why I like you."

We also match in the dramatic flair department. What a team.

Zandra fakes a polite chuckle. "That's what psychics do, isn't it? Telepathy?"

The voice behind her returns the same tone of amusement. "Telepathy."

"If you've got it, you've got," Zandra says.

"And what do you have for me today?"

"Something big."

"I like big things."

Like your opinion of yourself?

"I need to know who you are first," Zandra says. She tries to crank her head around, but the rough man beside her wraps his thick fingers around the back of her neck.

That's not very nice.

"You not knowing who I am is for your own safety," the man's voice behind Zandra says. "Once you know, you can't unknow, and that can lead to complications later. I like you too much for that."

Zandra motions toward the sliding door. "Then let me off here."

"Excuse me?"

"There's no point in me being here," Zandra says. She reaches for the latch on the sliding door. The rough man jerks her back into place.

Out comes the lawnmower knife, or so Zandra tries. She fumbles with the tangle of sleeve over the sheath, unable to draw the blade before the rough man squeezes her wrists together.

If they're going to keep me here, I may as well fuck with them. Always have a plan B. Or, since I can't get the knife out, a plan C.

"Let me out or I'll make this van stop myself," Zandra says in a huff.

The voice behind Zandra sounds amused. "We're done when we're done. You called this meeting, and we're not finished until you tell me why. How do you plan on stopping this van anyway? With your mind?"

The rough man chuckles.

Wait and see, chucklefuck.

"Tell your dog to put his paw away," Zandra says.

The voice behind Zandra whistles silently. The rough man releases his grip on Zandra's wrists.

Zandra pulls out the plastic packet and holds it over her shoulder. "Here."

"And what is this?" the voice behind her says.

"You seem like the sort of person who would know."

Zandra feels the packet lift away from her fingertips. She places her hand back on her lap. A light flicks on behind her, but she doesn't turn her head to see. The light disappears after a couple seconds.