The Succubus's Silver Ch. 01

Laidlaw tucked her notebook away, "Maybe you're dipping into your own stash." She said half playful. "Turn around, I'm going to frisk you."

"Part of me wants to ask if you brought flowers and candy to this affair, but I think. . ." She trailed off when the officer's hands fell to her shoulders. Firm, professional, determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Do you have anything that's going to poke me? Anything I need to worry about?"

"I'd love nothing more than to poke you," Chinnamani thought. "Nope!" She pulled her Glamour in tighter around her body, painfully compressing her wings into her flesh and her tail around her thigh. She shuddered with the effort and pain even as she smiled back. "Can I ask what those chevrons on your arm mean?"

"They mean I'm a watch sergeant." She said cooly as her hands ruffled down the oversized jacket. She pulled out the pockets, felt along Chinnamani's body under it. Chinnamani held her breath, hoping to hell her wings didn't chose that time to extrude from her skin.

"Sergeant Laidlaw. . . .got a card?"

"I don't." She lied without hesitation. Smart girl. When she was done patting Chinnamani down she stepped back and removed her shooter's gloves. "So what was it you handed her?"

Chinnamani tried to suppress the itching along her back and thigh as the unnatural appendages fought her to break free. She produced the tarnished coin and set it down. "I collect ancient artifacts from the Mediterranean, she was a private broker."

Laidlaw frowned at the coin, peering over it while the itching on Chinnamani's back turned into a raging inferno. She could feel her skin blistering while the cop fingered the piece of silver. "Mediterranean, huh?"

"Yeah," Chinnamani breathed harshly, grinding her heel into the concrete. This woman needed to go. "Rome controlled most of the known world at the time! Lovely stuff. But uh, I got an appointment, so. . ."

Sergeant Laidlaw eyed her suspiciously. "You all right there?"

"Yeah, I just. . ." Left the stove on at home, had to meet with a supplier. Had to piss. "Gotta go to the bathroom!"

"Yeah? All right, well, I'll let you get on your way then. Thanks for your cooperation."

"M- my pleasure!"

As the sergeant turned to leave, Chinnamani grabbed her coin and the tote of pizza screens, practically diving into her car. She packed herself into the cargo area as best she could, face down and let loose.

It was agony. Fire and pain and ecstasy with the cold chill of a malevolent force trying to assert itself over her while her wings disentangled themselves from her flesh. In the next instant they burst through the holes in her t-shirt and slammed into her jacket ineffectually. Her tail wasn't any kinder as it tore at her pant leg, juking and prodding, trying to find an escape-- all of them wanted to stretch and be free.

But they were trapped in place, just like she was from the monumental soreness that left her dead weight between the tote and bags containing her worldly possessions. She laid there, limp and spent, shuddering as she fought to reclaim her breath. Eventually, when the worst of it past, she climbed over the rear seat and did her best noodle impression over the center column, digging her cell phone out of the glove box to dial an old friend.

It picked up on the fourth ring. "You," Brian's voice was raspy and weak. He hadn't been eating again.

"Y- yeah. He- hey. Meet you at Dennys in an hour? I got a job. I'm buying."

Brian hung up without another word.

Just as well, really. "My kingdom for a spatula. . ."

#

Twenty minutes later she was camped out in a booth near the front door stealing wireless and power while she rifled through what she could find of the Gonzalez's public life on the Internet. Two things immediately stuck out amidst the slapped on smiles and photoshopped pictures of their vacations to Europe: they never really smiled and they never seemed to really hold one another.

It wasn't for lack of trying, but somehow things never looked natural between them. Janet was always a little too distant and Mark always had his eyes on something else. For someone as handsome as he was, it wasn't hard to imagine he was probably getting eyed like a piece of meat by some of the locals. Chinnamani wouldn't have thought twice about trying to straighten his gaze out-- right up at her from between her thighs.

"Gah." Dammit, she knew better than this. You didn't get ahead by screwing around with those you're supposed to be investigating! The stupid coin wouldn't leave her be until she solved this problem and had the coin back in Janet's hand, then it was on her to find someone to pass it on to and Chinnamani could be free to enjoy herself for a while.

Complicating things by boffing the 'victim' of her yet to be perpetrated shenanigans was not conducive to her getting some quality Chinnamani time. Sure, the strong jaw and rich black hair were nice-- and the way his brown eyes seemed to catch the light when he was looking up made him seem like he was gazing into some secret word. . . .but he wasn't worth worrying about.

Sergeant Laidlaw on the other hand. . .

She was a catch. One Chinnamani would have to find good bait and a strong pole for. She had an infatuation, she didn't need another! She just needed to focus on the job at hand.

The half-succubus slumped forward over her notepad, chin on the crook of her arm as she ran her pencil down the legal pad she'd marked up. So far she'd learned that he held property in San Diego, New York and abroad, he made more than most doctors did, and had an obsession with automobiles. She'd tracked his profile down several web forums discussing early and mid century German luxury vehicles and filled her mind with all kinds of pictures of people's overpriced steel and their inane dick measuring posts or sycophantic ramblings.

It wasn't any worse than some of the porn forums she frequented, but it still baffled her. Who lusted after something that could be molded and shaped to suit? People had diversity and random chance to make them interesting and unique, the draw of the genetic lottery gave humanity things like heterochromia, or red hair, or scoliosis; not everyone would win that lottery, sure, but it was the diversity that made them beautiful and engrossing.

Add to that, you could feel them and kiss them, and hold them as they thrashed. . . .in the end the only thing you got out of lusting after a car was a smear on the clear coat and a friction burn.

Chinnamani tapped her pencil a few times. Cars, money, property and a shitty marriage. Mark worked for everything he got, Janet had been along for the ride it seemed-- she hadn't made any posts about buying new houses or going somewhere interesting. All in all, it seemed like she was there for the promise of steady money and not having to work for it.

Lazy bitch wasn't just entitled, she considered earning her way being on her back. How boring. It was possible they'd been in love at some point, of course, social media posts didn't really explain all of a situation. Brian was there for the gaps. . .

Wherever the hell he was.

Impatient, Chinnamani dialed his number again.

His cell phone chimed in the booth right behind her. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She looked back. He seemed startled by that and he shrunk into his oversized field jacket, cataract eyes darting left and right. "I'm right here, Brian." She said as she rose to join his booth. "You could've said something, dammit."

The boy couldn't have been more than twenty but he wore his youth like a noose; he stayed huddled in his army coat, clutching his elbows until he was sure there was no threat. When his milky eyes settled on her he relaxed and smiled half-heartedly, speaking in his wispy rasp. "You hide well."

"Kind of have to, you know?" She shrugged her shoulders to accent her wings which tried to push against her jacket in turn. She leaned back against them for sheer spite. "No stick today? I warned you, people aren't going to take you as being blind if they don't see the stick."

He sighed, "Street sign."

"Not now. Please, not now." Chinnamani mused. If he went into one of his stupid Insights she'd lose him for who knew how long. "Hey, I have a case and you need food. Help me find this guy and I'll get you sorted out for the next month."

Brian gripped the sleeve of his coat, eyes closing for a moment as he tried to wrestle focus. "Gon. . . .zolaes? From San Ysidro? No, Janet. Married- Idaho."

"Yeah, I got all that," she took his hand gently and tried to imagine pouring what she knew about the situation into him directly. Even if it didn't work, he wrapped his hand around hers and for that little moment, it was okay. They could be weird together. "I need to know where he's hiding out now."

"Fought Cartel."

"Brian-"

"Do you want to know how you die?" His eyes shot open.

"No. No I do not. Look, Brian. Can you try? Please? Focus? Mark Gonzalez, works with a law firm downtown, I need to know where he stays." She gave him the address of the firm. "What do you--"

"Lying. Both of them." He cut her off. "Why run, but you left. . . .key. Key in the lilacs." Abruptly he slapped his hand down on the table- loud enough to get some attention from the patrons around them. Chinnamani waved it off with a practiced smile. "Thirty days. Divorce. Right?"

"Right, Brian. A divorce. Where's he hiding the car?"

"Outside. Duh."

She scoffed. "No shit, smartass, but where is 'outside' relative to him? Right now."

"Outside." He repeated.

Chinnamani sat back, frowning. She still scribbled his ramblings down until it was done, even managing to order breakfast for them in the between time. When he was finally done- and nothing of value was learned, she lightly kicked his shin.

"Costing me a fortune in food here, boy-o. I could go down the street and get anal for this-- you're not even offering me a kiss."

The young man scooped up his fork as if nothing had happened at all, digging in with vigor. "Can't control it-" he muttered around a mouthful.

"I know. . ." She looked at the pad, frowning. "I just don't like Dennys."

"You've eaten worse."

"How dare you speak about your mother in such a way."

He snorted and coughed. "My mother's a saint," he managed around a laugh.

After breakfast Chinnamani handed him her days earnings and headed out. It wasn't much, but it'd offset some of the cost of his medications. "Say hi to her for me." She'd have to get back downtown before the firm opened at twelve, then it was just a matter of waiting.

Great. Stakeouts.

#

The Offices of Gonzalez and Friar were perched at the edge of Clinton Square near Syracuse's downtown district. It was probably the oldest part of the city, with a foot in its turn of the century roots before that part of the Erie Canal was filled in. Objectively it was a block's worth of grass, pavement and a big fountain that was turned into a skating rink in winter, but in the two centuries it'd been part of the city it had served as the city's core, serving as a natural commercial district where railroad and shipping lanes intersected.

In its time it'd seen the development of Syracuse's first bank-- one that still stood today, post office, roads, it'd even hosted the first electric light in the region. Nowadays it was used mostly outdoors events, playing kids, and a very bored half-demon. Chinnamani had stowed her gun in the car-- no sense in risking getting caught using the four and a half pound monster for something her permit didn't allow. Technically it was only supposed to be carried when she was working, but she'd probably have been cleaning it instead of sitting there like a jackass.

Chinnamani made do as she so often did in these situations, though she managed to avoid public masturbation by sheer force of will. It was a perfect excuse to be lazy, even if it drove her mad.

Not that there was anything particularly wrong with being lazy, Mount Everest had plenty of corpses that'd once been highly motivated people, but it still itched at her as she watched the Gonzalez and Friar windows from behind her sunglasses.

Since arriving she'd plowed through all her audio books on four speed playback, scarfed all her snacks- more out of boredom than hunger- and had answered three different cops' questions about why she was hanging out here all day. Any sane world would've called it dedication, but she knew it for the insanity it really was. It was hostage taking of a biblical sort.

The moment she'd convinced herself it was the right path to take, the coin's magic would've started working on her subconsciously and any attempts to deviate from that would send her into a fit of itching until she resettled herself. It was the literal embodiment of having someone look over your damned shoulder and make sure you were playing nice.

She'd fought with it enough times to know when to settle into being comfortable and when it was okay to push boundaries. Of course the damned thing didn't care about her bodily needs one bit, getting food or going to the bathroom was apparently considered 'optional' to whatever magic bound her-- something that hadn't occurred to her until about hour four into her vigil.

Three hours on from that Chinnamani was pretty sure her bladder was going to pull an Alien and burst out of her. It figured; come from literal demonic heritage and still get saddled with all the baggage of having to eat but none of the cool powers that probably should have come with the wings and tail.

Left with no options, she did the only thing she could do: browse the Internet on her phone to distract herself. It didn't take long before she was digging through social media for a certain police officer. Surprisingly she did have a profile, unsurprisingly it was apparently maintained by someone else-- the big reveal started with the bold 'relationship status: single and ready to mingle!' in red text.

The page itself was full of images taken by someone else, usually from a distance: all the usual suspects made an appearance-- spending time with family, hanging out with cats in that same house and getting scratched by one. "Please don't let her be a crazy cat lady. . ."

But the further down the page she went, the more interesting things got. Sergeant Amy Laidlaw was apparently heavy into three-gun competition. Whoever had set up the profile had clearly been downplaying it-- after all what kind of romantic prospect would be interested in that, right?-- but a few pictures had trophies with rifle, shotgun and pistols on them. Below them and far more numerous were pictures of elaborate meals with captions like "Amy's Four Course Surprise!"

It was a snapshot of someone's life seen from the outside, from someone who was trying desperately to bring something missing into a friend or family member's life. Maybe it was because she herself didn't go looking for it-- maybe she didn't care, maybe she had social anxiety issues. Maybe, just maybe she didn't want to be 'saved'. Chinnamani smiled at that thought.

Then she found it.

The picture that'd be saved to that 'special' directory on Chinnamani's phone for private time-- Amy clad in a maroon dress that played nicely with her tumbling locks of copper fire and naughty with her fair skin and long legs. She was leaning back against a concrete planter looking to the side with an expression that read 'I don't want to be here' but the dress screamed 'fuck me crippled.'

Chinnamani bit her lower lip as a flurry of images roiled through her mind like a tempest. Her heart sped up to try and keep pace but it was pointless; in that moment there was only the image of Amy in that short dress wrapped around her, clenching her tightly- digging her nails into the succubus's back, dangerously close to her wings, risking finding out and. . .

A young boy piped up from behind, "She's pretty."

Chinnamani startled and whirled, the kid couldn't have been more than ten. His parents were some distance away tapping into their phone and here he was peeking over strangers' shoulders? "Hmph." Well, there was one way to make sure that never happened again--

She dropped her Glamour.

Out came the horns, she let her canines elongate and surged forward right in his face before he'd fully registered what he was seeing. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

The look of pure terror was instant and beautiful, pure in those ways only children could manage. She claimed it for everything she could get, sapping the fear from him even as he ran back to his folks crying. Served the little shit right, even if he wouldn't remember where he'd gone or what he'd done by the time he got there. It was petty, she knew it was, but it wasn't like it was a common occurrence or anything.

Not since the incident. Sure she'd scared a room full of children and accidentally triggered an asthma attack, but on the bright side, she'd never gotten bothered about babysitting a neighbor's kid again. . . .rough with the smooth and all.

A faint twinge of guilt rippled through her as she flipped through the remainder of the social media stream. Some vague part of her wanted to get up and apologize for what she'd done, but before she could even consider it, her target left his office with a blonde woman.

He was tall and well built, a bit more confident and powerful looking than he'd been in the pictures she'd found of him. With some distinguished greying at the temples and the power stride of a successful lawyer, he looked like he was only a stones throw away from taking over Syracuse itself. The blonde didn't look bad for arm candy, either-- little taller than Chinnamani was with a plain skirt and blouse that said "I'm just the hired help."

They were chatting and laughing about something, strolling down along to the opposite side of the street. Chinnamani got up to follow and almost immediately wished she hadn't as the day's fluid intake suddenly punched its way down, forcing her to brace against her own knees and breathe deep. "Stupid fucking coin. . ."

Or karma. It was probably karma.

"Sorry, kid!" She shouted at the boy. He ignored her, of course and her stomach situation didn't improve as she followed them deeper downtown to a parking garage a few blocks away. The smart thing to do would've been to rush back to her car and keep up with them, but in her infinite wisdom, she'd parked her car near the Federal Building about a block and a half in the opposite direction. She'd assumed he'd just park near the damn firm, but apparently he didn't mind going the distance to keep his 'investment' safe.

Chinnamani filed that away as she navigated the streets, dodging panhandlers and the people who were studiously ignoring her anyway. She feigned an interest in her phone right up to the point where the secretary left the garage in a blue civic. She took pictures and video of the car as it departed and waited.

And waited. . .

Five minutes later Mark still hadn't left the garage. Or had he? Chinnamani scampered across the road to do a quick survey of the place. Sure enough, not only was there a rear entrance, it was heavily monitored by a security guard booth dead center. Just the kind of place where you'd store an expensive Mercedes.

She tried her best to smile as she walked up to the booth and rapped on the glass. "Heya, did I just miss Mark?" At the guard's confused look she mimed someone taller than herself. "Big guy, black hair, drives a Mercedes?"

"Oh. Yeah, he just left."

"Dammit, I forgot something in his car-- hey, could you point me to his spot so I can leave a message for him for tomorrow?"

The guard looked at her like she was dumb. Probably for all the right reasons. "I can give him a message if you want. I can't let you up there, though."