“So, to put it in layman’s terms, while the file has officially been sealed for court purposes, an image of the file’s contents was cached before it was sealed, so all the data’s still out there. Now, as it turns out, there was only one item on the guy’s record—he got a citation for punching someone in the face. A simple assault kind of deal.”
I tried to play back my memory. I thought I’d seen Paulie Cermak before. Had it been on television? A report of the assault on the evening news? But I couldn’t remember anything specific. “Who was the victim?”
“No clue. The guy never pressed charges, and his name was redacted from the file before it was scanned.”
I sighed. “So Paulie Cermak punches a guy.
The cops get called, but the vic doesn’t press charges, and the file gets sealed anyway.”
“That sums it up.”
“That’s weird. Why seal his file if no one pressed charges?”
Jeff shrugged and tossed another piece of popcorn in the air. This one bounced off his lip and hit the floor—or would have hit the floor, had it not bounced just as a pulse of magic moved through the room. It hovered for a moment a few inches above the floor, and then exploded into tiny popcorn shards.
Jeff and I both ducked, then looked up at Catcher. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring us down. “Popcorn? Really?”
“What?” Jeff said slyly. “This is like the best tennis match ever. We needed a snack.”
Catcher’s lip curled, and he lobbed a shot of blue that had us both dropping in our chairs. It hit the wall behind us and burst into a shower of sparks. I sat up, frantically brushing sparks from my hair.
“Hello! I’m here to be supportive. Let’s ix-nay on the hitting me with agic-may.”
“Yeah, Catch,” Mallory said. “She’s trying to be supportive.” She threw a ball of magic that had him jumping to avoid the sparks and letting out a string of curses.
“Good times,” I said, giving Mallory a thumbs-up.
“So, before we were so rudely interrupted,” Jeff said, “I was going to say that it’s not exactly a common thing to do—to seal a record when there’s no charges pressed or whatever—but there could be lots of reasons. Most likely, Paulie Cermak had friends in high places.” He chuckled.
I made a sarcastic sound. “Paulie doesn’t exactly seem like someone who hangs with suits.
Maybe Celina had him rough someone up.”
“It’s an idea. I’ll keep digging.”
“You’re doing a great job,” I told him, bumping him with my shoulder. “I appreciate the hard work.”
Jeff blushed little. “Even Catcher said I was doing some pretty good investigation on this one.”
“Well, Catcher never met a topic he didn’t have an opinion on. Speaking of which, any developments on the V? I assume the CPD does testing and such.”
“Yeah—they do, and did. Turns out, V’s chemical structure is similar to adrenaline.”
“That explains why it gets vamps so hyped up.”
Jeff nodded. “Exactly. But that’s not even the most interesting part. Catcher did a little magical sniffing of his own, and he thinks there’s another component to the drug beyond the chemistry —magic.”
I frowned. “Who else could have added the magic?”
“That’s what’s got him worried.”
It had me worried, too. Even if we could pin V on Paulie and Celina, we now had an unknown source who was throwing gratuitous magic around. And speaking of unknowns: “Did you ever glean any more information about the assault Mr. Jackson saw?”
“Only the info you already knew. There haven’t been any developments as far as I’m aware. Case is going cold.”
I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than bodies having been located. That question in mind, my phone buzzed, so I pulled it from my pocket, expecting a question from Ethan:
“Sentinel, where are you?” or the like.
I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered it anyway. “This is Merit.”
“Kid, I got something I think you’ll be interested in.”
The New York accent was unmistakable.
“Paulie. What do you want?”
“A certain someone wants to meet with you.”
“A certain someone?”
“Marie,” he said. “You asked her for a meeting, and it turns out she’s amenable.”
Of course she was. We knew Celina wouldn’t pass up the chance, and even if this “Marie” wasn’t Celina, a meeting would almost certainly answer some of our questions. “Where and when?”
“Street Fest. Tonight. Meet beside the Town booth.”
Town was a chichi café in the Loop that regularly topped the annual “best of ” lists. It was a place for socialites to see and be seen, a place that required reservations weeks in advance —unless you knew someone . . . or you were the daughter of Joshua Merit. Pork saltimbocca?
Yes, please.
Although I didn’t figure Celina for a Street Fest participant, Town was just the kind of place she’d choose.
“What time?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
I checked my watch. It was a quarter till ten.
Street Fest ended at one o’clock, so the meeting time would hit the crescendo of bands, foods, and imbibing Chicagoans.
“I assume I won’t need to wear a carnation in my lapel so she recognizes me?”
Paulie coughed out a laugh. “She’ll find you.
Eleven p.m. sharp.”