Accidental God -- Section 08

[I like Tuck and Paul. Quite a lot, actually.

[Also, Jonathan asked about what happens if Tuck and Paul actually DO kill whoever it was who got the powers of Forgotten Zed. The answer: I've got it covered.]

    Tuck and Paul sat in the hallway on a pair of chairs that they'd liberated from someone's office.
    "This has the potential to be awkward," said Paul.
    "Awkward how?" asked Tuck.
    "I don't know. Maybe I'm just thinking that, with the mess we left TWO HALLWAYS OVER, someone might have a few questions for us, two random guys in dark suits in the middle of the morgue."
    "We're not random. We're here for a very specific reason."
    "Yes, and it was nice of her to end up in the same building as our other corspe. Saves us travel time, though I'm still not sure why we're waiting in the hall, when she's in that room." Paul pointed across the hall to a closed door. "That room right there. And we could walk right in."
    "But the medical examiner asked us to wait."
    "That doesn't mean that we HAVE to wait."
    "It's a professional courtesy."
    "And it's stupid. Every minute we spend NOT finding the person who has become a god, that's another minute for him to become more comfortable with his powers and more invulnerable. You'll forgive me for thinking that might be a bad idea."
    "Or her," said Tuck.
    "Or her what?"
    "It might be a woman who stole the powers. The case in point is across the hall."
    "Which is where WE should be."
    "But he asked us to wait."
    "So help me, Tuck, I'm going to smack you."
    Tuck smiled. "I got that joke. That was funny."
    "It wasn't a joke."
    "Yes it was."
    "I can't talk to you right now." Paul sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
Tuck mused.
    "I think I should be a TV writer," he said after a while.
    "I'm not listening," said Paul.
    "We could sell this as a screenplay," he went on. "Two hit men trying to save the world from the forces of evil. Bad guys crossing and double-crossing each other, death, mayhem, disturbing creatures. We'd be a hit, and it's not like this is the only story we'd have to tell."
    Paul snorted. "Precious few romantic episodes, that's for sure."
    "Your standards are too high. And I thought you weren't talking to me."
    "I am now," said Paul, turning to face his partner. "Also, my standards are not too high. I just haven't found the right one. Besides," he sat back, "it's not my fault all the girls I get interested in are the wrong type."
    "Demons are a type?" asked Tuck.
    "Apparently. And I guess it's my type, but still: wrong type. Can't take a demon home to visit your mother."
    Tuck grinned. "Your mother could handle it."
    Paul smiled back, lopsidedly. "You're right, I think she could. Still, we're supposed to be the good guys, and dating demons seems wrong. Unethical."
    "Not our image."
    "Not at all."
    "But possibly good for our street cred."
    Paul looked at Tuck sideways. "When have you EVER worried about street cred?"
    "I read it in a detective novel. Seemed like a good thing to have."
    "Trust me, after we put several holes through that frog thing and its infernal master last Christmas, we have PLENTY of street cred. Too much, I might think. Hard to do our job if too many people recognize us. And, to change the subject, are Ipthakorians the only creatures who would like to feed off divine energies?"
    Tuck shook his head. "No, definitely not. They're just among the fastest when it comes to moving between the worlds. There are Borthonts, Mulps, Vrigs, Prickiles, Dons, Froods, Back Lashers, and Pontificates. To name a few."
    "'Yes' would have been enough of an answer for me."
    "In that case: yes."
    "So all the rest are just slower?"
    "Slower and, in general, nastier. Ipthakorians show up first because, any later, and they tend to become the food."
    "Let me get this clear in my head," said Paul. "If we don't move quickly, then not only are we going to get a nasty man with divine powers running around Seven Cities, but we are also going to have Bronts and Piggie-wiggies and Ponchos running around?"
    "You need to read more," said Tuck.
    "Fine, I didn't get the names right, but I have the general idea, correct?"
    Tuck blinked at him. "You have a good point."
    "I thought so."
    "We're going in now."
    "Finally!"
    Tuck stood up, walked the three steps across the hall, and opened the door. "I'm sorry, Dr. Probst, but when I said we could wait, I was wrong."
    The woman looked up from where she was doing something with a scalpel. She smiled directly at him, her eyes bright behind her safety goggles. Tuck noticed again how, in spite of her fantastically average features, the doctor's smile made her face animated and alive. Attractive. Perhaps he'd agreed to wait out of just a little more than professional courtesy.
    "Gentlemen," said Dr. Probst, "I recognize that your time is important, and you're handsome enough that I would be glad to sit down with you immediately, but you're nearly half-an-hour early for the interview, and I have work to do."
    "Interview?" said Tuck, confused--and slightly flattered.
    "For the newspaper."
    "We're not from the newspaper."
    "You're not?"
    "Very much not," said Paul, his voice catching. Tuck looked over at his partner, who, on close examination, was suppressing a laugh.
    "Then why are you here?"
    "For her," said Tuck, pointing at the woman on the table.
    "For Jane?"
    "Her name was Jane?"
    "Jane Doe. No ID on her, and we still don't know her name."
    "Of course."
    "What do you want to do with Jane?"
    "Examine her."
    "That's my job."
    "And mine."
    "I still don't understand."
    "Why don't I put her to sleep," muttered Paul.
    "No!" said Tuck, more loudly than he intended.
    "No what?" asked Dr. Probst.
    "This is hilarious," murmured Paul.
    "Dr. Probst," said Tuck, thinking quickly, "can we trust you?"
    "Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?"
    "She has a point," said Paul.
    "An excellent point," agreed his partner. "I suppose it's my turn to do the explaining. I'm going to ask you that what I tell you here will stay in this room."
    "I can't agree to that," said the doctor.
    Tuck paused, his mouth open. "I suppose that's fair, too. Here, I'll tell you what we're doing here, then you decide if it isn't better to keep it a secret."
    "That sounds reasonable. And, as nice as you two are being, please keep in mind that I do have access to several sharp objects, including an electric saw."
    "I'm starting to like her, too," said Paul quietly, stepping back to lean against the wall.
    "Too?" asked Tuck, looking over his shoulder.
    Paul waved his hand, shooing off his partner. "Carry on, Romeo."
    "Romeo was an idiot."
    "Of course. How could I forget?" Paul looked smug, but Tuck was too flustered to figure out exactly why. He gave up and turned back to the doctor.
    "Mrs. Probst--sorry, Dr. Probst--you're shaking your head."
    "Not 'Mrs.' anything," she said. "And, depending on your story, Evelyn would be fine."
    Tuck swallowed, creased his forehead, smiled in what he was certain was a forced manner, and soldiered on. "Dr. Probst. As we mentioned before, my name is Tuck, and this is my partner, Paul."
    "Do you have last names?"
    "Excuse me?"
    "Or is Tuck your first name?"
    "It's my--does that really matter?"
    "I was curious."
    "It's my business name. Can that be enough for now?"
    The doctor shrugged. "Tuck suits you fine. Continue."
    Idly, Tuck wondered how old the doctor was. Evelyn. It was a bit of an old-woman name, he'd always thought, but she couldn't be over thirty, and Tuck was only thirty-one. He wasn't entirely sure why that detail mattered--well, he knew, but he was repressing it, he realized--forget it. She was watching him expectantly.
    "Where was I?" he asked.
    "Tuck."
    "Right. And my partner, Paul. We were hired by the Agency."
    "Which agency?"
    "The Fifth City Agency."
    "What are they in charge of?"
    "The Fifth City."
    "Where's that?"
    "Here."
    She cocked her head at an angle--it was CUTE. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
    "There are Seven Cities, and we--the human world--are the fifth. And the Fifth City Agency attempts to maintain cosmic and magical balance in the Fifth City."
    Her eyes were wider and her eyebrows up. "You've lost me."
    Tuck looked back to his partner for help, but Paul had his hand over his face, his head bowed, sniggering. Fine. Tuck could fix this.
    "Dr. Probst, nothing that I'm about to tell you will make any sense, but I'm going to tell you anyway because, as one professional to another, you deserve the truth. You will think I'm either insane or an idiot, but I'm going to tell you anyway, and I hope you'll listen with an open mind."
    "I've opened a number of minds in my few short years as a medical examiner, so I'll try to take a lesson from that. Go ahead."
    Tuck blinked. "That was a joke."
    She smiled slightly and nodded.
    "Right. Time to explain, then. You know that our city is called Seven Cities."
    "Born and raised here," said the doctor.
    "And you know the reasons it's called that."
    "From the old Native American name for the place. I knew what it was in fifth grade, but I've forgotten."
    "Exactly. I forgot it, too. But they called it Seven Cities for another reason. It's because this is the place where seven different worlds, with their seven different cities, all meet."
    "What, some kind of cosmic, inter-dimensional metropolis?"
    "That's a very accurate description."
    Dr. Probst glanced at Paul and back to Tuck. "Is this a joke?"
    "Yes," said Paul, still laughing.
    "No!" Tuck shook his head as sincerely as possible. "This is very serious. And the human world, where we live, is the fifth world."
    "Why?"
    "Why what?"
    "Why the fifth?"
    "I think there are reasons having to do with alignment of the different worlds along the pan-dimensional axes, but I haven't researched it thoroughly. Should I?"
    Behind him, Paul snorted.
    "No," said the doctor. "That can wait for later. And the Fifth City Agency deals with magical events in our city?"
    "Right. And they hired us."
    "And my Jane Doe was killed by magical means?"
    "I have no idea."
    "But she WAS magical?"
    "At least temporarily, yes."
    "Fascinating. So what did you want to do with her?"
    "Look into the last five minutes or so of her life. Find out who killed her."
    "You can do that?"
    "Yes."
    "How?"
    "I have Play-Doh."
    Paul laughed out loud.
    "Do you need to touch the body?"
    "No. I won't contaminate any evidence."
    "And when you find out who killed her, can I pass that information on to the police? Assuming that whatever you're about to do works, and you're not simply a cute crackpot."
    "I'm not," Tuck assured her. "Not a crackpot."
    "But you are cute?"
    "That's not what I meant."
    "I know."
    "Also, you can't tell the police yet. Later, sure, but not yet."
    "Care to explain?"
    "Because if you tell them, they'll start trying to chase down an extremely dangerous individual with powers beyond their comprehension, that could probably call down lightning to fry them where they stand. Unless he just sucked the life right out of them."
    Dr. Probst rocked back. "That's a disturbing thought."
    "Very."
    "What are you going to do with him?"
    Tuck swallowed and didn't say anything. The doctor looked at him, then at Paul, then back to Tuck.
    "You're serious about this, aren't you."
    Tuck just nodded.
    "I'm not at all sure why I'm doing this," said Dr. Probst, "but I'm going to step back from the table and watch. If you manage to do something amazing, I'll think about starting to believe you. If all you do is mess around with a bit of Play-Doh, I'm calling for security."
    "It's more than I could have expected," said Tuck. "Thank you."
    "No skin off my nose," said the doctor. "Now, let's find out whether or not you get to call me Evelyn."