PsyCop: GhosTV Part 40

Jacob's eyes tracked back and forth as he filtered through...what?

PsyTrain? Was the stretched head what had made him come to the conclusion that it was time to throw in the towel? Because I guarantee, stretched heads were a once-in-a-lifetime type of phenomena, and Psychs with enough power to do something like that were few and far between.

"I just don't want to keep pushing it 'til I'm totally burned out. That's all."

Jerry and Shirley glanced at each other, then looked at Jacob again. "If there's anything I can do to help," Jerry said, "you just let me know.

Anything."

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Jacob looked at them, each of them, and then said, "You lock your doors at night. Right?"

They both gave a shrug that said maybe, maybe not. It was my turn to stare. Seriously? They didn't lock their doors? Where did they think they lived, Candyland? Jacob worked his jaw a few times and said, "I need you to start doing that. Promise me?"

The patented Marks family stubbornness flared up in Jerry, who said, "You're the one living in the country's murder capital, not us-" Shirley cut him off. "Fine. I will make sure the doors are locked. Every night." She stood, and hoisted her ma.s.sive handbag onto her shoulder, then kissed Jacob on the temple. "I promise." She lingered with her hand on his tense shoulder for a moment, and then she and Jerry said their uneasy goodbyes, and Jacob and I were alone.

While we sat there at the empty table staring each other down, a waitress came to see if we needed anything else. When neither of us responded to her, she backed away.

"d.a.m.n it, Jacob," I said, when I couldn't keep it inside me one second longer. "You could have maybe, I dunno, discussed this with me first."

"I couldn't. I didn't know for sure. Not until..." he planted his elbows on the red-checkered plastic tablecloth and buried his face in his hands, took a few breaths, then raked his fingers through his hair and met my eye. "I didn't know for sure until I saw them."

"Who?"

"My family."

Obviously, I was missing something. Something big. Because other than a few dirty looks from Barbara that hadn't particularly fazed me, I thought we'd all been having a pretty good time. Jacob caught my hands, both of them this time, including the scabby one that 377.

had leaked ectoplasm all week, and said, "Who's the next Five Faith going to be? We don't know, do we? But look at me-all these years I've been representing my precinct, I've been in the paper, on TV.

And look how easy it would be to track down my sister, my parents, Clayton. They're less than four hours away."

"Yeah, but...why is Five Faith freaking you out now? They weren't even the ones s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with your email. They weren't the ones steal-ing people at PsyTrain."

Jacob squeezed my fingers together so hard it hurt. "But what if it had been? I worry about them targeting you, me...but face it, we can protect ourselves. My mother? My grandmother?" He shook his head.

"I can't let that happen."

"And so that's it? You're gonna take your pension and...what? Build a model train set in the bas.e.m.e.nt and putter around the yard?" I was shocked at how sickened I was by the thought of Jacob declawed and defanged. I thought I'd loved him for who he was as a person. I had no idea I was so attached to who he was as a cop. Surprise, surprise.

He almost-smiled. "Could you actually see me turning into a househusband?"

Actually, I could...and I didn't like what I saw. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"No." He squeezed so hard I needed to pull my hand free for fear of bleeding on him. He released my hands like he hadn't realized his own strength. Which I'm sure he hadn't. "I might not be safe at the Twelfth Precinct anymore, but that doesn't mean I just roll over and surrender. I couldn't."

"Okay," I said, relieved. "Just as long as you don't-"

"So that's why I'm signing on with the FPMP."

I waited for the rimshot, the point at which he'd break into his big, 378.

contagious smile, cuff me on the shoulder, and say, Ireallyhadyou goingthere.

Except that point never came.

Nope, Jacob looked completely earnest. Painfully so. And I realized, as I stared deep into his eyes, that I hadn't been seated next to Lisa on that flight back to Chicago so that I could catch up with her. I'd been put there so Dreyfuss could start working on Jacob. So he could drop a few carefully selected notions into their conversation-ideas that would make Jacob fear not for himself, or even for me-but for his family.

I could argue, remind Jacob that the FPMP was tapping our phone.

That they a.s.sa.s.sinated people, for crying out loud. But Jacob had that mulish expression on him that told me I'd be better off biding my time, since any argument now would only make him dig his heels in deeper.

I stood, and picked up the check. "C'mon," I said. "Let's get going." It was gonna be a long ride home.

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JCPBookse-booksarepricedbythewordcountofthestoryonly.Any endmatterisabonus!.

About the Author.

Jordan Castillo Price writes and produces the PsyCop novels from her home in rural Wisconsin. Since she shed her day job, she no longer needs to endure embarra.s.sing staff inservices like the one in which Sando makes Vic do a million wristlocks. Though she imagines you never know when a wristlock might come in handy.

About this Story.

Since Camp h.e.l.l came out, I've been trying to do more hands-on research when I write a book. Very little pulls me out of a story quicker than reading a section where the author could have added some realism with only a small amount of legwork, or even a trip to Wikipedia. Especially if they've just mundane facts they could have easily researched, and they made them up instead, and got them dead wrong.

I re-discovered an old friend of mine who'd had a career as a forensics tech since last we knew each other. I badgered her for a good long while to try to get an idea of how crime scenes are treated.

Interestingly, some of the things she said around the specific questions, such as the fact that most people couldn't handle hearing about the crime scenes, really informed the Vic/Jacob relationship, and I think said a lot about how they get along well because they understand each other on a level that a civilian wouldn't. Her descrip-tions of sketching the scenes gave rise to the part in the story where Vic draws the astral door without knowing it.

And I need help with the more mundane aspects of the storytelling, too! Another friend has two pre-teens in Wisconsin soccer, so I totally picked her brain about what happened at soccer games, if it would be plausible for Clayton's team to play in Beloit in June, and how people acted at the games. There are these plastic red and yellow penalty cards the ref keeps in his pockets. They're shown to the kids when 380.

they've broken rules, and I really wanted to include a yellow card, but explaining what it was seemed to bog down the action too much, so I dropped that idea. That part where no one's actually paying attention to their kids playing soccer and they're all knitting? That doesn't really happen; I just took artistic license to show what a special little snowflake Clayton is. Plus it seems whenever I go somewhere, there's someone completely oblivious to their surroundings, knitting.

I often add in details like that just to amuse myself.

Some aspects of the story I figured out via first-hand research. I took a day-long meditation retreat to get some ideas for PsyTrain-and believe me when I say everyone there was nice! But Vic needs to be dis-gruntled and roll his eyes at everything so you're seeing it all through his annoyed filter. There was one woman who went into a thing about her gluten intolerance that probably would have at least drawn an eye-roll from Vic...but I swear the gluten-free spelt cookies already featured prominently in the plot before I enjoyed her company.

I actually even looked for some spelt cookies so I could enjoy the fi-brousness, but alas, I couldn't find any. I ate something called Chunks of Energy Carob Spirulina, figuring Vic wouldn't put something called spirulina in his mouth without vociferous protest...but, it wasn't bad.

Kind of like an herbal crispy rice treat. Then again, I don't mind hippy food. I'm not Vic. (I would've spewed over that bone in the salmon.) BeautifulMysteriousBizarre fictionbyJordanCastilloPrice.

Don'tMisstheNextStory~SignupforJordan'sFreeMonthly NewsletterToday!~www.psycop.com/newsletter.

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Recommended Reads.

Readers who enjoy PsyCop should check out these additional t.i.tles by Jordan Castillo Price.

Sleepwalker.

Daniel Weber ("Web" to his friends) was a promising young biology student on the fast track to a prestigious grad program. That was a year and a half ago. Now he's working a dead-end security job and living in his cousin's two-flat. Thanks to the mysterious George, he's got gaps in his memory too big for his pocket notebook to fill.

Jesse Ray Jones is the taxidermist who's trying to help the Faris Natural Sciences Center secure the MAHPS Grant, a funding that would keep the foundering organization afloat for a few more years. He looks like a skatepunk and talks like a science major, which pushes Web's every last hot-b.u.t.ton.

It's l.u.s.t at first sight...but hooking up proves difficult when a supervisor at the Center is found bludgeoned to death in the petroglyph alcove- and Jesse and Web are the primary suspects. (Novella) Sympathy It took Anthony Potosi years to recover from the accident that claimed his father's life, and doctors told him he'd never walk again. He proved them wrong. Now he's back at the landscaping business, Potosi and Sons, he shares with his two older brothers-but they seem more interested in getting Anthony to sell out his share than in celebrating his recovery.

The oil-and-water relationship between Anthony and his brothers is hardly new. Even when they were kids, Sal and Chip delighted in terrorizing their baby brother with stories like "The Hook." Now Anthony towers over his brothers...but he's still the youngest. When the new owner of the Hook House calls in an order, they take a little too much satisfaction in sending him to face his old fears. And learning to open up again to trust, desire-and maybe even love-is far scarier than The Hook. (Novelette) Zero Hour.

Ernest just turned thirty. It's time for retirement, freedom from the tedious drudgery of his job as a data clerk. Time to explore parts of the city he's never seen before, and hopefully meet some people other than his Deacon or his health monitor. And at the end of the month?

Time to die.

Will mans the counter at the historic coffee shop, and when he talks, he sounds just like an old-time data feed. He's nothing like anyone Ernest has ever met-which isn't saying much-but still, something about him simply doesn't pa.r.s.e. (Novel) Featuring cover art by the ill.u.s.trious PL Nunn.

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