...in which we meet our heroes. Guess who they're based on. 



Bruce.

He groaned and shifted but didn't respond.

Bruce.  Get up.
 
"Go 'way."  Not rising, Bruce grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at the wall.  It fell short of its mark and instead knocked an empty beer can off the coffee table.  Bruce winced at the loud clatter.

Now that wasn't necessary, was it?  The woman's voice giggled in his ear.

Bruce grumbled incoherently and rolled onto his side.  "'Course it was, Janet, the pillow was pissing me off."  He opened one dark blue eye as the musical giggle sounded in his ear again.  No, not his ear; he could hear his partner in his head.  Back when they established the link, it had taken a few months to get used to the constant internal presence.  But now, after several years, the mental chatter was simply annoying.

You don't mean that. 

Bruce could practically see her pout.  And try to not smile.  He sighed loudly at the air.

Okay, okay, you got me. Another giggle. Hurry up, our new secretary will be here in half an hour.

"New secretary... you mean the interview?"  Bruce grabbed the alarm clock off the bedside table as he propped himself up on one elbow.  "Crap – why didn't you wake me?"  He threw the clock down and flung out of bed towards the bathroom.

You were sleeping so sweetly.  Still teasing.  No matter; he’d get her back soon enough.

"Bull," Bruce mumbled around toothpaste.  "I sleep for shit and you know it."  He spat and swished water, dropping his toothbrush onto the sink.  He examined his short red hair in the mirror, ran his fingers briefly through it, and went to the closet.

Wear the blue one, in the back.  He reached for the suit she indicated and pulled on a white shirt.  Actually, you were tossing.  Anything I should know?  Bruce jerked, suddenly remembering the nightmare.  He quickly squashed the memory.  You know I’d never pry honey, but it might be easier to talk about it.

He stretched under the bed for an errant shoe.  “Nope, easier to forget it.”  He groaned again as he straightened.  “How old are we again that we’re still doing this?”

Silly, I’m sixteen and you’re ninety-seven, Janet laughed. 

Bruce groaned loudly again.  “Get me my cane so I can beat you with it, dear.”  He walked to the mirror to fix his tie.  “Go on, get outta here, I’ll see ya at the office.”  There was one last mental touch, Janet’s version of a long-distance kiss, and then he felt her withdraw.  The link was still there, but he no longer felt her shadow by his elbow.

As he grabbed his coat and left his studio apartment, Bruce’s thoughts turned back to the nightmare.  Now that Janet wasn’t in his thoughts, it was safe to think about it.  She was an ethical telepath and true to her word, didn’t scan anybody deeply – even Bruce – without permission or a damn good reason.  She understood that when Bruce chose to block something from her, he also had a damn good reason – usually her protection.

The nightmare had been virtually the same disjointed images as always: a good-looking twenty-something kid, full of life, his features distorted by blood-red rage while at the same time terrified and pleading.  The kid’s arm rammed a twelve-inch blade into the chests of innocent girls even as he sobbed in horror.  Bruce trapped behind glass as they strapped the boy down and injected him.  Bruce yelled over and over, but they didn’t understand, they wouldn’t stop –
Bruce shook himself and forced the dream away.  He had frozen in mid-step, and had to force himself forward.  “Stupid damn dream,” he muttered. He checked his mental shielding and found it had partially dropped while he’d been reminiscing.  Waiting for the elevator, he closed his eyes in concentration to pull them back up.  Before he could finish, his head jerked sideways and he grunted as if hit.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, wiping a drop of blood from his lip.  He turned to glare at apartment sixteen.  The door radiated pain and fear, screaming at him.  Bruce relaxed his eyes, and could now see black and red faintly pulsing around the jamb. His neighbor Carla was being beaten again.  Fists tightening, he turned back to the elevator.  His breath puffed in and out as he struggled to regain control.  “Goddamn empath,” he swore at himself.  Finally, his shields were back up, he could no longer feel her, and he walked into the elevator, smiling fixedly at Mrs. Langille. 

His fists ached to break down Carla’s door, but there had been no sound to draw attention.  Whoever was hurting her – Bruce had never seen a boyfriend, but he was convinced there was one – took care to keep her quiet.  Carla wore a heavy layer of makeup year-round, and despite her situation, she was cheerful and outgoing – and was not faking it, either.  He had seen the hint of fear behind the sparkle in her eyes that others missed (or ignored).  The one time he had quietly asked her about the abuse, Carla had briskly brushed him off and changed the subject.  Bruce suspected he was the only person outside Carla’s apartment who knew anything.  But until Carla asked for help, he could do nothing but hope she would come to her senses. 

He sighed heavily as he stepped into the lobby, drawing a stern look from Mrs. Langille.  “Have a good day,” he told her cheerfully, pushing happiness at her, and she relaxed and smiled back at him as he left the building.  It was another benefit of being an empath: he could lie with a straight face to nearly anybody.  Janet, of course, was the exception.

Thinking of her, his smile became genuine.  Bruce’s step lightened as he turned into the building’s parking lot.  Before he’d met her, he hadn’t understood how completely one person could affect your life.  He had been frustrated with life and ready to pack it in when they had met... then Janet had changed everything.  It was thanks to her that he even had a life.  Unaware he was smiling blissfully, Bruce unlocked his car and got in, rolling the window down as he started the engine.

Bruce hummed along with the radio as he pulled out of the lot and headed down the street.  The Stones were belting out “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, one of his favorites.  He stopped at a gas station a few blocks down for a muffin and coffee, then headed back towards the highway.  He loved the huge, sprawling metropolis that made up Kansas City, but damn if everything wasn’t so spread out.  He didn’t actually live in Kansas City proper but in Lee’s Summit, one of the city’s many suburbs.  Janet lived in the same town as their office, Grandview.  He could think of at least five other towns that fell under the “Kansas City” heading.  That was on the Missouri side; there were just as many ‘burbs on the Kansas side, if not more.  Bruce himself had grown up in a little town called Mission Hills just across the state line.  A brief shudder went down his spine as he remembered; there had never existed, in his opinion, a more affluent and stuck-up town, and he had been glad to leave it.

Bruce turned up the radio as he pulled onto the highway.  This was his favorite time of the day, when he could sing loudly without anyone to tell him how bad he was.  The eight-lane road he was on was always busy, night or day, but he was fortunate that it always moved swiftly unless there was an accident.  On a good day, it would take him probably ten or fifteen minutes to get to the office.  Even with traffic, he could put his hands and eyes on semi-autopilot, trusting himself to get there safely, and just think.  It was here on the road that he often worked out answers to tough cases.  He started to belt out a song and turned his mind to the new secretary they were hiring.

It was by a thin margin that they actually needed a secretary.  Business had not been booming lately, but was at least steady.  Bruce and Janet found themselves out of the office more and more lately, working cases, and somebody had to be there to answer the phone.  Then there was the accounting: Bruce was good with numbers but hated the paperwork, and Janet... god love her, but Janet couldn’t keep her own checkbook straight.  She admitted it freely, fortunately, and never touched the books.  She had been trying to keep the paperwork organized since their last secretary quit, but that molehill was turning into Mount Everest under her tender ministrations.  Bruce was afraid if something wasn’t done, soon, they’d get sued by one of their clients for being double-billed. 

Bruce chuckled, thinking of the previous secretary.  Ms. Ethel Gipson had seemed perfect when they hired her.  She was competent, efficient, smart, and friendly.  She had both receptionist and accounting experience.  She’d straightened out the books within two days of arriving, and had the office spotless.  She was even easy on the eyes.  “Perfect,” Bruce laughed to himself.

There was another quirk of Kansas City that was reflected in Ms. Gipson – the religious divide.  Kansas and Missouri were historically only marginally part of what was known as the “Bible belt”: a swath of states centrally located (hence the term “belt”) and dominated by Christian churches.  Traditionally, if you lived in a Bible belt state, you were assumed to be Christian, whether or not you actually were, and difference was not well-tolerated.  Bruce had grown up with that kind of mindset.  Yet downtown in Westport, the “hippie” part of the city, there were at least a dozen alternative stores that catered to every religion, including Christianity. There were books and tapes on witchcraft, Santeria, Buddhism, and a few –isms Bruce couldn’t remember.  Minds tended to be more open here in Kansas City than anywhere else in either state, but you still occasionally ran across a nailed-shut mind. 

The woman on the other side of the door was somewhat short, only about five and a half feet tall, and had the blondest coif Janet had ever seen.  She wore a dazzling smile to match, but Janet sensed it was sincere.  She wore a bright blue business dress that made Janet’s eyes water, and clutched a small matching pocketbook in impeccably matched fingernails.  Her makeup was light and modest, and her eye shadow was a lighter version of her dress.  In one hand, she held a manila folder.  Janet noticed no wedding ring; the only jewelry she wore was a small gold cross around her neck.

“Hi!” she exclaimed brightly.  “I’m Chastity Howard.  I have an appointment for an interview with, um...”  She checked her folder.  “Oh yes, Janet – oh, this can’t be right...”

“Slutt,” Janet finished calmly.  Chastity looked up, embarrassed.  “No, that’s right.  When my great-grandfather came over on the boat, it was Sluttartheindem.  Really.” Janet smiled as Chastity’s eyes widened slightly.  “Blame the guys at Liberty Island – guess they thought it would be funny.  Please, come in.”  Janet stepped back from the door and waved Chastity in.  Chastity hesitated only for a moment, then regained her composure and walked the few steps in.  She stood in the middle of the room and waited for Janet to shut the door before she moved.

“I understand this is an investigative office?” Chastity asked, sitting in the comfortable chair facing the desk.  She handed Janet the folder, which held her resume, and primly folded her hands in her lap.  Her smile still dazzled.

“Yes, it’s me and my partner – oh, here he is.”  Bruce rushed in the door as Janet perched on the corner of the desk.  Nice of you to show up, dear, she sent.  Bruce briefly stuck his tongue out at her.  I was just about to tell her about you. Janet’s eyes twinkled.  Chastity stood and turned as he closed the door behind him.

“Sorry, ladies – traffic,” he said as he shook Chastity’s hand.  Janet noticed that Chastity didn’t back down but instead gripped Bruce’s hand firmly.  “I’m Bruce Dyrtbagg. I take it you two have met?”
“This is Chastity Howard, Bruce.  She’s here for the secretarial position,” Janet explained for Chastity’s benefit.  Chastity blinked at Bruce’s surname but didn’t drop the smile.  Janet was impressed – other applicant had demanded to know the explanation behind both their names, not just Janet’s.  Chastity was already taking things in stride.

Bruce turned away to the coffee pot and turned up his mug.  “Coffee?” he asked as he poured his own.

“No thank you sir, I never touch the stuff,” Chastity answered, sitting back down.  “I stick with green tea.  Much better for you, you know.”  She was talking to Janet now, but Janet caught Bruce rolling his eyes just a bit.  “Now, about the interview?”

Bruce sat behind the desk, chair creaking as he opened the manila folder.  “You definitely have the qualifications we’re looking for, Miss Howard.”

“Please, call me Chastity.”  More of that sunny smile.  Her teeth blinded Janet.

“All right, Chastity.”  He smiled briefly at her and went back to her resume.  “Now we have a few questions for you...”

“Of course.”  Chastity sat up to the edge of her seat, striking a professional pose.

“Well, first off, why do you think you deserve to be here?”

Janet’s lips twitched only slightly.  Bruce started every interview with that question, exactly those words.  Janet disliked the way he put it – he was deliberately trying to provoke a defensive, insulted response.

Again, Chastity surprised her.  “Why do you think you deserve to be here?”  She was still smiling cheerfully as she addressed Bruce.

Bruce blinked.  “I worked my way here, of course."
 
“So did I, sir.  I did every menial, boring job you can think of.  I’ve waited tables, cleaned hotel rooms, punched a time clock in a factory – everything.  All so I could earn my degree.”  She sat back a bit, warming to her subject.  “It took me three years of night school, but I got it, and with honors.  As you can see in my resume, I was hired directly out of school into Sebben and Charles in Olathe, and worked my way up there for five years.”  Chastity sighed gently.  “It’s not Mr. Sebben’s fault, or Mrs. Charles’ fault, that I was let go.  Times are hard for them right now, and clients have been going to bigger firms.  I was the low man on the totem pole, so to speak.”  She grinned at her joke.  “So I started looking again.  And when I saw your ad, well, I just had to apply.  Imagine, working in the office of a real, live detective!”  Her eyes widened in excitement as she glanced around the office.

Calm down, Bruce, Janet sent, feeling his slight irritation.  For her part, only her mental discipline kept the giggles inside.

“Okay,” he said slowly.  Bruce shuffled papers for a minute.  "Uh, do you have any questions?  Salary, benefits, anything like that?"

"No sir, Ms. Slutt was very clear in our phone conversation.  I'm perfectly happy with your offered rate."  Beaming again.

Bruce didn't look up, but Janet felt questioning curiosity directed at her.  He was impressed with Chastity, but still wanted Janet's opinion.

I like her too, she sent back.  Let’s give her a shot. Outwardly, she smiled at Chastity and rose, smoothing her skirt.

Bruce stood and pushed back his chair, prompting Chastity to rise.  “I think you’ve answered all our questions.”  He extended a hand, and Chastity grasped it. 

The smile still dazzled, but Janet saw it droop the tiniest bit.  “Well, thank you for the interview, sir,” Chastity began briskly, reaching for her resume.

Bruce dropped a hand to the folder.  “We’re going to need this for your personnel file, Chastity.  And call me Bruce, not sir.”  He broke into a cheesy smile.  “When can you start?”

Chastity blinked.  “Oh!  Well, my goodness, you do like to tease, don’t you?”  She gave them a relieved laugh.  “Well, I’m here now, aren't I?  Might as well get started.”  She moved behind her new desk, shooing Bruce.  He had barely enough time to grab his mug as he moved away.  “Let's just see what shape your books are in, why don't we?"  She tapped the keyboard with a practiced hand.  After a moment, she looked up.  "Well, go on!  Just leave this to me; you go do what you do best."  She pulled her chair up and settled down to work, employers forgotten.

Janet and Bruce went to their office.  Janet was grinning until Bruce thought her face might split.  Told ya.  She's the one.

Bruce gave her a look.  The one that said, "remember she can hear when I'm talking and you're not."

Nearly laughing, Janet held up a protesting hand and sat down at her desk.  "So how's the surveillance on the divorce case coming?"  She opened up a file she had been working on and started highlighting names.

Bruce flopped down into his chair and plopped his mug next to his pencil jar.  "About done, actually.  I've got a – well, a good hunch that he's got a mistress."  He exchanged looks with Janet, then shot a glance at the door between offices that was still open.  The desks were back from the door by about five feet, but sounds still drifted in and out.  "Anyway, I just need one more night.  One juicy picture for his wife, and she can boot him with a clear conscience."  He called up a file on his computer.  "Good thing too – that whole area gives me –" He stopped short as Chastity came in carrying the coffee pot.

"Sorry to interrupt," Chastity said brightly as she strode forward.  "Thought your cup might need freshening."  Bruce automatically lifted his mug for her to pour.  "I've given the books a quick look-see, and I've found a few delinquent accounts you should probably contact."  She held out a printed page; Bruce's was the first hand to reach it.

His eyes widened slightly as he read.  "You came up with this that quickly?"

"Oh yes, it's easy with the software you have," Chastity answered.  Janet noticed that her cheeks dimpled when she was pleased.

"Well..." He handed the list to Janet.  "The first name on the list, I think we can let you handle, Chastity.  He's not too far behind, and he's usually pleasant to work with – just a bit forgetful when it comes to money."  He smiled up at Chastity.  "We'll break you in gently, okay?"

Janet looked at the name he'd mentioned.  Holy crap, Bruce, you really want to break her in, don't you?  Bruce ignored her.

"Why I'd be happy to, sir – excuse me, Bruce," she added at Bruce's look.  She flashed the smile, turned on her heel, and marched out to her desk.

Are you crazy? Janet sent.  Aloud she only said, "Elwood should definitely be home this time of day.  Whether or not he'll come down within the next week is another matter."  She was smirking, and her eyes twinkled.  Their agency frequently did business with the bail bondsman, helping him trace bond jumpers.  Elwood shared Janet and Bruce's sense of humor. 

Bruce was grinning again.  "Yeah, if we're very lucky."  In a low voice he added, "And we'll see just how perfect she is for the job in just a day or two."