The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller by Richard Brown

forth.
    She had cried alongside everyone else.
    Amy was watching television in the living
room when her father entered through the front door.
    “You’re home,” she said, smiling at him as
he hung up his coat.
    “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “I don’t
know how long I’m gonna be here.”
    “Awe, I thought we could order a movie or
something.”
    Isaac sat down on the couch next to his
daughter. “You can if you want. Hey, did you see me on the evening
news?”
    “You were on the news?”
    “I don't know. Maybe.”
    “You should have called and told me. What
were you doing on the news anyway?”
    “Walking, I think.”
    “You didn’t say anything?”
    “I might have. I don’t remember.”
    “Are you sure you don’t have amnesia?”
    Isaac smiled. “No, it’s just been a rough
day. So why don’t you go ahead and order a movie?”
    “Not if you might have to leave during the
middle of it. It would be a waste of money.”
    “It’s my money. And you’ll be here to watch
it.”
    “If you have to go out, are you going to let
me come with?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “You have before.”
    “I know. But not tonight.”
    Amy leaned over and put her arms around her
father. “C’mon. Why not?”
    "For one it's a school night. Plus you're a
wimpy girl."
    "Oh shut up."
    Isaac went upstairs and took a shower. When
he was done, he changed clothes and headed back downstairs to his
office. Inside, he picked up the phone and dialed Simmons’s cell
phone number, letting the phone ring four or five times before
hanging up. He wasn’t sure if he had Simmons’s home number, but if
not, he could always call and get it from the precinct.
    He pulled a small leather organizer from the
desk drawer and flipped through the letters in the phone directory.
When he reached the beginning of the letter S, he stopped and
searched down the page. He must have known a great many people with
a last name beginning with the letter S; the next three pages were
covered with dozens of numbers and addresses, most unknown or
simply forgotten. A little more than halfway down the second page,
he found the name he was looking for: Daniel Simmons, with both
cell and home number listed, squeezed right between Shaw and
Sinister.
    Yes, long ago in his academy years Isaac had
known a man with the last name of Sinister, and unlike most people
with unusual or characterizing last names, names such as David
Ferry or Susan Whore, Sinister described this young academy
good-for-nothing perfectly.
    He picked up the phone and this time dialed
Simmons’s home number. After a couple of rings, a woman picked
up.
    "Hello, is Detective Daniel Simmons
there?”
    “May I ask who is calling?”
    “Detective Winters,” said Isaac. “I’m
working on a case with your husband.”
    Suddenly, Isaac remembered what Chief
Stevens had told him about Simmons, how his cousin had given him
occupational surgery and thrown him back into the sea with a new
pair of gills. He waited patiently for Simmons to come to the
phone.
    After a moment, Simmons picked up. “Isaac,”
he said. “What’s going on?”
    “Not much really. Did you forget your cell
phone at the precinct or something?”
    “I think I did. Left it right on the
desk.”
    Isaac had planned to stay in for the rest of
the night unless he absolutely had to leave, but now he felt like
going out for a while, just to unwind and take a break from the
case, or thinking about the case. “What are you doing tonight?”
    “Just lounging around.”
    “That sounds like you. I know a good
bar.”
    “I don’t drink.”
    “Well, then you can watch me drink, or you
could get something to eat. I know you like to eat.”
    “I can’t deny that,” Simmons said.
“Everybody has their weakness.”
    “So you want to go?”
    “Sure, I suppose.”
    Isaac shut down the computer, jammed the
organizer back in the desk drawer, and left the office. He sat down
beside his daughter sleeping on the couch.
    Amy