No Rest for the Wicked - Chapter 1

As the sun sets over Las Vegas, a heavy air hangs, thick with heat-baked asphalt and the stale perfume of the Strip. Over the city and desert, a neon hum casts long, garish shadows and a dull glow, like an electric halo humming from above. Alive with tourists stumbling between casinos, impatient Uber drivers honking, and lost souls drifting in the glow, the streets teem with life.

Max, on the other hand, is off the Strip tonight, sulking in his apartment. A local, he rarely spends time on the Strip unless chasing down a lead or phoning in a favor for a case. Like others born and raised in Sin City, he takes pride in the fact that he’s been able to carve out a life of his own without getting sucked into the high-stakes churn of the city.

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about leaving, he certainly has the means to pick up and move where ever he’d like. A hefty government settlement check after the alleged death of his parents has set him for life. And yet, the city won’t let him go, not until he solves the only mystery that has ever mattered…what really happened to his parents.

It’s been nearly two decades since his parents vanished into thin air, leaving him behind a young boy alone and confused. Both had worked for the Department of Energy. Scientists assigned to confidential projects focused on transportation of some sort and the creation of alternative forms of energy. Sitting on his couch rubbing the edges of an old letter, he can still remember when the rep from the government told him about the accident that had killed his parents. The woman was nice enough, seemed sincere in her apologies, even claimed his parents were heroes who had evacuated the facility they worked in before it exploded, saving dozens of lives.

Something inside him had always made him doubt the story. At first it was a gut instinct, or perhaps wishful thinking clung to by a little boy desperate for hope. Soon, it hardened into a dogged conviction that they were still out there, somewhere beyond reach but alive.

However, it was the delivery of this letter; the letter worn from years of nights like these, rubbed until the paper feels almost like fabric in his hands that confirmed what he had always known in his heart. His parents were alive. It had arrived days before his high school graduation. The letter was simple yet profoundly moving:

“We love you very much. Don’t give up on us, we are trying. Love, Mom.”

He had felt stunned, exhilarated, and deeply confused all at once. The words resurrected what had been, at times, a tenuous hope, and it was at that moment that his resolve had scorched into obsession. Since then, he has chased every lead, no matter how small, however far-fetched. He has followed the faintest rumors and whispers, clung to the slimmest possibilities, and at times he has felt himself unraveling as he pulled on threads that stretched but never broke.

It is one of those threads that he had pulled recently that had him sitting alone in his apartment, contemplating his life decisions. An anonymous contact had reached out, claiming to know information about his dad. A tease really. A few emails from a roaming IP address with no names, just vague details about experiments in Fourth Axis Theory. A theory that at best is considered speculative claiming that the fourth spatial dimension is time and that it’s possible to travel in and out of it. In short, time travel.

The contact had turned into a ghost. Not a literal ghost. That’s something completely different. The line had gone cold. The last communication received from them was that they had to travel for a while but would reach back out when they could. What a waste of time, Max thought. If only he had his own time machine, he would use it to get those weeks back chasing down yet another dead end.

Max had held onto this letter from his mother like a lifeline, a signpost pointing the way forward in an otherwise uncertain path. He let out an audible sigh, and his mind turned from his mother to Fiona, his ex girlfriend. She always hated it when he would sigh out loud, claimed it was a pointless exertion of frustration. She had left him a few years ago. His obsession, as she called it, and association with the “fringe” was too much for her.

While trained and badged the same as any other private investigator in town, Max is known for his willingness to take on cases that others won’t dare touch. He would argue with Fiona that he didn’t choose this life. It wasn’t his ideal profession to be known as a “ghost chaser” or “UFO hunter”. These cases just seemed to find their way to him, that he just had a knack for attracting the strange and bizarre.

Tonight, though, he wondered if maybe he had chosen this life, and if maybe it was time for him to choose another. Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, he stretched out and prepared to fall asleep for the night. Closing his eyes and drifting to sleep, he could almost smell Fiona, a subtle scent of apple and flowers. A buzzing from the coffee table brought him back to the here and now. It was his phone, and all he wanted was to close his eyes and go back to the comforting memories of happier times.

Again, it buzzed.

And again.

Grabbing the phone, Max saw that Jerry was calling. Jerry is a bail bondsman. His real name is Jerome St. Pierre, a Haitian sent to Vegas as a kid to live with his aunt. Most people call him The Saint, but to Max, he’s just Jerry.

“What is it? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sleep? Bit early for that this time of night, isn’t it?”

“I need to rest. I’ve been stuck chasing dead ends lately, and I got suckered into helping Benny at the gym.”

Benny raised Max after his parents disappeared. At King & Queen Gym on South Rainbow Drive, Benny trained him how to fight, as well as Jerry, whose aunt had him there to work through his teenage “demons”.

“Sure, sure. I heard Benny got some new equipment this week. Sprucing things up over there. Must be getting some real heavy hitters.”

“Jerry, what do you want? I’m tired and I want to go back to sleep.”

“I have a friend coming over that I’d like you to meet.”

“Jer, I’m not interested in a hook up with any of the women you know.”

“That’s not fair. I only associate with lovely ladies you’d be lucky to know. No, not that kind of friend. He needs some help, and I think you are the man for the job.”

“A paying real case? What’s it about?”

“Murder.”