As it turned out, I never got the chance. I was preparing to do a little home improvement on Billy’s brain box, when he convulsed and let out an inhuman moan. His tattoo was brighter than before, and he was the color of Chinese drywall.

“No,” Billy croaked, “Not yet.” The glow from his tattoo was spreading up his arm, now engulfing his shoulder. “I still have work to do.”

“Billy, are you OK?” My rage turned on a dime to concern. At the end of the day, Billy was a decent dude. Sure, a pill head and small-time hustler, but he’d never hurt anyone that I had heard, present flame-throwing excluded. And when clean, Billy was smart and funny. I knew he had a daughter who thought the moon revolved around him. He didn’t deserve a torturous death.

Billy flexed his glowing arm, and I watched the red light spread up his chest and then his neck. As it reached his face, he started with a low scream that was so desperate and primal that I took a few steps back. As Billy’s cry reached a crescendo, I saw a brighter red flash and felt the same heat wash as before. I felt a pulse of energy come from Billy. Well, I didn’t feel it as much as I observed it. This time it was accompanied by a terrible rending sound, like velcro made of razor blades was being slowly torn apart. I saw trash move and the air blowing particles of dust and debris. Then the awful screaming and otherworldly din stopped and Billy was gone. There were some burning scraps of his clothing and bits of smoldering ash, but no Billy.

Well shit.

“Unit 3212, ten-four?” dispatch chirped in my ear. She sounded hopeful.

I looked around the alley, searching for signs of life. I even looked under a smoking cardboard box. Like Billy the addict had performed the world’s shitiest magic act in front of yours truly. Perhaps he was just waiting underneath this box to both surprise and relieve me at the same time. But no, I uncovered a used condom and a single shoe.

“Unit 3212, ten-four?” Now she sounded worried.

I keyed my mic, mind racing. “Yeah, yeah, Unit 3212 ten-four. You can release the station. Just keep one patrol unit coming.”

“Ten-four Unit 3212. Releasing the station at 1034 hours. Unit 1-Bravo-32 continues to the scene. All other units, ten-eight. 1035 hours.” She switched back to her usual business tone. I think it was Carol working the radio. Sounded like Carol.

My mind snapped back to the situation at hand. I had about 5 minutes to think up a story about how I had chased down and then lost a hundred and twenty-pound crackhead. And why this alley was smoking and smelled like Satan’s butthole. Billy’s disappearance had left behind a smell like rotten eggs and spoiled milk. Cheese and Rice, I didn’t get paid enough for this horseshit.

I was kicking dirt on a small fire's remains when I felt a gentle breeze blow into the alley. I’ll admit, after the long dose of the Weird Feeling, the warm, dry air felt fantastic. It carried away the burnt, sulfur smell, and the lingering bits of ash and smoke. The embers died down, and the alley looked almost normal again. Then there was a bright light. Another fucking light. This one glittered like a trophy wife’s engagement rock, and the light slowly spread, resolving into a man-sized rectangle. It almost looked like, like, a door? Then the diamond light opened into nothingness, and a man stepped out of the void and into my shitty alley.

The man was tall and thin, wearing a sharp-looking, but mass-produced grey suit. He was missing the fancy accouterments like a handkerchief or cufflinks. And was wearing sensible black leather shoes instead of some crazy patent leather bullshit. I had seen plenty of men dressed like this before. They usually worked for some alphabet branch of the federal government. But the Feds sure as shit didn’t walk out of magic doors. We looked at each other for a moment, and then the man spoke.

“Cash Renshaw?” he questioned.

“My friends call me Rennie and my enemies call me ‘Double C’ or ‘Chumpie’, short for “Chump Change.” Only my Momma called me Cash. You ain’t none of them, dickbag, so you can call me Detective Renshaw.”

The man in the grey suit popped an eyebrow like the Rock and looked me up and down again. It was a move he had to practice in the mirror.

“Let me get this straight,” he said in a pleasant, resonant voice. “You just witnessed a normal human throw a fireball at you, then spontaneously combust. And then watched another man walk out of a magical gate.” He trailed off, staring at me. “And your first remark is to call me a bag of dicks?” He chuckled very disarmingly. “You and I will get along splendidly.”

“Listen, pal,” I was a little pissed. “First off, it was two fucking fireballs. And poor Billy just fucking exploded. We aren’t getting along anywhere unless it’s back to the station with you explaining just what you know about this, this.” I sputtered, gesturing at the alley. “Damn it, where’s Billy!” I yelled. I realized I was waving my pistol around and slowly holstered it.

The man was not put off. “You have the right of it, Detective Renshaw. Billy exploded. He’s gone. Dead. Dust in the wind and all that. He got involved with some evil people and made some terrible decisions that cost him his life. He won’t be troubling you any further, Detective. Nice piece, by the way.” He motioned toward my belt. “I’m a bit of an aficionado.” He pulled back his jacket's left side to reveal an enormous revolver in a canted, cross draw rig. I could barely make out a filleted grip and a wonky, stunted hammer.

My eyes lingered on his gun a moment. “Is that a Rhino?”

He nodded.

“Cool,” I said in my brain. So Mr. Fancy-pants didn’t know I wanted one. The Chiappa Rhino was a distinctive, aluminum-alloy revolver that fired from the bottom chamber of the cylinder rather than the top. It was goofy, unnecessary and prohibitively expensive. I loved it. It also wasn’t something that Uncle Sam was prone to hand out to field agents.

“People don’t explode, Mr.” I stopped, not knowing his name.

“Mr. Benjamin Theodore Ruthersford the Third. At your service. My friends call me Teddy”. That sounded like something you would say before bowing, but he didn’t. He just looked at me with an amused grin on his face before continuing. “And you’re incorrect. People shouldn’t explode. But they do. Happens quite a bit more often than one would think, to be honest. But I didn’t bend the laws of time and space to come here and talk to you about Mr. Williams. Not directly, at least. I came to make you an offer. An offer to explain at the minimum.” He looked up as a siren became audible in the distance. “I am afraid we have little time before your friends join us.”

The man looked around the alley. “I had them clean up what they could. You should be able to explain this away.” He stepped toward me and extended a hand. I cringed internally but kept calm. I was glad when I saw he was offering me a business card.

“You are off tomorrow, correct? Your regularly scheduled weekend?”

He was correct. I let him know.

“Grand. Then meet me at the address on the rear of this card.” He offered the ivory-colored business card to me. I took it and immediately realized that it was at least a two-card stock upgrade from my own. Dickbag.

I looked at the card, and immediately recognized the address. “The Smokey Oak? That’s a bar,” I blurted. That wasn’t what I expected to see. “The Seventh Level of Hell,” or “Merlin’s Mystery Room,” but not the Oak. I knew that place. I drank at that place.

He sighed. “Yes, I’m glad you have not wasted the Texas state taxpayer’s money in your deductive education. Yes, it’s a bar. Where people meet and drink. I would like to meet and drink with you.”

“Why?” impossibly, this was getting weirder.

“To explain, to make an offer. There’s a whole other world out there, Detective Renshaw. One that you have had a glimpse of this morning in this alley. One that you have seen glimpses of before.” He looked a bit sad.

I thought of the Weird Feeling. Could that be what he meant?

“I can shed some light on what happened to them. Your wife and daughter.” He was solemn now, the jokes gone.

His words hit me like a sharp hook to the kidneys. How could this twit know about Sarah and Emma?

“That’s a shitty thing to joke about, Theo.”

He placed a manicured hand on my shoulder. “No jokes, Detective Renshaw. I promise only the best answers I can provide. And an offer. A fascinating offer. But I cannot promise a complete explanation about your family. I will probably leave you with more questions than answers.” The siren was close now. It went silent as the Deputy slowed to find a parking space.

“I’m afraid our time is up. You can throw my card away and pretend this never happened. Billy’s gone. Without a trace. You can close this case. That will be the end of it. But I truly hope to see you tomorrow evening Detective Renshaw. It’s so boring to drink alone.” The twinkle in his eye was back. He tapped a few keys on a modern-looking smartphone, and the door reopened.

“Ta-ta for now.” He stepped through, and the door winked out of existence. I was alone in the alley. Alone again. Jogging steps behind me caused me to turn. I placed the card in my pocket.

A Deputy Sheriff in a crisp looking uniform came to a stop and looked around. “Detective Renshaw? Where’s the ten-fifteen?”

He meant the detainee. His name tag said, “Dep. Holloway” and I could still see the moisture behind his ears. He was young, fit, and eager. Deputy Holloway looked like he walked out of the Alhambra County Sheriff’s Office hiring brochure.

“He got away,” I murmured.

“Sir?”

“He got away,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “Look, Holloway, is it? He got away. I had him for a moment, and then he bolted again. I know the guy, I can pick him up later. It’s just a bullshit pawn charge. I am not getting all dirty before I am properly caffeinated for a piece of shit like Billy Williams. It’s not worth it; trust me.”

Halloway didn’t look convinced but did look smart enough to understand that nothing positive would come from arguing the point with me. “Okay, sir. Is there anything I can help you with then? Canvass or something?”

This kid had a future. He switched gears immediately. “No, Holloway, I’ve got all I need. You can go in-service. Thanks for your quick response.” I meant it. If things had gone sideways with Billy, and I mean sideways in a conventional way, not sideways in a freaky, magical bullshit way. There’s nothing I would have loved to see more than poster boy Deputy Holloway running up this alley like his ass was on fire, chomping at the bit to get his uniform dirty. But this kid didn’t need to be anywhere close to this shitshow.

He looked disappointed. “OK, Detective. Let me know if there is anything I can do. And not just with this case. If you need me to run something down, I don’t have anything going on today. I’d be glad to help.”

“Thanks, Halloway, I mean it. I’ll keep you in mind if I need something, thanks, pal.”

He gave a nod and started back toward his squad car. I gave him a moment to clear the scene and then started back toward my own car. My mind struggled to deal with everything that had happened in the last, what, five minutes? What had Teddie meant by a “whole other world.” Like magic? Wizards and spells and all that jazz? That didn’t compute. But I had just seen two incredible things that I would be hard-pressed to explain to anyone with an ounce of sense. People didn’t explode. There was no such thing as magic doorways and fireballs. No. People shouldn’t explode. That’s what Whatshisfuck the Third had said. Shouldn’t, but did. I had just seen it with my own two eyes. Smelt it.

On top of that, I figured I should be dead. Poor Binnie was fucking toast, that dumpster was gonzo. If things had gone differently, it would have been Billy walking out of the alley, not me. I would have been the one in the small crater with tiny bits of my dress shirt and tie floating off in the wind.

I reached my unmarked Dodge Charger, fired it up, and pointed it toward the office. I had a lot of questions and knew only one person that could offer any answers. I was feeling thirsty, and my man Ted was buying. But first, I was going to have to answer some questions of my own.