Notes about the Mysterious Bluffs.
This is a memo mainly about an upcoming rapper from the Mysterious Bluffs, who eventually joins forces with Micheal Midas to foil the abduction of a young hostess at a cocktail bar – but that’s another story for later.
Anyway, this budding rapper is nearly twenty years old, a bit paranoid, and goes by the dub name Chilly Waters. He grew up a few blocks away from where Micheal Midas lives, after moving with his family from Buenos Aires when he was a toddler.
His father, Carlos Armando Pablo Garcia, is a shrewd investor who foresaw the erosion of the Argentine economy, and relocated his family to Canada for financial stability.
Chilly Waters has a twin, who he doesn’t speak with much. One would never believe they were of the same womb, as his brother, Enrique is half a foot taller than him, more muscular, and a lighter complexion. He is a bouncer at a night club on King St. in downtown Toronto, and picks up extra jobs as a bodyguard as well. He works out often, including jujitsu training twice a week.
Oh, Enrique has one more job, though only occasionally – he’s a clairvoyant.
At the age of fifteen, though, Chilly and Enrique both were closer in height and build, and saw eye to eye near perfectly. In fact, they were best friends and leaders of a high school clique known as the *muscle mutts*, a band of brawny kids that marched the halls in haste during lunch hour, yet knew better than to abuse their strength to intimidate. They aggressively relished the notion that a self-preserving lesser was afraid look the wrong way at them.
Near the end of that school year, though, a TV show Chilly and Enrique saw together at home on a Friday night inspired them to split off from the group. Strangely, it was a crime documentary about psychics that helped police bring cold cases to life.
The particular segment that affected them starred Mystic Renaldo, an extremely plump old psychic who dressed like a gypsy and spoke with a Latino accent. He was called to investigate Debbie Wassermann, a college girl in Poughkeepsie, New York who had disappeared seventeen years beforehand without a trace, leading authorities to believe she’d fallen prey to one of three serial killers operating in the area at the time.
Mystic Renaldo met Debbie’s mother along with a cold case detective at a police station in Poughkeepsie. She gave him a picture of Debbie and a few strands of her hair to feel out any leads with his psychic ability. He looked at the picture, rubbed the blond hair between a finger and a thumb, then his eyes brightened up like freshly lit matches.
“She’s still alive,” he claimed.
Debbie’s mother burst into tears, then condemned Mystic Renaldo for being insensitive – but he swore that her daughter was doing well, and living in a southern beach town that depended on the tourist industry.
There was another women in her life, he said, that had helped her disappear. They were extremely close to each other. She was at least twenty years older than Debbie, and at the time of her disappearance, had been an authority figure, perhaps a teacher or local politician.
The cold case detective investigated the psychic’s claim, and discovered that a female physics professor had left her position at Debbie’s college a week after she disappeared, during the end of the spring term. Debbie had been a student in one of her classes, and it was the only course she had received an A.
The detective researched the professor’s whereabouts and found out she had bought a condo in Coco Beach, Florida, about a year after Debbie disappeared, and shortly after she opened up a fine chocolate retail shop and factory on the main strip. According to her tax files, it was averaging a six figure gross annually.
Debbie’s mother was so excited about the new information, she flew down to Coco Beach, to see for herself if Debbie was still alive. She entered the chocolate shop and saw her daughter for the first time in seventeen years. Debbie blushed and admitted that her family had meant nothing compared to the love for her professor, then asked her mother to leave them alone.
But Mystic Renaldo had cracked a case with ease, impressing upon Chilly and Enrique the power of the paranormal.
And their mother also dabbled with tarot cards, which meant clairvoyance must run in the family. The young hopefuls joked they were destined to get famous for contacting the dead to hunt down murderers.
Chilly asked his mom to teach them to read tarot cards, but she declined, saying it was merely her hobby. So the ambitious brothers set out to develop their paranormal skills, scouring the internet for viable learning methods.
On a humid, cloudy Saturday in June, the twins sat on their backyard veranda, cruising the web on a laptop. Chilly spotted the psychic ad for a local medium named Sister Mina, who specialized in contacting deceased loved ones. He called her up and asked for lessons on how to communicate with the spirit world – she snickered about the request, then assured Chilly that a truly talented psychic wouldn’t seek lessons, because a connection with the spirit world can’t be taught. The few real psychics out there have the confidence to develop their skills through personal experience.
“Please,” Chilly pleaded, “my brother and I have psychic abilities, but we’re only fifteen years old. Can you teach us to hunt criminals with our powers?”
“I will teach you how to use your psychic abilities, but prove to me first that you actually have them. Tell me what my dog’s name is.”
Chilly moaned for a moment, unable to gage an answer. Enrique, who was sitting besides him, leaned into his ear:
“She doesn’t have a dog,” he whispered.
Chilly repeated his brother’s words into the phone.
“You’re correct,” the psychic admitted, “but your brother told you what to say.”
“You two must have talked already,” Chilly said, sounding disappointed.
He hung up the phone, then accused Enrique of conspiring with the psychic to make him feel like a rat. That way, Enrique could call the shots about their career ambitions because he’d supposedly proven that his psychic powers are superior to Chilly’s.
“No, I never spoke to nobody about this,” Enrique said. “You found the lady’s ad on the internet. You made the call. That’s all I know.”
“Then you’re really psychic?” Chilly asked.
“Or I’m a lucky guesser,” Enrique answered. “But really, the right answer came to my head. It didn’t seem like guessing.”
“Then what’s the name of the blond girl that sits in front of me in my English Class.”
“Kathy Smith,” he answered.
“No, Kathy Smith is the red head that sits behind me in math class,” Chilly said, then laughed slyly. “See, you’re not psychic after all. You’re a sneaky devil. Didn’t you say something about the lady’s ad before I called it?”
“Yeah, I said we should read a book about psychics before we get serious call anyone.”
“You knew I wouldn’t listen to such a dumb idea. It made me want to call her even more. I’ll bet you paid her to make me look like a fool.”
“No man, you’re crazy.”
The word crazy only served to redden Chilly’s face with disgust.
“If you’re screwing me around with this psychic lady, then what next will you do to mess up my life?”
From that day on, Chilly Waters swore to never share his ambitions again with Enrique. He only spoke to him about nothing issues like sports scores, and only when necessary, like at the dinner table.
A year later he decided to rap about conspiracies, but kept it to his bedroom to prevent his twin from finding out. Enrique wasn’t at a loss for inspiration, as by then he’d gained four inches in height and joined the high school wresting team.