Incubus Mini-Boss (Rise of an Incubus Overlord Book 2)

by Jack Porter

  I felt my gaze linger on his pinky finger, and wondered what it might take to add it to my collection.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And you can continue on as before. Take the contracts you like, keep killing, easy as you please. Or, if you do want to step into Megadeath’s place, then you’ll have to show you can take on as many contracts as he did.”

  I didn’t trust him in the least. “Just like that?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Just like that.”

  Such was the man’s arrogance that he thought he could stare me down.

  And he could. After all, he was safe in his bubble. I couldn’t hurt him.

  It was that fact more than anything that led me to raise my gun and offer him a nod. But I wasn’t going to let him off so easily. “If you try to kill me again, then I’ll be back. And no divine shield will save you.”

  Gambetti’s expression hardened. It seemed he didn’t like being spoken to like that. Yet he didn’t respond directly.

  “Send some of the guards in on your way out,” he said. “Tell them there’s a bit of a mess to take care of.”

  It was a dismissal. I knew it as well as he did, and was happy to comply. I tucked Tweedledee’s gun into my belt and turned to go, but turned back just as I reached the door.

  “Out of curiosity, how did you come by the information in my file?”

  It wasn’t a random question. I needed to know how widely spread the details within it could be. But Gambetti just sneered. “Privileges of status,” was his only response.

  With that, I turned to go, collecting my regular weapons from the guards in the waiting room, and totally failing to pass on Gambetti’s message.

  It was a petty victory, but it was all I had.

  Chapter 12

  I spent the trip home thinking about the meeting. I trusted Dario about as far as I could throw him with both hands tied behind my back. Which is to say, not at all.

  I knew he was going to cause more trouble, but I didn’t know how.

  Why had he decided to make an enemy of me? If I could figure that out, I might be able to predict how far he might go.

  But then, I knew how far he would go, didn’t I? He would kill me if he got another opportunity.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, smashing my hand against the steering wheel of my car. “I should have just killed him when I had the chance!”

  “As much as I approve of the sentiment,” Azrael replied dryly. “You didn’t really have the chance at all.”

  I thought a bunch of bad thoughts at the demon in my skull, but he was right. Nor could I go back and have another go at Dario Fuckface Gambetti now. For one thing, the guards would have been told to kill me on sight. For another, I didn’t even know how to work the elevator mechanism. So if the operator had been told not to let me back up, I was as good as dead right from the get go.

  I let out another curse, followed it up with a string of them, and gave my poor steering wheel a hard time. I was angry enough that my face grew hot, and I could visualize steam coming out of my ears.

  Life had been going so well! So much better than ever before. And now this!

  Azrael listened to me fume for some minutes, and only started to speak after I’d begun to cool down.

  “Stop whining,” he said finally, and if I’d been able to, I would have glared at him.

  “Not helping,” I said. Then I sighed. “What should I do?”

  “You had better prepare for the worst.”

  He was right. As usual. With that thought in mind, I gave Rachel a call. She answered on the third ring.

  “How did it go?” she asked without saying hello.

  “Better than you could imagine,” I said, putting enough sarcasm into my words that she knew I was joking.

  “That good, huh?” she asked.

  “Bastard tried to kill me in his office,” I said.

  Silence. Then, “And?”

  I had to laugh. “And I get the feeling that was just his opening move.”

  I could almost hear her shifting gears. “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “For one, don’t turn up at my place this evening unless I give you the all clear. Second, Gambetti had a file that told him all about me. I can’t help but think Megadeath might have had access to the same one. Find out where that file came from, if you can. And what’s in it.” I frowned, thinking things through. “And find out why me killing Megadeath might have pissed Gambetti off in the first place. It’s like I’ve offended him, and I don’t understand how. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll see. If the information is in electronic form, I’ll find it. But some of these guys prefer to go old school. If they’ve done that, there’s not much I can do.”

  I gave a grunt of acknowledgement, then thought of something else. “Don’t forget to cover your tracks,” I said. “If they have a file on me, you might be in it as well.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  I hung up, then dialed Sandy’s number to give her a similar warning about staying away from my apartment until I gave the all clear.

  She accepted it with more concern than Rachel did, but that was only natural. Sandy’s world was mostly legal. Life and death decisions weren’t as common.

  But she wasn’t a bucket of tears, either. “What about your date with Sara?” she asked.

  For long moments, my mind drew a blank.

  “You were going to meet her for a coffee this afternoon,” Sandy supplied. “The curly-haired woman? Seems keen to try a bit of your demon for herself?”

  Oh yeah. Sara was another of the women Sandy had lined up to meet my incubus. She would be the fourth since Sandy herself, although she would likely be another one-night stand. A quick collection of points, and then gone once again.

  As I said, my life had become pretty good.

  “Better postpone it, I guess,” I said, as much as I didn’t want to. “At least until I figure out what I’m dealing with.”

  I hung up, and within minutes, I pulled into the parking garage near my apartment.

  Chapter 13

  My meeting with Dario Gambetti had made me paranoid. I figured the arrogant fuck was lying his ass off. He’d said everything was fine and that I could go back to my life, same as usual, but more likely he just didn’t trust the guards at his office to finish me off.

  He’d made his impression of me clear, and I would be a fool to expect anything other than an all-out attack as a result.

  I stuck to the shadows during the short distance between the parking lot and my apartment, and looked around constantly, seeking hidden dangers. If there was one attribute that had already been developed to a healthy extent before I bonded with Azrael, it was perception.

  But perhaps I was being premature. Perhaps Dario had yet to enact whatever plan he had concocted to eliminate me. Either way, I made it back to my apartment in one piece, having seen no indication of anyone out to get me.

  Yet that didn’t mean I was safe. Not yet. I entered the apartment in full stealth mode, my gun at the ready as I moved from room to room like a cop on a show, checking to make sure I was alone.

  That done, I sat down at my desk and thought about things for a while.

  “If I was a douchebag like Dario Gambetti and wanted to really piss me off, what would I do?” I asked out loud. Azrael chuckled in my mind but offered no solutions.

  It didn’t matter. The answer was obvious. Without hesitation, I booted up my system and clicked on the app that allowed me to pick my contracts.

  As it loaded, I thought idly that it had been a while since I’d used my gaming rig for its intended purpose. I’d once spent almost every waking hour I had logged in, either playing some game, or teaching my students how, or spending time in the Ascender communities.

  Ever since bonding with Azrael, I’d had little time for any of that. Instead, I spent my time practicing with various weapons, playing with Sandy and Rachel, or preparing for my next contract.

  Despite ever
ything, I couldn’t help but feel a touch of nostalgia for the time I’d spent innocently enjoying the first-person shooters that had become surprisingly relevant to my current life.

  The nostalgia vanished as I looked at my screen. Instead of the app opening up on the screen, an error message appeared.

  “Error four nine one: user not found.”

  “Son of a fuck,” I said.

  I didn’t need to try again, or to call a helpdesk number to check if it was an error. I knew what had happened just as I knew my first name was Simon. That asswipe in a suit really did have it out for me. I wasn’t imagining his enmity, and I wasn’t being paranoid.

  Dario Gambetti was trying to fuck with my life.

  My first thought was to call Rachel again and see what she could find out. But before I could do that, someone began pounding on my apartment door.

  Chapter 14

  “Careful,” Azrael said as I approached the door.

  He needn’t have bothered. I wasn’t naïve enough to trust the timing of a random visit like this. It was very unlikely to be a group of Girl Scouts selling cookies, or even someone selling salvation. Given the timing, it had to be bad news, and the only question was what particular type.

  I had my gun drawn and approached the peephole with caution, lamenting that I didn’t have a camera set up so I could see who was knocking without putting myself in potential harm’s way.

  As quickly as I could to minimize my exposure, I stole a glance through the peephole.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Of all the possible visitors my mind had conjured, the two figures at my door were low on my list.

  For a moment, I stood there, my gun at the ready, wondering what I should do.

  The knocking came again. Assertive, implacable, it was the type of knock that came with long practice. An official kind of knock that wouldn’t be denied.

  This time, my visitors spoke as well, confirming their identity.

  “Hello? Is anyone home? It’s the police.”

  The fucking cops. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with just at that moment.

  I contemplated ignoring them, hoping they would go away. After all, I was a hitman for hire, having killed and killed and killed over the past couple of weeks. Not only that, but I was the proud owner of Big Bob’s beast of a car, and had a growing collection of fingers that used to belong to my victims in my freezer.

  If that wasn’t enough, my room was filled with Ascender books, artifacts, and more, most of which was highly illegal. And I was hiding behind the door of my apartment with a loaded gun out on full view.

  Chad’s apartment. It wasn’t mine at all, but belonged to my roommate, my first real victim. Or at least, it was his name on the mortgage documents.

  “Open up!” came the cop’s voice as he knocked on the door once more. “We know you’re in there, and you really don’t want to be wasting our time!”

  “Shit-fuck,” I muttered to myself. Maybe the cop was bluffing. I didn’t know either way. But what if he wasn’t? What if my unwillingness to open the door led to them breaking it in?

  That could lead to a world of trouble even without them knowing about all the murders.

  It was a risk I couldn’t take. “Just a moment!” I yelled, aiming my voice away from the door and hoping it didn’t sound like I was hiding just on the other side.

  I knew there wasn’t a lot of evidence of my murders in plain sight. The Ascender stuff in my room–they couldn’t see that from the door, and there was no way I was going to invite them in if I could help it.

  What else?

  “The gun,” Azrael said in my mind.

  Oh! I probably shouldn’t open the door to the cops with a gun in my hand. Hastily, I tucked it away under my jacket, looked about one more time to make sure, then opened the door just a crack with the security chain firmly in place.

  Peering out, I could clearly see two cops, a man and a woman, in full uniform. They seemed alert but not overly suspicious. Happily, their guns weren’t drawn.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Mr. Chad Butterworth?” the male cop asked.

  All at once, I breathed an internal sigh of relief. If they thought I might be Chad, then there was much they didn’t really know. I shook my head, and only then wondered if I should have claimed to be him. Would that have bought me some time, or would it have led to more suspicion?

  Better to play it as straight as I could, I thought. It was likely to be safer. “Chad isn’t here at the moment,” I said. “Do you want to leave him a message?”

  The cops didn’t answer my question. Instead, the male cop, who seemed to want to do all the talking, asked another question. “He lives here, though?” the cop asked. “At this address?”

  I declined to correct him on his use of present tense, and simply nodded. “What’s this about?” I asked.

  Again, he ignored my question. “And you are?” he asked.

  “Simon. Chad’s roommate. What’s this about?” I asked again.

  The cop pulled out a notebook from his breast pocket and scanned what was written within. “Simon Kingman?” he asked, informing me that he knew more than he’d already stated.

  I nodded again. This time, I didn’t bother to ask any questions.

  “Simon, when was the last time you saw your roommate?” he asked.

  I figured that two people could play the game of not answering questions. “Why?” I said. “What’s this all about? Has he done something wrong?” I asked. “And that’s Mr. Kingman to you,” I said. “Simon is for those who know me.”

  The cop frowned at my answer, but otherwise seemed to accept my words.

  “Mr. Kingman,” he acknowledged. “This would be a lot easier if you would open the door and let us in.”

  I shook my head. “Easier for you. Am I in some kind of trouble?”

  “It would be best if we could discuss it inside,” he began.

  Despite the lack of obvious evidence of my new profession, I didn’t want to risk having missed something. “Got a warrant?” I asked.

  “I don’t see any need for that–” the cop said.

  “I do. No warrant, no entry. Now, for the fourth or fifth time, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  The cops didn’t seem to like what I said in the least. I was trying to work out how their appearance was related to Dario Gambetti, or even if it was. If so, what had he told them? How much shit was I actually in?

  Would it be safer to invite them in and shoot them in the head a few times?

  I couldn’t see how that would make my life easier in the long run, and besides, I didn’t really have much against these two cops. They were just doing their job as they saw it. Instead, I figured I would play along and see where things went.

  I stared them down. When it became clear that they would get nothing until they answered my question, it was the cop who gave way.

  “We have received a missing person report. It seems that Mr. Butterworth hasn’t turned up to work for at least a fortnight. Do you have any insight into this?”

  I did my best to paint a look of surprise on my face.

  “Missing person?” I asked, sounding perplexed.

  “Mr. Kingman. When was the last time you saw your roommate?”

  I thought fast. “He was down with the flu for a while,” I said. “But I thought he was pretty good about letting them know things like that? Did he forget to give his boss a call?”

  I could see that my barrage of questions was beginning to frustrate the cop. Suited me fine. The more questions I could ask him, the better.

  “Mr. Kingman, for the last time, when did you last see your roommate?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Must be, what, a few days now?”

  I admit it. Part of me was enjoying this. Giving these cops next to no information and making them work for it was almost fun.

  Especially as I could see the male cop’s blood pressure rise by the minute.

  “And t
hat didn’t strike you as odd?” he asked. “Is it usual for him to disappear for days at a time?”

  “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

  I could see the male cop draw in a breath. It seemed like he was starting to get angry. But before he could say anything else, his partner gripped him by the arm and held him back.

  “Mr. Kingman,” she said, speaking for the first time. “Do you happen to know where Chad Butterworth is?”

  I knew exactly where Chad Butterworth was. Or at least, what was left of him. But I wasn’t going to tell the cops.

  I looked at the female cop and grinned my best grin. “You’re really pretty for a cop,” I said. “Would you like to grab a coffee sometime? I’ve already got a couple of girlfriends, but I’m sure they would make room for you.”

  The male cop made an aggressive noise, and the woman took a moment to blink in surprise at my forthright question. Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink that looked nice with her dark hair, but when she next spoke, she was all business.

  “Mr. Kingman, please answer the question. “

  “What question?” I said, feigning confusion.

  “The one about your roommate,” the woman cop asked. “Do you know where he is?”

  This time, I took a moment to answer. Through the three-inch opening between the door and the door frame, I looked first at the woman, and then the man. I conjured an expression of suspicion and said, “I do. But I’m not going to tell you. I don’t think he would like it if I told random people where he is.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes in exasperation. “Mr. Kingman, we are the police. We are responding to a report that your roommate is missing. We have every right to ask where he is, whether he wants it known or not.”

  I made a show of thinking about it. Then I glanced at the woman. “You never answered my question,” I said.

  She knew what I was talking about. And perhaps I even had a chance. Her cheeks colored once again, but she started to shake her head, declining my invitation to coffee.

  But by then, I’d thought of another option to frustrate. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But first, prove that you are who you say you are. Show me your ID.”