Arms Dealers

by Erik Henry Vick

  Silence fell over them. In the main room outside the door, one of the wizards running a servitor warrior laughed, and the other joined him a moment later. Someone opened the outside door and let it slam in the wind behind them.

  “So. Ms. Terry, what’s it going to be?” asked Angie. “I’ll give you ten seconds to consider your options. And while you’re doing that, get this through your jellified brain: if you lie to me again, I won’t care what kind of information you promise me, I’ll bury you as deep in the dungeons of this Locus as I can, and I’ll come to every single one of your parole hearings—if you ever get any, which I doubt, because Sam McCoy will listen when I tell him how you’ve lied, and he will go for your throat like a bulldog.”

  “And they don’t call him the Stakeman for nothing, Dee,” said Leery. “Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to make it his personal mission to get burnings reinstated.”

  Angie nodded. “He doesn’t quit, Ms. Terry. Ever. So, what’s your choice? Do I call for transport to Rikers?”

  Dee’s gaze bounced back and forth between them, then darted back at Dru. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But Jack needs protection, too. Bring him to me and make him part of the deal. Together, we’ll tell you everything we know, but you have to give us new identities in another Locus.”

  Angie wagged her head to the side. “I’ll see what we can do.”

  Dee shook her head. “Not good enough.”

  Angie scoffed. “Do I have to repeat that speech I just made? That’s disappointing”—she glanced at Leery—“I thought it was so good.”

  “Oh, it was, counselor. It was.”

  “Then bury me!” snapped Dee. “I’m not going to say another word until the ink is dry on the plea deal.”

  Angie stood and chuckled. “Leery?”

  “Yes, counselor?”

  “Call Rikers and reserve a pit for Ms. Terry. I’ll get the paperwork for her interment started.”

  “Please,” whispered Dee. “I’ll give you everything… I’ll give you Rose Marie Van Dee herself. On a platter…”

  Angie stopped packing her briefcase. “What do you have on her?”

  “Enough,” sighed Dee. “I’ll give you enough so that you can do to her all the things you just threatened to do to me.”

  Angie pursed her perfect lips and glanced at Leery.

  “Hey, I just work here.” He grinned. “But Rose Marie Van Dee? Burying her in a deep pit will cripple the Zombie mafia for years.”

  Angie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.” She glowered at Dee. “If you’re lying to me—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Dark pit. Interment. Yeah, I get it, counselor.”

  Angie looked to Dru and raised an eyebrow.

  “She believes what she’s saying.”

  “Fine, Ms. Terry. I’ll make your deal.”

  Chapter 3

  The Court Case

  1

  Sam McCoy came out of his office like a charging bull, slamming his door against the wall as he did so. “Angie! What the hell is this?”

  Wearing a lopsided grin, Angie pushed herself away from her desk and stood. “What I had to do to get the information.”

  “This is a sweetheart of a deal! Transactional immunity? Those two zombies won’t get any time at all.”

  “I know, Sam. But they’re giving us something major in return.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did they promise?”

  Angie pursed her lips and glanced to either side. “It’s not so much what as who, but we shouldn’t speak of it out here.”

  “Enough with the cloak and dagger, Angie,” Sam said, his craggy brows slamming together.

  “In your office?”

  Sam shook his head and sucked his teeth, then whirled without another word and returned to his office. Angie followed him inside and closed the door behind her.

  “What’s all this about, Angie?” he asked as he walked toward his desk.

  “It’s about Rose Marie Van Dee. It’s about Shuten-doji. It’s about the Unseelie Court.”

  Sam stopped for a moment, then continued to his chair and sank into it. “Credible?”

  “I think so.”

  “Spill it, then.”

  “Oriscoe and Nogan—”

  “Nogan,” Sam scoffed.

  “Oriscoe and Nogan caught a case where two mundanes were murdered. It led them to a zombie chop shop, and we caught two zombies, a bugge, and…Shuten-doji.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  “There’s at least one more who’s still in the wind—a Norwegian Wood Troll—but Leery says they’re closing in on him.”

  “And Van Dee is tied directly to this chop shop?”

  “No, but we turned the two zombies.” She dimpled. “They’re in love.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows again and shook his head.

  “They can give us Van Dee on several counts of murder-for-hire, not to mention commissioning the murders of mundanes for their body parts.”

  Sam looked down at the agreement in his hands, set it on the desk in front of him, and signed his name on it. “All I can say is, these zombie lovers had better come through.”

  “Trust me, Sam. We’ve already explained how I will bury her in the darkest pit I can find while you fight to bring back stake burnings.” Angie hit him with her most stunning smile.

  “Make sure her information is good,” said Sam without smiling. “I want you to prep her until she can give her testimony in her sleep.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  “And invite Rose Marie Van Dee to spend some time at the resort on Rikers Island.”

  2

  Leery leaned back in the easy chair, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Jack Barnett and Dee Terry as they flirted and pretended to argue—which was another way to flirt as far as he could tell. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, not quite suppressing the sigh that kicked the back of his teeth.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, wolfman,” said Jack. “Are we bothering you?”

  “Hey, I’d tell you to get a room, but…well…” He smirked and waved his hand at the cheap motel room’s decor.

  “You don’t have to stay in here with us, Leery,” said Dee. “It’s not like we dare step one foot outside that door. Even if this place is a dump.”

  “Your tax dollars at work.” Leery stood and walked to the window, peeking out from behind the blinds. “I really hate sitting around.”

  “Me, too,” said Jack, grimacing down at the wheelchair he sat in and waving his remaining hand at the space where his legs used to be. “Is the Locus going to come through with new parts to replace the ones you ruined, wolfman?”

  “Hey, I had nothing to do with your legs. That was your own stupidity. And as for the arm, I would’ve left it alone if not for that AK-47. You’re lucky I left the bit above the elbow.”

  Jack sneered and made a noise deep in his throat.

  A knock sounded, and Leery walked over to the door and peered through the peephole. “Time to go to work, you two,” he said. He opened the door and let Angie Carmichael in. “Counselor,” he said.

  “How are the fleas, Oriscoe?” she asked with a saucy grin.

  “Oh, you know, complaining about the room. Yammering about who’s going to replace the body parts lost during the raid.” He glanced at Jack and grinned.

  “Right,” said Angie. “But I meant—”

  “How long do we have to babysit these two?” Leery asked. “I think they’d rather be alone.”

  “Well, you—and they—will have to suffer through. In silence, I hope.”

  Nodding and smiling, Leery turned back to the window. “You didn’t see Nogan out there, did you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “She went for coffee.”

  “Of course she did.” Angie shook her head and rolled her eyes, then turned to the zombies. “Okay, dead things, it’s time to work.”

  “We need to talk about get
ting me a new arm and some legs. This wheelchair is—”

  “The best you’re going to get until after the trial.”

  “But if the Cabal comes after us, I won’t—”

  “That’s why you have NYPD’s finest sitting with you,” she said. “Now, we need to go over some things, and then we’ll go through your testimony.”

  “Again?” snapped Dee.

  “And again. And again, and yet again,” said Angie, nodding.

  Dee drew a deep breath and heaved a sigh.

  “Don’t do that on the stand. Everyone knows zombies don’t need to breathe except to talk or make melodramatic noises.”

  Dee rolled her eyes back in her head. “Makes a girl wish for true death,” she murmured.

  “Let’s get this over with,” grumped Jack. “If you want me over there, you’ll have to push me. You know, because I only have one arm.”

  “Leery?” said Angie without looking up from arranging her papers.

  “Right, get the werewolf to do the manual labor.” He walked over and pushed Barnett’s chair up to the table. “There. Everyone comfy, now? Christ on a stick!”

  “You really do need a coffee, don’t you?” asked Angie, quirking her eyebrow and grinning at Leery.

  “That or a silver bullet.”

  Angie chuckled and waved him away. “Dee? You want to join us?”

  “No. I’m fine right here.” She walked her gaze around the small, foul-smelling room. “It’s not like I’m any farther away.”

  “Suit yourself,” Angie said with a shrug. “Let’s talk about the chop shop.”

  Jack groaned. “Again?”

  “Yes, again. Now, the reason you decided to hire outside labor—”

  “I didn’t decide anything of the sort,” said Jack. “I was happy robbing fresh graves for merchandise. The ‘new plan’ came down from on high.”

  “From Van Dee?”

  “Who else?”

  “What I mean is: did you get the order from Rose Marie, herself, or from an intermediary?”

  “From the butcher.”

  “I’m still not understanding his role in the organization. He’s not a zombie, so he can’t be a made man, right?”

  “Right. He isn’t.”

  “Then how can he give the orders?”

  Jack’s face twisted with distaste and anger. “She likes her rides warm.”

  Angie’s eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Yes,” said Dee. “She prefers someone with a pulse.”

  “Don’t we all?” asked Leery from the window.

  “No,” said Jack, twisting his head around to look at Dee.

  “Yeah, okay. Back on track, people,” said Angie. “But tell me how it works. What is Shuten-doji’s role in the organization? Is he some kind of street captain?”

  “She calls him our last link to the living, but that’s bullshit,” said Dee. “We all call him ‘the boy-toy’ behind his back.”

  “Then he isn’t respected?”

  Jack scoffed while Dee grunted.

  “So we come back to my question. Why is he in charge?”

  “Because Mama Rose Marie said so. She’s not a fan of the old way of doing things.”

  “Thus murdering the mundanes to beef up our inventory.”

  “Right. Okay, let’s leave that for now. Tell me—” The phone rang, and they all turned to look at it.

  Leery walked over and grabbed it. “Hello?” He turned and looked at Angie. “Yeah, here she is, Sam.” He held the phone out to her.

  She listened for a moment, her eyes growing wide, then she nodded. “I’m on my way. No, Oriscoe and Nogan are on guard duty this afternoon. It’s best to leave them here.”

  Leery groaned and went back to the window.

  3

  Sam waited for Angie at the unmarked door within the Rikers Island jail that hid the stairway down to the dungeon beneath Rikers Island. He held his briefcase in front of him in a two-handed grip. A small smile teased his lips as she approached.

  “Is this for real?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but if it is…”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “Let’s go talk to her. Who’s her magister?”

  Sam grimaced. “Paul Leibman.”

  “Isn’t that your—”

  “Yes,” Sam muttered. He turned and pushed through the door and started down the steps, leaving Angie to follow in his footsteps. At the bottom of the steps, Sam moved out into the stone anteroom. He glanced at the smoking torches and grimaced. “Halsey, how long until the dungeon is modernized?”

  The elf behind the tall desk opposite the stairwell grimaced. “I’m sure you’d know better than me, magister.” He glanced at Angie and wrinkled his nose. “Who?”

  “You know who!” snapped Sam. “Now, take us to her and cut the horseshit.”

  Halsey glared at them a moment, then sniffed and turned away, rattling the keys on the massive ring threaded through his belt. He led them through a warren of hallways and pointed at a door next to a flickering torch. “She awaits you there,” he said.

  “And is her magister present?” Sam asked.

  Halsey looked at him for a few breaths, then turned away without answering and retraced his steps, leaving Sam to shake his head at his back.

  “Come on, Sam,” said Angie. She opened the door and entered the meeting room. A long oak table bisected the room lengthwise, with stiff-looking straight-backed chairs of the same wood ringing it.

  Sam came in behind her and walked to a chair across from a silver-haired man in old-fashioned magister robes. “Paul,” he said with a nod.

  “Sam. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  “No, not since you took up defending the Zombie mafia.”

  The zombie seated next to Paul Leibman snorted and rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone deserve a defense?”

  Sam ignored her, but Angie met her cool gaze, then scoffed. She pulled out her chair and sat, putting her briefcase on the floor next to her.

  “Don’t like the undead?” asked Rose Marie Van Dee.

  “It’s not that,” said Angie. “I don’t like criminals who invoke the Canon and Covenants when it suits them, while smashing them to bits the rest of the time.”

  Rose Marie sniffed and shifted her gaze to Sam. “Well, Mr. McCoy? Sit.”

  Sam tore his eyes away from Leibman’s gaze and glared at her. “I don’t take orders from you, Rose.”

  She twitched her head to the side. “I prefer Rose Marie. Two words, mind, not Rosemary.”

  Sam pistoned his shoulders up and down, then pulled out his chair and sank into it. “This had better be good.”

  “Oh, it is, Sam,” said Paul Leibman. “Or at least, it might be, if your offer is good enough.”

  Sam scoffed and shook his head. “You know how this works, Paul. You tell me what you have; I tell you what it’s worth.”

  Paul smiled and shook his head. “Not this time, Sam.”

  Sam cast a glance at Angie. “Why is it everyone thinks their information is good enough to turn everything on its head?”

  Angie snorted.

  “No, Paul. Simply, no. If all you have is an empty hook, this old fish ain’t biting.” He picked up his briefcase and scooted forward in his chair, readying himself to stand. “Now, if you’ve finished wasting my time, I’ll be going.”

  Paul smiled and waved Sam back. “Relax, Sam. I’ve got the goods, and you and I both know you want them.”

  Sam gave him a single shake of his head. “Not sight unseen, I don’t.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you a taste, but first, let me tell you where the bidding starts.” He held up his index finger. “First, Rose Marie does no time. Zero. Second, she gets Witness Protection, but not the shoe-clerk variety. No, Rose Marie is accustomed to living in a certain style—”

  “Let’s go, Angie,” said Sam. “Next time, Paul, you can give me a request in writing outlining what information your client has, an
d I’ll decide from there whether it’s worth talking about.” He pushed his chair back with a horrible screech and stood.

  Paul’s expression darkened, and his smile disappeared. “Now, wait just a minute, McCoy!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Sam.

  “Boys, boys,” said Rose Marie, holding up her hands.

  Angie stared at her left hand, at a flap of loose, rotten skin and the maggot wiggling out from the tear.

  Van Dee grimaced and snatched her hand to her lap. “If everyone can stop comparing penises, maybe cooler heads can drive this meeting.”

  Sam turned a cold glare on her. “Fifteen seconds.”

  Leibman put his hand on her forearm, but Rose Marie shook it off. She nodded at Sam, a small smile winking from her lips. “Fine, fine. Law enforcement doesn’t know this, but the Cabals are coming together.”

  “Coming together?” asked Angie. “Not bloody likely.”

  Rose Marie turned a bored expression on her. “Oh. I forgot. You know everything already.” She shifted her gaze back to Sam. “Muzzle your mutt, and I’ll go on.”

  Sam said nothing, but he rested his free hand on Angie’s shoulder as she started to come to her feet.

  Rose Marie flashed a wicked smile at her. “Good pup!”

  “Get on with it!” snapped Sam.

  “Yes, well…” Van Dee sniffed.

  “Rose Marie, this really isn’t—”

  “Shut up, Paul,” she said in a frigid tone. “As I was saying, the Cabals are coming together, building a super-cabal that spans the Locii. You may have read in the New York Grimoire that I have risen to the top of the heap, so to speak, in this Locus. I floated the idea to several other Cabal leaders, and—‍”

  “This is all very informative, but if this super-cabal was your idea, and I put you in a dungeon somewhere, it will fall apart on its own.”

  “Are you sure?” Van Dee asked with a grin. “Are you so sure I can’t run all this from wherever I am? Are you so sure you can convict me at all?”

  Sam shrugged. “One way to find out.” He removed his hand from Angie’s shoulder, and she shot to her feet.

  “Now, just a minute, Sam,” said Paul. “I’m sure the Covenancy authorities will be interested—”