Back From Hell (Revenant Files Book 1)

by D'Artagnan Rey

  Johnny sighed, took his jacket off, and returned to the vehicle to throw it in the back. “They can’t smell in Limbo, can they?”

  Vic shrugged. “Not normally stuff from the living world, but hey, it might be ’cause it ain’t strong enough.”

  The young detective rolled his sleeves up and shook his head as he began to descend. “Fantastic.”

  His partner floated behind him and replaced the cover. “Now, when we get down, show some hustle, all right? I don’t wanna stay down here any longer than you do.”

  “Why does it matter to you? It’s not like you can get splashed as long as you aren’t corporeal.”

  “True, but I have to stay corporeal to keep this ax in me. And I have this thing about rats. Oh, and plus, this is Louisiana so there might be ’gators down here.”

  Johnny retched. “Wait, are you for real?”

  Vic laughed and it echoed through the sewers. “Like I said, hustle!” A moment of silence followed. “Wait—what will you use to cross? Unless you wanna dive into the…uh, water, don’t you need your jacket?”

  The silence stretched on before the young man groaned. “Dammit. I’ll be back.”

  His partner sighed and the sound of a lighter being flicked was heard. “I can’t wait for the day you are finally a professional.”

  “Uh, Vic? I don’t think you want to light that down here.”

  “Why’s tha—” The flame flared and there was a sudden bang as Johnny laughed.

  When the two finally appeared in Limbo, they were about six blocks away from Big Daddy’s and Vic still tried to dust the soot off his skull. “All right, let’s get this done. Hopefully, no one claimed it before we got here.”

  “The odds are probably in our favor,” Johnny told him as they walked to the dealer’s shop. “From what we heard, every ghost organization and gang in New Orleans is trying to keep it under wraps, including the cops. We didn’t hear about any other bounty hunters looking for it.”

  “Which is odd if you think about it.” The ghost undid his jacket and took the ax out of his ribs. “There are always bounty hunters in New Orleans—hell, some set up shop for their entire lives there—but we’ve heard nothing about their involvement?”

  “Maybe it is above their paygrade,” Johnny suggested as he pulled the doors open. “Or they are paid off. I’m sure some of them deal with the mobs.”

  They both greeted the ghost at the door. “Hey, Saul.” Vic rested the ax over his shoulder. “Is Angie in?” Saul lowered his newspaper and nodded across the lobby. They waved goodbye as they headed to where Angie was doing her nails. “When did you get those?”

  “Do you like ’em?” she asked and held them out smugly. “I had some time off after seeing you two and spent some of it at the parlor. They only cost me a couple of yellow doubloons and they last for decades.”

  “Well, you have claws now. It certainly fits.” She scowled at him as he dropped the ax on her desk. “We have some evidence for a case and are here for the finder’s fee.”

  Angie gawked at the weapon for a moment and adjusted her glasses before she picked it up and examined it. “What is this?” she asked when she noticed the odd phantasma on it. “I ain’t seen nothing like this.”

  “That sounds like it's worth something,” Johnny pointed out.

  Vic nodded, took his cap off, and scratched his scalp. “A large number of somethings. What do you say, Angie? That was used by a ghost of some kind. Exactly what can’t be determined right now but he’s at least on the same level as a wraith. He’s possibly killed dozens of humans and ghosts alike so far. At least they want this guy turned in, right?”

  She studied the ax for a moment longer and set it down. “I don’t know what the hell you boys brought in but it is spooky, I can tell you that.”

  “And that’s coming from a ghost.” Johnny’s quip drew a chuckle from Vic as he put his cap on.

  “I’ll look up what this could be worth.” She began typing on her keyboard. “Can you give me any more details? Because so far, I could put this as a possible escapee with probable homicides.”

  The ghost detective frowned. “Well…that sounds like it lowers the price.” His frown turned to a scowl when she nodded. “Look, we’ve fought this joker, some kind of ghost we haven’t seen before. That’s rare, darling! That has to be worth something.”

  “I guess you do have proof of that,” she conceded and shifted her gaze to the ax and the odd phantasma. “That’ll bring in a horde of interested parties so you could probably get a nice score. Let me punch it in. This is New Orleans, right?”

  “Correct,” Johnny confirmed. She typed again before a buzzer sounded over the speakers. “What was that?”

  “I was blocked from my computer,” she replied, her voice shocked before it changed to anger. “What in the hell?” As she asked this question, two large ghosts approached and looked at Vic and Johnny.

  “Yous the guys looking into that finder’s fee?” one asked. They were at least a couple of feet taller than Vic and had the same translucent skin as Dwayne did, which meant they were well fed on stygia. The width and girth of their arms and torsos confirmed that.

  “Yeah, we’s the guys,” the ghost detective responded and fixed them with a calm look. “Why?”

  “Big Daddy wants to see ya,” the other said and thumbed toward the back. “Come on.”

  The first guard snatched the ax off Angie’s desk and the group moved to the main office as she cried, “Hey, Rico! I need technical support!”

  The partners were guided to a door at the back that revealed a set of stairs into the basement. “Let’s go,” the first guard ordered and pushed Johnny forward onto the steps.

  As they descended, he leaned toward his partner. “I can’t tell if this is a good thing or not.”

  “They don’t make a good impression, do they?” Vic whispered and glanced over his shoulder at the two large ghosts. “These guys are certainly taken care of better than Saul and most of the others. They must be a couple of Big Daddy’s personal guards.”

  “Something must be going on. Angie was blocked immediately after she put all the info in.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re heading to the source, ain’t it?”

  The young detective squinted. “Is it, though? I don’t know Big Daddy’s exact history, but all these gig dealers were toughs of some kind in life, right? This feels more like a situation where no one will ever see us again.”

  “They didn’t take our weapons, so that’s a good sign.” The ghost detective nodded ahead at a pair of ornate doors. “I guess we’ll find out in a minute.”

  The partners took a door each, pushed them open, and entered a room that looked like it came out of a mansion. Aside from the black silk walls and plush purple furniture, female ghosts lounged everywhere, all with enough stygia to fill their forms out under scanty clothing.

  Their attention was immediately drawn to the large, oak desk in the middle and the figure behind it. As large as both guards put together, he wore a very nice purple suit and smoked a cigar. His skin was dark-purple and he looked at them from under a wide-brimmed black hat and smiled.

  “Well, now. Look who we have here—Victor Kane and the good boy Rev. Johnny!” His voice resounded in the room.

  The guards pushed them forward and Johnny could feel all eyes on them as they approached the desk.

  Big Daddy appeared to become even larger as they moved closer. He beckoned them forward. “Come on in, fellas. It looks like we got things to discuss.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In front of the large desk were several elevated chairs. Vic floated up with no issue but Johnny was forced to hop, grasp the seat, and pull himself up.

  “Would you hurry?” his partner demanded when he was finally high enough to turn and sit properly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  The young detective waved dismissively at him, retrieved the pack of cigarettes, and took one out.

  �
��Hold on there a second,” Big Daddy instructed and placed a black box with gold designs on the desktop. “I don’t want anyone to leave my office and say I’m not a good host.” He opened the box to reveal a dozen cigars, each with a silver stamp on them. “So, do you care for some cigars?”

  Vic took a few and the cutter, examined one, and nodded appreciatively.

  “Thanks, but are those meant for ghosts?” Johnny asked and lit his cigarette before he handed the lighter to his partner. “I can’t smoke them.”

  “Is that right?” Big Daddy chortled and closed the box. “I’ve wondered how that works. So revenants can’t use supernatural items?”

  “More like can’t imbibe,” the ghost detective corrected and lit the cigar. “He can use my gun and other things. I can’t speak for other revenants, but he can’t have any food, drink, or anything like that. It makes him vomit. He’s tried a few different things in the name of research but is less likely to keep it down and more likely to put himself down if you catch my drift.”

  The boss laughed along with some of the others in the crowd. He handed the cigar box to a guard, pointed at another box, and told him to bring it to him.

  “Well, since I have you gentleman here, I suppose I should tell you why.” He took a long drag of his cigar and when his guard brought what he’d asked for, he took it and placed it on the desk. “I saw that you’ve been doing good in New Orleans. I was born there, you know.” He opened the case, smirked, and nodded before he looked at them. “I left when I was grown but it will always have a special place in my heart so I like to keep a watch on what’s going on over there.”

  “Then you should be interested in what we found,” Vic replied and took a puff of his cigar. “Right?”

  “Oh, certainly, and I am extremely thankful that you looked into it.” He flipped the case and presented it to them. Two large sacks of doubloons made Vic’s eyes shine and Johnny’s enlarge. “This is your finder’s fee and something a little extra.”

  “A little extra?” the young detective asked as his partner dug through the bags. “What’s the kick for?”

  Big Daddy craned his neck, his smile gone. “Let’s go with a request fee for you to stop looking into this matter.”

  This made Vic look up from his treasure counting. “Why’s that?”

  The purple ghost clasped his hands together and leaned forward across the desk. His large head dominated their view. “Is it not enough that I asked politely?”

  “It certainly could be, but if you care so much about New Orleans, wouldn’t you want this taken care of? Especially since your company will probably get a large payday from the officials if you claim the bounty.”

  Big Daddy’s gaze darted toward the ghost detective. “I thank you for looking out for the wellbeing of my company—”

  “Well, we do good business here,” he interjected.

  “And I do indeed care about New Orleans. This is why I and several others on this side have been working with other fine organizations on the other side to deal with this matter.”

  “And that has worked out fantastically so far,” Johnny muttered and the boss’s gaze now moved toward him.

  “I’ll admit, things could be in better shape right now. But having a frenzy and an army of bounty hunters and ghost specialists suddenly swarming the city is not beneficial right now.”

  The young man scratched his chin. “And why would that be?”

  Big Daddy finally leaned back after he’d puffed a large amount of smoke in their faces. “Because it looks like it might be what that bastard wants.”

  “That bastard?” Vic asked as Johnny thought this over. “It seems like you have a good idea who is causing all this ruckus.”

  Their host scoffed and knocked the ash of his cigar into the ashtray. “And you don’t, detective?”

  “We have a theory, but the most we have to go on is a fugitive who was never identified.” He closed the bags. “I suppose we could go check the athenaeum for New Orleans residents and what they did in life, but if that bastard somehow made it to Limbo instead of going straight to Hell… Well, the whole point of Limbo is to give second chances. A normal book of life wouldn’t mention if he or she was the Axman of New Orleans.”

  “He wants more power,” Johnny muttered and caught their attention. “That’s obvious, but he’s not getting the power he wants from the normal residents of New Orleans—or at least not as much as he wants.”

  Big Daddy nodded. “That was a freebie. But what you both should know before you dive into two-bit conspiracy nonsense is that this isn’t merely something that mid-level cats like me and the mob are trying to bury. You should think about that. If you fuck up, who gives a damn about what happens to you?”

  “So this extra coin”—the ghost detective lifted one of the bags—“is hush money so we look the other way and don’t talk.”

  “That would certainly be something I’d prefer,” the boss said flatly, finished his cigar, and stamped it out in the ashtray. “But like I said, there’s a little extra request fee.”

  “Uh-huh.” The detectives looked at one another before Vic passed the bags to Johnny as he leaned forward against the desk. “Do you want to give us any other pieces of advice? Like why these high-level figures would be interested in keeping this quiet and who they might be? They must be important people for someone like yourself to say you are merely mid-level.”

  Big Daddy leaned back and cracked his knuckles, which sounded like small explosives detonating. “Don’t let a little humility fool you. I act like a badass because I am one, but there are many ways to reach my level.” He opened a drawer and took out another large cigar and a pair of clippers. “And I did it through business savvy, connections, and my bounty hunting career.”

  He thumbed at some framed photos of a noticeably smaller and alive Big Daddy, a tall and muscular man with dark skin, shaved head, and large guns who held possessed artifacts or stood over the remains of crypto creatures. “Both in life and death, when I was called Firewalker Marsan.”

  “Because you always took the hottest and most dangerous cases,” Vic finished. “You have that poster in reception that tells your story. It also says you came back as a revenant to finish the guy who ended your life.”

  The boss chuckled and shrugged. “What can I say? It’s mostly true with a flourish here and there. People like a good story.”

  “I agree, and this will be a hell of a story when we catch this guy.”

  Big Daddy frowned. “Are you still going after him?”

  Vic pointed toward Johnny. “I still gotta talk it over with my partner, but we’re in this now. You understand as a former bounty hunter. You bail on a gig and while you might live, your rep takes the hit.” He put his half-smoked cigar out in the ashtray.

  With a sigh, the purple ghost clipped the front of his new cigar. “You are setting yourselves up for all kinds of trouble. And while this is going on, I can’t provide you with new cases as long as you keep this up.” He looked at the bags he had given them. “And I’ll need those.”

  The ghost detective shrugged and gestured with his head. Johnny frowned and threw the large bags onto the table. “Fine. I look forward to doing business again when we catch this bastard.” The young detective dropped down from his seat as his partner floated to him.

  “You stir up too much trouble and you will have targets on your head!” Big Daddy warned as he reached for the bags. “Hell, you might have them already.”

  When he grasped the bags and pulled them forward, he noticed that they seemed lighter than when he’d first picked them up. He tried to open them but they had been tied with a complex knot. Irritated, he tore them both open and scowled. One had a bunched-up map to make it look fuller and an empty sack had been shoved into the other. He looked up and Vic waved at him before he disappeared inside Johnny, who opened the door.

  “You bastards!” Big Daddy roared and two guards nearby ran toward the door as it closed. When they threw it open,
the partners were gone.

  The purple ghost leaned back, lit his cigar, and took a deep drag. He let a funnel of smoke pour out of his mouth before he chuckled and elbowed the guard on his right. “Do you think I played it right?”

  “I think you did great,” his employee replied with a nod and a smirk.

  The boss smiled around the cigar in his mouth. “They’ll get the job done—or die trying to at least—and it can’t be traced to us. Hopefully, it keeps that wily jackass happy.” He shook his head. “You know, it kind of makes me want to get back in the game myself.”

  “Will you go after the guy too, boss?” the guard asked.

  Big Daddy laughed and almost dropped his cigar. “This psycho? Hell no. I’ll leave it to the young bloods because us old guys can’t seem to catch shit right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Johnny and Vic arrived in the real world, they walked out of a rather dirty bathroom and took a moment to look behind them with distaste.

  “Hey, how did you get in there?” someone asked and they turned to a young, skinny guy in overalls, cap, and gloves who stared angrily at them. “Dammit. Did I forget to lock the door again? The bathroom is for paying customers only!” A toilet flushed and all three looked toward the sound. “What the hell? Dale, are you in there?”

  “Yeah, man. Gimme a second!” a voice called as the faucet turned on.

  Johnny realized that they were at the gas station, which meant they were about a thirty or forty-minute walk from the car. He looked at the attendant, who had taken his hat off and now scratched his head. “So that’s where he’s been. Dammit. Is Dale hiring those toots again?”

  “Toot?” Vic chuckled. “What’s a toot?”

  The young detective grimaced and walked away. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Still caught between bewilderment and displeasure, the attendant watched him go before he turned as Dale exited the bathroom and locked it with his key. “Well, at least you’re getting ones that look good now,” he remarked as he headed toward the gas station. “He could have used a shower though.” His colleague stared at him with a look of confusion.