Obsidian Butterfly ab-9

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  He gagged, hands going to his throat, half collapsing on the table. I used my right hand to drive his face into the table, once, twice, three times. Blood spurted from his nose, and he slid bonelessly across the tabletop to end up on floor, staring up at the ceiling, gagging, trying to breathe through his injured throat and the smashed nose. I think if he could have breathed better, he'd have passed out, but it's hard to pass out when you're gagging. He rocked and fell to the floor, gagging, eyes rolled back into his head, not focused.

  I was standing beside the booth, staring down at him. My gun was still in my left hand, at my side, unobtrusive against my black jeans. Most people wouldn't even see the gun. They'd see the blood and the man on the floor.

  Harold and the tall Newt were standing there, frozen, staring down at Russell. Harold shook his head sadly. "You shouldn't have ought to have done that."

  Edward was standing beside the booth, blocking their view of Donna and Becca. He spoke softly, so his voice wouldn't carry much beyond our little circle. "Don't ever threaten these people again, Harold. Don't come near them for any reason. Tell Riker that they are off limits, or the next time it won't just be a broken nose."

  "I see the guns," Harold said, voice low. He bent down beside Russell. The big man's eyes still weren't focused. His blue T-shirt had turned purple with blood. Harold was shaking his head. He looked up at me. "Who the hell are you?"

  "Anita Blake," I said.

  He shook his head again. "Don't know the name."

  "I guess my reputation does not proceed me," I said.

  "It will," Harold said.

  I said, "Peter, get some napkins."

  Peter didn't ask questions. He just got a double handful of napkins from the dispenser on the table and handed them my way. I took them with my right hand and held them out to Harold. He took them, watching my face, eyes flicking to the gun still bare against my leg.

  "Thanks."

  "Don't mention it."

  He shoved the napkins against Russell's nose and took one arm. "Get his other arm, Newt."

  There was a distant wail of sirens coming closer. Someone had called the cops.

  Russell was still unsteady on his feet. They'd shoved napkins into his flattened nose, and he looked both silly and grotesque with the bloody napkins sticking out of his nose. He had to clear his voice twice before he could speak, his voice sounded rough, clogged, painful, "You fucking bitch! I am going to hurt you so bad for this."

  "When you can stand without help and you've got your nose packed at the nearest emergency room, give me a call. I'd love a rematch."

  He spat in my general direction but didn't have the aim, so it splattered harmlessly into the floor. Gross, but not very effective.

  "Come on," Harold said. He was trying to move the show towards the door. The sirens were very close now.

  But Russell wasn't finished. He turned, forcing the other two to turn with him. "I am going to fuck your bitch, and leave the girl and boy for the coyotes."

  "Russell is not a fast learner," I said.

  Becca was crying now, and Donna was so pale, I was worried she was going to faint. I couldn't turn around enough to see Peter's face without turning away from the bad guys, so I don't know what he looked like. But it wasn't a pretty scene.

  The cops spilled in with Harold still trying to get Russell out the door. Edward and I used the confusion to put up our guns. The two uniforms were a little unsure whom to arrest, but the people actually testified to having heard Russell's threats, and seeing him "menace" us before I hurt him. I'd never seen so much witness cooperation. Most of the time people are deaf and dumb, but having a small, pretty little girl in tears helped people's memories. Technically, Russell could press assault charges on me, but everyone was jumping over themselves to say that he'd been threatening us. One man claimed he'd seen Russell pull a knife. Amazing how quickly details are added to a story. I could not corroborate the knife, but I had enough witnesses to the threats that I didn't think I'd be going to jail. Edward pulled out his Ted ID, and the officers knew him by reputation if not by sight. I pulled out my executioner's license and my gun carry permit. Technically, I was carrying concealed when my permit wasn't for this state. I explained I'd worn the jacket to keep from distressing the children. The cops nodded, wrote it down, and seemed to accept it all.

  It helped that Russell was being verbally abusive to the officers and was so obviously a badass, and I was so harmless looking, so small, so feminine, and so much less scary than he was. Edward gave them his address, said I'd be staying with him, and we were free to go.

  The restaurant offered us a different table, but strangely Donna and the kids had lost their appetites. I was still hungry, but no one asked me. Edward paid for the food, and declined a takeout order. I put the tip on the bloodstained table, way overtipping to try and make up for the mess. Then we left, and I still hadn't eaten today. Maybe if I asked nicely, Edward would run through a drive-up window at McDonalds. Any port in a storm.

  14

  DONNA STARTED CRYING OUT in the parking lot. Becca joined her. Only Peter stayed silent and apart from the general hysteria. The more Donna cried, the more panicky the girl got, like they were feeding off each other. The girl was crying in those great hiccuppy sobs bordering on hyperventilation. I looked at Edward and raised my eyebrows, He looked blank. I finally gave him a push. He mouthed, "Which one?"

  "Girl," I mouthed back.

  He knelt by them. Donna had settled down on the bumper of his Hummer cradling Becca in her lap.

  Edward knelt in front of them. "Let me take Becca for a little walk."

  Donna blinked up at him, as if she saw him, heard him, but wasn't really understanding. He reached for Becca and started prying her from her mother's arms. Donna's arms were limp, but the girl clung to her mother, screaming.

  Edward literally pried her small fingers away, and when she was free of her mother, Becca turned and clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. He looked at me over the girl's head, and I shooed him away. He never questioned, just walked towards the sidewalk that edged the parking lot. He was rocking the girl slowly as he moved, soothing her.

  Donna had covered her face with her hands, collapsing forward until her face and hands met her knees. Her sobs were full-blown almost wails. Shit. I looked at Peter. He was watching her, and the look on his was disgusted, embarrassed. I knew in that instant that he'd been the adult in more ways than just shooting his father's killer. His mother was allowed hysterics, but he wasn't. He was the one who held together in a crisis. Damned unfair, if you ask me.

  "Peter, can you excuse us for a few minutes?"

  He shook his head. "No."

  I sighed, then shrugged. "Fine, just don't interfere." I knelt in front of Donna, touching her shaking shoulders. "Donna, Donna!" There was no response, no change. It had been a long day. I got a handful of that short thick hair and pulled her head up. It hurt, and it was meant to. "Look at me, you selfish bitch."

  Peter moved forward, and I pointed a finger at him. "Don't." He settled back a step, but he didn't leave. His face was angry, watchful, and I knew that he might interfere regardless of what I said if I went much further. But I didn't have to go further. I'd shocked her. Her eyes were wide, inches from mine, her face drenched with tears. Her breathing was still coming in small chest-heaving gulps, but she was looking at me, she was listening.

  I released her hair slowly, and she stayed staring at me with a horrible fascination on her face as if I were about to do something cruel, and I was. "Your little girl has just seen the worst thing she's ever seen in her life. She was calming down, taking it in stride, until you started on the hysterics. You're her mother. You're her strength, her protector. When she saw you fall apart like that, it terrified her."

  "I didn't mean ... I couldn't help ... "

  "I don't give a shit what you feel or how upset you are. You're the mommy. She's the child. You are going to hold yourself together until she is not around to s
ee you fall apart, is that clear?"

  She blinked at me. "I don't know if I can do that."

  "You can do it. You're going to do it." I glanced up but didn't see Edward yet. Good. "You are the grownup, Donna, and you are by God going to act like it."

  I could feel Peter watching us, could almost feet him storing it away for later playback. He would remember this little scene and he would think on it, you could feel it.

  "Do you have children?" she asked, and I knew what was coming.

  "No," I said.

  "Then what right do you have to tell me how to raise mine?" She was angry now, sitting up straighter, wiping at her face with short harsh movements.

  Sitting up on the bumper, she was taller than I was kneeling. I looked up into her angry eyes and told the truth. "I was eight years old when my mother died, and my father couldn't handle it. We got a phone call from a state trooper that told us she was dead. My father dropped the phone and started to wail, not cry, wail. He took me by the hand and walked the few blocks to my grandmother's house, wailing, leading me by the hand. By the time we got to my grandmother's we had a crowd of neighbors, all asking what was wrong, what was wrong. I was the one who turned to my neighbors and said, "My mommy's dead." My father was collapsed in the bosom of his family, and I was left standing alone, uncomforted, unheld, tears on my face, telling the neighbors what had happened."

  Donna stared at me and there was something very close to horror on her face. "I'm sorry," she said in a voice that had grown soft and lost its anger.

  "Don't be sorry for me, Donna, but be a mother to your own daughter. Hold it together. She needs you to comfort her right now. Later when you're alone, or with Ted, you can fall apart, but please, not in front of the kids. That goes for Peter, too."

  She glanced at him, standing there, watching us, and she flushed, embarrassed at last. She nodded her head too rapidly, then visibly straightened. You could actually see her gathering herself. She took my hands, squeezing them. "I am sorry for your loss, and I apologize for today. I'm not very good around violence. If it's an accident, a cut, no matter the blood, I'm fine, honestly, but I just can't abide violence."

  I drew my hands gently from hers. I wasn't sure I believed her, but I said, "I'm glad to know that, Donna. I'll go get ... Ted and Becca."

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  I stood, nodding. I walked across the gravel in the direction Edward had gone. I liked Donna less now, but I knew now that Edward had to get away from this family. Donna wasn't good around violence. Jesus, if she only knew who, what, she'd taken to her bed. She'd have had hysterics for the rest of her life.

  Edward had walked down the sidewalk to stand in front of one of the many small houses. They all had gardens in front, well tended, well planned. It reminded me of California where every inch of yard is used for something because land is such a premium. Albuquerque didn't look nearly as crowded and yet the yards were crowded.

  Edward was still holding Becca, but she was looking at something that he was pointing at, and there was a smile on her face that showed from two houses away. A tension I hadn't realized I was carrying eased from my back and shoulders. When she turned so that her face was full to me, I saw a sprig of lilac tucked into one of her braids. The pale lavender flower didn't match the yellow ribbons and dress, but hey, it was cute as hell.

  Her smile faltered around the edges when she saw me. There was a very good chance that I wouldn't be one of Becca's favorite people. I'd probably scared her. Oh, well.

  Edward put her down, and they walked towards me. She was smiling up at him, swinging his arm a little. He smiled down at her, and it looked real. Even to me it looked real. You might have really believed he was Becca's adored and adoring father. How the hell were we going to get him out of their lives without screwing Becca over? Peter would be pleased if Ted went poof, and Donna ... She was a grown-up. Becca wasn't. Shit.

  Edward smiled at me and said in his cheerful Ted voice, "How are things?"

  "Just dandy," I said.

  He raised eyebrows, and for a split second his eyes flinched going from cynical to cheerful so fast it made me dizzy.

  "Donna and Peter are waiting for us."

  Edward turned so that the girl was between us. She glanced up at me, and her gaze was questioning, thoughtful. "You beat up that bad man," she said.

  "Yes, I did," I said.

  "I didn't know girls could do that."

  That made my teeth hurt. "Girls can do anything they want to do, including protect themselves and beat up bad guys."

  "Ted said that you hurt that man because he said bad things to me."

  I glanced at Edward, but his face was all open and cheerful for the child and gave me nothing.

  "That's right," I said.

  "Ted says that you'd hurt someone to protect me just like he would."

  I met her big brown eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I would."

  She smiled then and it was beautiful, like sunshine breaking through clouds. She reached out her free hand to me, and I took it. Edward and I walked back to the parking lot, holding the child's hands while she half-walked, half-danced between us. She believed in Ted, and Ted had told her that she could believe in me, so she did. The odd thing was that I would hurt someone to protect her. I would kill to keep her safe. I looked across at Edward and for just a moment he looked back at me from the mask. We stared at each other over the child, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to get us all out of the mess that he had made.

  Becca said, "Swing me."

  Edward counted out, "One, two, three," and swung her up and out, forcing me to swing her other arm. We moved across the parking lot, swinging Becca between us while she gave that joyous, full-throated laugh.

  We sat her down laughing in front of her mother. Donna was composed and smiling. I was proud of her. Becca looked up at me, shining. "Mommy says I'm too big to swing now, but you're strong, aren't you?"

  I smiled at her, but I looked at Edward when I said, "Yes, I am."

  15

  DONNA AND EDWARD DID a tender but decorous good-bye. Peter rolled his eyes and scowled as if they'd done a lot more than a semi-chaste kiss. He'd have had a cow if he could have seen them smooching earlier at the airport. Becca kissed Edward on the cheek, giggling. Peter ignored it all and got in the car as soon as he could as if afraid "Ted" might try to hug him, too.

  Edward waved until the car turned onto Lomos and out of sight, then he turned to me. All he did was look at me, but it was enough.

  "Let's get in the car and get some air conditioning going before I grill you about what the hell is going on," I said.

  He unlocked the car. We got inside. He started the engine and the air conditioner, though the air hadn't had time to cool yet. We sat in the expensive hum of his engine with the hot air blowing on us, and silence filled the car.

  "Are you counting to ten?" he asked.

  "Try a thousand and you'll be closer."

  "Ask. I know you want to."

  "Okay, we'll skip the tirade about you dragging Donna and her kids into your mess and go straight to who the hell is Riker and why did he send goons to warn you off?"

  "First, it was Donna's mess, and she dragged me into it."

  My disbelief must have shown on my face because he continued, "She and her friends are a part of an amateur archeology society that tries to preserve Native American sites in the area. Are you familiar with how an archaeological dig is done?"

  "A little. I know they use string and tags to mark where an object is found, take pictures, drawings, sort of like you do for a dead body before you move it."

  "Trust you to come up with the perfect analogy," he said, but he was smiling. "I've gone with Donna on weekends with the kids. They use freaking toothbrushes and tiny paint brushes to gently clean the dirt away, or dental picks."

  "I know you have a point," I said.

  "Pot hunters find a site that is already being explored, or sometimes one that hasn't been found, and
they bring in bulldozers and backhoes to take out as much as possible in the least amount of time."

  I gaped at him. "But that destroys more than they can possibly take out, and if you move an object before its site is recorded, it loses a lot of its historical value. I mean the dirt it's found in can help date it. What is found near an object can tell all sorts of things to a trained eye."

  "Pot hunters don't care about history. They take what they find and sell it to private collectors or dealers who aren't too particular about how an object was found. A site that Donna was volunteering on was raided."

  "She asked you to look into it," I said.

  "You underestimate her. She and her psychic friends thought they could reason with Riker, since they were pretty sure it was his people behind it."

  I sighed. "I don't underestimate her, Edward."

  "She and her friends didn't understand what a bad man Riker is. Some of the really big pot hunters hire bodyguards, goon squads, to help take care of the bleeding hearts, and even the local law. Riker is suspected of having been behind the deaths of two local cops. It's one of the reasons that things went en smoothly in the restaurant. All the local cops know that Riker's a suspected top killer, not personally, but of hiring it done."

  I smiled, not a pleasant smile. "I wonder how many traffic tickets he and his men have acquired since it happened."

  "Enough that his lawyer filed a harassment suit. There is no proof that Hiker's people were involved, just the fact that the cops were killed at a dig that had been partially bulldozed, and an eye witness that saw a car with a partial plate that might have been one of his trucks."

  "Is the witness still among the living?" I asked.