Inked Magic

by Jory Strong

  Etaín dug her fingernails into her palms as if she would blind the eyes there. Tears flowed down her cheeks as around her she saw the same on other faces.

  The urge to escape built. Only sheer determination kept her standing until the final hymn and the dismissal.

  The pressure lessened as the church began emptying.

  It disappeared completely when Jamaal and DaWanda reached her.

  “Hey girl,” DaWanda said, embracing her in a bone crushing hug. “They’re talking some crazy stuff about you on the radio.”

  “I know. Mind if I talk to Jamaal privately for a few minutes?”

  “He’ll take you through the church so you can leave out the kitchen door.”

  Another hug and DaWanda joined the flow of people exiting the building.

  Etaín followed Jamaal into a hallway crowded by robed choir members. As soon as they got clear of them he pulled her into a room that looked like it was used for Sunday school.

  Jamaal’s smooth features turned fierce. “Bryce said your brother and another Fed came around the other day. Tell me you’re not letting Parker put a big fucking bull’s-eye on your back.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what’s all this shit the news people are talking? Why are you here?”

  “Later, okay? Right now I need you to look at a tat and tell me if you know whose work it is or if you remember seeing it on anyone.”

  Pulling the picture from her pocket she held it out to him. He crossed his arms, his face hardening into a mask of refusal. “This involve the Harlequin Rapist?”

  Nobody did impasse better than Jamaal. “Yes.”

  “Your brother put you up to this? Doing the job for the PO-lice now? When he knows this twisted motherfucker might go for you?”

  “All the more reason to catch him, don’t you think?”

  Jamaal cursed and unfolded his arms. He took the paper and opened it.

  She saw the answer on his face. “You recognize it.”

  “Looks like Deon Gold’s work. Pass that name on to your brother, then leave town for a while. Take Ladell up on his invite to do work on the rich and stoned down in LA.”

  “You know where they can find Deon?”

  “Jail or dead. Dropped off the face of the earth a while back. Did some bad shit and got the FBI wanting him. Easy enough for your brother to get the details.”

  There was more, something in his voice alerted her to it. He started to turn and the hand she had on his suit-jacketed arm slid downward, toward bare skin.

  Insidious temptation crept into her. The touch of the eye to his hand and she could know what he was hiding.

  She tightened her fingers, to stop herself instead of him, horror rolling through her at having evidence that if she wasn’t careful, her gift might control her, might take where she would ask.

  “Please, Jamaal. You know more than you’re saying. Tell me. For Tyra, if you won’t do it because I’m asking.”

  Against her palm she felt him deflate, the air going out on a long-suffering sigh. “Friends don’t let friends do crazy shit by themselves. But if I skip out on DaWanda now to go with you—because I know you’re not going to wait—there’ll be trouble at home until I get back on her good side.”

  Etaín smothered a smile. For all his talk he didn’t cheat on DaWanda.

  “True enough. You and Mr. Hand could end up on real friendly terms.”

  That got her a sour look. “You remember Anton Charles? Rides with the Curs and had it bad for you a while back. Kept coming around for new art?”

  “I remember him.”

  “He’s back in town. Saw him the other day. If anyone knows where Deon is and is inclined to talk to you about him, it’d be Anton. Don’t bother passing his name on to Parker. Anton won’t give him shit. He’s not going to give you something for free, either.”

  “Wouldn’t expect him to.”

  “You’ll take someone with you?”

  They both knew she wouldn’t.

  “I’ll be safe enough. He rides with some guys who wear my ink from back when I was just getting started.”

  In the early days, when she was running wild with the arrival of her gift.

  Jamaal handed the drawing to her. “I’ll let you out through the kitchen. You should be able to get away from here without being noticed, as long as you’re smart about it.”

  “I’ll be smart.”

  He snorted and turned away. “I’m beginning to think you don’t know the meaning of that word.”

  She laughed. “Insulting my intelligence now? Just remember payback’s a bitch.”

  “Yeah, but the bitch has got to stay alive if she’s going to do the paying back.”

  A sharp rap on the office door announced Niall’s arrival. Denis

  looked up from his work as his brother stepped into the room, closing the door with barely a glance at the guns and rifles lying openly on every piece of furniture.

  The drawings were spread across the desk, surreal and terrible, dripping with emotion. Boys on Caitlyn. Faces above Brianna’s.

  Niall stopped next to him and looked down at them. “This everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “We could have it taken care of. Distance ourselves from it.”

  Denis tilted his head toward the rifle leaning against the desk at his right. “That distance is good enough. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Five shots and it’s done. This business is behind us.”

  “Cathal’s with her?”

  “I don’t think so. Not if she’s at a funeral. Her name’s in the news but not her face. I told him to stay away from her.” Denis smiled. “Your son has balls. He said I should do the same.”

  “How’d you leave it?”

  “He knows the score. These are dangerous times.”

  Niall gave a slight nod, acknowledging the truth of it. “I recognize a couple of the boys from Brianna’s school.” He touched a fingertip to a face. “This one looks familiar, too.”

  Denis fought to tamp down the rage that started to build. Justice was best served cold.

  “His brother used to come around here with Brian. Low-level drug dealer.”

  Denis tapped his finger on a name written on one of the pages. Jordão. “This one’s a diplomat’s son. Brazilian. There’s a possibility his family may be connected to a cartel. I decided against floating any questions. Whether they are or not, this could bring a lot of heat down on us.”

  “You planning on getting careless?”

  He laughed. “You know me better than that.”

  “Then this shouldn’t lead back to us. And if it does then the motive will surface, too. There’ll be noise, but in the end, it’ll be, ‘Don’t ask. Don’t tell.’”

  Denis was counting on it, but it didn’t really matter. If he had to, he’d pack up and leave. There was plenty of money in off-shore accounts, and plenty of business he could tend without living in the United States.

  “When are you going to do this thing?” Niall asked.

  “Today.” He set the gun he’d rubbed clean on a picture of a boy with a line of little hearts drawn to him. “Starting with this one. He’s going to band practice like nothing happened. Like he didn’t rape my daughter and leave her to die.”

  Niall’s hand came down on Denis’s shoulder in a familiar show of solidarity. They’d had each other’s backs since they were kids. “You want my help with this?”

  “No. I need to do this myself.”

  “And Etaín?”

  I don’t remember any of it, Daddy.

  “I told Clara to cut back on the drugs. Brianna woke up a few minutes after Etaín left. She looked right at me. She let me hug her while she cried on my shoulder.” His voice broke. “She doesn’t remember what happened to her.”

  Niall’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Then we play wait and see for now?”

  Denis picked up another gun. He wouldn’t know until he got into position which one he would use. Caution and preparation had al
ways served him.

  His thoughts went to that instant when Etaín’s eyes had met his before she released the sketchpad. Not, what are you going to do with them, but worry for his daughter, Brianna needs you to be there for her.

  “We wait,” he said. “And if she becomes a problem Cathal can’t get under control, we have the situation taken care of in a way that won’t tear apart the family.”

  Etaín recognized Anton’s Harley by the custom paint job and abundance of chrome. She parked next to it and entered the bar, the noise lessening enough so “This hot piece is mine,” carried through the room.

  She ignored the guy directing the comment at her. His jacket revealed he was a club hanger-on and not a member or a prospect. When she would have walked past him, he grabbed her arm. “Now hold on, mama. Why you ignoring me? What you being so unfriendly for?”

  “’Cause she’s not interested in your sorry ass,” came a rough voice from Etaín’s left.

  “Hey, hey, don’t want no trouble with you, Anton.”

  He released her arm, backing away as she turned toward Anton and took in the bulked-up muscle and the new ink compliments of a stay in the US prison system.

  Anton opened his arms in greeting but she knew better than to step into them. She’d start as she meant to go on. “In your dreams.”

  He gave a belly laugh. “You got that right, Etaín. And you’ve starred in some mighty fine ones.”

  She took his hand when he offered it, going through the series of complicated moves while imagining there was a wall and her gift was locked behind it.

  “I know you’re not stopping in ’cause you were in the neighborhood. Who you coming here to see?”

  “You. Jamaal said you were the one I should talk to. I need a favor.”

  He smiled big. “Maybe those dreams going to turn real after all. Wash this talk down with a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  “My treat. You get the next round.”

  “Fine by me.”

  They stopped by the bar then claimed a booth in the back. A few steps away, men were gathered around pool tables. The clack of ball on ball relaxed her, the joking and swearing and the sound of rap music blocking off the world outside of this one.

  Twenty-three

  The fog swirled around Denis the same as it had the day Caitlyn was put in the ground. It wet his face like tears. Hugged him. Concealed him as he waited.

  Kids today . . . He shook his head. With their Tweets and their Facebook and their YouTube they made it easy to know things about them. To find them. They lived like nothing they said or did would ever lead to repercussions.

  He wasn’t a man who liked to shit in his own backyard, but this business had to be taken care of personally. It would be smarter to wait, to kill them one at a time, spread out over months or years like random acts of violence.

  He knew it. But knew, too, he wouldn’t hold off. The prospect of letting them live another day was intolerable.

  If he was a man to lie to himself, he’d claim he was doing a public service, preventing another girl from being victimized. He knew himself better than that. Accepted who he was though he had no problem with doing a good deed for society.

  This was about honor and retribution and seeing justice done on behalf of his family. It was about burying his failure in a grave so he could move past it.

  A fire-red Porsche entered the parking lot, music blaring, the driver oblivious to his impending fate. A burn started in Denis’s gut. Brianna thought she loved this boy, Adam. She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her in the worst possible way.

  Denis pulled a gloved hand from a deep pocket in his coat, the gun in it a familiar weight, the silencer a long black cylinder already screwed in place. As he moved toward the car, he shut himself off from feeling. He emptied his mind of everything except cold determination, a steadiness that came from complete concentration and the objectification of a target.

  The car door swung open, illuminating the boy. He got a foot on the ground before realizing he wasn’t alone.

  Denis lifted the gun and fired.

  A hole appeared dead center in the boy’s forehead.

  He put a second one in the chest. Insurance. Not rage.

  Eamon gave up the pointless study of financial statements, pushing them into a pile at one corner of his desk and acknowledging the impossibility of concentrating on them. He lifted the flier for the shelter fund-raiser and crushed it into a ball in his frustration. Time crawled in a way it hadn’t in hundreds of years of existence, all because of her.

  Though he knew he would have to endure Liam’s amused tone, he called his third to ask, “Where is she?”

  The question elicited a laugh. “At a bar catering to what the police would label outlaw bikers.”

  More of Eamon’s patience fled at having additional evidence of just how dangerously independent she was. “You didn’t think to report this?”

  “As if I might need reinforcements? Hardly. Am I to intuit that you now wish to curtail her freedom? Give the order and I will happily extract her.”

  “Give me the location,” Eamon said. “I will deal with my intended.”

  * * *

  Etaín took a pull on the beer, content to wait for Anton to bring up the purpose of her visit, her thoughts drifting to Cathal. Coward, she called herself, for being relieved Denis’s arrival had interrupted their discussion outside Brianna’s room and given her a chance to leave without continuing it.

  It wasn’t like her not to take things head-on. Then again, it wasn’t like her to think in terms of lovers and relationships.

  Somehow he’d gotten to her. Hot sex, but something more.

  Her gift responding to him maybe? The irresistible draw of being able to touch someone and know it wouldn’t destroy them?

  That’d do it, weakening her resistance to allowing intimacy. Making it seem as though the feelings that came along with it didn’t seem so risky.

  And Eamon?

  Warmth stole into her. This morning, fresh from Brianna’s memories and knowing there were more of them to take, she might have met whatever price he named to better control her gift, but he hadn’t demanded anything of her.

  He would. The certainty of it crept in cold against the heat, making her think of magic and mirrors, water and fire. He’d made it clear from the start he wasn’t thinking short-term. What would she do when he pressed her for more? Run from him the same way she’d done from Cathal?

  Not run. Get some breathing room. That’s all.

  Irritation flickered through her. At herself for thinking about Cathal and Eamon at all except in terms of physical pleasure. Derrick and Bryce and Jamaal were as complicated as she wanted when it came to relationships. And if she really wanted to fuck with her own head, then she could think about the captain and Parker.

  “What you want with me?” Anton finally asked.

  She pulled the drawing from her pocket, unfolding it and putting it down on the table between them. He might care what the Harlequin Rapist was doing, he might not. Same was true of Deon, but the mention of a high-profile case would spook them both, even if the idea of helping the police didn’t kill their willingness to share information from the start.

  “I’m looking for the guy wearing this ink. I need a name. An address would be even better. Jamaal says he recognizes the work. It’s Deon Gold’s.”

  Anton laughed. “You don’t ask for nothing small, do you girl?”

  “Might as well live large if you’re going to live at all.”

  “Got that right. Saying I could put this picture in front of Deon, what’s in it for me?”

  “Not a fuck. I’ve got boyfriend problems enough without adding to them.”

  She hadn’t intended to mention the men in her life. Finding how easily the label of boyfriend settled on them had her nerves jangling.

  Anton held up his hand and pointed, cocking his thumb. “Bang. Bang. A little drive-by action and no more boyfriend problems. Might ev
en do that favor for nothing.”

  Something savage moved through her with the implied threat to Cathal and Eamon. Insidious temptation followed, much, much stronger than when she’d been standing in the church with Jamaal.

  She could reach over and lay her palm against Anton’s hand. She could take what she wanted and if it led to the Harlequin Rapist being stopped, then the end would justify the means. It wasn’t any worse than what she’d done when she visited Brianna.

  Ice slid down her spine at how quickly the thought had come. How easily it would be to give in to impulse and follow through with the use of her gift.

  She wanted to deny the change in herself. Questioned in that instant if this was the reason her mother ran, because getting involved made it too easy to step on a dark path. To be consumed by the gift—the magic—rather than remain in control of it.

  “Let me worry about the men in my life,” she said, pressing her palms against the wet chill of the beer bottle. “Are you willing to connect me with Deon for some fresh ink?”

  Her conscience whispered, say yes, say yes, say yes. Because she didn’t think she could accept no.

  “Most I’m going to do is pass this picture on and say what you want. Tell Deon you an artist too and real tight with Jamaal.”

  She pulled a pencil from a pocket and wrote her cell number on one corner of the paper. “Long as you let me know one way or another, we’d be good.”

  He picked up the drawing and folded it. “Be better if the two of us play some pool. Then dance a song so nobody thinks I don’t know what to do with a beautiful woman before she leaves.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  He slipped the drawing into his pocket, then left the booth. She polished off the beer and followed.

  A table cleared as soon as Anton stopped next to it, one of the men at it saying, “Go ahead, all yours.”

  Etaín selected a cue and chalked the tip. “Nine-ball? Eight? Or straight?”

  Anton picked up a couple of cues before deciding on one. “Nine. First one to seven wins the round.”

  Another man stepped forward, racking the balls without a word from Anton. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Always been like this? Or just since you rode back into town?”