Blood Hound

by James Osiris Baldwin

  We stuck to the shadow of the bridge as we walked, shoulder to shoulder. Jana was vibrating with tension. I noticed she still had her jacket on, and she hadn’t loosened the buttons. There was only ever one reason I did that when it was this hot: I was carrying. It was hard to say if she was, not without staring rudely at her chest.

  As soon as we rounded the fruit stand and started up the quieter street towards the seashore, she sighed heavily and picked up the pace. It was quieter than I expected, which meant we could actually walk at a normal speed instead of being bogged down in beachgoing families and throngs of old people and fox terriers.

  Jana waited until no one was nearby. “Alexi, I have to warn you. I think you need to get out of this mess. I don’t know what you can do, but from what I overheard Lev say this morning, you’re in real danger.”

  “That’s not really anything I can control,” I replied. “Things like this are inherently dangerous. What did you hear?”

  “I don’t think Vincent’s even missing,” she said. Her heels clicked quickly on the concrete beside my own silent shoes. “I overheard Lev talking to someone on the phone this morning. He was saying he had someone looking for Vincent, but from what I could make out, Lev’s in on it with someone. I wanted to call you and warn you, but when I tried this morning…”

  “I was out of the house.” My intuition pinged me strangely as Jana spoke. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case, that Lev was playing another level of subterfuge. The game of politics was one of direction and misdirection. But why?

  “It’s a sham, Alexi,” Jana said. She looked around as we crossed the road and mounted the ramp leading up onto the boardwalk. It was busy, though not as much as I feared. There was space between the people. “The whole thing. I don’t know as much about the business as you do, obviously, but I don’t think it really has anything to do with Vincent at all.”

  Would Lev lie to my face like that? Probably. He and anyone else in the Organization would lie to their own grandmothers if it suited them, and Vassily’s remark on the amount of money I was being offered to find Vincent Manelli was not out of turn. Maybe he had hit it on the head. Maybe we were being herded down a cattle chute by our elders, and we needed to get them before they got us. “And what exactly was said?”

  “There was some arguing, and that’s what got me to stop by his door. It got quiet after that… but I heard him say Vincent was secure somewhere and he had ‘someone’ looking for him anyway.” Jana’s face flushed, whether from heat or embarrassment at having to report on her boss, I could not say. “I knew he was talking about you, and I also know Lev very well, Alexi. He’s cunning, and he’s ruthless.”

  It was true that the only other person who’d known I was searching for Vincent was my Avtoritet. I remembered Carmine’s 'little bird' speech. Someone had tipped him off as to my whereabouts. Lev had known I was going to speak to Jana in the morning, and while I was waiting for and seeing her, my car was rigged. It seemed… elementary. One of those things that was so obvious you didn’t want to see it. I looked out over the ocean, rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “That begs the question, though. Why would you be so eager to warn me of such a thing?”

  “You seem like a polite and intelligent man, and, well…” Jana’s mouth quirked, and she shrugged. “It’s not very often I meet men in your line of work who can hold a conversation. I don’t really have the moral high ground or anything, but I don’t like hearing someone get set up by those in power without even the ability to defend themselves. That’s why I became an attorney in the first place.”

  I felt an inexplicable chill pass through me, and with it came Yuri’s words from the night before. You’re already a slave. “Well, yes. And I think that’s a very moral thing to do, actually. I appreciate it.”

  “Appreciate it enough you might want to go to Tatiana's with me on Wednesday night?” A sly gleam lit Jana’s eyes, and suddenly, her confidence was back full-force. She could play the flirt from a distance, as long as we weren’t actually touching, and maybe… maybe I could work with that.

  That probably wasn’t a bad idea. Crina wouldn’t mind—or at least, I didn’t think she’d mind—and Vassily would have no reason to continue to doubt my masculinity. As I considered my reply, I looked away and then behind us… and noticed the standout.

  He had his hands in his jacket pockets: a heavy puffer jacket and jeans, like what a dockworker would wear. The coat was far, far too heavy for the weather, bulked out around the middle. But that wasn’t the only thing I noticed. He was wearing a baseball cap that did nothing to disguise his likeness to Frank Nacari’s license photo.

  “We need to turn the corner and get back to the Ave,” I said abruptly. I patted down my pockets. No knife, no mirror, no gun. I had left it all in the glove compartment. How professional.

  “Hmm?” Jana’s eyebrows quirked.

  “We’re being scoped,” I replied. We had just passed the start of Brighton 3rd. As the mouth of the street loomed, the rest of my skin began to creep.

  “Are you sure we’re being followed? I mean—”

  “Do you have a compact mirror?” I motioned to her purse.

  Lips pressed together, Jana nodded. She fumbled around in her bag until she came up with her powder, which she opened and lifted up to reflect between us. I glanced back: sure enough, there he was. He was nearly the spitting image of Frank’s license photo, but older. Different hairstyle, and not wholly identical, but closely related. His expression was one of blank determination.

  “Listen. I want you to break away into the crowd and turn down this street. Get back to the main street,” I said.

  “I can’t do that,” Jana replied. She picked up her pace as I did. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “Really. I insist.” This was my world, not hers. Not really. She might’ve worked on the fringes, but she wasn’t deep in its guts. “Go.”

  In the small reflection, I saw the other Nacari’s eyes focus on me as he unzipped the front of his jacket. I had no weapons, but if I was able to concentrate, I could now hopefully work some kind of magic and get away. When we reached the stairs leading down to the street, I felt her hesitate and gave her a pointed little shove with my elbow. “Go!”

  Jana stumbled briefly, her expression angry and brittle, but then tensely stalked off across the boardwalk, heels clacking on the wood. But she was not fast enough to get out of harm’s way. No one was, as I turned just in time to see him pull a pistol, level it with the one-handed expertise of a talented marksman, and fire.

  I threw up my hands and focused everything I had into averting the bullet. I expected a bang and a flash, maybe a zing. Instead, the pistol made a strange, mushy sound, like it were being fired underwater—and then the wind sucked in towards Nacari Senior with an invisible wave of weirdness that curdled the air and contorted the light around him. I saw Jana frozen out of the corner of my eye, her expression one of horror as the space around the pistol cracked into dark lines that then exploded, shattering into… insects.

  For a moment, I was confused, unsure if I’d done something or not. But I knew that sound: it was the same as the human-faced insects in my dream.

  “Run!” I barked aloud, not at anyone in particular, and staggered off at a limp towards Jana. “Run!”

  She startled, her trance broken, her face a mask of fear, and I caught her arm as we fled down the boardwalk from the gathering cloud and the gathering screams. One male scream was louder than them all. As we ran, I turned to see the iron cloud wrapped around the hit man like a cyclone. He flailed at them, the gun fallen at his feet, as they ripped his clothes and began to strip the flesh off his face and hands. Other people were screaming and running or staring as he staggered back, flailing, and then fell to his knees.

  “Oh my god,” Jana said. Her eyeliner was running a little. “Oh my god. What was that?”

  “A very poor attempt at summoning,” I said, breathlessly, and turned back for t
he stairs down to the street. “I think. Come on.”

  I turned at the railing. My would-be assassin was drowned in the crowd of panicking people, but the smell blew back to us: rotten meat and sugar. The elms that faced the ocean, growing in their stands near the end of the sidewalk, turned partly brown as the fetid wind passed over them and dissipated.

  “You should get back,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Back to the office.”

  “I—” she started.

  “Please understand. This is between me and my people.” I cut her off, shaking my head. “Your advice was invaluable. But it’s all you need to give.”

  “And what about dinner?” The farther away we got from the chaos of the beach, the calmer she sounded. We were both used to working under stress, in our own ways, and her lips quirked in a predatory little smile.

  “I don’t date,” I replied. “But I’ll have dinner with you, assuming the Manellis continue to be this inept.”

  “Thursday,” she said. “Seven, at Tatiana.”

  “I’ll make a booking for two,” I replied.

  Her heart-shaped face flushed with something I wasn’t wholly certain how to read. I didn’t know her well enough, and strangers’ faces take some getting used to.

  I knew my body could not keep up without sleep by the time I got to my apartment. I stripped and showered with painful deliberation and ate my lukewarm food without appetite in the ringing silence of the kitchen. It was hot inside, the windows open to air out the rotten smell left by the demon. The place felt impure, unclean. Everything was broken and out of order. Vassily was not home, again. No one to quip with, no way to relieve stress. I was too tired for the gym.

  “Well, Binah. It’s not every day you see someone try and fail a mass shooting on the boardwalk,” I said to the cat, watching her lick out the last bit of salad from the takeout dish. “Some days. But not every day.”

  She ignored me until she’d finished and then looked up at me with her eerie, pale eyes, licking her chops. With great studiousness, she began to groom her paw and face.

  “Indeed,” I said and sighed, to nothing in particular.

  I had rarely been so grateful to see my bed, to climb in under the sheets with the cat. My mind should have been racing on what Jana had told me—but it was the opposite. It was black, empty, numb. I did not hear Kutkha’s voice. No magical inspiration, déjà vu, good ideas. And I still couldn’t remember what I was supposed to be doing tonight.

  There were no nightmares this time: there was nothing, a balmy hum of sleep that was abruptly disturbed by an explosion of light and, then, a familiar, overly cheerful, still slightly raspy voice. “Yoo-hoo! Wakey wakey, rise from your gwavey.”

  “Uh? Vassily?” I slurred, covering my throbbing eyes. “Please just… let me sleep.”

  “Hey, don’t give me that shit. You were the one that wanted to come along tonight.” He threw something at me, and it landed heavily on my chest and sent the cat scattering. “What the fuck happened to the house today? Did we get robbed?”

  “No. Long story.” Groggily, I leaned up and peered down. He’d thrown me a shoulder holster. “What did I want to come... go to?”

  “We’re doing the laundry, remember? Nic’s money?”

  Oh, no. The casino. Atlantic City. The Laguettas. I was on bodyguard duty. GOD help me.

  “So I cleaned the place up while you were getting your beauty sleep, and I got us a room at the Taj Mahal, just you and me.” Vassily was half-dressed, throwing on a shirt to what looked like a new and fashionable suit. I caught a glimpse of the long, muscular line of his back before it was hidden from view and frowned, sitting up to rub my face.

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly seven. What’s up, Lexi? You don’t look so great.”

  “I need… call,” I blurted. “Crina. She should come.”

  “Oh.” Vassily turned, but I saw him frown. “Well, I booked the room for two, but I guess you can get another if you want to shack up with your girl tonight.”

  “No, she can stay.” I realized immediately that I hadn’t thought that through. “I mean, yes, she can stay with me. Properly, in another room. Girlfriend.”

  He looked less pleased than I expected. “She better get her ass moving. We have to go in about forty-five minutes. Mikhail’ll be here with a car.”

  “Forty-five. How late is this going to go?”

  “Three or four or five a.m.” Vassily laced his belt up around his shirt, smoothing it down over his belly. “I dunno if this is really the sort of gig for your girlfriend to come, Lexi. Crina might get a little familiar with the business, you know what I mean?”

  “She’s fine.” I slid out of bed and tested my leg. It was still bruised, but I could walk. I didn’t want to, but I could walk. “And you were right. Lev’s trying to have me killed.”

  “Make sure you pack—what?” He turned, scowling, halfway through clipping on his tie. We could both tie real ties, but when you worked this business, you didn’t wear them. You didn't want to wear anything that anyone could grab and choke you with, if a night turned to shit. “What?”

  “You heard me. I think you’re right. This job is bad news, and Lev is part of it.”

  “Holy shit,” Vassily said. “Already? No way. You know for sure? How’d you find out?”

  “One of the partners in his firm, Jana Volotsya, warned me after she overheard him from her office. It’s not a hundred percent certain, given it’s hearsay, but it’s looking more and more likely.”

  Vassily blinked. “Yeah, it is. Well, fuck. Let me ask around a bit—I might be able to confirm or deny it. Ovar’d probably know. I’ll ask him and Nic for you, all right?”

  “You could, but it’s getting harder to know who’s on the chopping block, and why,” I said. Now that I was awake, I could see Vassily was still haggard, pale, and jowly, but the fierceness was back in his voice and in his hands. “I don’t trust them.”

  “We have to be able to trust somebody.” Vassily tossed his hands in the air. “Oy. Go ring up your girl, man. We have to go.”

  The exclamation didn’t have his usual ring of humor, and it didn’t seem worth trying to explain what had happened with the other Nacari today. I hobbled away to my office as fast as my knee allowed. I got fresh clips for the Wardbreaker, fumbled with the phone and my wallet, and found Crina’s card. It was plain red, matte, with her name and number embossed in black. It smelled of Charlie Gold perfume and clove cigarettes.

  “’llo?”

  “Crina, it’s Alexi.” I leaned on the ledger with my hand in my hair. “I apologize for calling you at this hour, but I was wondering if I could cancel your visit for tomorrow—”

  “Oh, Alexi. That’s fine, no problem.” She cut me off, a little breathily. I wasn’t certain, but she sounded disappointed.

  “No, wait. I was wondering if you’re free now.” I exhaled thinly through my nose, massaging my scalp. “We’re going to Atlantic City tonight.”

  “Atlantic City? I’d love to. I’m just eating breakfast… what time is ‘tonight’?”

  I winced. “In about forty minutes.”

  She laughed, a bright burst of yellow sound. “Forty? Alexi, my goodness. You really don’t date, do you? Okay, I’ll do it. But not for free.”

  “All expenses paid,” I said. “And you can borrow as many books as you can carry.”

  “Deal.”

  Thank the Universe for small mercies. “I’ll arrange to drive by and pick you up. Where should we meet you?”

  “Outside Sirens. We all know where that is.” I could hear her grin.

  Forty minutes might be pushing it for her, but it was usually enough for me. I looked over at the hammer ruefully. I wanted to take it. After watching a gun eat a man alive, I was beginning to feel a bit superstitious about carrying one.

  I reached out and pulled down my dictionary of Kabbalah, taking it with me on the way back to my closet. Nothing in there could stop car bombs, demonically possessed
golems, or a hopped-up super-Guido and his pet hellhounds, but at least I’d look suitably wizardly while I figured out how, exactly, I was going to live out the week.

  Chapter 14

  Mob drivers are generally willing to do pretty much anything, provided you tip freely and well. Stopping by Sirens to collect Crina added an extra twenty minutes and twenty bucks to the three-hour trip to Atlantic City, but her presence was priceless. She was the only sane person in the car, as far as I was concerned. Kutkha was there in the back of my mind, which also helped. Even without a verbal reply from my Neshamah when I sought contact, his secret presence was reassuring.

  I was seated to one side of the car. Vassily was in the middle, and his escort for the night to his left. Mikhail had the other door, chewing gum like a Jersey cow, while Crina was pressed in knee to knee with the blonde Russian girl from Vanya’s place, the one who had answered the door naked. She was already drunk, braying with laughter at everything Mikhail said, while the other two women shot each other sympathetic glances. Crina had one of her PhD texts out, a first edition copy of Kolyma Tales. A fine pair we made, withdrawn from the conversation, books in our hands.

  For my part, I focused on creating an impenetrable shell of concentrated brooding, trying to study words of power from the grimoire. Books are useful things for spooks. If someone looks over and glimpses a dense wall of text and unfamiliar symbols, they tend to lose the itch to make much chitchat. Maybe it was the added weight of my Neshamah’s subliminal presence, but it seemed to work better than usual. Vassily’s eyes shot across now and then, but he quickly looked away.

  We skimmed two and a half hours of the finest scrubby pine barrens New Jersey had to offer on our trip down the parkway. The only good thing about Atlantic City was that it was neutral ground. Atlantic City gangs were small and localized, the Mob nearly nonexistent. No one faction controlled the powerful casino union, and the only guys running rackets were the Chinese. They were good hosts. A polite call ahead to one Mr. Leung and an expression of willingness to spend money at “his” casino was more than enough to grease those particular wheels.