Demon Song bs-3

by Cat Adams

  “He said you could keep me safe. I just want to be safe.” Really? Ron said that? Wow. I hoped my dropped jaw wasn’t too obvious.

  “Who’s trying to hurt you?”

  Now the eyes went to the floor. Uh-oh. Trouble. “No one in particular.”

  That was such bullshit. No way would someone with that much fear in her face and body not know who was trying to hurt her. “Bullshit. Try again.” My voice came out a little harsher than I’d planned. After all, she was just a kid.

  But it snapped her out of it. The eyes went from frightened to angry. “Excuse me? You don’t get to talk to me that way. I’m the one hiring you.”

  Reality check for the young miss. I held up one finger to stop the flashing eyes. She dropped her feet to the floor and held her body straight for the first time since she’d walked into the room. I could finally get a good look at her. She had long dark, shining hair and a little baby fat around her waist. But she was healthy and had good muscle tone, so she probably wasn’t a runaway. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, Ms. Bustamante. I put my life on the line for complete strangers. I walk into unknown dangers.” I raised up my upper lip to reveal the fangs and watched her eyes go wide again, for a different reason. “I got these on a job. I plan for as much as I can, but I rely on my clients to be absolutely honest with me. If there are known dangers I need to prepare for, I need that knowledge.”

  “You’re obviously in trouble. I can see it in your face. You’re twelve and you need a professional bodyguard? What the hell did you do to someone or what did they do to you to require that?” Her fingers started moving in her lap, twining over each other. I caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on nails bitten nearly to the quick. Then one hand moved up to twist a lock of hair. She was holding my gaze but just barely. The tension in that small body … it was ready to explode and I didn’t know which way the blast was going to go. I finally took pity and softened my voice. “Maria … one of the reasons people hire a bodyguard is to finally … finally be able to tell someone the truth. Someone who’ll understand, will take it seriously, and will never, in a million years, tell a soul.” I finished in a whisper that seemed loud in the silent room.

  That was the straw. The coil unwound and she fell backward into the chair. The tough shell shattered into a million pieces and tears came to her eyes. “He’s going to kill me, Miss Graves. He already killed my brother, Manuel, and then he’ll kill me and there will be nobody to help Mama or Papa. Oh, God, please. I don’t wanna die.” The collapse was complete and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “Who?”

  “Jorge Encarcion.”

  Oh, dear God. Fuck a duck. Jorge “the Viper” Encarcion was the baddest of the bad drug dealers in this part of the state. He dealt mostly in flame and tame: magical drugs—enhanced versions of the typical coke or ecstasy that gave the user both a mental and physical high. With the temporary illusion charm, a user could do anything … be anything on flame. A model for a day? No problem. An actor at the top of his career was just a quick pop away. But the effects were devastating for people born without magic to draw on. The drug fed on the body itself, causing scars, muscle twitches, and paralysis. Tame was just the opposite. It was the Valium of the new millennium. A bad day at the office or major life tragedy was all better after a quick needle to the veins. But it was horribly addictive and could even make your heart or lungs stop cold.

  Still, it wasn’t the drugs that made the Viper a man to be feared. It was his utter ruthlessness. It was one thing to be amoral or even immoral. Both were common in drug dealers. To rule that world required an ability to destroy anything and anyone who showed the least bit of weakness.

  Including a twelve-year-old girl. “What did you do to him?”

  She sniffed and reached for a tissue. I keep them on the client’s side of the desk. I had to stretch if I needed one. “I was supposed to carry some product for him—take it to the mall and give it to the client. It was simple. Everyone said it was so simple, and the pay was good.”

  “But it wasn’t simple. Was it? What went wrong?”

  Her face blushed so hard I thought she’d catch on fire. “They were in balloons. You know, so they wouldn’t show up on the sniff sensors at the mall entrances. I swallowed them the night before and was supposed to … pass them, clean them off, and deliver them.”

  Um. Eww. I’d never really thought about the realities of the balloon thing. But logically, they wouldn’t decompose and could bend around the corners of the intestine. Still … double eww. “Okay. So you went to the mall, spotted the client, went to the bathroom, and…” I paused because a horrifying thought occurred to me. “Which mall?”

  She nodded, knowing what I was asking. “Twin Palms.”

  My hand went to my mouth. I wasn’t sure whether I was stifling a laugh or a scream. Her face contorted with the same blend of emotions. “They refurbished the bathrooms this spring.”

  Another nod and more tears sprang up. “I hadn’t been there for a long time. My family, we can’t afford stores like that. I’d never seen toilets that automatically flushed.”

  Crap. Literally. She’d passed the balloons and … swirlie city. No more drugs. “So you have no drugs, no money, and … what? You ran? Did you explain or just run?”

  She had to blow her nose before responding. “I ran. Manuel, he went to see Jorge. He’d worked with him before. He’d convinced the Viper to give me a chance. He tried to explain, convince him we’d pay back the money. But the … bastard wouldn’t listen.” Her voice went harsh and was painful to hear. “He shot my brother and dumped the body in front of our house with a note pinned to his chest.”

  Somehow I knew she really meant chest.

  I sighed. “And you’re next.” She nodded, her lower lip trembling.

  The problem was, she really was going to die. The Viper was known for being relentless when pissed. I couldn’t be with her every minute of every day. From what I’d read about him, right now he was targeting her personally. Unlike the Italian Mafia bosses, instead of trusting underlings with the dirty work, he liked to keep his hands bloody. But if he didn’t get her himself in a few days, he’d likely get bored and simply put out a contract on her. Then there would be dozens, if not hundreds, of people after her. And she would die.

  “When did this happen? When did your brother die?”

  The heartbreak on her face was hard to watch. “Two days ago. That’s when I came to see Mr. Ron. He’d helped my mama buy our house and I thought maybe—”

  But Ron was a real estate attorney, not a criminal one. And even a criminal attorney couldn’t do much except convince Maria to do what was first on my mind, too. “Have you called the police? Told them what you know about the Viper?”

  She shook her head, slowly at first and then quicker as if trying to shake the very idea out of her mind. Meaning she’d considered it. Maybe even to the point of dialing the phone. “No. I can’t. The police are afraid of him. They never come to that side of town. He’ll kill them, too, and they know it.”

  I tried never to think ill of the police in the city. They did an amazing job. But I had to admit that there were more reports of violence on Federal Boulevard than there were reports of arrests and convictions. Either Encarcion was really talented at concealing evidence of his crimes or the cops were afraid. I was betting it was talent over fear. Which could make my life very, very short if I took this job. “Is there anywhere you could stay for a while? Somewhere out of town?” It was not as much an admission of defeat as of reality.

  She didn’t argue, which said she wasn’t too brave for her own good. “I have an aunt in Iowa. So you’re saying there’s no hope? What about Mama and Papa?”

  “There’s always hope.” I believed that and tried to convince Maria with my face and body. “If you’d been more than just a mule, there would be more hope. If you knew something important that could be traded to the authorities for protection…” I let the sentence hang, pray
ing she hadn’t come completely clean.

  She stared at my Rolodex and nibbled on her lower lip. I watched her anxiously. I wanted so much for her to have an out of this, to have a bright future that was worth her brother’s sacrifice. “I know Jorge will be at Smallmouth Harbor on Saturday night to pick up a load of cocaine from South America. He plans to kill the captain and sink the boat so he doesn’t have to pay for it.”

  Whoa. I’d expected maybe a tidbit I could beg for a favor on. But this … “Are you certain? How do you know?”

  She shrugged and looked embarrassed again. “I had a hard time swallowing the balloons. I think he thought I’d left when he was telling his lieutenant. But his girlfriend was nice. She stayed in the bathroom with me for a long time to help me get them down. I kept gagging.”

  That was nothing to get embarrassed about. I was pretty sure I’d gag, too. But okay. This was big. It was in the future and it was actionable. But who to call?

  I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers next to my lips. I could call Alex. But if she was still following up on my last tip, she was working to get a squad out to the prison. That was damned important, and I didn’t want to interrupt her. Still, she was my only real contact in the local police. I knew more sheriff’s deputies because that department allowed moonlighting, so I’d met a few guys off-duty, on bodyguard assignments. But a drug bust on the harbor wasn’t a sheriff’s department sort of assignment. Apparently, I needed to meet more people in the city police, and since the local cops couldn’t take a second job, it would have to be the old-fashioned way—dropping in to talk. I filed the thought away for future action.

  I saw Maria open her mouth out of the corner of my eye and held up a hand to stop her. “Give me a minute. I have to think.”

  A thought occurred to me and I moved forward so suddenly I scared poor Maria. “Got it!” I announced it so she didn’t bolt right out of the chair with a scream. I spun the card index until I reached the “R” section and plucked out a business card that had been taped to one of the slotted ones. I was already reaching for the phone.

  After two rings, my call was picked up. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Special Agent Rizzoli’s office.”

  Bummer. He’d answered personally the last time I called. “Is he in? I need to speak to him right away.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t. Her voice was bored and impatient. “He’s out on assignment. Can I have him call?”

  That could take ten minutes … or a week. Was it worth the risk? I sighed. “Yeah, I guess you might as well give him the message. Have him call Celia Graves. It’s urgent. And I mean really, really urgent.”

  “Spell that for me.”

  How hard is “Celia Graves” to spell? Whatever. I spelled it, slowly and politely, just in case she was his boss or something and decided to pitch the message in the trash if I was rude. Just to be safe, I added, “Please tell him it’s about Jorge Encarcion. Again, it’s urgent.”

  There was a pause on the line and I was certain she’d hung up. “Hello? Did you get that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her voice had changed. Now she sounded interested. “Let me read that number back.” She did. It was right. “I’ll have him call you as soon as possible.”

  Had I hit a nerve by mentioning Encarcion’s name? God, I hoped so. I hung up and let out a slow breath. “Okay. We need to find a place where you can be safe for a few days until I hear back from the guy I just called.” In normal circumstances, I would just escort her home and tell her to stay home sick from school for a few days. But Jorge knew where she lived, so that was out, and so was putting her with anyone I trusted to watch over her. The people I trust I also care about, and not everybody is suited to the life I live. What Maria really needed was a caretaker who could also take care of himself. Someone to keep her on the straight and narrow, to dissuade her from believing that the drug trade was a viable career choice. To protect her from herself as much as the outside menaces.

  A warrior.

  Or … a warrior priest. “What religious faith are you?”

  She furrowed her brow, as though it were a stupid question. “Catholic.”

  “What would you think about staying at a seminary for a few days with your family? Specifically, with the local warrior priests?” It could be the answer to everything. A lot of the dealers from south of the border were Catholic. They’d think twice about shooting someone on holy ground. Maria could continue her schoolwork and her family would be protected. The warrior priests are kick-butt guys—skilled in both martial combat and demonic battling. Few messed with them. But the ones I’d met were all wonderful, caring men who would definitely be concerned for a young girl like her.

  The fear was back in the girl’s eyes, but there was something else there, too. I think it was hope. “I think Mama would be really excited. She’s never met a warrior priest. But she doesn’t know about this. I haven’t told her Manuel died.”

  Hadn’t told her? I didn’t think anything else could shock me, but Maria had managed it. “You said he dumped Manuel’s body in front of the house.”

  Now she’d clammed up. Crap. I was already in too deep. What the hell had she done with her brother’s body?

  Wait. That wasn’t my job. Her brother was dead. I couldn’t help him anymore. I could also understand her panicking when she found his body. Now I’d agreed to protect her. The best way to do that was to get her out of the line of fire. Yeah, she definitely needed some priests around her. If nothing else, for confession and helping her break the news to her folks. The police would have to get involved eventually. Maria had committed a crime by hiding a body someone else had killed, but they probably wouldn’t prosecute if she could help them catch a bigger dog.

  I pushed back my chair and stood. “Let’s get you out to the seminary. I’ll call them on the way and have one of the priests go to your house to collect your parents.”

  She seemed relieved I didn’t ask anything more about Manuel’s body and happy that I included her parents in my plans. I’d already put on my knife sheaths before she came in, but when I reached for my shoulder holster her eyes went wide. I shrugged. “We can’t guarantee there isn’t someone waiting outside. I want to be sure we make it to my car and to the seminary.”

  On the way out, I planned to tell Dawna to implement security level one. It was a literal switch at her desk that would turn on a special perimeter barrier that would sound an alert if anyone approaching was armed with something metal. The door would be locked so that each guest had to be buzzed in and a nitrates sniffer would activate as someone approached the door. We’d do it all the time except the sniffer caught too many things out of the air from the military base down the road. The random sirens had driven us nuts until we figured out why they were going off.

  After putting on my blazer, I picked up my purse and motioned Maria to her feet. “We’ll take the interstate. That’ll give us more maneuvering room if—”

  The intercom buzzer sounded and I looked at the phone as if it could see me. “Celia? I’m sorry to interrupt. Could you pick up?”

  Dawna didn’t interrupt a client meeting unless it was really important, so I reached across and picked up the receiver. “What’s up?”

  “Remember that FBI guy who came to the office a few months ago? He’s on line two.”

  Rizzoli? Wow! I guess I had hit a nerve. “Got it. Thanks.” I motioned Maria back to her seat and walked back around the desk, the phone’s cord stretching to its limit as I did. I pressed the button and heard the characteristic static of a cell phone. “Rizzoli? Is that you?” For a moment I heard nothing but the sounds of a busy street.

  “Make it fast, Graves. And it had better be fucking important to interrupt a deep-cover stakeout.” Wow. I’d never heard him swear before.

  “You’ve heard of Jorge Encarcion?”

  “It’s why I’m calling. Like I said, give me something useful or I hang up now and go back to looking like a drunk bum.”

&n
bsp; I might pay to see that. Rizzoli was very Italian and so very cookie-cutter Fed that I couldn’t imagine him in filthy clothes, sucking on a bottle of cheap wine. “What would you give me for a witness that could hand you Encarcion on a silver platter?”

  There was a long pause. “Don’t tease, Graves. You’re too much of a lady.”

  Aww … that was almost sweet. But I could hear the drool in his voice. “She’s a minor. I want a guarantee that you’ll protect her and her family before I hand her over. The Viper’s already taken out her brother. And when I say ‘guarantee,’ I mean paperwork with that lovely federal watermark on it.”

  There was muttered swearing that I couldn’t quite make out. But I could guess. Witnesses were nifty for court cases, but paperwork that ties the Feds to the protection of those witnesses doesn’t make for happy agents. Still, the word “minor” was enough to make him sigh. “Done. I’ll probably get an ass chewing, but I’ll do nearly anything to get a hot shower and a good meal after a week out here.” Was he implying he was on a stakeout about Encarcion? No wonder he had called. “Call my office. They’ll arrange for someone to pick up the witness, get the information they have, and get them to a safe house.”

  I made a noise that could be interpreted as rude in most polite circles. “No offense. But I haven’t had very good luck with people in your office. I trust you. I’m going to take her to the militant-priest seminary and I’m going to instruct them to deliver her only to you. And I want her kept out of the operation until it’s over.”

  Now there was a strangled scream of frustration and then an angry hiss of words over the line. “You’re killing me here. I’ve got to have something to take to my superiors before I can protect her.”

  Oh. Well, yeah. I suppose that was an issue. Unfortunately, it was a chicken-and-egg thing. He didn’t want responsibility without the information. I didn’t want to give him the information without a guarantee of responsibility. “Tell me where you are. I don’t want this broadcast. I’ll hand you the information personally.”