by Tanya Huff
“Oh, joy, oh, bliss,” Dickson muttered. Vicki tensed as the guard pushed her back until her shoulder blades pressed against the concrete wall. “Stay there. Don’t move. You’ve missed lunch, but considering the food in here, that might be a good thing.”
Vicki could feel people staring. The bars were a hazy grid at the edge of her vision and beyond that she could make out only a shifting sea of blue.
The hair on the back of her neck rose. You’re only in there until you talk to the shrink. You don’t need to see anything.
To her right, she could hear the clatter of spoons against a plastic tray and then the new guard’s voice rising above the noise. “So, what’ve you got?”
“Skinbeef. Brain-fried, too.”
“Violent?”
“Barely mobile.”
“Can she piss in the pot?”
“Probably.”
“Well, thank God for small mercies. I’ve already got four that have to be hosed down. Where the fuck am I supposed to put her though, that’s the question. I’m three down in fifteen out of eighteen cells now.”
“Put her in with Lambert and Wills.”
During the long pause that followed, Vicki realized the two guards were talking about her. As though she wasn’t there. As though she didn’t matter. Because she didn’t.
“Skinbeef, eh?” The second pause had a more ominous sound. “How old was the kid?”
“Don’t know.”
“Well, I think Lambert and Wills will make her feel real welcome.” She raised her voice. “All right, you lot, get inside, you know the drill. Oh, for Christ’s sake, Naylor, take Chin with you. You know she gets lost. . . .”
Gradually the sea of blue receded, turned into separate shapes, then disappeared. Vicki heard the sound of steel doors closing.
“Shu . . . shu . . . shu . . . ?”
“What the hell are you muttering about?” Dickson’s face swam into focus as she grabbed Vicki’s arm above the elbow and tugged her toward the set of double doors that led into the cell block.
“Shink . . .”
“Oh, the shrink. Hey, Cowan, the shrink been in yet today?”
“Yeah. Came and left before lunch.”
“You heard her. Looks like you’re in here until Wednesday at least.”
Wednesday. Monday’s half over. Then Tuesday. Then Wednesday. But the shrink came in the morning. So really only two days. Half of Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday. I can do two days. I can make it. Even without my glasses.
They stopped in front of one of the cells and Vicki was willing to take any odds that the two women inside were watching her suspiciously from their bunks. The cells were built for two, a third meant the beginning of crowding that often went as high as five. She intended to move quietly into the cell, but her legs froze at the threshold and the panic started to rise again.
“Come on, Hanover, move it!”
A shove in the small of her back catapulted her forward and after three wild steps she crashed to her knees.
It’s okay. It’s only two days. Once the drug is gone, I’ll be fine. These people are crazy. I’m not. Slowly, carefully, she got to her feet. Behind her, she heard the cell door locked and Dickson moving away. Even if the mummy got to Henry, or Celluci—and dealing with that possibility would have to wait—it can’t have gotten to the psychiatrist. Two days. I’ll be out of here in two days.
The bunk to her right squealed a protest as the woman reclining on it swung to her feet. Hands held out from her sides, Vicki turned to face her cell mate. Remember, she’s crazy. Probably confused. Lost. You’re not. Two days.
Cropped gray hair and a tiny, whippet-thin frame. Large dark eyes in a face that seemed all points. Something familiar . . . but Vicki couldn’t see well enough to determine what.
“Well, well, well. Will wonders never cease.”
The voice sound low and clear and frighteningly sane.
“Isn’t it amazing the people you meet in these places, Natalie?”
The grunt from the other bunk could’ve meant anything.
Vicki felt a dry palm and fingers wrap around her right hand. Her knuckles began to rub painfully. She tried to return the pressure without much effect.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Detective Nelson . . .”
Lambert. Angel Lambert. What the hell is she doing in Special Needs?
“. . . you can’t imagine.”
Oh, yes, I can . . .
“Nelson Investigations. No one is available to take your call, but . . .”
“Damn it, Vicki, where the fuck are you?” Celluci slammed down the receiver and slammed out of the phone booth. Vicki never used her answering machine when she was home. So she wasn’t home. So where was she? He’d left a message on Fitzroy’s machine and called Vicki’s apartment half a dozen times from half a dozen different areas in the city.
She was probably out working; tracking the mummy, gathering information; maybe even doing her laundry or the grocery shopping. He had no reason to believe she might be in danger.
Cantree’s looking for me. Dave would’ve mentioned it if she’d been pulled into this as well. Trouble was, Cantree, not to mention a good part of the force, knew about their relationship. And if Fitzroy had found something out about the mummy that Vicki thought she could use, and then she had, Cantree and the Metro Police could be the least of her worries. She was a good cop. One of the best. You don’t get to be one of the best without learning not to throw yourself at a superior force.
So that takes care of Cantree and the mummy, Celluci told himself. Vicki’s fine. There’s no reason to believe she’s in any danger just because she didn’t call you when she said she was going to. You’re the one up shit creek without the paddle.
He lit a cigarette, shoved his hands back into his pockets, and slouched down the street, trying not to inhale—a haze of cigarette smoke made an almost impenetrable camouflage when people thought they were looking for a non-smoker. It had been one of Vicki’s tricks for going undercover and he suddenly realized how much he’d been counting on her help. Sure, she rushes right over when Fitzroy needs her, but when my balls are in the fire where is she . . . ?
Fourteen
There were four messages on Henry’s answering machine. Two were from Mike Celluci for Vicki. One was from someone named Dave Graham for Celluci; apparently nothing had changed. With a growing sense of unease, Henry wondered just what nothing referred to. The fourth message was from Tony, for him.
“Look, Henry, I know Victory says you’re okay, but I want to hear it from you. Call me. Please.”
He’d barely hung up after reassuring the younger man when the phone rang.
“Fitzroy? Celluci. Have you heard from Vicki?”
Henry’s grip tightened on the receiver. The plastic groaned. “No,” he said quietly, “I haven’t. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to get her all day. When she contacts you, warn her to lay low. Cantree’s got a warrant out for my arrest and he might have one for her.”
Cantree. The man Henry had watched ensorcelled. According to Vicki, Celluci had been vocal about his belief in the mummy around the station so it wasn’t surprising Tawfik had decided to silence him. Henry frowned. Tawfik had no contact with Vicki though.
“What does Vicki have to do with this?” he demanded.
“Cantree knows how close we are, Vicki and I.” The emphasis was unmistakably a deliberate dig. “He won’t believe for a minute that I didn’t give her all the details on something I felt that strongly about.”
Henry fought his way through a wave of jealousy and barely made it out the other side. “How do we know he doesn’t already have her?”
“I gave Dave Graham, my partner, your number. If she’s picked up, he’ll let me know.”
“Graham left a message. He says nothing’s changed.”
“Okay. Cantree doesn’t have her. You stay put in case she calls. I’ll stay in touch. Once we know she’s safe, we can make pl
ans.”
“Do not presume, mortal . . .”
“And don’t bullshit me, Fitzroy. Can you find her?”
Could he track the call of her blood, with so many other lives around? “No.”
“Then stay put! Look,” Henry heard the effort it took for Celluci to force reason into his voice, “if you hit the streets, we’ll have no way to pull together again. Vicki can take care of herself.”
“Not against Tawfik.”
“God damn it, Fitzroy, she’s not up against Tawfik. He’s using Cantree now to . . .”
“What about Trembley?”
“He didn’t have his bully boys in place then. I know how these guys work. Once they have an organization set up, they don’t dirty their own hands anymore.”
“Tawfik is not some petty crime boss, Detective.” Henry bit the words off and spat them into the phone. “And you have no idea of how the mind of an immortal works.” Ignoring anything further Celluci had to say, and that seemed to be a great deal, Henry very carefully hung up the phone. Vicki lived. He would have felt the absence of her life.
Come to the corner where we first met, Tawfik had told him. And I will find you.
Find me, Henry thought back at the memory, give yourself up into my hands, and you will tell me where she is.
The world had taken on a tint of red.
For a few hours at least, it was over. Vicki lay back on her mattress and tried to relax her muscles enough to sleep. Although she regained more control with every hour, the twisted ridges across her back refused to unknot. She didn’t blame them.
Angel Lambert was pretending to have slipped a few gears in order to get out of a trip to Kingston and the Women’s Penitentiary. The right diagnosis would send her to the relative comfort of a hospital and a short time later back out on the streets. Her bragging had been very explicit. Of course, the bragging had come after Lambert had assured herself that Vicki hadn’t been placed on the range as a police spy.
“Maybe they figure’d that ’cause you aren’t on the force no more you’d be safe.” Arms crossed, Lambert had walked a slow circle around her new cell mate. Vicki tried to keep her in sight, nearly fell over, and gave up. “ ’Course, druggin’ you seems to be goin’ just a bit far.” Making sure Vicki saw what she was about to do, she lashed out, kicking Vicki hard in the calf, the toe of her sneaker sinking deep into the muscle.
Vicki tried to avoid the blow but couldn’t get her leg to respond in time. She grunted in pain and made a grab for Lambert’s throat.
Lambert leaned easily back out of the way. “Well, well, well. Got doped up and got yourself in trouble, eh? Heard the guard say you were in on a juvie skinbeef. You know what that means, don’t you? They’re not gonna care if you pick up a few bruises. In fact, they’re hopin’ you will. That’s why you’re in with us. We got us a bit of a rep for playin’ rough.” She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, scratching a little at her biceps. “I saw your eyes when you recognized me, so I know you’re in there. And I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that as soon as that drug wears off you’re gonna clean my clock. Not a bad plan, you’re bigger than me and you got all that fancy training, but,” she smiled, “I got something you don’t. Natalie, come around where our new friend can see you.”
At five ten, Vicki didn’t look up at many women, but Natalie Wills was huge. Even slouched she had to top six feet; if she ever straightened up, she’d probably hit six six or six seven. Her frizzy halo of blonde hair emphasized the rounded curves of her face and her pale blue eyes bulged slightly out of the sockets. At some point in the past, her nose had been broken, at least once, and improperly set. Through the space between slack lips, Vicki could hear heavy adenoidal breathing. Her breasts and belly stretched the limits of the jail uniform. It looked and moved like fat but Vicki wasn’t willing to give any odds that it actually was.
“Natalie’s my friend,” Lambert purred. “Aren’t you, Natalie?”
Natalie nodded slowly, the comers of her mouth twisting up in what Vicki assumed was a smile.
“Natalie’s very strong. Aren’t you, Natalie?”
Natalie nodded again.
“Why don’t you show our new roommate how strong you are, Natalie. Pick her up.”
Enormous hands closed around Vicki’s upper arms with a grip that painfully compacted muscle down onto bone. Her shoulders rose first, but the rest of her body soon followed until her feet were six inches off the floor.
Oh, great. Darth Vader in drag.
“Very good, Natalie. Now, shake her.”
After the first few seconds, it seemed as though Vicki’s brain had broken free of its moorings and was slamming around independently inside her skull.
“Drop her, Natalie.”
The floor seemed much farther away than she knew it was. Her knees cracked painfully hard against the concrete and she fell forward, just barely managing to get an arm between her face and the floor. If she’d had anything in her stomach, she’d have lost it.
“You puking down there?” Lambert inquired, squatting down and grabbing Vicki’s hair. “You puke in my cell and you lick it up.”
“Uck uf.” Her voice still wasn’t clear, but she figured Lambert got the point when her fist twisted around, nearly removing the handful of hair.
“Once that drug wears off, you’ll be out of here next time the shrink’s by. That’ll be Wednesday at the earliest. You and me and Natalie, we’re gonna have a fun two days.”
Two days. I can take two days of anything.
But lying there, listening to Natalie’s moist breathing, Vicki wondered if she could. It wasn’t the physical abuse—if that got too bad, the guards would intervene, even for a skinbeef, and by morning she should be in better shape to defend herself—it was the sheer hopelessness of the situation. She’d been swept up and slotted neatly into the system and the system didn’t like to admit it had made a mistake. The shrink would get her out of Special Needs, but that would only land her in another cell just like this one in another part of the jail. From there she could talk all she wanted, but her court date would never come up and like Lambert said, “Who the hell’s gonna believe you? A cop gone bad; a juvie skinbeef, a doper. In here, I’ve got more credibility.”
It was almost as if she’d been dropped into her worst nightmare.
Two days in here, but how long until I’m out?
And what about Henry and Celluci? Had Henry betrayed her? Had Celluci been taken? Not knowing made everything worse.
Her eyes filled with moisture and she angrily blinked them dry. Then she frowned. Refracted in a tear, she seemed to see two tiny pinpoints of glowing red light. That was impossible. She couldn’t see anything.
Although the cells went no darker than a gray and shadowed twilight, lights out for Vicki had meant the end of what little sight she had without her glasses. Lambert had quickly recognized the handicap and set about taking full advantage of it. Surprisingly enough, when there was no longer any point in struggling to see, Vicki found things a little easier. Sound and smell, and the movement of air currents against her skin were a lot more useful than her deteriorating vision had been although, unfortunately, not useful enough to avoid the constant attacks. Natalie could have played the game all night, but Lambert had soon gotten bored and ordered the larger woman to bed.
Natalie liked hurting people—her strength was the only power she had—and Lambert liked seeing people hurt. Vicki sighed silently. How nice for them that they’ve found each other.
She knew she needed sleep, but she didn’t think she’d be able to find it; she ached in too many places, supper had congealed into a solid lump just under her ribs, the mattress seemed to be deliberately digging into her shoulders and hips, and the smell of the place coated the inside of her nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe. Mostly she didn’t think she could sleep because despair kept chasing its tail around and around in her head.
Finally exhaustion claimed her and she
drifted off to the sound of plastic against concrete as two cells down a woman struggled against padded shackles and banged the hockey helmet she wore over and over against the wall.
Henry’s fingers tightened where they rested against the concrete light standard and under the pressure the concrete began to crumble.
Tawfik! Here I am!
“Hey, buddy, can you spare a . . .”
Who dared? He turned.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” Under stubble and dirt, the drunk paled. His nightmares often wore that expression. One filthy arm raised to cover his eyes, he staggered away, muttering, “Forget it, man. Forget me.”
He was already forgotten.
Henry had no time to spare on thoughts of mortals. He wanted Tawfik.
He could feel the Nightwalker’s anger. The brilliance of his ka was aflame with it.
Find me!
He stood at the window and stared down at the street. Although the angle of the hotel cut through his line of sight, he knew exactly where young Richmond waited. His passion thrust his ka forward with such force that Tawfik barely had to reach out to touch it. Surface thoughts were still all that were open to him, but those thoughts boiled with enough raw emotion that, for tonight, the surface was entertaining enough.
“Such a small city this turns out to be,” he murmured, lightly touching the glass. “So you know my lord’s plaything and the police officer who sent her to find me—who appears to be giving my hunting dogs a good run.” Tawfik suddenly remembered the doors he had been maneuvered past on his walk through the chosen one’s mind and he smiled. Two of the doors had just given up their secrets. How noble that she had tried to protect those close to her. “I imagine all these little interconnections have twisted her up far worse than I ever could. My lord must be pleased.” If his lord even noticed; very often subtleties were ignored in favor of blind gorging. Tawfik sighed. He had realized long, long ago that he had sworn himself to a god without grandeur.