by Jon F. Merz
When I was in position, I tossed a little rock and it hit just outside the shack. Oldest trick in the book, but it was enough to draw him out and when he emerged, I came up behind him and snapped his neck, before letting him slump to the ground. I dragged his body back into the shack and took a set of keys from him. He had a cheap Beretta knock-off so I yanked the magazine out, cleared the chamber, and tossed everything off in different directions.
At the entrance to the warehouse, I slid the keys in until one of them fit. The lock slid back and I entered the building.
The corridor led up a slope and then turned, taking me further away from the exit. It grew steadily warmer as I progressed, the SIG in low-ready in case a target presented itself. I was hoping to be as silent as possible, though, and didn’t want to have to shoot anyone since the gunshot would instantly alert Cheval that I was there.
Around the corner, thick black wax candles flickered and dripped a stream of melted goo down from improvised braziers stuck into the walls. More graffiti littered the walls in bright colors. Underfoot, the cement had been replaced by cheap carpeting that muffled my steps.
In the distance, I heard something. Chanting, by the sound of it. It made sense, I supposed. Cheval had apparently gone right through a solid door earlier and I knew he was into voodoo or some other form of magic. No doubt, he would be preparing for that ceremony he’d alluded to back at the safe house. I didn’t care so much about LeClaire, but I sure as hell didn’t want anything happening to Larazo.
The corridor led me to a wide doorway that opened onto a catwalk overlooking a wide open floor below. The place was decked out in some serious swank with leather couches, tapestries, and two fully-stocked bars running along the walls. I spotted rows of expensive whiskeys and bottles of red wine. There were no windows but the walls appeared to have been sound-proofed. And toward the back of the massive room, there was an altar.
Cheval stood at the top of it, dressed in a tuxedo jacket and a top hat. He looked ridiculous. LeClaire lay on a black marble slab, gagged, and his chest exposed. Sweat poured out of him as he struggled against the leather bindings that fastened his hands and feet. Around Cheval, three more men stood dressed in robes. One held a live chicken under his arm. I couldn’t tell who was more frightened, the chicken or LeClaire.
I spotted Larazo in the back behind Cheval, but he was also bound, gagged, and shirtless. Aside from that, the place was seemingly empty.
I eased my way down the catwalk toward a set of steps leading down. If Larazo was due to be sacrificed after LeClaire, then I had to make sure it didn’t happen.
Cheval’s chanting filled my ears. He spoke in a singsong voice that rose and fell in a rhythmic fashion. I tried to block it out, but it was hard and my head still hurt from the knock I’d taken earlier.
I kept my eyes on the altar. Cheval suddenly stopped chanting and spoke to the three other men before him.
“Who comes to make an offering to the Baron Samedi?”
I frowned. I didn’t know squat about voodoo, but I assumed that this Baron Samedi was the guy Cheval had chosen to pray to. One of the three men stepped forward and presented a large bottle. Cheval took the bottle and smashed it into the altar.
“The rum is good. Baron Samedi is pleased.” He looked at the other men. “Who else?”
The next man brought up a box of cigars. Cheval lit them on fire and the room filled with the stench of tobacco. Cheval nodded. “The offering of cigars is well and good.” He regarded the final man. “And what have you to offer?”
The man presented the live chicken to Cheval and he took the bird, gripping it about the neck. From under his tuxedo jacket, Cheval pulled out a wicked looking curved blade and sliced the chicken’s breast open. Blood sprayed all over the alter and LeClaire’s sweaty chest.
I kept moving down the stairs.
Cheval tossed the corpse of the bird at the foot of the alter and nodded. “The offering of the chicken is good.”
I reached the bottom step and touched down on the main level. The air smelled nasty - a combination of rum, blood, and tobacco smoke - and I nearly sneezed in spite of myself.
Cheval kept talking to his followers. “Your offerings are all good and accepted. As you know, we must make these offerings to our loa so he will help us. But sometimes, Baron Samedi needs more help in order to cross over to us. The offerings are not enough to bring him here on this holy night. He requires more.” Cheval smiled. “Fortunately, we have not one, but two other offerings for the Baron Samedi tonight. Behold!” Cheval swept his arm over the altar where LeClaire lay still struggling to free himself.
I moved closer to the altar, using some of the couches to hide my approach. Cheval didn’t miss a beat and kept talking.
“The man before you is guilty of stealing from us. What Baron Samedi has so generously seen fit to bestow upon our family, this man would steal for himself. And therefore, a fitting judgment for his crimes shall be handed down and his blood will be spilled for the Baron. Cheval drew up the same knife that he’d used to kill the chicken and held it over LeClaire’s chest. A drop of chicken blood pooled at the very tip of the blade and fell down, staining LeClaire’s chest.
“LeClaire, now you will die.”
I stepped out from the cover of the couches and leveled the SIG on the far right follower and then squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught him square in the back and he dropped. The other two followers turned instantly on me but I waggled the gun.
“Stay where you are.”
Cheval didn’t move. “You are supposed to be dead.”
“I get that a lot,” I said stepping closer. “Untie Larazo and let him free.”
Cheval shook his head. “I cannot do that. Our loa demands offerings in order to help us. His needs must be met if I am to continue to be successful.”
“Yeah, well, that ain’t happening anymore. Your time in this city is hereby revoked.”
“Is it?” Cheval grinned again and plunged the blade down into LeClaire’s chest. LeClaire bucked once and then went still as a fountain of bright red blood erupted from his chest and spilled over the sides of the altar. The two followers moved as soon as Cheval did that and I fired at them. My first bullet caught one of them in the leg and he went down. My second bullet missed and the follower launched himself at me in the air. I brought the gun up and squeezed the trigger.
>Click<
Jammed!
No time to waste, I had barely enough time to get my hands up and ward off the attack. As the follower crashed into me, I turned and sent his body crashing into the wooden bar that ran the length of the room. His arms and legs splayed out as he impacted and I heard the sound of bones breaking.
I needed to clear the jam - which I could see was a failure to feed - so I locked the slide back, and ripped the magazine out. Luckily, the crushed round dropped out, so I shoved the mag back in, released the slide and fired off a shot at the follower’s body. The bullet smacked into his skull and he stayed where he was. I turned and shot the second follower again, ending his threat as well.
I pivoted and brought the pistol to rest on Cheval.
But he had the knife up to Larazo’s throat. “If you shoot me, he dies.”
“We played this game earlier,” I said. “You told me you didn’t need him except as a hostage.”
“Did I?” Cheval grinned. “I lied.”
“You’ve already gotten LeClaire. Let Larazo go.”
Cheval shook his head. “I cannot. I need his blood to again stoke the fires of the spirit world that enabled me to perform great magic earlier this evening.”
“Like you walking through a solid door?”
“Indeed. But such things tax me. I must be replenished with Baron Samedi’s power. And the only way to do so is with another sacrifice.”
“There’s another way,” I said finally.
Cheval eyed me. “Is there?”
I nodded and then shot him. The bullet hit him just below the philtrum, pl
owing into the lower portion of his skull and then severing his spinal cord before he could stab Larazo. The effect was instantaneous. Cheval dropped like a bowl of jelly, his legs buckling first and his body following.
I rushed the altar and grabbed Larazo, tearing off the gag first.
He sucked in a big gulp of air. “You took your sweet time getting here, pal.”
I untied his hands. “What’s with the bare chest look? You going into porn or something?”
Larazo shook his head. “You wish.”
“Not a chance.” I looked around, but the place was clear. Cheval’s body looked like a puddle of flesh, his blood spilled all over the altar. There was no hope for LeClaire, either and the two of them looked strangely entwined.
“Good riddance,” said Larazo. “They got what they deserved.”
“Never liked the idea of protecting a scumbag,” I said.
“You were doing me a favor,” said Larazo. “I appreciate that.”
“Consider it your Christmas gift.”
“You saving my life is my gift,” said Larazo. “As far as the favor goes, we’re square now.”
I nodded. “You need a shirt or something. All that chest hair is making me nauseous.”
Larazo rubbed his chest. “This is the mane of an Italian lion, my friend. Women love this look. You should be so lucky to sport a fur coat like this.”
“I’ll keep my hair all on my head, thanks.”
Larazo pointed. “Is that a full bar?”
“Why?”
“Because I need a goddamned drink.” He walked over and I heard him rummage behind the bar until he came up with two glasses and a bottle of something.
“What is that?”
He shrugged. “Beats the shit outa me. Want one?”
I slid onto the stool and Larazo poured us both a measure. “I don’t usually hang around crime scenes and corpses when I drink.”
Larazo shrugged. “You’re not offending these guys any longer. Cheers.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Larazo nodded. “Merry Christmas…even if it kinda sucked.”
“Oh, it definitely sucked,” I said. “But there’s always New Year’s.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We downed the drinks and Larazo poured us another. As I sat there surveying the scene, I noticed the temperature had fallen in the room and it was nearly freezing now. I looked back at Larazo. “You feel that?”
He nodded. “Ice cold.”
We glanced back at the altar. I could have sworn I saw some sort of mist or fog surrounding the bodies of Cheval and LeClaire.
Larazo’s voice was quiet. “Now might be a good time to take this party elsewhere.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Leave this to the clean-up crew.”
We walked quickly up the stairs and found our way out. Reaching the entry door, I felt a lot better. Outside, Larazo turned to me.
“What the hell was that?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “And I don’t care.”
Larazo glanced around. “Where the hell did you park?”
“A few blocks away. But don’t complain. At least you get to strut around and show off that fur.”
“You’re just jealous,” said Larazo.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am. But at least now I know what to get you next Christmas.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“A razor.”
Rudolf The Red Nosed Rogue
December 2011
If anybody had asked, I would have said that Talya in a white silk blouse and matching bikini panties would be a great Christmas present.
But Talya was currently man-tracking a Chechen drug lord in the frozen Siberian wilderness. So, the only thing keeping me company this Christmas Eve was a Bombay Sapphire and tonic.
And no one had asked anyway.
Outside the window, tiny white snowflakes drifted past, illuminated by the multicolored lights I'd strung up along the floor-to-ceiling windows in my Back Bay condo thirty floors up. From where I sat, Boston's skyline looked peaceful. Just the way it should.
The scent of pine hung in the air and I glanced at the tree I'd put up a week or so back. I needed a few more ornaments to fill it out, but I liked the shape.
And so did Dexter, the three year-old white cat I'd bought a few years after Mimi and Phoebe had both passed. As I watched, Dexter glided underneath the lowest boughs, brushing his fur against an ornament. Then he set up his ambush and waited for Desmond to wander through. Desmond had been my other acquisition; a silver tabby that was still getting used to having a home. It didn't help that most nights Dexter would pretty much play Prison Bitch with Desmond, while the smaller cat howled. My condo was starting to resemble an episode of Oz.
I took another sip of my drink and wondered about Talya. Siberia's no place you want to be in good weather. But in late December, it was even worse. The thought of her battling the elements in search of an elusive and deranged Chechen made me yearn to be with her.
But as much as we loved each other, we also knew each of us had their own life to lead. So when we were together, it was good. And when we weren't...well, we just weren't.
That sort of mutual respect worked well for our relationship. But it made the holidays a real pain in the ass. I'd already passed on attending Niles' annual holiday bash - too many folks from the Council there. And I'd never been one of their favorites. I do their dirty work - better, according to Niles, than any other Fixer they've got. So they tolerate me. But celebrating the season with me? That was pushing it.
Niles didn't care if it pissed them off. "Come anyway," he'd said. "Marty will be there and I'm sure she'd love to see you."
"I'm sure." Martina was the local armorer and she had a serious thing for me. But I wasn't interested in her, despite the fact that she was pretty top drawer herself.
I hadn't bothered calling Arthur. The grizzled old Fixer who now handled security at the Council building normally spent his Christmas camped out in front of a blazing fireplace with a big old bottle of his homemade drink Boomshanka. As he slowly "went on the piss," he'd spend his time thinking over past memories, ghosts and skeletons of his active duty years. Arthur had a lot of ghosts in his past, and he hadn't ever shared very many of them with me.
Sometimes, I think that was for the best.
Wirek was off in Maui surfing with the college librarian he'd somehow managed to hook up with at the grocery store. But that was Wirek. If it had a pair of breasts and a booty, Wirek was pretty much ready to go. A pulse was only a distant secondary consideration.
And people said my libido was out of control.
With the few friends I had off doing other things and Talya off chasing bad guys across frozen tundra, that left me pretty much doing nothing of importance, aside from seeing how much Bombay Sapphire and tonic I could drink before I passed out.
I was a half bottle in when my phone buzzed. Niles' number flashed on the screen. I picked it up. "Party end early?"
"You drunk yet?"
I smirked. Niles had a hair-trigger wit almost as fast as mine. Might have been what made us work so well together. "Not even close, unfortunately."
"Got a fast ball for you."
"It's Christmas Eve. You're kidding, right?"
"Santa came early, dude. And that coal? It's a bag of shit."
I paused. Duty never seemed to take a break, not even for a holiday. "Details?"
"Rudolf Hess. Heard of him before?"
"Never."
Niles sighed. "You don't ever read those intel briefings I send along, do you?"
"Sometimes, I do. If I'm having trouble falling asleep. They work like a charm."
"Funny guy. Hess is in town. Looking to unload some of his merchandise."
I glanced out the window. Everything still looked incredibly peaceful out there. Christmas Eve shouldn't be a time when anyone died. Whatever deity ruled the universe should simply give everyone a pass at least one nigh
t a year. I took a deep breath and blew it out, wishing I could have just stayed inside.
"What's he selling?"
"Illegal weapons. Rumor mills says he's arming a gang of thugs in Tai Tung Village. Last I checked, you were pretty familiar with that place."
"Don't bring her up."
"Hey, I'm not the one with the fondness for Chinese nurses who play volleyball and drive BMWs."
"It was a long time ago."
"Yeah." Niles cleared his throat. "Anyway, Hess is supposedly headed there with enough weapons to help this gang establish a decent toehold in Chinatown. We can't have that."
"I thought the Vietnamese had that place sewn up."
"They do. For the most part. But there's a small community of our people there. And the kids are getting a little tired of the Vietnamese influence. They apparently don't appreciate the necessity of remaining subtly in the background."
"Kids being kids," I said. I remembered it well. It was tough being what we are and having to play second fiddle to humans who are only around for seventy years or so. The desire to simply reveal ourselves and take over was strong, especially when you were battling the hormonal fluxes of being a teenager.
"Tai Tung, huh? You got a name for me? Who's running the show down there?"
"Huang. They call themselves the Shadow Vipers."
"Cute." I sighed. "This official?"
"The sanction? Yeah. Wasn't hard to get it, either. Nothing like a couple Council members being jarred out of their drunken stupor by the grim reality of life. Talk about pissed off. I think they'd ask you to gift wrap his head if they thought you'd oblige 'em."
"I wouldn't."
"Exactly. You'll handle it?"
"Yeah." I paused. "What about the kids?"
Niles took a second before answering. "Any of them present a threat, you know the deal. But otherwise, maybe impart a small measure of wisdom with regards to keeping a low profile. Rowdy behavior isn't something we tend to tolerate. Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Niles disconnected.
And the ice had melted in my drink.
A series of high-rise yellow-bricked apartment buildings marked the entry to Tai Tung Village. Inside the complex, it was a bewildering mazelike system of corridors, small apartments crammed with people, and dead-ends. Most of the folks inside were a mix of Cantonese and Toisanese.