by G A Chase
Sere walked through the damp grass toward the man. “Excuse me. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
The man looked up, his facial features familiar, even if they were hidden by wrinkles. “I’m Gerald Laroque. Have a seat. I’ve still got half a loaf to work through.”
The former chief of police looked like a kindly grandfather more apt to pull coins from behind children’s ears than direct cops with batons against rioters. “Thank you for seeing me,” Sere said. “Joe recommended I meet with you first.”
The old man turned back to his ducks. “I was sorry to hear about Joseph. He was a good man. If it’s okay with you, I know the department would like to handle his funeral. Though it’s been some time since he was on the force, we do like to take care of our own.”
She hadn’t even considered what to do with his body. Letting the police take care of the arrangements seemed the most logical answer. “I think he’d like that. Did you know him well?” The connection between her mentor and one of the most powerful members of an evil family had never made much sense to Sere.
“I don’t think anyone knew Joseph well. He gave each of us a puzzle piece of his identity. I relied on him. That’s not something I’d say about very many people.”
She couldn’t afford the time or emotional energy of once again diving into Joe’s death. “If you’ve been his connection in the city, you must know what I’m up against. But how can I trust you?”
The man sat stiffly upright. “Not a bad first question. Together with my sister, we ran the Laroque dynasty and this city—which were really one and the same. That was a long time ago.” He hunched back down as if the mantle of power had been too much for him to bear.
“What happened?” she asked, though she wasn’t just curious about his past. If there had been a schism within the family, she might learn of his motivations. There had to be something about the man she could trust.
“The shortest answer? Lieutenant Joseph Cazenave. He was such a fucking Boy Scout when he joined the force. If it weren’t for the recommendation from a mutual friend in the military, I wouldn’t have given Joseph’s application a second glance. God, that man had no sense of humor at all. I only put him on paranormal investigations as a joke. Of course, that was before our family learned that the Malveaux curse was real.”
“I don’t need a rehashing of ancient history.”
Gerald turned his glassy gray eyes to her. “By the time my nephew Lincoln went missing, Joseph had told me about your existence—as well as the return of your father. Officially, the department never found the body or the perpetrators. As you can imagine, that didn’t go over well with the family, especially my sister. They were trying to oust me from the force when her bank was bombed. My last act as chief was to cover up Joseph’s involvement. Without him, there was no way to track down the other miscreants.”
She never had been fond of long-winded stories. “But why would you side with him over your own flesh and blood? Especially if you were one of the people in charge of your family dynasty?”
He turned back to his birds as if they might be the only ones who would understand. “When your father returned and took possession of Lincoln, body and soul, a change came over my sister. Being rich and powerful was no longer enough for her. Improving the city and extending our reach didn’t matter. Meeting her ancestor in the body of her son was as close to a religious transformation as I’ve ever witnessed in her. She had a new life’s mission.”
“Raising the devil,” Sere said.
“I may be biased in her favor, but I don’t think Marjory realized that what she was seeing in Lincoln was evil. She was witnessing ultimate power: the ability to defy death itself. Money and political influence seemed like kids’ board games in comparison to what Lincoln had achieved.”
Sere couldn’t imagine the rage the woman must have felt when her god had been destroyed. “So she forced you out in retaliation for the loss of her son and god?”
“Officially, yes, but the new chief doesn’t concern himself too much with his men. The sergeants and beat cops that I trained are now captains and lieutenants. I may not have the title, but you can bet I’ve still got the influence.”
So that’s how Joe managed things, Sere thought. “That’s an interesting story, but it doesn’t do me much good right now.”
He handed her a couple of slices of bread to feed to the ducks. “I wasn’t finished. What do you know about the old World Trade Center?”
More history? Really? She tore up the slices and threw them at the birds with such force they swam out of the way of the bread projectiles. “There was some secret organization that kept paranormal artifacts out of the hands of the general public. They had responsibility for handling my father’s cursed possessions. They failed, and the organization disappeared without a trace.”
“Good enough. They used these iron vaults to secure the items.”
Sere squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “I am familiar with them.”
“What you might not know is that a couple of them turned up in the Mississippi River. When Marjory had the bank rebuilt, she snagged one and put it in the subbasement. She’s been running tests on what your father achieved ever since—much of it based on your existence.”
“How the hell does she know so much about me?”
“Throughout his life, Baron Malveaux kept journals. Everything he did in stealing you back from Guinee, as well as his observations about hell, he wrote down. Once you surfaced, Marjory realized the possibility of becoming immortal. You’re kind of like her messiah. In you, she sees what humanity might become.”
“But those writings would have been while he was in hell,” Sere said. “How did she get her evil claws on it?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have all the answers. Some things you’ll have to find on your own.”
“I’m still not sure I should trust you.”
He stood and emptied the last of the crumbs from the bag into the lake. “If you did, I’d be wildly disappointed in Joseph for not teaching you better. One last thing…” He crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the garbage can. “I’ll tell you what I can and point you in directions I think will help, but I can’t get you out of jail or save you from my sister’s grasp. Get caught, and you’re on your own. And don’t come running to me with every little piddly-ass question. I’m only useful if the rest of the family doesn’t know what I’m doing. Hit me up too often, and they’ll figure it out fast.” He turned and walked away like he was about to be late for dinner.
Bart was waiting in Sere’s office when she returned. “How did your meeting go?”
She had been careful about not mentioning her rendezvous. “Who says I was meeting someone?”
“Linda said you ducked out unarmed. I’ve never seen you go out in public without some protection, so I assumed you had to be meeting someone. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
“I met with former chief of police Gerald Laroque, and before you tell me I was being reckless again, it was Joe’s idea.” Sere would have preferred not to share that news, but keeping it from Bart would have bitten her in the ass before too long.
To her relief, Bart nodded. “I assumed he had some resource down here. That’s quite the confidential informant, though. Did you learn anything useful?”
“I got some good background information and confirmed that the Laroques are responsible for the latest escaped demons. What do you know about breaking into banks?”
“Hey, my background is military, not larceny, though I suppose there may be some overlapping of skills.”
She considered confiding in him that Joe had been behind the bank bombing. A little testosterone-driven rivalry might prod Bart into action. But restricting that information to only those involved had kept everyone safe for decades. “Eventually, we’ll have to confront our enemies on their own turf.”
“I’ll look into it. Why is it that as soon as I solve one problem for you, another bigger one is just wai
ting in the wings?”
“Welcome to my life. So in solving my latest little issue, does that mean you figured out how to inject our human-doppelgänger hybrid with a pellet?”
He pulled a copper shell from his pocket. “This is a hollow-point bullet. They split on impact, creating a large amount of damage. If we use one on our target, our adversaries will assume we tried to blast a hole in the body. As I’ve learned from watching your supernatural healings, to conduct the repair, they’ll first have to dig out all of the metal shards. It’ll be messy work. Once they’ve finished, the body’s flesh will seal up.” He pulled out a second round that had already been fired, showing the metal flower shape created by the impact. He then dropped a pellet into the small indentation in the center of the spent slug. “What they won’t realize is that when the bullet exploded, it injected a paranormal pellet into the doppelgänger’s body. They’ll be so busy digging out the shell that the real threat that lies deeper in the flesh should go unnoticed.”
She patted her four-barrel shotgun that lay on the desk. “There’s a reason Joe built this blaster for me. He used to tell me I’ve got shit for aim, but I stand a chance with this thing. However, a little bullet isn’t going to do me any good in a shotgun. How am I ever going to hit a demon with a handgun?”
Bart pulled his .38 special from the back of his pants. “I guess you’ll just have to rely on me, then.”
Her heart nearly stopped at the idea of Bart putting himself at such a risk. “We’re not talking about some random shooting here. Whoever gets the immortal body is going to be someone well positioned in the Laroque family. Between the dynasty’s ownership of the police and influence over the media, this isn’t going to be the kind of attack to go unnoticed.”
“Good thing I’ll have a demon-hunting badass to protect me.”
“I’m serious. If you shoot this guy, your life won’t be worth the spent slug. I can’t risk losing you.”
“Well, what’s your idea? Do you want to bake him a cookie with the pellet inside like a king cake with the hidden plastic baby Jesus?”
She hated it when he had a point. “No. Like me, the doppelgänger body won’t have to eat, and even if he did, he’d sense the paranormal energy like the smell of a rotting fish on a platter.”
Bart leaned over the desk and took her hands. “Exactly. He can’t know that he’s been infected. I’m really very good at shooting people, though this may be the first time in my life that a woman has seen that as a good thing. You have to trust me.”
She stared into his captivating dark-brown eyes. “So long as you don’t expect to do this alone.” If she looked at him one more moment, she’d be pulling him across the desk to have her way with him. Instead, she broke eye contact, picked up the shotgun from the desk, and leaned it against the wall. “If we can only infect him with one pellet, there’s not much point in me constantly hauling that thing around. Joe always warned me not to see it as a crutch. Though their paranormal medic would undoubtedly dig every pellet out of his flesh, they would also be on the lookout for any strays in other parts of his body. Shooting him would only alert them to our plan.”
Bart leaned back in his chair. The lines around his eyes indicated her lust hadn’t gone unnoticed and might well have been reciprocated. “How’s your sword play?”
“It’s been a lot of years since I handled a long blade. Joe tried teaching me, but eventually, he didn’t see much point in training me to use such an obvious weapon.”
“Any idea why he would keep a couple of katana swords in his cache?”
She remembered the feel of the braided leather handle. “Those must have been the ones we trained with when I was a girl in hell. They would be fitting. That’s what I used to decapitate Thomas’s doppelgänger.”
Bart handed over the black satchel. “Joe worked up a comfortable little hidden workshop in the ninth ward. If you’re not planning to lug that shotgun around, we’ll need to outfit you with new weapons. I can take you there if you like.”
The prospect of being alone with Bart in a place where they wouldn’t be discovered had her heart beating harder than she thought possible.
42
Chapter 14
Sere led Bart on a spirited cat-and-mouse motorcycle chase through the Bywater neighborhood. Once she was sure they weren’t being followed, she doubled back toward the bridge over the Industrial Canal. As they crossed the man-made river, she settled in behind him for the respectably reverent ride along the deserted streets of the Ninth Ward.
The tires of her Triton slipped in a mud-filled pothole as Bart made a sharp turn onto a narrow path as if he were riding a dirt bike. Once off the street, the lack of pavement made for a smoother ride between the brush and tall grass. Though not far from the main road, the 1960s-era bungalow at the end of the dirt driveway was well hidden by dense vegetation.
“This is it.” Bart removed his helmet. “Not the easiest place to find. My first time here, I had to double back three times to spot the turnoff. I can’t imagine how Joe stumbled across these places for his caches.”
She stepped off her bike and listened for any hint of neighbors. Only the songbirds and crickets greeted their arrival. “Joe once told me the police knew every drug den, gang hangout, and secret sex club within the city limits. Being on the force, once he busted one of the establishments, he erased the location’s existence from the database and set up his hidden cache. How he found the spots outside of the city, however, is anyone’s guess.”
Bart put his hand on the small of her back. “If this is too emotional for you, I can slip in and round up some weapons.”
With its peeling white paint on the vinyl siding and weathered blue trim so cracked the wood barely hung onto the nails, the place looked like it hadn’t seen an occupant since Hurricane Katrina.
“I already know Joe’s ghost has moved beyond this world. If there is any living thing in this place, it will only provide me with a good workout.” She pulled open the ratty screen and twisted the handle of the half-rotted plywood door. A stench composed of mildewed carpet, rodent droppings, and death made her retreat into Bart’s arms.
“Give it a minute,” he said, grabbing her by the hips to steady her. “The good news is the smell is only in the front room and kitchen. It must have been his way of dissuading trespassers. Once you get down the hallway to the master bedroom, you’ll hardly notice it.”
She had trouble believing the smell could be so easily contained, but trusting Bart, she held her nose and ran to the far end of the house and through the bedroom door. The moment Bart also passed the threshold, she slammed the door on the stench. She waited until he took his hand from his face and took a breath before following his lead.
“Not one of his subtler booby traps,” she said.
“Maybe not, but it is effective.” Bart took hold of the sagging mattress and lifted. A hidden hinge along one side and pneumatic actuator on the other held the bed up as if it were the hood of a car. Rather than box springs, an arsenal of guns, knives, and swords lay neatly organized in the hidden weapons locker.
The upturned mattress was so close to Sere’s face that she couldn’t help but breathe in the smell. Unlike the rest of the house, which made her eyes water in pain, Joe’s aroma of Irish Spring soap and Gillette deodorant over the deeper notes of his body odor brought emotional tears to her eyes. “How do you continue fighting for what’s right when you know you could die at any minute? What is the point to life if it’s so transient?” Her question, based in frustration, wasn’t meant just for Bart but also the great beyond, where Joe might still be listening.
“I live for today and try not to think about what comes next. Maybe some people would take that philosophy and live a life of decadence, but I find helping people far more fulfilling.” Bart pulled the two katana swords from under the bed. “And when I start getting melancholy about my fate, I find a good workout session refocuses my attention.” He aimed one of the handles at her.
Immortality meant Sere literally had all the time in the world, but that wasn’t the case for those she cared about. To them, every day would be precious, and she’d wasted enough of Bart’s time with her unexpressed emotions and desires. She walked up to him, took both swords from his hands, and tossed them on the ground. “I’ve got a better idea.” Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her body fully to his. As she stretched up to her tiptoes to bring her lips to his, she felt the bulge in his leather pants against her waist grow larger as if his cock was helping pull her up.
His hands clasped her butt cheeks so fully and forcefully it felt like she was being strapped into a carnival ride. He lifted her off her feet until their foreheads pressed together. “It’s about fucking time.”
She breathed in his hot breath as if it were a drug. Her legs wound around his waist like boa constrictors and pressed against his rock-hard ass. With him supporting her weight, her hands were free to rip his skintight T-shirt from his back. She ran her hands lustily over his chest.
He ground his throbbing cock against her in time with his breathing. “You’re not the only one with a wild side. I want you so bad I could tear your clothes off with my teeth.”
With one hand, she let go of his body and pushed the mattress back down over the weapons cabinet. She then leaned into him as if hunching down over her motorcycle before accelerating to full speed.
Instead of collapsing to the bed, he slowly sat back like a young oak tree bending in the wind. His legs flexed so large and hard between hers that she felt even more like she was back straddling the dangerous Blackbird motorcycle. Once he fully settled onto the mattress, she arched up from him and lifted off her leather halter top. Her nipples tingled as if his eyes were teasing the tips.