by C. F. Waller
“Arron, how much did they tell you?” she asks bluntly.
“Huh,” I mutter, confused. “Who told me what?”
“Your friends, Dorian and Beatrix. How much do you know?”
The slow realization comes over me that none of this was real. This woman was only flirting with me to get to Dorian and Bee. This revelation puts a pit in my stomach. It starts out being one of a lost night with a pretty girl and quickly morphs into one of dread. Who is Rahnee and which side is she on?
“Hello, Arron, you in there?” she pesters me, sipping on her water.
“Are you hunting them?”
“Your friends,” she states and pauses. “Technically, yes.”
“And you’re just hitting on me to get to them?”
“Obviously,” she groans, putting up a hand for a waitress. “It was more like throwing myself at you. We should have been naked already. You really need to learn to take a hint.”
“I’m a gentleman,” I sigh, trying to seem less pathetic.
“Sure, you are,” she frowns, shaking her head.
“What makes you think I will take you to them now?” I shrug, annoyed by her inference. “I’m not going to help you hurt them.”
A waitress interrupts my bluster, parking herself between us.
“Do you have Kedem Vermouth?” she asks the scantily clad girl.
“I think so.”
“I’d like a Martini, Skyy vodka and Kedem Vermouth,” Rahnee instructs her. “If you don’t have it, don’t make it.”
“That would not be a complementary drink Ma’am,” the waitress, whose name tag indicates her name is Tiffany, the irony not lost on me, replies.
“Whatever, go see if you have it,” Rahnee counters and pulls a hundred-dollar bill from the front of her blouse and tosses it on her tray.”
“Lied about not having money for a room too,” I snarl at her, but get no reply.
The waitress nods and shuffles back to the bar, not wanting to be in the middle of our conversation.
“What’s with the Kedeem Vermouth,” I mutter, the bartender in me revealing itself.
“It’s kosher,” she explains and we fall into silence.
“I’m not going to---,” I start, but Rahnee interrupts me.
“We have a bigger problem than your shattered ego and loyalty issues.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” she tells me as she doubles down on an eleven and gets a two. “I hate this game.”
“I assume our problem is bigger than bad cards.”
“The guy who was sitting over there. He’s one of them and he’s going to attack us the moment we step out of the casino,” she states matter-of-factly. “He’s been trying to kill me for several days.”
“Back up,” I stutter. “You said he’s one of them?”
“Sort of, although my guess would be he will slaughter your friends after he murders us.”
“So he’s the type you can’t kill?”
To this she straightens up at the table, gazing at me with a slight nod. Tiffany returns with Rahnee’s Martini and she takes a long sip. After, we both stand on eighteens, she takes another sip and contemplates what I said.
“You’ve seen him before?” she inquires.
“Not him, but one like him.”
“When?” she demands, sucking an olive off a small plastic sword.
“This morning, although technically it was yesterday given the late hour.”
“So, there are two here now?” she grimaces and pours down the last half of the Martini.”
“The one I saw isn’t chasing anyone. He’s not here”
“You know that how?” she asks suspiciously.
“He got dismembered and locked in a box. Probably well on his way to a burial at sea by now.”
“Say what?” she utters open mouthed. “Excuse me?”
“It’s the kind of thing you have to see to believe, but trust me. He isn’t chasing anyone.”
Rahnee orders a second drink and we play in silence while she sips it. Looking at my watch, I see it’s after three and the casino is clearing out. We are the only players at our table. Tiffany brings me yet another rum and coke and explains she’s off for the night so I over tip and thank her for the great service. Once she’s gone, Rahnee comes out of her contemplative zone.
“Better hurry,” she mocks me. “She looks like your type.”
“I think getting shot down once a night is sufficient.”
“Quitter.”
“You just want me to go in hopes he will kill me,” I fire back. “And you can escape in the process.”
“Hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea. Might be worth a try.”
“You’re sure he will come after us if we leave?” I wonder aloud. “He might try and follow us back to Dorian and Bee.”
“He didn’t try to follow me,” she groans. “It’s a fair bet he thinks he can find them on his own after we are dead.”
“We can’t sit here forever. At some point we will have to leave.”
“True, but this location is problematic” she explains. “Being this is a casino and I’m not carrying my guns, not that they slowed him down much last time.”
“Bows and arrows work best,” I joke, drinking and feeling a bit queasy.
“Bows and what?” she balks?
I shake my head and waive for her to go on.
“I called in for some more potent weapons, but they won’t be here until tomorrow. Even then, I can’t get them on the casino floor no matter how long I wait.”
“You have friends here with you?”
“Friends, sort of,” she sighs. “I have some people.”
We fall into silence again, leaving me at a loss for a plan. Every so often the man wanders by the table and nods at Rahnee. She sneers at him, clearly angry. Her hostility reminds me of Sindri.
“Bows and arrows,” I mumble.
“Bows and what?” Rahnee asks again, head down, a hand on her forehead.
“I might have something.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Promise me you won’t hurt Dorian and Bee if I get you out of here,” I demand.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” she sighs. “What’s your idea?”
“Not unless you promise. It won’t work without them.”
“Even if I don’t, my guys will,” she argues. “I’m not the boss.”
“Fair enough. All I ask is that you don’t take them in,” I order, pointing at her with my glass.
She ponders this for a few hands. She’s clearly unhappy about my request, grumbling to herself as she plays. The man passes by the table and I nod at him. This seems to amuse him and he makes a fake tipping his hat gesture.
“Piss off,” I bark, scowling at him.
“Don’t encourage it,” Rahnee snorts.
“It?”
“He, it, whatever. Okay Arron. I will not lay a hand on your friends,” she agrees. Putting out her hand to shake on it.
“Deal,” I nod and shake her hand.
“And your plan?”
I put up a finger and remove my phone. Recalling that you can’t use a phone inside the casino, I put it down. I was hoping to call Bee and Dorian’s room and get them to come down here. Then they could exit with us. My plan involves leading our assassin outside into an ambush. While I can never be sure if Sindri will be waiting, I gauge my odds much higher if Dorian and Bee are with me. The tiny redheaded warrior may well be following them and not me.
“I need to make a call,” I explain. “I suppose if I go into the bathroom he will follow me in and kill me?”
“I doubt it, but I’ll come along and wait outside. If he tries to go in I will make a scene.”
“Or you’ll watch him go in and run away,” I argue.
“I won’t, just be quick about it,” she winks. “When you’re done I have to make a call.”
After a moment to calculate the odds she will betray me, I decide the likely outco
me is bad either way. Once standing, I notice a bruise on her cheek and a scrape on her forehead. She’s craftily used make-up to camouflage them, but when the light is right I see them.
“You get those from him?” I ask, pointing as we walk.
“Yeah, but you should have seen him.”
“He looks okay to me,” I shrug.
“He looked worse with my car parked on his chest,” she grins.
Chapter Thirteen
Dominick Dunn
The Colorado River glints in the moonlight. The fuzzy image of the moon rolling on the waves is peaceful, threatening to put me to sleep. It’s quiet, although my stomach growls occasionally. There is no radio, as this car was a police cruiser before being relegated to the cheesy used car lot just outside of Henderson. Rahnee had already purchased it before we spoke, claiming that a rental car might give away our location.
Both sides have grey primer sprayed over the areas where the Clark County Sheriff lettering was removed. The roof is covered in silicone bumps to seal the bolt holes that used to hold down a light bar. The silicone is black, leaving the white car looking almost polka-dotted. Inside, all the cop stuff is stripped out with the exception of the cage between the front and rear seats. She seemed to think this might come in handy as we are trying to catch someone. She and I tend to agree on this particular point, a rare occurrence.
The boredom and silence is broken by my phone vibrating. On the screen the picture of Rahnee lights up, causing equal parts excitement and annoyance. When she told me she would probably be banging this guy to get him to lead us to Dorian, I was less than thrilled. Even more surprising was Decker not being concerned.
“Done already?” I inquire. “Must not have been that good.”
“Never got that far,” she whispers as if she’s trying to be quiet. “Our immortal friend is here.”
“Where?”
“Sitting at the bar about twenty yards from me,” she reveals softly. “Arron and I have been trying to figure a way out. Did Decker get my stuff from Perry?”
“No, he and Blake drove back to Vegas to pick it up,” I share. “You trust this guy?”
“Perry Goodson?” she asks quizzically. “No one trusts Perry, but if you want something, then you have to deal with him.”
“He’s charging you an arm and a leg and not even delivering the stuff to us here?”
“That’s because he doesn’t think I will live long enough to pay the delivery charge in person,” she replies, pausing on the line to give me time to figure out her meaning.
“So, by pay the delivery charge you mean---.”
“Yes,” she interrupts. “Stop acting like a prude. So, they had to drive back to Vegas to pick up my stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s less than optimal. Listen to me now,” she demands and pauses. “We are going to make a break for it.”
“You’re what?”
“Just listen. This Arron guy says he saw one of these things killed this morning,” she explains. “He’s thinks if we lead it out the back into the valet parking lot his friends will kill it.”
“I thought you couldn’t kill them?”
“Let’s say disable then,” she moans, clearly frustrated. “Either way it’s our best shot at getting away from it and possibly getting our hands on this Dorian person.”
“How does this get us closer to Dorian?” I grumble, then consider he and Beatrix might be in this hotel. “Are they here in the hotel?”
“Negative, but he is calling them to come here as we speak. I got the impression the people that deal with our immortal friends will be following them.”
“We need a flow chart to keep track of the teams,” I snort. “What do you want me to do?”
“Valet the car and toss some cash at the guy to let you stay in it. Just wait for me to show up.”
“Then?” I demand.
“Watch and wait,” she orders. “When you get a bead on Dorian and this Beatrix gal grab them up.”
“We only need him,” I answer, prepared to jettison all of them when the time’s right.
“Him for sure, but if you tell them Arron sent you, they will expect to go together,” she suggests. “What I am saying is they might get in the car that way.”
“Nice, I like it. Your guns are in the car here. Kinda dangerous making a break unarmed.”
“He’s in the casino as well. Nobody has a gun,” she points out and then mumbles something I cannot make out, before hanging up.
“True,” I whisper. “But he’s not worried about getting shot.”
I am only a few blocks from Harrah’s, so I head down and valet the car. It costs me an extra fifty to stay inside and the guy looks at me like I’m a nut, but takes the money. The look on his face indicates he thinks I am a peeping tom or sexual deviant, but I wave him off without defending myself. Over denial just makes you look guilty.
In the first half hour only the valet comes and goes with cars. This lot is behind the hotel, between the river and the building. Several of the lights meant to illuminate the area are broken, making the ground a patchwork of light and darkness. It’s slightly over an hour before a small group of shadows come sprinting out the side door.
From across the lot I can make out Rahnee by her limp and Beatrix is obviously trying to run in a long dress. They get twenty yards from the doorway before their pursuer stumbles out, scanning the lot for them. I was lead to believe at this point some immortal hit squad would burst from the shadows and attack the bad guy. Time passes as I hear my own heart thump in my chest, but nothing happens. The rambling group isn’t hard for him to locate. He breaks into a run, zeroing in on the group.
“Plan B then,” I announce, putting both of Rahnee’s guns in my lap and starting the car.
Slamming the shifter into drive, the tires squeal as the car lurches forward. I skip the lights as I have run over this dude before and he’s sure to see this move coming. My assumption turns out to be correct. He stops and spins in my direction before I can get anywhere close. Confident that he will be able to evade me in a parking lot full of cars, I race past and skid to a halt as close as I can to the group, who has stopped at the other end of the lot, probably wondering where the cavalry is.
“Here,” I shout, tossing Rahnee’s guns out the window and onto the pavement.
Before peeling away, I toss out two full clips as well, then spin the car around to locate the menace. When I flip on the headlights he’s nowhere to be seen. I drive slowly down the first lane of cars searching. At the end of the aisle I turn and come back down the next one. Midway down, the brake lights glow on a black Suburban whose rear bumper is sticking out of its spot. Wondering if this is my target I slow, but see an odd sight.
A small child is climbing out of the passenger side door. She has to dangle her legs, before letting go of the seat and dropping over a foot to the pavement. My initial reaction is to warn her, but an unseen person inside the SUV hands her a compound bow nearly as big as she is. This is followed by an arrow with a huge bulge near the tip. She closes the door very slowly, leaving it slightly open so the latch makes no noise. I’m so engrossed watching her that I forget my car is idling a mere twenty feet from her. She turns to face me scowling, waving at me with the arrow clutched in her tiny hand. Strangely afraid of her, I move down the aisle in a stunned trance.
“Is that the cavalry?” I utter under my breath. “A third grader with a bow and arrow?”
Before I can get to the end of the row, shots ring out. I accelerate to the main aisle and turn toward the sound. Rahnee is standing in front of the group firing into the man, who isn’t going down this time. She empties both guns and reloads as the entire group back up slowly.
“Body armor,” I discern from his gate. “Bastard got himself a Kevlar vest.”
Punching the gas pedal, I aim for Rahnee’s attacker, but he hears me and turns around before jumping left and out of the way. I crank the wheel and hit the brakes, sliding sidewa
ys to a stop a short distance from the frightened group huddling behind Rahnee. Shots again fill the air as she plugs away at him. He closes the distance to thirty feet before one of the shots hits him square in the forehead and he goes down awkwardly on his side.
One gun has clearly run dry and she hands it to this Arron guy, before pulling the clip out of the other to count the rounds. As if on cue, the man crawls onto all fours and pushes himself to his feet. Rubbing his forehead, he shakes off what I can only assume was a wicked headache and starts walking on unsteady legs toward Rahnee. Before she can fire, the attacker takes an arrow in the ribs.
Whatever the kid is shooting it must be sharp as it easily cuts through the vest on that side. I expect him to pull it out and keep coming, but a pained expression crosses his face. Letting out a howl, he drops to his knees with one hand trying to remove the arrow. Seconds later, he rolls over onto his back and his movement slows to random twitches.
“Clearly, I underestimated Raggedy Ann,” I admit, shaking my head at what I am witnessing.
Rahnee strides fearlessly up to the impaled immortal, followed closely by Arron. The tiny assassin in a blue plaid dress comes out of the darkness dragging her bow along the ground. The dress puffs out at the bottom, the edges of a frilly slip showing as she skips over to the body.
A conversation takes place, but I am too far away to hear it. I notice Rahnee turn in my direction and nod her head to my right. Following her lead, I see Beatrix and a man I take to be Dorian Faust well back of the fray. Lifting my foot, I allow the car to roll slowly in their direction. It’s time for me to look as harmless as possible. Coming to a stop between the cowering duo and the Wild West show, I roll down the window and put on my most sincere smile.
“You Dorian and Beatrix?” I inquire.
They nod and regard me with distrustful looks.
“Arron called me from the casino,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice down. “Get in and we can stay clear of this until I can pick him up.”
Dorian comes forward and reaches for the door handle, but Beatrix swats his hand away, glaring at me. On the other side of the car I see a conversation of some kind going on between Rahnee and the little girl. Arron stands well back, possibly grossed out by the proceedings. The body language between the girls would indicate an exchange of ideas.