by Sawyer Black
“Whoa, whoa. It’s okay,” Henry said.
“Henry, what is this?”
“Sorry, it was the only place I could think of to come.”
Adam pushed off Henry’s shoulder for a better look. His small face lit with a shining smile. “But then he had a better idea!”
Pastor Owen returned the smile. Nervous and hesitant.
Jesus, I put this guy through a ton, already. He deserves a fucking break.
A long black car slowed to a stop at the bottom of the steps with a whine of its brakes. Francesco honked, and Pastor Owen jumped with a yelp. Adam giggled, and Henry covered his own laugh with a polite cough.
“I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a man to kill.”
“Henry,” the pastor groaned, his pale face pinched and reproachful.
“Sorry, but I promised.”
“What about your promise to God? Who is this man?”
“I didn’t make any promises to God.” Henry felt the heat rising into his cheeks. “You made those promises for me. Petrov Obisev deserves to die.”
“Yeah,” Adam chimed.
Pastor Owen covered his eyes and stepped aside. “Then, go.”
“What?”
The pastor bent to retrieve his bundle. “Please leave, Henry. And don’t ever come back.”
The rejection hurt more than Henry imagined, but this man deserved more from him, and Henry knew he couldn’t provide it.
Francesco honked again and sent an angry wave through the door. He turned to watch the pastor walk into his church with his shoulders slumped and head down. “Look after Samantha, will ya?”
Pastor Owen flapped his free hand in dismissal. “I always have, Henry. May God have mercy on you, my son.”
Henry turned with his eyes burning, pulled the door shut behind him, and carried the child into the rain.
CHAPTER 31
Mandy’s Export Emporium was a strip mall storefront between Los Mariachis and Brandy’s Hard As Nails beauty salon. Even in the rain, the morning was bright enough to banish the shadows. Henry would be exposed if he got out now.
The window between the driver and passengers whined down, and Francesco looked at Henry in his rearview. “How ’bout I go around back?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
The window slid back up, and the limo pulled away, making a ponderous turn around the end of the squat building.
Adam had bounced on the leather seat during the ride, the light from the little TV making his gold eye glitter. His damp hair bounced around, falling to the side as if styled that way.
Henry wanted to peel his wet balls off the insides of his thighs, but something about reaching into his jeans with a small child so close made him cringe.
He didn’t have a problem drinking in front of him, though. He used the glass his memories told him belonged to Mandyel. The thought filled his throat with sorrow, but the whiskey knocked it down. He offered Adam some water, but the boy refused with a distracted shake of his head.
A commercial came on. Adam leaned back and rubbed his thighs.
“You cold?” Henry asked.
“I’m never cold.”
The back of the building was filthy. Not much contrast with the front, but noticeable. Francesco pulled into a space between an orange Chevy Spark and a rusty blue dumpster.
The TV blipped off when the engine died. Adam dropped his head. “Aww …”
Francesco got out and went to the emporium’s rear entrance. Henry cracked his door open while the driver knocked on the blue metal door. Nadia opened it from the inside, and Francesco stepped back to hold the door wide.
“Let’s go,” Henry said.
He ran into Nadia’s waiting arms. She held him tight, and he sagged into her. A notorious touch freak most of his life, physical contact was becoming more important, and Henry didn’t want to let her go. Nadia leaned back and looked into his face. “Where have you been? Where’s Mandyel?”
Henry cleared his throat and blinked his tears away. “He’s dead.”
“What?”
“Peterson killed him at the Purveyor’s house.”
She laughed and turned away, grabbing his hand and leading him into the store. “No, he didn’t Henry.”
“Everybody keeps telling me that. I saw the guy eat his fucking heart.”
“Please. Peterson ate the heart of one of the oldest archangels?”
Henry skidded to a halt inside the retail space, his jaw dropping open. Wall to wall. Floor to ceiling. Packages and boxes.
Katanas on decorative stands. New and vintage clothing on racks and in plastic bags. A stack of VCRs still in the original packaging. VHS tapes still in the cellophane. A velvet Elvis and a Jimi Hendrix.
“Where the fuck am I?”
Nadia spun in a circle with a smile, her head tipped to the side as if she were listening to a bird on her shoulder. “Don’t you love it? It’s Mandyel’s secret passion.”
“A fucking junk shop?”
She stopped, her face clouding in anger. She raised her finger and opened her mouth in a snarl, then looked down with widening eyes. Her mouth fell open farther, and she looked at Henry, her finger falling. “Who is that?”
Adam looked up at Henry from behind his hip. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered.
“Oh, Henry. Who is this little boy?” She dropped into a demure squat with her elbows on her knees.
“This is Adam. Don’t look into his eyes.”
“Why shouldn’t I? They’re exquisite.” She held her arms out, offering a hug.
Adam took the invitation. He launched into her embrace, burying his face in her hair. She looked up with wonder.
“Cute kid,” Francesco said.
Henry looked over his shoulder with a nod. “Probably be your boss someday.”
“No doubt.”
“Pick me up,” Adam demanded.
Nadia obliged with a grin, and Adam clung to her hip, his head on her shoulder.
Henry bent down to catch Adam’s gaze. “Did you command her to pick you up?”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“Not anymore since you pledged yourself to me. Not when I’m just a little boy.”
“But you and Remmy said I was champion to another.”
Adam shrugged and took another sniff of Nadia’s hair, like a bride and her bouquet.
“Who’s Remmy?” Nadia asked.
“A Tracker named Ramiel.”
“Ramiel? The Ramiel from the auction?”
“You know him?”
“Henry, what have you been doing?”
“Oh, you know. Stuff and things.”
“Henry, I need more than that.”
“I got a better idea. Get it from the kid. I got a man to kill.”
Nadia turned and dropped Adam to sit on a glass case full of antique lighters. “And who is this man?”
“Petrov Obisev.”
Oddjob whistled, and Nadia looked at the ceiling with a sigh. “Do you ever do little things?”
“Hey, I need to find him. You gonna help or what?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, gimme the name of somebody who can get me close to him, and then, you know … babysit?”
“Yes!” Adam exclaimed.
Nadia sent an absent smile Adam’s way. “It would be a pleasure to watch the boy, of course. And he’ll be safe here. This store is not well known.”
Henry looked at the glut of inventory. “Obviously.”
Nadia leaned over the counter and slid a leather organizer across. She flipped it open. “I can give the name of somebody who might be able to help. He deals in weapons. The kind that a religious bounty hunter would use.”
Adam kicked his feet to drum his heels lightly against the glass, grinning at his savior. Henry couldn’t help but smile back.
Nadia tore off a scrap of paper. “Gaston Livre.”
Francesco snorted lau
ghter. “Frenchy Letters?”
Henry grabbed the paper and turned to the limo driver, stuffing the note in his pocket. “You know him?”
“Oh, yeah. He used to drive for Cloud Nine a couple of years ago. Got busted with a trunk full of fairy dust in Ireland. They pulled his ticket, and he’s been hustlin’ on the black market ever since.”
“You know where he is?”
“You think I’m gonna drive you there, you’re wrong.”
“I’ll pay you double time.”
“Henry!” Nadia shouted. “You don’t even know what that means.”
“Done.” Francesco stuck his hand out.
“And I get to ride in the front from now on.”
The driver narrowed his eyes. “Deal, but I stay in the car.”
They shook hands, and Henry cocked his head waiting for the sound of trumpets.
Nadia pulled Adam back to her hip. “We’ll get this little guy some food, a bath, and some clean clothes.”
“Gee, where you gonna find any clothes around here?”
“And I thought you were a comedian. Just go and hurry back. You still owe me a story.”
Henry rushed forward and bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. He ruffled Adam’s hair and spun away. Francesco waited with his arms crossed then shook his head and followed Henry back to the car.
The windows in the front weren’t as dark. Henry raised his hood and pushed himself low. It was a big car, but he still ate his knees.
Probably would have been better in the back.
“You gonna kill Frenchy if he don’t tell you what you want?”
Henry dug the brass phone out of his jeans and stuffed it into the kangaroo pouch on the front of his sweatshirt. “Probably, yeah. You think he deserves it?”
Francesco blew a sigh out through his nose and nodded. “I think he does. You know, fairy dust is only used on kids.”
“I didn’t know that. There’s a fucking lot I don’t know.”
“Get used to it. There’s a lot I wish I didn’t know.”
“You and me both.”
Silence as they crossed the J. Moses East Bridge. Tires bucked over joints in the concrete, and traffic transformed into beaters and delivery trucks, both belching smoke and leaking oil.
Everything turned gray. The East Side was named after the race riots during the 1930s. Even though it was actually south-west of Burg City, when the Irish started moving in, they expanded and pushed the blacks out. Westside residents fought back, but after generations of racism practically supported by the city, they finally gave up.
Turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. The shipping industry moved to the northeast, where displaced families found new jobs and homes, leaving the East Side with nothing but an ironic name.
The bridge that connected them to the rest of the city was named after J. Moses. A black lawyer who spent his life fighting for the immigrant rights. After the last steel plant had closed in the 70s, East Side’s only exports were cops and criminals.
“This is a rough neighborhood,” Henry said.
“Nah, ain’t nobody gonna look at you twice. You’re too red.”
“You got a point.” And what a sad fucking point it is. “What about the car?”
“Buddy, from the outside, all they’re gonna see is Penske yellow.”
Henry counted five liquor stores, two gun stores, and seven pawn shops before Francesco pulled into a parking lot surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence. Not a single grocery store or school.
Old vehicles in various states of disrepair lined a lot that slumped in front of a wide stubby building that looked like an ancient dealership where hustlers once unloaded lemons on wheels. The blacked-out front windows looked like rotting teeth. A rebel flag fluttered on one side of the front door. A Nazi banner beat in the breeze on the other.
“Jesus.” Henry sneered. “Is there anything fucking worse than a Burg City Nazi?”
“I dunno. Maybe Illinois Nazis?”
Henry chuckled. “How do you think I should do this?”
“I say kick the fucking door in and tear his dick off.”
“That works for me.”
CHAPTER 32
Henry threw the door open and sauntered up to the building. His reflection grew as he neared, and he was stricken by his appearance. Tall and wide. Muscles showed through his clothes. A stark relief to the fat balding dickhead from over forty years of hating the mirror.
It threw off his groove. He stumbled the last few steps, and when he planted his left foot for the kick, his balance was way off. Instead of blowing the door and the frame right out of the crumbling block wall, it exploded in with a WHANG of bent metal and a shower of glass.
A pasty shithead in a tight yellow leisure suit and a David Crosby mustache looked out from between his raised hands. Tinted glass covered his IKEA desk and glittered in his thinning hair. The only light was a small lamp on the corner of the fake wood top, and Henry's shadow stretched like an inverted triangle.
Henry marched up with a village idiot nod and said in his best redneck accent, “Hey, man! I’m looking for a late model Caddy with a cassette player. I know a feller who’s got a bunch o’ tapes still in the damn plastic.”
The shithead leaned back, blinking in confusion. He didn’t seem concerned that the person who had darkened his door was a red demon with a hayseed smile. He kept his eyes on Henry and turned his head toward a door at the end of a small hallway. “Gus!” He slid his chair back until it hit the wall behind him. “You and Bardo need to get in here right fucking now!”
“Who’s Gus?” Henry looked down the hallway, and his grin ramped up a notch.
A little greasy teenager with oily hair pulled back in a ponytail that exposed the angry acne on his forehead walked out like the world was his hourglass. He wiped grease from a rusty crescent wrench, and his jaw worked as he chewed a wad of gum with his mouth open. Gus in a script font sewn above his breast pocket.
The hallway darkened behind him, and Henry’s grin slipped into a hesitant smile. A giant demon crowded through with his shoulders drawn in and his head pushed down into his chest. His knees bent to keep his back clear of the ceiling, and when he stood and spread out in front of the desk, Henry’s smile fell into an open-mouthed frown.
Black eyes set deep in albino pockets of flesh. His nose was a pale button, and his underbite thrust jumbled fangs into the air, their crazy points all the way to his cheeks. As wide as Henry was tall, he was a foot over Henry’s horns, and his fists looked like warty boulders.
“Hi guys,” Henry said. “I’m here to talk to Mr. Letters. It’s kind of private, so if you don’t mind?”
Frenchy stood and looked at Henry from around the giant fucker’s elbow. “Keep this piece of shit busy while I go get my dog.” He pushed off Bardo and jogged up the hall.
“Hang on a minute,” Henry shouted. “I just want to talk.”
Bardo pushed his sleeves up, and his face broke into a hideous smile. “Too late for that, buddy.”
Gus pocketed the wrench and pulled out a shiny butterfly knife. He whipped it back and forth, clickety-clacking it into a blade, brandishing it with what he probably thought was a menacing expression.
Looks like the guy’s got gas.
Henry didn’t wait for the albino mountain to finish getting ready. He slammed forward with his best roar, and Bardo caught him against his chest with ten of Henry’s claws digging deep into his ribs. Bardo howled and toppled over the desk. Henry pulled his claws out and slashed Bardo’s face as they tumbled. The lamp crashed to the floor, dying with a buzz. Papers scattered hither and yon.
Bardo closed his hands over Henry’s head and threw him to the side with a roar. Henry crashed into the wall, punching through Sheetrock, hanging up in the studs. He swiped at the dust in his eyes, and Gus crossed the floor in a dazzling flicker. He stabbed Henry a dozen times before Henry could heave himself out of the wall.
Gus danced away, and Bardo too
k his place. He hit Henry directly on the top of his head. The room blurred, and Henry’s knees ceased to exist. The carpet smelled like piss.
Gus dropped on top of him, stabbing and slashing as Henry dropped into the dark of his own mind with Bardo’s grinding laughter following him down.
Aw, fuck. The dark. The SHADOWS!
Henry stretched into the shadows fast, and Gus stabbed the floor instead of his back.
Bardo spun around, his confused eyes shining wide like compact discs.
Henry made a circuit of the room, wrapping himself in the shadows at the base of the walls. He gathered speed then launched into the dim light like a bloody missile, hitting Bardo right above his kidneys.
The giant’s hips popped forward, and his head whipped back.
Henry drove him into the corner where the hallway started, and a third of the wall collapsed.
The ceiling groaned, and Henry drove back into the shadows, grabbing it with both hands, throwing himself in a quickening arc. Gus stood in the center of the room, tracking Henry’s progress with Rain Man’s concentration.
When Henry burst back into the light, Gus’s knife met him under the belly button. His speed tore the knife from Gus’s hand, but not before the blade ripped through hoodie and flesh, blood flowing around his side and dripping down his ass crack.
He caught Bardo standing from the pile of splintered wood and vinyl paneling, right in the shoulder like a safety rocketing across the field for the tight end. Bardo left his feet, carried across the room on a slingshot of shadow, and he hit the outside block wall with his face to cushion the impact.
He’s gonna be in the concussion protocol for sure.
Henry released the shadow and bent over the hole in his belly. Gus retrieved his weapon and stood with the dripping knife held out in front of him. Henry’s legs quivered, and he dropped to one knee. Gus gave him that bilious smile then charged with a thrust at Henry’s face.
Henry rocked back and lifted his hand with his fingers spread wide. The blade stabbed into his palm and punched through his knuckles, showering his face with blood. He closed his fist over Gus’s knife hand then stood with a dark grin that reflected from the mechanic’s wide eyes. He fell into the shadows, pulling the screaming man with him. Swaddled in the dark, wrapped in its comfort and warmth, he opened his hand and rushed into the light like bursting through the surface of a frozen lake.