Hell to Pay (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 4)

by Lisa Emme

  I bit my lip and glanced at Nash. Seth might not let just anyone waltz back in, but we already knew someone he really wanted on his dance card.

  As if reading my thoughts, Nash looked at me and growled. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. There has to be another way.”

  ***

  The next few days were frustrating for everyone. Nash and Dev were still on the hook with their norm police department bosses to figure out the HRN crisis, and they really had no leads, or at least anything they could tell the norms, so it didn’t look very good for either of them. On the plus side, bringing in William Koenig, Jr. for murdering his own father was a big, fat checkmark, maybe even a gold star since Koenig, Sr. had been such a highly respected man in the community.

  I was frustrated because I was the one with the “in” back into Wishes, yet I had been completely kept out of the loop in regards to any plans they were making to get rid of Seth and his minions. Even Salvador, who was usually pushing me towards danger as some sort of messed-up test, had told me in no uncertain terms that the problem was no longer my concern.

  To add to my frustration, it quickly became apparent that Seth wasn’t going to give up on me easily. Unable to reach me through my dreams anymore, he had taken to sending imps to harass me. Riding poor possessed norms, the imps would follow me every time I left the coffee shop. A few had become brazen enough to enter the shop to speak to me, but the glow from my katana was always a dead giveaway that they were nearby. The first couple we had managed to capture and hold until Father Mike could come and work his mojo, separating confused and frightened norm from imp. Unfortunately the imps had quickly learned that getting caught wasn’t a good idea, so they became more evasive, dashing in to shout Seth’s threats at me, often to the bewilderment of my customers, and then streaking out again before we could give chase.

  It was Tess who came up with the brilliant solution for handling the little buggers. She arrived at the shop on what I was beginning to think of as day three of my captivity with a cheeky grin and a five-gallon bottle of water.

  “What’s with the water jug?” I asked as I followed her into the kitchen.

  Tess set the bottle on the counter and connected a manual pump to the top of the jug, and then flashed me a mischievous smile. “You’ll see. Have you had any of your little visitors today?”

  “No, it’s been pretty quiet on the demon-minion front. Why?”

  Tess shrugged. “No reason. I just thought we could try out the genius idea I had to get rid of them.” She shrugged off her backpack and bent over it to rummage around. With a little “Aha!” she straightened, a small water gun of the super-soaker variety in her hand.

  “What do you plan to do with that?”

  Ignoring me, she proceeded to fill the gun from the jug. “An experiment,” she finally replied, giving the gun a squirt into the nearby sink to test it out. “Let’s go out front and wait.”

  We didn’t have to wait all that long. Less than half a cup of coffee and an everything bagel later, Tiffy hissed at us from across the room and pointed under the counter where my katana was stored. Just then, the bell above the door announced the arrival of a customer. He was a middle-aged man dressed casually, although not warmly enough for the cold winter wind howling outside, in a short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, and if his lack of winter wear didn’t give him away, his jumpy, furtive behaviour certainly did. Luckily the shop was almost empty, and what few customers we had were all werewolves, so I didn’t have to worry about whatever Tess was going to do. The man’s eyes scanned the room nervously, as if looking for something, until they came to a stop on me.

  “My masterrrr orderrrrsss your pressssence,” he hissed, his head beginning to twitch towards his right shoulder. He pointed at me, taking a step towards our table. Tess leapt from her seat, super-soaker in hand.

  “Oh yeah? Well, take that, you evil little hitchhiker.”

  She gave the man a blast with the water gun, aiming right at the bare skin at the base of his neck. His hands flew to his throat, and he made a choking sound as a small puff of white smoke rose from between his fingers. He stumbled backwards, and I shifted my sight to watch as the imp wriggled out of the man, scowling. The little grey beast hopped away from the man’s now-collapsing body.

  “My master’s patience wanes,” he warned and then ran out the door.

  We hurried over to the no-longer-possessed man who sat bewildered on the floor, looking around in confusion.

  “Wh-wh-what happened?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” I bent over to help him to his feet. “You were waiting in line for coffee and then passed out or something. Do you suffer from low blood sugar?” I directed him towards a chair. “Here, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

  Tiffy hurried over with a glass of water, and the man took it, still appearing dazed.

  I pulled Tess to the side and fixed her with an incredulous look. “What the hell was in that water?”

  “It’s holy water. I asked Father Mike to put a whammy on it.” She shrugged. “It worked so well for your katana, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try it.”

  “Genius,” I replied. “Absolutely genius.”

  ***

  Finding a solution to the imp problem wasn’t Tess’s only brilliant move that week. She was on a roll.

  “I know what’s happening with the HRNs!” Tess shouted as she came in the door, breathless, a waft of winter air following her.

  “What?”

  “I know what’s going on with the HRNs,” she said again. She peeled off her boots and coat and dumped them on the bench by the door.

  I looked up from the onion I was chopping. I was in the middle of getting a cooking lesson from Isaac. We were making steak and mushroom pot pies with some puff pastry Hilde had made.

  Tess went to the fridge and cracked a beer open before hopping up on a stool at the kitchen island where I was working.

  “They all died,” she said, looking smug.

  “Uh, duh…yeah, most of them killed themselves after going whacko. We already know that.”

  “No, I mean before. They all died before they went whacko.” Tess grinned with pride. “Each one suffered a near-death experience where they appeared to die for a few minutes before coming back to life in the weeks leading up to their murderous rampage.”

  “Seriously?” I stared at her incredulously, still chopping onions. “How in the world did you figure that out?”

  “Harry, I asked for diced, not annihilated.” Isaac examined the onions that had gone well past minced at this point.

  “Oops, sorry.” I set down the knife, giving Isaac a look of chagrin. “Should I start again?”

  “No, they’ll be fine.” He took the cutting board over to the counter by the stove-top. “We’ll continue your lesson another time so that Tess can fill you in on her discovery.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Isaac.” I turned back to Tess as Isaac finished getting dinner ready. “So? How did you figure it out?”

  “I got the idea when I was talking to Father Mike the other day. I remembered you mentioned that man from the church who had been possessed. I asked Father Mike how he was doing, and in the course of our conversation he mentioned that the man had previously had a near-death experience. That made me think of the woman you told me about from the hospital. She had a near-death experience and then you saw her at Wishes. It just seemed like too much to be a coincidence, so I went to talk to the bingo lady’s family and…same thing!”

  “Wow! Great detective work, Veronica Mars.” I grabbed myself a beer and sat down beside her. “But why did you do all the sleuthing?”

  Tess’s cheeks coloured, and she put her head down, staring at the beer bottle in her hands. “That meeting with Salvador got me thinking.” She fidgeted at the label on her bottle. “I mean, I never thought I’d work at Uncle Rigo’s forever, so I’ve been thinking about what I want to do, and what I really want to do is be a detective.”

  “You want to join the police for
ce?” I gaped at her. She had never mentioned a desire to serve and protect in all the years I had known her.

  “No! Not that kind of detective. A private investigator.”

  “You do want to be Veronica Mars!” I exclaimed with a smile.

  “Why not? Think about it. We have access to the world’s only talking supercomputer. With Bryce on our side, we have a leg up on the competition.”

  “We?”

  Tess grinned. “Of course. Why break up the band? If having a supercomputer is a plus, imagine having the ghost whisperer on our team as well.”

  Ha! She was joking, but some days I really felt that Melinda Gordon was the only one who could truly understand me.

  “One problem,” I replied. “Ghosts don’t pay very well.”

  “I never said they were the clients. They’d be our confidential informants.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t answer now,” Tess said hurriedly. “Just say you’ll think about it.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  ***

  By day six of my self-imposed house arrest, I was growing stir-crazy, so I decided to go grocery shopping.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry,” Jon said, hands on his hips as he watched me pump water from the jug and then fill the brightly coloured plastic gun.

  “I’m just going a couple of blocks to the grocery store. How much trouble could I possibly get into? Besides, I’ll have you and Eric at my back.” I thrust the loaded water pistol at him, slapping it against his chest. “Take this, and we’ll be set.”

  Jon eyed the dripping gun. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Trust me. It could come in handy. Just squirt it at anyone acting shifty.” Ignoring any further protests, I strode from the kitchen and across the shop, Jon and Eric hustling after me. “Tiffy, I’m going to the store. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

  Not waiting for a response, I zipped my jacket up against the cold and set off. The day was one of those bright winter days where the air feels exceedingly crisp, but you’re so glad to see the sunshine after weeks of grey clouds you don’t care if it’s cold. I kept my pace brisk and my attention focussed, but the only tails I picked up were Jon and Eric, the Harry-sitters, who strode purposefully behind me.

  The local supermarket was two blocks over and, as it was a Tuesday afternoon, the store was relatively quiet. I passed through the double set of sliding doors, pausing to stomp the slush off my boots and tuck my mittens in my coat pocket.

  Jon came up beside me and put a hand on my arm. “I don’t like this. Nash told us you should stay at the firehall until they figure out the demon problem.”

  I scowled at him. “Despite what Nash may think, he’s not the boss of me. I can’t stay locked up in the coffee shop forever.”

  “Easy for you to say, Harry, you don’t have to answer to him.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, feeling a bit guilty, and gave him a little shrug. I hadn’t thought of that. “Fine. Here,” I said, taking out my list and tearing it in two. I shoved one half at Eric. “Take this and get everything on it, and Jon and I will do the other half. That way we’ll be twice as quick and be back at the jailhouse, I mean firehouse, before you know it.” I gave Jon a look. “Satisfied?”

  Jon nodded. “Thanks, Harry.”

  My half of the list was mostly fruits and vegetables, so Jon and I headed over to the produce section on the far side of the store to start. At first, everything seemed to be going fine, although there were a few loud crashes, like someone had knocked over a display, that set Jon on edge.

  I was squeezing the melons (not a euphemism) when Eric came trotting up, his face full of concern.

  “Hey! Where’s your half of the groceries?” I asked, looking down at his empty hands.

  “Not now, Harry. We have to go.” He gave Jon a look that obviously spoke volumes to Jon, but said nothing to me.

  Jon grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, Harry.”

  “Wait!” I pushed his hand off my arm. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a woman going berserk in the cereal aisle. She’s ranting and knocking everything off the—”

  “YOU!”

  The shout surprised us, but not as much as the egg missile that whipped past my head and took Eric right in the chest. He didn’t even flinch at the impact, although he scowled down at the yolk staining his shirt and dripping to the floor.

  We turned as one to regard the crazy woman with the egg carton, momentarily shocked into inaction. Jon roused first, grabbing my arm and dragging me around a display shelf stacked with apples as eggs continued to fly and the woman continued to rant.

  “Harry Russo! Come out, come out wherever you are. You’re a naughty girl. Yes you are, yes you are.”

  Jon raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “Do you know her?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t really get a good look at her before we dove behind the apples. There was a crash, and a display of salad dressing toppled over. I risked a peek and started with surprise. It was the woman from the hospital, again! She was in even worse shape than when I saw her at the coffee shop the week before. Her hair was a bird’s nest of tangles and her clothes, the same ones she was wearing last time, were filthy.

  “Harry, oh, Harry,” she crooned, her voice sounding raw. “Get out here, you bitch. My master is not happy with you.”

  “Now see here, just you wait a minute!” A man, probably the store manager, strode into view. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve called the police.”

  “Go away, you puny meatsack,” the woman screamed. She threw the carton of eggs at him and then pulled a sharp kitchen knife from her purse.

  “Oh shit.” I looked at Jon and Eric. “We’ve got a problem, guys.”

  “You think?” Eric gaped at me incredulously.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here while she’s distracted,” Jon said.

  “We can’t just leave. What if she hurts him?”

  “It’s not your job—”

  “Yeah, but it’s my fault.” I sighed heavily. “Look, we just have to distract her until the cops get here. Move around and try to get behind her and then hit her with a blast from your squirt guns.” Not waiting for a reply, I quickly stood up, waving my arms. “Woo-hoo! Over here.”

  The woman, who had been brandishing the knife at the manager, swiveled her head to stare at me.

  “Yeah, that’s right. It’s me, Harry. I’m the one you want. Let him go.” I waved my hand at the manager, and he scuttled backwards a few steps away from the woman. Thankfully, I could hear sirens in the distance. The police would be here soon.

  Faster than I would have thought possible, the woman leapt forward, slashing out with the knife, catching the manager across his exposed neck as he turned away to flee.

  “No!”

  I watched helpless as blood spurted from the gash at his throat. He slapped a hand to his wound, shocked, as the blood continued to spray from between his fingers.

  “There’ll be more where that came from the longer you ignore my master’s wishes,” the woman hissed. She lifted the blade to her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick the blood coating its surface. She looked at me from over the blade, her face frozen in a rictus of pleasure.

  I rushed forward, pushing Jon and Eric, who had stepped in front of me, out of the way, and pulled the squirt gun from where I had tucked it at the small of my back.

  “Go back to hell, you little bastard,” I yelled as I opened fire with the squirt gun, dousing her with holy water.

  The woman screamed, dropping the knife to swipe at her face. Jon and Eric stepped up beside me and opened fire as well, and the woman fell to her knees, writhing and screaming. I crouched on the floor, clamping my hands on the manager’s neck, trying to stem the blood that continued to spray.

  I glanced around me at the crowd that had gathered. “Call an ambulance!” I yelled, as a man ran forward, pulling his scarf from aro
und his neck.

  “Here,” he said, dropping to his knees beside me. I shuffled over, giving him room beside me, while keeping my hands on the manager’s wound. When the scarf suddenly looped around my neck, and I was pulled tight against the man I thought was a would-be rescuer, I was, to say the least, surprised.

  “My master wants you baaaack,” he whispered in my ear, his voice low and gravelly. He tugged me backwards, dragging me to my feet. I scrabbled at the scarf, my hands covered in the manager’s blood, as I struggled to loosen his hold on me. The scarf was so tight I couldn’t breathe, and my pulse began to pound in my head as a wave of dizziness came over me. Letting my knees buckle, I threw all my weight to the floor. Surprised, the man let go of the scarf.

  “Jon,” I rasped. “Water!”

  Jon turned from watching the woman who continued to writhe on the floor in pain, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Water!” I croaked again.

  Jon aimed his water pistol and blasted the man, who screamed, his hands flying to his face. I crawled back to the manager to check his pulse, but I knew I was too late. I looked up at his spirit as it gazed down in disbelief at its own body.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You should go to the light. Don’t linger, there’s evil about.”

  “My family,” the ghost moaned. “I-I…”

  “I’ll tell them you were thinking of them at the end.”

  “Thank you.” He glanced away, his sad visage turning to one of amazement. “Is that…?”

  “Yeah, go to the light.

  “Harry, are you okay?” Jon knelt beside me, pulling the scarf from my neck. He winced at the bruises that must have already been starting to form.

  I looked over at the man who’d tried to strangle me. He had stopped screaming and was sitting almost comatose, his back against the shelves. A sudden movement to my left drew my eyes. A wrinked, little grey man was scampering away. The imp paused as if sensing my attention and turned back to glare at me before thumbing his nose and blowing a raspberry at me.