“Nothing’s more important than your life,” I said. “You can always get another story. But you’ve only got one—”
Kennedy slammed her fist on the table to cut me off, making the cutlery jump from the impact. “Don’t you talk to me about goddamn life, hoss! Where I come from, the only reason anybody keeps on living is so that you get the chance to get away.” The Texas was coming back strong in her voice as she added, “I had a leg up on most with my pretty little face. But that’s the thing about pretty … put enough miles on the road and it’ll run out like all the oil did back home. Sure, it got me a foot in the door but it’ll never get me where I want to go.”
“Out of the late-night ghetto?”
“Uh-huh,” Kennedy confirmed. “That’s going to happen when I reel me in a big fish of a story … and these wolf killings look like being just that.” Her piece said, she grabbed her fork and stabbed into the eggs again. After taking a bite, she added, “My connection got me some basics but I’m gonna need more info. That’s where you come in, Vale.” She saw the look on my face and leveled her fork at me. “Or maybe Morgan would like to know about you hanging with an alleged major crime figure in the shape of one Señor Ramon De Soto?”
“Nothing you could ever prove,” I shot back.
“Don’t need to,” Kennedy said, with a vicious little smile. “That’s his job. And seeing as he hates your guts like he does, I’d say he’d be highly motivated if I let that little tidbit slip.”
I shook my head. If Kennedy told Morgan that story she’d be handing him a license to throw me in jail any time he liked. Then there was the heat I might get from De Soto for stirring up the shit.
“This is blackmail,” I told her.
“Sure,” Kennedy admitted with a shrug. “It’s also a straight offer. In exchange for me keeping my mouth shut, I help you solve this case. Win-win from where I’m sitting.”
While she finished off her eggs, I thought it over. The math kept coming back the same way. I sighed. “Any other catches I should know about?”
Polishing off the last of her orange juice, Kennedy looked aside, like she was thinking. I knew better, given the triumphant expression on her face. Then she looked directly at me. “Well, apart from giving me exclusive rights to the story once we get to the bottom of it, you treating this like a partnership instead of a marriage, and you never, ever calling me ‘Candy’ or ‘Sugar,’ I can’t think of anything.” She got up from the table and grabbed her purse. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”
“What do you mean ‘thanks for breakfast’?”
She just gave me that smile again and walked out the door.
As she opened it, I became aware of somebody sitting at the counter just inside the door. She was wearing a coal-black power suit and had one of the nicest pairs of legs I had ever seen. Then I noticed the pin on her lapel … it was the same as what was branded on my shoulder.
My thoughts turned cold. The woman was staring daggers at the blissfully unaware Kennedy’s back. She was in disguise, but there was no mistaking those solid black orbs … Lady McDeath.
I shook my head to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things. Next thing I knew, the counter stool was deserted and the door had shut behind Kennedy. Despite the always-perfect temperature inside the Tombs, I felt clammy. Why did Kennedy have to insist on getting herself involved?
Tommy came out from the back with a platter of scrambled eggs, wholegrain waffles, and a glass of milk. If he noticed me looking freaked, he didn’t let it show on his face.
“You know she didn’t pay for her meal, right?” I said, pointing towards the door.
“Of course I do, Bell,” Tommy said, setting the food down in front of me. “That’s because you’re paying for it.”
“Hells, no!” I exclaimed, hating myself for the whine in my voice.
“Oh, cut the shit,” Tommy said with a little irritation as he gathered up Kennedy’s dirty dishes. “Seeing what else I could have charged you for info on Cinema Leone, you could at least sound grateful.”
Hearing an echo of Zian’s words the previous night irked me, but somehow I managed to hold my tongue and I didn’t describe to Tommy how many different ways aiding and abetting Kennedy here was a mistake of epic proportions. No, what I said instead was, “I’m guessing you found something interesting.”
Tommy chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it. Then again, seeing as how Cinema Leone is sitting on an intersection of three ley lines, it’s kind of like saying that the A-bomb on Hiroshima made a big boom.”
That got my attention. Two ley lines intersecting was enough to create a place of power that somebody on either side of the border could exploit. But three in one spot was the equivalent of the Hope Diamond or Russian plutonium for sale—not unheard of but so rare that it might as well be a myth.
“Figure Mr. Nicholls had any clue what his little place was sitting on?” I asked.
Tommy shrugged as he picked up the last of the dishes. “I couldn’t say. But it’s kind of remarkable, don’t you think, that an aging movie house can survive in a killer economy like ours?”
“Somebody had to have noticed that,” I agreed.
“Heh, that’s one way of putting it,” Tommy agreed. “Seeing as I’ve heard about offers for that place stretching round the block ’bout three or four times, I’d say it was probably more than one somebody.”
“Let’s not push it, Tommy,” I said, holding up a hand. “Most real estate brokers I know don’t have a refined Geiger counter for ley lines.”
“Yeah, but there’s someone who did,” Tommy said, putting the gathered dishes down on the table. He pulled a city map out from his apron. I noticed that Cinema Leone and the ley lines it was sitting on were already marked. Tapping his finger on the southernmost ley line, Tommy said, “That’s where Old Man Nicholls checked out. A death like that would run up and down the ley line like an electric shock, pooling all that nice necromantic energy right at the intersection.”
“So somebody had to die in that way and at that spot all along to give the line that kind of charge,” I deduced. “That it was the theater’s owner, who’d put a lot of decades and love into the place, doesn’t strike me as a coincidence.”
“That’d be my guess too,” Tommy agreed as he folded the map back up. “Either way, the angry son of a bitch who did it could sniff out where the lines were and make it happen in just the right spot.”
He grabbed the dishes and let me eat my breakfast in peace. I don’t know how that old man does it but he always seems to know when I’ve finished, so I wasn’t a bit surprised when he reappeared when I laid my knife and fork down, satisfied.
“Got any idea who owns the theater now?” I asked him.
Tommy grunted. “I look like the damn local registrar of deeds to you, son?”
“No, you look like a cigar store Indian on vacation,” I deadpanned.
“That’s ‘cigar store Native American’ to you, boy,” Tommy retorted, getting a chuckle out of both of us.
Then he sighed. “If I had to guess, I’d figure the old man’s heirs have got their hands on the deed. I give it a week before they say ‘the hell with it’ and unload it for as much as they can get out of it.”
“Could be something that Kennedy could help me out with,” I speculated. “At least that’s safe to check out.”
“She mentioned what went down at your place last night,” Tommy told me. “Still a little shook up, but I reckon she can handle it, Bell.”
“Handle what?” I asked in annoyance.
“Handle whatever and whoever this case of yours is going to throw at her. Last night was the ultimate sink or swim for her. How she told it, she swam it like a champ.”
“The kind of waters I’m going to be swimming in, a hit squad like that would look like a birthday present.”
“And?” Tommy aske
d, looking very unimpressed.
“And you think she’s ready to take on any trouble that comes from across the border?” I asked him point-blank.
“Guess that’s something you’ll find out. Like it or not, she’s all in regardless.”
“Shit, like you need to remind me,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Now I know you got something else on that overtaxed, undernourished mind of yours,” Tommy concluded. “What is it?”
I stared hard at him. “You know anything about a changeling who’s slinging dope that you’re only supposed to get from Smoke & Mirrors?”
Chapter fifteen
Information trail
After I pulled the Stingray out of the Tombs, I aimed it towards Zian’s offsite location. While I had been busy dealing with Kennedy, Zian had sent a Google map of the locale to my phone. I’d felt it buzz but had been too wrapped up with talking to Tommy to look at it until after breakfast.
I figured it was fair that I give Zian the heads-up that I was coming so I hit the redial button on his secured line when I got to my first red light. The voice on the other end said, “We are sorry but Zianyon cannot come to the phone right now. If you will please leave a message at the tone, I will make sure that he never gets back to you.”
There was no mistaking the voice that was giving me that clever combo of snark and threat.
“Huh, hi … Mr. Hermes.”
“As much as I appreciate the show of respect, Mr. Vale,” the King of the Internet said. “Let me assure you that ‘Hermes’ will suffice.”
It made sense … the Greek gods had never been big on scraping and bowing like the denizens of some other pantheons. All they asked from us mortals was the same basic respect that we would give a human of higher station.
“Despite what my little greeting may lead you to believe,” Hermes went on, “I am actually not upset with you this morning. My son, on the other hand …”
“I take it that you found out what Zian was up to?” I asked as the light turned green.
“It is not as though he could ever hide it from me,” Hermes said with a note of contempt. “I told him once already to let this matter drop … and yet he insists on digging himself a deeper hole that may bury him yet.”
“In fairness, sir, I didn’t ask him to do that,” I pointed out.
“No, but you’re about to, Mr. Vale,” Hermes countered. “That is what has me concerned. Last night you kept him safe. You may fail to be so lucky a second time.”
“With all due respect, Hermes, it’s too late for Zian to turn his back on this. Whatever he’s found, someone else knows he’s got it and they are going to try again. Regardless of what he does from this point on, or how long they wait before making their move, it … will … happen. Unless we get to them first.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. After stopping at another red light, I began to get a little nervous. Then I heard a long groan of irritation. “You have made your point, Mr. Vale. Very well … if you will just hang up and dial this number a second time, you will get through to Zianyon.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, suppressing a sigh of relief.
“But understand something,” Hermes added in a stern tone. “This is a temporary arrangement. I expect you to stay out of Zianyon’s life when this is over.”
The light turned green. While giving the gas a tap, I said, “No promises.”
“And why are you choosing to tell me something so potentially bad for your health?” Hermes asked with a spike of hostility cutting through his calm façade.
“Rule number two: never lie to a client,” I explained. “Besides, it seems to me as though Zian might have a few ideas of his own on the subject. He’s not a child anymore, you know?”
Hermes grunted. “I respect the honesty of your answer, even if I have issues with it. Be that as it may, I think we should revisit this topic again at a later date.”
The phone beeped, signifying the end of the call. By now, I was three blocks from the offsite. I hit the redial button again and Zian picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Vale!” my friend all but shouted into the phone, bursting with excitement. “How soon can you get here?”
“Two and a half blocks from you now, Z,” I said with cautious optimism. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, better than okay,” Zian assured me. “Just get here as soon as you can. I think you’re going to like what I’ve found!”
About ten minutes later, my car was parked at a Rite-Aid on the corner and I was walking up to a deserted factory that matched the place marked on the map. I never knew what the company’s name was but I recognized it as the less fortunate competition that AN had helped put out of business about three years before. The exterior walls were all aluminum siding, corroded from the sea air and neglect, and the near-roof-level windows stared at the surroundings with sociopath eyes.
I heard the front door unlock as I got close to it. A quick glance up enabled me to spot an unobtrusive spy cam sitting on the upper left corner of the door frame. The interior was a clean concrete slab that seemed roughly the length of a pair of football fields. Most of the trappings that had made this a major shipwright operation had long since been stripped out, right down to the lights.
An ancient loudspeaker emitted a high-pitched whistle before Zian’s voice broke through. “Come on back to the manager’s office, Bell.”
That’s when I spotted the faint fluorescent lights that were on in a room at the far end of this industrial grave. As I approached Zian appeared at a window and waved me in, pointing to where the door was. I heard another automatic lock click open as I turned the knob and click back once I was through. By then, Zian was back at the ancient desk in the corner, typing away on a laptop of much more recent vintage.
“Not that I think you’re being paranoid, Zian,” I said, strolling across to the desk, “but did last night shake you up that bad?”
“Oh, I had this security in place before all that,” he assured me, glancing up from the screen just long enough to give me a lopsided grin. “You can’t be too careful.”
His bleach-blond hair was its usual mess of rebellious strands, and he wore a black T-shirt that proclaimed “Age of the geek, baby” and a pair of faded jeans.
“Give me another minute or so,” he requested. “The factory’s old Wi-Fi is good but it’s not the Indigo’s.”
I pulled up a straight-backed office chair and sat opposite him. “While we’re waiting, anything you can just go ahead and tell me?”
Zian’s fingers stopped their keyboard dance. “Yeah. It turns out that there were four other deaths that tied in with the buildings around the Cinema Leone.”
“How so?” I asked, leaning back in the chair as much as I could.
“Well, none of them fit the MO for the Berserker,” Zian admitted. “But all of the victims were tenants of the buildings that got bought up by a shell corporation calling itself Fairwinds Inc. The day after the last death, the sales on all their buildings were finalized.”
A red flag raised itself in my head. In my business, coincidences are a myth.
“What can you tell me about the victims?” I asked.
“Too much for me to repeat it without some data links,” Zian said with a sigh of frustration. “That’s why I’m—wait, here it comes!”
He gestured to me to come around to his side of the desk. I found myself looking at four different pictures on the screen. Having sat for pics like that myself, I made them for police mugshots.
“If these vics are what I think they are, I’m guessing nobody took a harder look at their untimely demises,” I ventured.
“Sure,” Zian agreed. “Why waste time on dead scumbags when you can be protecting tax-paying citizens?”
“How’d they go?”
“Different ways,” Zian sa
id, clicking on the first of the pictures. A police report popped up, complete with photos of a freshly shot corpse. “This first guy was a banger. Caught a bullet on a night when he wasn’t looking for trouble, but trouble was sure looking for him.”
Zian minimized the window and clicked on the second pic, pulling up a report that showed something that might have started off as human but was now mostly paste. “This second guy, a hardcore junkie, took a swan dive off the roof during his latest—and last—high.”
Another minimize-and-click operation later, he brought up another report with a mangled corpse, although this one still looked human. “Number three was a street dealer, knocked down in a hit-and-run on his own corner.”
The last picture brought up a report that looked like it could have belonged to a Homeland Security file on a terrorist. “Our final contestant was another banger who moonlighted as a thief. Too bad the last thing he stole was an antique music box packed with low-yield explosives. It blew up in his face the second he opened the lid.”
“Nothing that links them together?” I asked, digesting the details I had skimmed in Zian’s presentation.
“Aside from where they lived and what happened to their place of residence after buying the farm?” Zian asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
I gave him a look.
“If there is some other link, the cops never found it,” Zian told me, his fingers moving again. “Or if they did, they didn’t bother looking closer. No sense wasting time on a stone whodunit when you can just attribute it to what passes for natural causes among the criminal class.”
“Any other unusual deaths before or after that batch of kills?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes, there was one,” Zian responded. He brought up a folder marked Kurtzenberg on the desktop. “This case happened to be a solid citizen, so I have a few more details to work with.”
Opening the folder, Zian tapped on a Word doc that was a mixture of words and pictures. The picture at the top showed a portrait shot of a man with a craggy face and flat-topped gray hair. He reminded me vaguely of James Cagney.
Hostile Takeover (Vale Investigation Book 1) Page 14