Andrej pulled the door open and ushered me in. I climbed in the backseat and ran my hand through my hair to get some of the water out of it. I flung the water all over the interior of the car. The door slammed after I was in, and Andrej walked around to the other side of the car, climbing into the passenger seat.
The driver shifted into gear and pulled out. I didn't recognize him, but it had been awhile since I'd worked for Balthazar. We weren't on the best of terms.
Once upon a time, Balthazar had paid me a lot of money to run all over the world to do his dirty work. Things had gone bad on a job about five years earlier. After that, I'd told Balthazar I was done. If he wanted to see me after all this time, it couldn't be for anything good.
“So, did you miss me?” I asked.
Andrej didn't respond. He just sat there staring out the window. He's got the personality of a pit bull. Well, that's actually not a fair comparison. I like pit bulls. Andrej's just a dick.
“Who's the new guy?” I asked. “What happened to Tommy? I liked Tommy. He laughed at my jokes.”
“Dead.”
“Damn.”
I really had liked Tommy. He was an oaf for sure, but he did laugh at my jokes. Andrej had slapped him around on more than one occasion for laughing.
“So, I was right. You did miss me.”
I didn't get a response.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. I could have pushed the issue, but I'd only drank enough to want to fight him, not enough to think I could win. Course, I could always have shot him in the back as we drove. Hindsight.
It took twenty minutes to get The Siren Club.
Balthazar's owned it since the 90s. The name on the deed has changed a few times, usually after the club’s raided and shut down by the cops, but Balthazar's always been the guy that owned it.
It's had three names in the ten years I've been going in and out of it, but for the last six years, it's been The Siren Club. Balthazar uses the club as a front for his less than legitimate business ventures. It used to be drugs, hookers, and guns. That was before he met me. Now, he works in what he casually refers to as antiquities. Really, they're all objects imbued with magical power.
At the start of time, Angels and Demons did the kung-fu hustle upstairs. When it was all said and done, the Demons lost and got sent downtown to Hell. They've been there ever since, and they're real pissed about it.
Like any war, there was a ton of garbage left over, a lot of which was scattered all over Earth. Only thing, celestial garbage is pretty powerful if people can get their hands on it. That's where Balthazar comes in. He sends people all over the world looking for ancient crap to sell off to the highest bidder. It's a dangerous business, but it's profitable.
I'd introduced Balthazar to the world of magic, and he'd taken off running ever since. I have a lot of regrets in my life, but getting involved with Balthazar Reznik was definitely towards the top of the list.
We parked around back. The rain was still coming down in sheets. Andrej wasn't in much of a hurry getting inside, so we both ended up getting soaked.
I ducked underneath the small awning above the club's private entrance. It was designated for VIPs and apparently, me. Andrej put his hand on the biometric lock beside the door. I watched as the green bar scanned over his palm before the door swung inward.
“Wow. You guys are really moving up in the world. That's some James Bond shit.”
Andrej ignored me. Shocking, I know.
I followed him inside to a small hallway. The door swung shut behind me automatically. I hate to admit that I was kind of impressed.
There were two doors and an elevator in the hallway. I knew from previous trips to the club that one door led to the stairs, and the other was the club's security room. Five guys with enough firepower to stage a coupe in most small countries were sitting in there, waiting.
I followed Andrej into the elevator and up to the second floor. The elevator opened up to a small reception area. Plush chairs and a couch surrounded three sides of a coffee table off to the right. The left side held a large desk and kitchenette area.
Zaria sat behind the desk, wearing a red dress that looked black against her dark skin. She was Balthazar's assistant. She stood up from behind the desk, her dress hugging every inch of her perfect body.
Her long legs rippled with corded muscle, and purple pumps pushed her already six-foot body even higher off the ground. She was the only bald woman I'd ever seen that was still strikingly beautiful. Her angular cheeks were sharp, and her almond shaped eyes were amber, so bright they almost looked molten when they caught the light.
She opened the door inward and waved us in. She nodded as Andrej passed. I got regarded coolly. She never spoke. That was mostly because she didn't have a tongue. Word on the street was that Balthazar had had it ripped out after she spoke out of turn. I knew the real reason, though.
Zaria’s a Siren, a powerful Hellion that can seduce with the voice. She also had a nasty left hook. Her tongue and larynx had been ripped out before she came to work for Balthazar. Even though she couldn't sing her song anymore, her presence was overpowering for humans, especially if you weren't used to being around her. I'd also seen her literally rip a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. Well, he may have technically died of blood loss, but the effect was memorable.
I tipped my head to her as I stepped through. I could feel her magic in the air as I walked passed her. I never spoke to her. Even though she was a demonic killing machine, it seemed cruel to remind her that she'd lost her voice. I always wondered if she still sung inside her head.
She was a thing made for a purpose, and that purpose was gone. I could desperately relate.
Balthazar's office was one of the more impressive things I've ever seen, and I've seen a few things in my day.
Almost fifty feet across in any direction, the floor of the office was made entirely of glass. Beneath the tinted panes, patrons of the club sat at tables, ordered drinks at the bar, and watched the girls performing on stage. If they were to look up, they would see their reflection in a mirrored ceiling. From the office, though, you could see everyone and everything.
A sizable library took up the left-hand side of the massive office. Leather reading chairs sat next to dark, oak tables. A vast collection of artifacts from cultures all around the world stood on the opposite side.
In the center of it all, an oak desk the size of a twin mattress drew everything towards itself like the sun. The room was wholly designed to bring people to see Balthazar in all his glory.
He was sitting behind the desk, typing away when we entered. He didn't look up; his focus moved back and forth between the file open in front of him and the computer screen.
It had been five years since I'd been in the office, and everything looked just a little different, everything except Balthazar. He looked the same as the first day I'd met him.
His hair was black with strands of slate gray mixed in. It clung close to his head, slicked back with expensive product, the kind that doesn't look like you used a handful of oil to tame your hair.
His face and hands were dark and weathered; years spent hustling on the streets of Romania early in life had left his skin with the consistency of softened leather. He wore a navy blue suit that cost more than several months’ worth of rent. His white button-up shirt stood out against his tanned skin. I knew his teeth would match it when he smiled.
Balthazar was a man of dangerous smiles. Frowning, you always knew to watch your back. It was when he smiled that you had to be careful. You never knew what was behind his eyes when he smiled at you. I've seen him smile at a someone up until the moment that Andrej stuck a knife between their ribs.
I walked slowly to the desk at the center of the room. Andrej closed the door behind me and posted up against the wall, leaving me to walk alone.
He'd summoned me, and I couldn't refuse. That didn't mean that I couldn't be frustratingly slow about getting there. Sometimes, you have to p
ick and choose your battles and find solace in the small things.
I sat down without being offered a chair. Balthazar was still going over the file in front of him. I'd seen him do this before. He would call a meeting and then refuse to acknowledge the person until they spoke. Fortunately for me, I was still buzzing from my time at the Taft House and didn't have anything else going on. I could wait.
I leaned back in the chair, listening to the pattering of the keyboard as his hands typed out a furious message. It was then that I noticed the bottle sitting on his desk. It was a thing of beauty.
Two empty glasses stood in front of it, the brims coming up to the bottom of the “1926” date on the bottle. Macallan Fine and Rare ran over the label.
I know that he put it out there for me. The label and the glasses were both facing away from him. He put them there so that I would ask him for some, make me beg, and then decide if he would acquiesce. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have let it go, but when someone puts a forty thousand dollar bottle of single malt scotch in front of me, I lose what little resolve I may have had in the first place.
“I'm here alright. Now, pour that damn thing and tell me why.”
He didn't stop typing. I hadn't expected him to. Power was his drink of choice. Balthazar Reznik was not a man enslaved to any vice, except the desperate need to be in control. He didn't buy expensive scotch to enjoy it. He bought it to enjoy the look on other people's faces when they saw he had it, just another way to prove that he had something that they wish they could and knew they never would.
“My, where are your manners Deckland? I would think you would use a please and thank you.” He said.
He had the hint of an Eastern European accent when he spoke.
“I save my pleases for people that don't hustle me outside in the middle of a monsoon.”
He regarded me carefully. I could see his brackish brown eyes studying me. I'd had the great misfortune of trusting Balthazar once upon a time. When I'd first gotten to the city, I'd had nothing. I was living on the street, eating garbage and whatever else I could find.
Hell, when I met Balthazar for the first time, I'd been skinning a stray cat that I'd been planning on eating for dinner.
He and his boys had been out on rather nasty business. Someone had snitched on a deal. They had brought the poor bastard out to the docks to find out what all he'd said. They were so busy burning the guy with a cigar torch to notice the Kappa that pulled itself out of the water twenty feet from them.
Kappa are giant turtle like Hellions. They grow up to seven feet tall and can clock in at well over a thousand pounds. Three claws on each hand tear chunks out of their prey. They have a beak that can crush steel and a gullet full of jagged tusks that cut anything swallowed to ribbons. They're surprise predators, relying on catching their prey unaware.
The thing had killed three of Balthazar's guys and was well on its way to killing Balthazar himself by the time I was able to get to it. I used the piece of rebar that I had been planning on using as a spit for the cat to gouge out the thing’s eyes. Kappa are strong, but if you put up any kind of real fight, they tend to run away. Which it did, diving back into the water and disappearing out into the bay.
After that day, Balthazar took me in. He gave me food, clothes, money, women, and anything else I wanted. I told him about Angels, Demons, and the War for Heaven. He'd become a father to me. I'd trusted him. Then it blew up in my face.
Balthazar knew me far too well, and it made me very uncomfortable. I still had plenty of secrets, but I have too many other enemies to worry about Balthazar.
“Well, if you aren't going to pour it, I will.” I said, reaching over and grabbing the bottle.
I pulled out the cork and poured two fingers into a glass. The amber liquid oozed a peaty musk as it flowed. I put the cork back in the bottle and took the glass.
Balthazar never took his eyes off me. He refused to smile. He refused to do anything except sit there and look at me until I broke.
I knocked back a mouthful. Smoother than water on the way down, I felt the warmth spread through my chest. I stuck my nose in the glass and breathed in deep. The fumes were strong enough to strip paint and melt my lungs.
“So,” I said, “you gonna tell me why I'm here or should I take this round to go?”
I took another hundred-dollar sip of scotch and waited.
“I find myself in a position that requires assistance. Assistance that you are uniquely suited to provide.” He said.
I almost spit out my drink in surprise. I did end up swallowing wrong and coughing so hard I almost spilled the rest. Not my finest moment in terms of playing it cool.
“You want me to help you.” I said. “You can't be serious. There's a reason I don't work for you anymore.”
“I'm well aware of our past.”
“Then you should know that it'll be a cold day in Hell before I agree to do another job for you.”
“You owe me a great deal of money.” He said.
I took time to swallow another swig before I answered, trying to burn out my anger.
“I know how much I owe you, and we agreed that I would pay you back, but I do not have to work for you to do it. I do my own thing, and you get cash in the mail every month. That's the deal.”
“I understand the nature of our agreement. I'm proposing that we change it.”
“No.”
“You haven't even heard my terms.” He said.
I knocked back the rest of the scotch and slammed the glass down on the desk, standing as I did.
“Not going to happen.”
I turned and started walking to the door.
“Next time call. I could have delivered that screw you over the phone.” I said.
“I'm willing to forgive the entire debt.”
I stopped, halfway to the door. I should have kept walking. I should have flipped him the bird and left. The thing is, I owed him a lot of money, half a million. What was the harm in hearing him out? I could always say screw you afterward. Besides, if I went back, I had another opportunity to drink his scotch.
“What's the catch?” I asked, turning back toward him.
“Sit.”
I hesitated. The door was calling my name. My better judgment was yelling at me. The alcohol was encouraging me, though. Who am I to deny?
I walked back to the desk and sat back in the chair. This time, Balthazar uncorked the bottle and poured me a second glass. I took it and leaned back in the chair.
“I'm listening.”
He didn't pour himself a glass.
“I need to know that regardless of whether or not you accept my offer that I will have your complete discretion. You may hear my proposal before accepting, but any information given to you stays here. No one else can know.”
I nodded.
“Something happened.” He slid the file he'd been looking at across the desk.
I shifted the drink to my left hand and flipped the file open. I was glad I'd missed dinner. The photos inside showed the remainder of what was once a human body. Now, it was nothing but a torn up suit with pieces of meat leaking out.
“When?” I asked.
“This morning.”
I flipped through the photos. There was a series of them at different angles and distances, all of the same body. I could see a black SUV, spent shell casings. Something bad had happened.
“Hellion.” I said. “Decent size too if it was able to rip him apart like this. Doesn't look like it fed on him. That means you are dealing with a summoned Hellion. Someone sent it after this poor bastard.”
Balthazar nodded.
Hellions were the bastard offspring of creation. Once the Devil and his band of Misfit Toys got kicked out of Heaven, they decided to try their hand at making life. It didn't go as well as the first creation had. They came up with twisted perversions of everything God had created. Werewolves, Vampires, Ogres, Dragons, you name it. If it's nightmarish, they came up with it.
&nb
sp; Trapped in Hell, Demons use Hellions to cause havoc here on Earth. It's easier to get a Hellion onto our plane of existence than it is for Demons to get here physically. They pop up through naturally occurring rifts every so often.
They can be summoned to Earth as well. All it takes is some upstart Warlock with more balls than brains to conjure up a Hellion with the right spell. What happens after that is never good.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“One of the men on my daughter's protective detail. Their vehicle was attacked this morning. She was on her way to class.”
Talia Reznik had only been seventeen the last time I'd seen her. Balthazar's late wife had passed long before I'd come in the picture. His daughter was the only family that he had as far as I was aware, the only family that meant a damn to him anyway.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“I don't know. Nor do I know where her other bodyguard is. He should have been with them. So far, we cannot find a trace of him.”
“You think it was an inside job?” I asked.
Balthazar stopped to pour himself a heavy-handed glass. He drank.
“I don't know. I do intend to find out.”
“You want my help.” I said.
Balthazar nodded.
“I want you to find my daughter. I want you to find the Hellion that did this and kill it. Then I want you to track down the bastard who summoned it and bring him to me. Alive. Do that, and your debt with me will be settled.”
Balthazar looked at me for a long time. I sipped my glass and stared back.
“You don't trust anyone?” I asked. “Not even Andrej?”
I saw his eyes glance to the doorway where Andrej stood.
“I trust you to find my daughter and to do it quickly.”
I weighed my options. Five hundred grand was a life sentence for me. If I could get out from under it, I might have a chance of actually doing more than scraping by. If it had been an inside job, there certainly would people within Balthazar's organization who'd want to stop me.
“What do you have planned for the Warlock?” I asked.
Double-Barreled Devilry Page 2