Double-Barreled Devilry

by D Michael Bartsch

  I'd ended up going out the window. It had been locked and painted, but it broke easily enough when I threw Ted's baby stairs through it.

  Before leaving, I'd taken time to try and sort through some of Ted's files to see if I could find anything on Prufrock. I don't know what system he had for filing things, but I couldn't find a damn thing I was looking for. Everything was numbered with a series of two and three digit numbers separated by a seemingly random number of dashes.

  Having given up, I'd climbed out the window to the street and called a cab back to the Stang. I wondered how long Carol was going to sit around screaming before she got into the room. By the time I'd left, a lot of Ted's body had dissolved into a sticky pool of filth. It wasn't going to get better with time.

  The rain had refused to let up completely, and it was falling in drizzles that seemed to cut in and out sporadically. It was accompanied by a characteristic wet fog that San Francisco was known for.

  Vested, my coat was a tight fit, but I had enough room for a fifth in the inside pocket to help keep me warm. I palmed it and unscrewed the cap while I waited. The moonshine was pungent in my mouth as I drank it down, the scent like rubbing alcohol, burning my nose hairs. It was awful, but I'd found it unopened in one of the drawers in Ted's desk. It would get me through long enough to get upstairs and see if I could weasel my way into getting more of Balthazar's stash.

  The lock finally went green, and the door clicked as it pushed outward slightly. I opened it the rest of the way, gave the camera the finger, and walked in.

  I took another drink in the elevator before screwing the cap back on and putting the bottle back in my pocket. I cupped my hand to my mouth and let out a long breath, trying to breathe out and sniff at the same time. Could have been worse. Wasn't great, but it could have been worse.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Zaria was behind her desk, working diligently on something. I got an eyeful, aided by her low cut blouse. The sleeveless top was made of ivory silk and just sheer enough to know you should have to pay to get that kind of view. I shook my head and reminded myself she was a soul-sucking Hellspawn and embraced the pang of guilt that wallowed up in my stomach, an echo of a long dead morality.

  I moved through the waiting area with swagger, as much as I could manage anyway. Zaria gave me a perfunctory glance and returned to her work. I wasn't worth anything else. I tipped my head to her regardless as I made my way to the door of Balthazar's office.

  I closed the heavy oak door behind me as I entered. Balthazar was at his desk, absorbed in his computer screen, not even bothering to glance up at who’d entered his office. He knew that no one would get in here if they weren't supposed to be. Zaria and the armed men downstairs made sure of that.

  I walked over and plopped down into one of the leather chairs, kicking my feet up onto his desk. That did get a look from the older man. His face didn't reveal any displeasure, but something about his eyes told me he would have loved to cut my feet off for putting them on his desk.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “Have you killed the warlock?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where to find him?”

  “Working on it.”

  “Then we have nothing to discuss.”

  He didn't even bother looking at me. I'd been dismissed and he expected to be obeyed. No doubt he'd have ignored me until I left. I'm not that great at doing what I'm told, though.

  “I was just at Ted's place. He had some interesting things to say.”

  Nothing except the sound of fingers pounding a keyboard from the peanut gallery.

  “I'll tell you,” I said, swinging my legs off the desk and leaning forward. “It started at Glyph's place. I went over there to pay him a visit. He was gone, but I went down to his little lab, and someone had tried to torch the place. I found some blueprints for a holding facility, and some for your office actually. Then some cops showed up and tried to shoot me. They weren't just any cops, though. They were acolytes. They had Moloch's name etched into their bodies.”

  The typing stopped. He didn't look at me right away. He was sitting there, contemplating. I'm sure I looked like a smug asshole. I'd suspected that the two blueprints had been connected, and he'd just confirmed it. I decided to keep going.

  “What exactly was Glyph doing for you?” I asked. “Because what it looks like was building a prison that could hold Hellions. Why would you be interested in something like that? I asked myself.

  “Come to think of it, why have you had Andrej trudging around all over the Bay looking for Rifts? Surely, you couldn't be thinking of waiting for something to come out of them and then taking them to your little Hell Hotel?

  “That's why I went to Ted. I figured if anyone knew, it would be him. He told me you were selling Hellions on the black market. Andrej's been so busy with that that you couldn't even have him take a break long enough to find your daughter.”

  He looked at me then. His eyes were hardened stone as he regarded me. I was sure they were molten with anger just below the surface.

  “Do you have a point, Deckland?”

  “My point is that there's a lot more going on here than you're telling me. This thing with Talia is connected to all of this. You know it, and you've had me running around in the dark anyway, hoping I wouldn't notice that you had your head stuffed squarely up your ass. Are you out of your damn mind? Caging and selling Hellions! What were you thinking?”

  “You would do well to remember who you are speaking with.”

  “So would you,” I said. “You may have learned a few new tricks, but I still know a lot more about all of this than you do.”

  “Paradigms shift.”

  “Bullshit. What have you gotten yourself into?” I asked.

  “I know everything I need to know about Hellions and containing them. My business is my own, and you should know well enough to stay out of it.”

  “And how exactly do you expect to contain whatever shit you have in that place now that Glyph's dead?”

  He blinked, surprised.

  “What?”

  “He's dead. Been dead for almost three weeks now. You happen to have another warder that you can trust to keep your place and this prison of yours contained?”

  I watched him relax slightly. That wasn't good.

  “I'm afraid you've been misinformed. Glyph was here just a few days ago.”

  That wasn't good.

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Working.”

  “On?”

  “I don't need...”

  “Listen to me right now,” I said. “Glyph has been dead for three weeks. The person you saw was a Soul Monger who'd managed to kill him and consume his essence. With it, he gained the ability to take his appearance.”

  Balthazar looked hesitant.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Bastard tried to kill me and I bit half his finger off. Now, what was he doing here?”

  “He was resetting the wards on the club. I've taken extra precautions recently against attacks, from this world or another.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  The changes in the wards, I remembered the subtle shifts I'd seen on the blueprints. If Sartre had come in and tampered with the wards, they could literally be set up to do almost anything.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said.

  “I'm not going anywhere. This room is one of the safest places in the entire city.”

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  There was an explosion from inside the club. My eyes darted to the room below us. I couldn't hear the screams of everyone beneath the glass, but I could see them running, mouths open in terror. Smoke was beginning to fill the air on the other side of the glass.

  My hand danced to the STI tucked into the waistband of my pants. Balthazar came up with a rather nasty looking sawed off Remington 870. The stock had been knocked off and replaced with a pistol grip. He could talk the big talk of be
ing a legitimate businessman, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to get blood on his hands. I kind of admired that.

  A second explosion sounded from the back of the club. I kicked out of the guest chair, sending it flying.

  “Move over,” I said.

  Balthazar moved to one side of the desk. I swept my arm across the top of it and sent his computer monitors tumbling to the floor. If he cared, he didn't say anything.

  I crouched down behind one of the sections of drawers on the right-hand side of the desk. The thick layers of oak would provide the most protection.

  “Is that all you have?” Balthazar asked.

  I gave him a look.

  “Really? You're the one with a room full of guys to stop shit like this from happening.”

  Bursts of rifle fire sounded from below us. Apparently, Andrej's guys were starting to earn their keep. The gunfire was met with the sound of screeching fury. Everything was muffled, but I had a feeling that those screams belonged to a pack of Ravagers.

  I looked down into the club below, and my suspicions were confirmed. I watched as a six-foot tall lizard grabbed a dancing girl and tore her right leg off. Gouts of blood sprayed into the air.

  A Ghoul ran out of a cloud of smoke, a hand sticking out of its mouth, the arm it was connected to being chewed into bloody bits.

  “If they get past your guys, we need to get out of here.”

  “They'll hold them.”

  Balthazar had a lot of faith in his henchmen. I for one, did not. I knew they were a bunch of dangerous killing machines, but I also had a feeling they were pretty far out of their element. Even if they had spent the last few years playing Rambo, they would be used to having an advantage, a team of guys and one unassuming monster. It was a different game when you were the prey, and a pack of predators came calling.

  “If we get out of this, I want money on top of wiping out my debt. This is some serious bullshit.” I said.

  “We can discuss it after the matter is resolved.”

  “Damn right we can,” I said.

  I kept my pistol trained on the doorway and waited. I didn't have to wait long.

  The door exploded in a frenzy of splinters. Zaria's dark skin was glossy with blood as her body bounced and rolled along the ground. They'd used her as a battering ram to burst through the door. The siren was missing an arm at the elbow, and her face was a mess of blood and ravaged flesh.

  My finger was squarely on the trigger when a shapely shadow pushed through the cloud of dust where the door had been.

  Talia was wearing a pair of wine colored jeans with a pair of black heels that clacked as she walked across the glass floor. Her cream top and dark blazer were a dry cleaners nightmare, covered in bloody plaster. She regarded Zaria's corpse coolly, stepping down to run a gloved finger over the mangled face. The once white gloves were ruined, soaked in blood and flesh.

  “Pity,” She said.

  “Talia?” Balthazar said.

  I could see he'd lowered his shotgun, only seeing his daughter. I kept my gun trained firmly on center mass. She wasn't my kid.

  “Daddy Dearest,” She said. “It's good to see you. I hope you don't mind, I brought some friends with me.”

  Three full-grown Ravagers walked into the room behind her. Two of them looked ready to go, but the third was missing an eye, and its lower jaw was dangling by a few scraps of leathery skin. If I had to guess, I would say that one had gotten in a tangle with Zaria.

  I kept my gun pointed at Talia.

  “Talia,” He said. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “You have something I need, and to be honest, you haven't made it easy.”

  She sauntered over to us, the Ravagers shadowing. She walked to the desk and sat in the remaining chair.

  Balthazar stood.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He looked at me, but kept his shotgun across the front of his body, ready to be brought up, but not nearly where I wanted him to have it.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “Why Mr. Cain, I had hoped to find you eventually. I'm glad you are here. It will save me the time of having to track you down.” She turned her attention to Balthazar. “Oh, don't you worry. I'll explain everything, right after you give me the Eye.”

  I felt the bottom of my stomach drop. The Eye of Morai, an otherworldly device that allowed the user to see into the future. It was the thing that Andrej and I had been sent to Minsk to retrieve five years ago. It had surfaced after being hidden away from the Venatori. They'd been in town looking for it as well. I'd split and the rest was history.

  “You've got to be kidding me,” I said. “That's what this is all about?”

  That seemed to interest Talia. She moved her attention back to me. Long enough to smile before looking away again.

  “I've spent the past month trying to get inside of your vault, looking for it. Only when I was finally able to get inside, it wasn't there. That made me think. If you didn't trust it there, there was only one other place that was secure.” She waved her arms around her. “You'd been warding this club against everything imaginable. I don't think it was just your life that you found so valuable.”

  Balthazar's grip tightened on the shotgun with an audible squeal of skin on the grip. He didn't raise it, but he was thinking about it. Finally.

  I looked behind Talia at the Ravagers. Seven feet tall, they were covered head to toe in leathery, scarlet scales. Four talons stretched out eight inches long from each hand. Their tails were five feet of scaled muscle dancing in the air behind them. They had lizard like snouts full of needled teeth arranged in crooked rows.

  They hovered around, shifting back and forth, waiting to be commanded. Whoever had called them up was a powerful Warlock. The stronger the Summoner, the more controllable the Hellions were.

  “Why are you doing this?” Balthazar asked.

  I was curious too. I was more interested in staying alive, though, so I kept my right hand clamped on my gun and moved my left one to the drawer in front of me. I was really hoping that Balthazar was still the creature of habit that he'd been five years ago. The top drawer slid open silently on well-greased tracks. I could have jumped for joy with what I found inside.

  The Platinum cigar cutter was sitting next to a custom made butane lighter. The platinum plated lighter was expensive. That meant it burned clean, quiet, and hot. I moved it from the drawer into my jacket pocket, a plan starting to take shape in my mind as I did.

  There were two wooden boxes inside the drawer. One was a humidor. I knew that I'd find some of the world's finest cigars inside, so I took a moment to lift the lid and pocket one of those too, when in Rome.

  The second box held a pair of stock Glock 17s. Balthazar wasn't a man for flash, and the matte black pistols were reliable and deadly, just what I needed. I tried to be as discreet as possible when I shoved them into the back of my pants. I don't think I was that sly, but luckily for me, everyone was focused on Balthazar. Sometimes it pays to be the washed up, hired help.

  “Give me the Eye,” Talia said.

  “I'm not giving you anything.”

  She smiled again, pulling off her gloves as she did. She tossed the ruined gloves aside. After that, she lifted her skirt enough to reveal a thigh holster and pulled out a small gun. The snub-nosed pistol was probably a four or five shot throw away gun. I couldn't see what it was, but it was likely a .308, the last resort for someone, or personal protection for a woman on the streets after dark.

  My vest would stop it without any problem, but Balthazar didn’t look like he had any protection underneath his suit.

  She held the gun in one hand and placed the other on the armrest. I noticed one of her fingers. The skin was shiny and new, having just recently grown. She'd been to see a healer.

  I looked up to her neckline, already knowing what I'd find. A thin gold chain hung from her neck, ending in a medium sized locket that nuzzled its way into the top hemisphere of her northern no-no zone.
It was the same type of chain that I'd seen her wearing before. The same one that Glyph had been wearing.

  “Balthazar,” I said.

  “What?”

  “That is not your daughter.”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” He said. “Of course, it is.”

  He never got a chance to finish. The gun barked, and Balthazar grunted, clutching his stomach. I ducked down a little further and kept my gun trained on Talia.

  The shotgun dropped onto the desk as Balthazar pressed both his hands against his stomach. Blood started leaking all over the place. So much for almost even odds.

  “I'm afraid Mr. Cain is correct. Your daughter has been dead for several days. She never survived the attack.”

  Of course. Both bodyguards were dead, and there hadn't been any other witnesses. Sartre must have killed her and assumed her identity. I'd never found the real Talia. It had been him. With no one else to tell what happened, why would anyone question the story.

  “You killed my little girl?” Balthazar said, through gritted teeth.

  “Yes. Though I must say, I have enjoyed wearing her face. It's quite attractive.”

  “You did this all for the Eye? You killed my daughter?” He said.

  “I needed the Eye. There are things I desire that money cannot buy. You daughter's death was just part of the plan, as is getting the Eye. I've been waiting a very long time to get my hands on it. Now, where is it?”

  I had to think quickly. Part of me was a little annoyed that I was the only other person with a gun and no one even seemed to be paying attention to me. It was a blessing, though. What wasn't a blessing was Balthazar getting shot. If we were both on our feet, we might have been able to shoot our way out.

  With him doubled over and bleeding all over the damn place, we weren't going anywhere together. I couldn't carry him and get myself out of there. Not with three Ravagers and a face dancing Soul Monger, even if the pocket pistol was the only gun he had.

  All that being said, I made up my mind quickly. Balthazar was about to get himself killed. That got rid of my debt. Sartre was going to do whatever he wanted with or without me getting myself killed in the process. I could get out of the club, grab my flight bag, and go before Prufrock even knew I'd left. Fight or flight, and I always choose flight unless someone's standing in the way.