“Come get me. I’m outside the ER on Caswell.”
“Harker, I’m a little—”
“I know who it is, and we’ve got to move. I can’t talk over the phone. Get here, now.”
I paced in front of the Emergency Room entrance for five minutes or so before Flynn pulled up, lights and siren rolling. I opened the door and slid in.
“Drive. We’ve got to get to South Boulevard.”
“What’s on South?”
“That godawful big pink building. The safe house that’s supposed to have our witness is there. But I’m willing to bet anything it’s empty.” I held up the coffee cup. “Look familiar?”
“Yeah, it’s from WhattaBean, that hipster coffee place Smith loves so much.”
“It’s also the exact piece of paper that was found underneath our parking lot victim. It was also the type of scrap of paper that was by the priest’s body last night. Paul matched the analysis of the coffee to the same crop in Argentina.”
“They can do that?”
“Fuck if I know, but Paul says they can, and that’s good enough for me.”
Flynn didn’t say anything for a long moment. “What are you saying, Harker?”
“I’m saying that Agent John Smith is the Cambion, and we have to find him before he kills our Nephilim eyewitness and opens a doorway to Hell.”
Chapter 15
I navigated while Flynn drove like a bat out of hell. The “safe house” was actually a condo in a huge pink monstrosity of a skyscraper in Charlotte’s South End, a newish neighborhood that developed from the corridor of strip clubs and local businesses. There were still a few local stalwarts, like Mr. C’s diner and the Leather and Lace topless bar, but most of the place was taken over with sterile construction projects instead of cool old buildings. With the siren going, it only took us about five minutes to get there from the hospital, and we left the car in the front of the building and bolted inside.
I flashed my badge at the fat guy behind the counter and said, “Is Agent Smith here?”
The guard, whose polished name badge designated as “Marvin,” hopped right up and inspected my badge. He gave it a thorough looking over before he handed it back to me and stood up. “Smith? Mean guy, crew cut going gray?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” I said.
“No sir, I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not since we had a witness in that terrorism case in DC. They stashed one of the witnesses here for a couple days. I stood guard outside her door.” I was pretty sure that his idea of “standing guard” involved a whole lot of sitting, but I didn’t argue.
“Has anyone brought a witness in here today? What about last night?”
“I just came on at eight, but there’s nothing in the logs about a new John or Jane Doe. That’s what we call the people that want their identities hidden.” He grinned like it was his original thought or something. I didn’t bother correcting him.
“Let me see your log book,” Rebecca asked. He handed her a blue three-ring binder open to this morning’s visitor logs. We flipped pages back an extra day, but there was no entry showing Smith or any John Doe coming into the building.
“Is there another entrance?” Flynn asked.
“Yeah, there’s a back stairwell, but nobody is supposed to use it. Everybody’s gotta come through here and get logged right. And I don’t let anybody through without signing in, unless they got a key card.” He seemed very proud of his adherence to the rules, and I started to think that he might have some slight learning disability or something. And that would make him easier for an asshole like Smith to take advantage of.
“Does Agent Smith have a key card?” I asked.
“Yeah, but only to the condo. He doesn’t get one to the front door, on account of the condo not really being his and it belonging to the government. So I have to get up and let him in whenever he comes here.”
“But the overnight guy might not have made Agent Smith sign the book if he came in, right?” There was no way Smith was getting past this guy without signing a book, but maybe a bribe to the other guard would keep him off the books.
“Well…maybe not. He was supposed to, but I wasn’t here, so I don’t know.” Marvin avoided eye contact like the plague, so I thought I might be on to something.
“Does the night guy ever bend the rules for Agent Smith or other people?” I asked. I had to keep the pressure on if we were going to find Smith, and the clock was ticking.
“Sometimes he does favors for people. He says it’s not really against the rules if the people are allowed to be here anyway, and Gerald is real smart, so I try to do what he says.” Marvin was getting a little overwrought, so I nodded to Flynn.
She leaned her elbows onto the raised front of the desk. “It’s okay, Marvin, you aren’t going to get into trouble. We just need to see if Agent Smith is in the condo. But we don’t have a key. Can you take us up there and show us the condo? Agent Smith or the man with him might be in trouble, and we need to get into that condo.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t open the condo for anyone but Agent Smith.”
I held out my badge. “Marvin, we work with Agent Smith. He may be hurt and need help. Or the man he brought here might be hurt. You need to take us to that condo, and you need to do it right now.” I put on my sternest voice, and Marvin responded to the authority I pretended to have. Good thing, too. My next step was going to be knocking him right the fuck out and stealing his keys. This was easier on Marvin’s head and easier on my fist.
Marvin nodded, and I led him to the elevator. We rode up six floors then followed Marvin to the door of the condo. He looked back at me, his eyes a little wide. I gave him a reassuring nod, and he swiped a keycard through the door.
I smelled it the second the door cracked. “Stay here, Marvin. Do not let anyone come into this room, no matter who, unless one of us tells you. Okay?”
Marvin stood ramrod straight and snapped off a rough salute. “Yes, sir!” I knew that nothing was getting through that door unless it killed Marvin, so I’d at least have a few seconds’ warning. I motioned for Flynn to follow me, and I drew my pistol.
I slammed the door open and ran through in a crouch, sweeping the gun barrel from side to side as I went in, checking the room for threats. When the mundane world appeared secure, I opened my Sight and checked the Otherworld. Nothing.
Nothing except the fading golden wings around the body of our witness, who sat tied to a chair in the middle of the den, his throat cut from ear to ear. The smell of death was heavy, but it was all blood and bodily fluids, no ripe smell of decomposition. I walked over to the body and felt his forehead.
“He’s cold. Been dead a couple hours at least.” It was obvious that he was our last Nephilim sacrifice, even without my Sight. His throat was cut almost to the bone, but there wasn’t nearly enough blood on the carpet to match up to the severity of the crime.
“But not more than that. It’s only been five hours since we left Smith at the church.”
“Yeah, I figure he brought this guy here right away, made him comfortable, and then killed him.”
“There was no making this guy comfortable, Harker. He knew Smith was the killer. Remember at the church? As soon as Smith opened his mouth, this poor bastard pissed himself, then passed out in fear. He knew what was up, and we were just too stupid to see it.”
She was right. Too stupid, too slow, too whatever. Just never quite good enough. Not for Becks’ dad, not for Bolton, not for this poor son of a bitch. Well, that shit was about to be over. Once and for all. But we had to move, and now. Smith now had all the angel blood he needed to complete the ritual, so once he found a human to murder and just a tiny bit of Cambion blood, which he could supply in spades, the entire Queen City was in deep shit.
I shook myself out of my little pity party and turned to Flynn. “Okay, how do we find him?”
“What?” She looked at me, confused.
“You’re a detective. This is your part. My part comes whe
n we find him, and I send him to Hell to meet his daddy.”
Flynn stared at me for a second, then nodded. “Okay, yeah. Let me think…he was in a Homeland Security Suburban when he left the crime scene. If it’s still here, we can trace it.”
“Parking deck,” I said, already moving for the door. “Call this in. But let’s find some way to keep it locked down as much as we can. If Smith is our Cambion, he might not be the only one in Homeland.”
Rebecca froze in mid-stride at that, then I saw the logic of it flicker across her face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
We headed for the elevator, leaving Marvin behind to stand guard until Paul and his crew arrived. The parking garage was a small thing, underneath the condos. It would have been very difficult for a Suburban to navigate, so we checked the oversize vehicle area first.
My shoulders sagged when I saw the black behemoth with government plates sitting astride two parking spaces like it owned the building. “Goddammit,” I swore. “We needed a break.”
“Be chill, Harker. I got this,” Flynn said, moving to the car. She drew her pistol as she approached. There’s somebody behind the wheel. Looks too big to be Smith, I heard in my head.
I drew my Glock and moved to the opposite side of the SUV. I see him. You cover him, I’ll yank open the door. I did just that, pulling the door almost off the hinges as Flynn moved into position opposite me. The man in the car didn’t budge, probably because he was dead. He wasn’t a sacrifice, but he was just as dead. He was a big man, about the size of one of Smith’s Homeland Security driver-goons, wearing what looked like an expensive track suit. His neck was broken, and his head twisted all the way around so he was staring at the back of the vehicle.
“You better keep an eye out behind you, motherfucker,” I muttered at the absent Smith. I slammed the car door. “Fuck!” I punched the side of the Suburban, leaving a dent.
“Feel better?” Flynn asked.
“No. Now I’m pissed off and my hand hurts.”
“Well, I got nothing for the hand, but I might be able to help with the other.” I walked around the car to where she stood with the driver’s door open.
“What’s the story?”
She held up a wallet. “Our victim is one Timothy Lang. He lived upstairs.”
“And?” I asked.
“And…that means he was probably on his way to his car when Smith ran into him. I’m guessing Smith took Mr. Lang’s car so we couldn’t just track the Suburban, and then killed him because he’s a dick.”
“Yeah, no reason to kill this guy,” I agreed.
“Except that Smith’s a demon.”
“Half-demon.”
“Whatever. Anyway, now we just need a little old-fashioned police work and a little bit of luck. Okay, a lot of luck, but it’s about all we’ve got right now.” She pressed a button on her phone, then another one to turn it on speaker.
“CMPD technical operations, what can I do for you, Detective?” Nobody ever answers the phone that happy to hear from me. Just shows how much nicer Becks is than me, I guess.
“Mandy, I need a favor,” Flynn said.
“Anything you need, Detective.” Jesus, maybe I should try this whole “being nice to people shit sometime.” Nah.
“I need to know vehicle registration info for a Timothy Lang. He lives in The Arlington.”
“Is that the big ugly pink building?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Okay, I have a Cadillac Escalade registered to that name and that address.”
“Perfect. Can you activate the onboard assistance on that car?”
“I need to know what it’s for, Detective. We can, but we’re only supposed to—”
“Timothy Lang has been murdered and stuffed in the car used by a suspect in two murders at St. Peter’s last night. If we can locate Lang’s vehicle, we can probably close three or more murders before lunch.” That’s another part of the whole “being nice” thing that just never occurred to me—explaining yourself. I would have just yelled at the poor woman on the other end of the phone until she did what I wanted. Becks’ explanation took about the same amount of time, and people are easier to understand when they aren’t sobbing into the telephone. I really might have to give this whole “being nice” thing a try.
“No problem, Detective. Okay, I’ve got it.”
I opened my phone, ready to input the address. Turns out I didn’t need to. I knew how to get to that house from anywhere in the city. Flynn and I exchanged a look, then hauled ass to her car as she hung up with the tech. We slammed the doors shut and Flynn peeled out onto South Boulevard, heading for the one place Smith could go to hit me in the gut the hardest.
His GPS placed his car parked right outside my Uncle Luke’s house.
Chapter 16
We got there in less than fifteen minutes, but we were still running late. We pulled up in front of Luke’s house to find a half dozen thugs in cheap suits standing in front of the house.
“Stay here until I clear a path,” I said to Flynn.
“I’ll cover you,” she replied, slewing the car sideways to put the driver’s door away from the house.
I got out and started moving toward the door. Two no-necks closed ranks, and I moved them, forcibly and with extreme prejudice. They landed hard on the front lawn, and four more came at me.
“Incendiare!” I said, and a nimbus of fire engulfed my fists. “Come get some, fucktards.”
They did. Two of them drew collapsible batons from their belts and went for my legs, while one took a step back and drew a gun. The last one just tried to bull-rush me, but I braced myself and dumped him on his ass with a picture-perfect hip toss. Thirty years of judo classes and pro wrestling videos and I might have picked up a few things.
Flynn put down the guy with the gun, drilling him right between the eyes with her Smith & Wesson .40 service pistol. I caught one baton in my right hand, the other in my left, and channeled my will to send heat down the metal rods. The fire vanished from my hands as the radiant energy poured into the sticks, and the thugs screamed as their weapons suddenly burned the fuck out of their palms. Getting burned is no fun, as I recalled from recent unpleasant experience.
I dropped the baton in my left hand, flipped the right-hand baton around so I held it by the grip, and, insulated from my own heat by magic, I knocked both goons out cold with shots to the head. I didn’t give a shit if they were unconscious or dead. They were between me and my uncle, and that was not where they wanted to be. I looked around, saw no more bad guys, and stepped up onto the porch.
Only to get knocked back a good ten feet onto my ass when Orobas stepped through the door. And when I say stepped through the door, I mean he put a foot into the door, kicked it to splinters, and stepped through the door. He almost stepped through me as well, but I wasn’t as well anchored to the porch, so I just sprawled on the grass instead.
Orobas stood in the doorway grinning down at me. His demon form was pretty unnerving, since he looked like every damn picture of a demon I’d ever seen, what with the red skin, goat legs, bat wings, and big fucking fangs and all. “I’ve missed you, Quincy Harker. It will feel good to rend your flesh beneath my fingers and pick my teeth with your shinbones.”
“I’m glad you’re so concerned with oral hygiene these days, Orobas. From what I remember of our last little argument, your breath smelled like you’d been brushing with a giraffe dick and rinsing with raw sewage.” I drew my Glock and squeezed off a dozen rounds. Flynn took my shooting as a sign to do the same, and she put ten bullets in the center of Orobas’ chest.
It didn’t do shit. He jerked back with each impact, but just barely. The distraction was all I needed, though. I got to my feet and charged Orobas. I caught him around the waist in a perfect tackle that took both of us to the ground. I pushed off with my feet and arms and flipped right through the tackle and back up onto my feet, pulling some real Matrix shit that normal people just can’t do.
>
Orobas cleaned my clock and embarrassed me the last time we scrapped, but I learned a few things since then. I reached into a coat pocket and grabbed a small box, then slipped on the rings inside. One plain silver band on each middle finger, no adornment, no jewels, just a plain band of silver metal. That happened to be blessed by the Pope and the Dalai Lama. There aren’t a whole lot of things those guys agree on, but the concept that demons on Earth is a bad thing is one everybody can get behind.
Then I reached behind my back and unclipped a black cylinder from my belt. I brought it around in front of me and focused my will on the tube. A brilliant white beam of light extended from the hilt with a thrumming sound.
“A lightsaber, Harker?” Orobas said with a smirk. “I don’t think Obi Wan Kenobi can save you this time.”
“How about a soulsaber, dickhead?” I asked, advancing on him, my blade of concentrated mystical energy weaving patterns of pure magic in the air before me.
“How did a two-bit hack like you learn to conjure a soul blade? That magic has been lost to men since…that fucking winged bitch!”
“That’s Miz Winged Bitch to you, fangboy.” Glory descended behind me in a shaft of light whiter and brighter than even my soulsaber. Which wasn’t all that surprising when you consider that her light was a conduit to the divine, and my light was generated by my admittedly spotty soul. She was a gleaming vision of righteous fury in chain mail and swinging a sword of fire.
“Kill them!” Orobas screamed. “No one enters the house until the ritual is complete!” Fuck. That meant the ritual had already begun. We needed to end this shit, and now. Orobas waved a hand, and a blade of pure darkness appeared in his hand. The demon charged Glory, and they came together with a concussion like a dozen mortars all landing at once. Then the rest of Orobas’ minions charged me, and it was on.
Only thing between me and the front door of Uncle Luke’s house was half a dozen goons with bats and knives. No problem, right? Usually not, but these goons were also Cambion that had fully embraced their demon side and taken on exceptional strength and agility in exchange for the human half of their souls. They weren’t full-on demons, but they weren’t normal men, either.
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