Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “Sure. One thing, though. I’ll probably have to break your arms to do it.”

  “Eh?” Curly said in a worried voice. “You serious?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to do that… yet.”

  A slight whimper escaped his lips. I didn’t have to tell Curly that if it came down to it, Our lives were more important than his arms.

  I twisted in the chair, trying to judge its weaknesses. I knew it wouldn’t be hard to destroy the thing. I could probably do that with just my weight. The problem was that it was made out of steel. I could collapse it sure enough, but what then? Would I be able to separate those welds? I thought not. We’d be down on the floor then, in an even more awkward position.

  “Try to stand,” I said. I started to rise up, and Curly followed my lead. We made it about six inches before he started yelping.

  “Wait, stop!” he cried out. “You’re breaking my arms! I can’t bend like that!”

  I settled back into the chair and sighed. The acrid smoke filled my nostrils, now thick with the scent of wood and burning plastic. I coughed and my eyes started watering. “We’ve got to do something,” I said. “Curly, if you don’t think of something in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna have to break your arms.”

  He let out a whimper. “Oh God, please don’t do that,” he begged. I remained silent. I didn’t think I needed to point out to him that in the choice between a horrific fiery death and two broken arms, the broken arms won out every time. Considering what had been going on in Curly’s bar over the last few years, I was willing to chalk it up to karma. There was no way O’Rourke had been doing business out of the bar that long without Curly knowing about it. Curly was probably a silent partner, keeping his mouth shut about the deal in order to pull in some extra cash on the side. It wasn’t going to hurt my feelings too bad if I had to break his arms.

  A few more seconds passed, and I could feel Curly tensing up every time I moved. Then suddenly the front door began to shake. My head snapped around. As I moved, an involuntary shriek escaped Curly’s lips.

  “Hello?” a muffled female voice said behind the door.

  “We’re in here,” I said. “We’re… trapped. The door is locked!”

  The door shuddered and I could tell that someone was kicking it. I could also tell that they’d never get it open that way. “What about the back door?” I said to Curly. “Any chance Malone left it unlocked?”

  He shook his head. “No, it locks automatically,” he said.

  “You think they can bust it open?”

  “No way. It’s solid steel. It’s a security door.” His voice broke as he spoke and he started to whimper. “I’m gonna die,” he muttered between sobs. “I never wanted to die like this.”

  I narrowed my eyes and grunted. “Sorry, Curly,” I said. “You’ll thank me for this later.”

  I tensed up and he let out a scream. “No! Don’t do it, Steward! Don’t break my arms!”

  There was a crash at the front of the room, and the dark glass shattered inward. A ray of light broke though the smoke, illuminating the blackened interior. I caught glimpses of a red fire extinguisher crashing through the glass repeatedly, and then a familiar face appeared. Gen leapt deftly through the window and rushed over to my side. Flames licked up around us. The extra supply of oxygen fueled the flames, and I felt waves of heat burning over my skin.

  “Need a hand?” Gen said, smiling. She reached into her pocket and produced a key for the cuffs.

  As soon as they were off, Curly tried to make a run for it. I caught him by the scruff of the neck and held on until he passed out. I picked Butch up and threw him over my shoulder. I grabbed Curly by the back of his pants and dragged him towards the door. I kicked the tables aside as I moved forward, and they crashed across the room. Gen rushed ahead of me to unlock the front door.

  We all came lurching out at once, coughing and gasping for air. Thick smoke rolled out around us. We crossed the street, ignoring the honks of cars and the stares of pedestrians. I dropped Curly to the curb and set Butch down gently, propping him up against the wall. I wiped the tears from my burning eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air.

  I turned to go back for the goons just as they both came crashing out the front door. They stumbled over each other coming out and both landed face down on the sidewalk. They jumped to their feet, took one look at the gathering crowd, and hightailed it out of there. Gen hefted the fire extinguisher and turned towards the bar but I reached out to stop her.

  “Forget it,” I said. “Might as well be a teaspoon of water at this point. Leave it to the pros. How’d you know to come here?”

  “I followed Malone. He’s been acting stranger every day. I saw him go into the evidence room this morning and when he left, he had an evidence bag sticking out of his pocket. I went in to check what was missing and it was that pistol. You know, the one he said that you used to kill Castle O’Rourke.”

  “I figured he’d do something like that,” I said. “He was going to shoot Curly and Butch with it, and then pin all the murders on me. Of course, he was going to have to shoot me, too, but he could just say it was in self-defense.”

  “But how could you have gotten the gun?” she said.

  “Easy. He could just say I stole it out of the evidence room when I escaped the jail. The case would’ve been sealed up tight and I’d be on my way to the gallows, with no one the wiser.”

  “No one but me,” Gen said. “I knew something was going on from the way Malone was acting. I couldn’t trust anybody else, so I followed him here myself. I waited across the street when he went in the back, then I heard the gunshot, so I snuck around front to peek in the windows. That was when I saw the flames.”

  I glanced up and down the street at the crowd of people gathering to watch us. I heard sirens in the distance. “Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to get Butch to the hospital and then catch up with Malone.”

  “Go,” Gen said. “I’ve got these two.” She produced a pair of cuffs and snapped Curly’s wrists behind his back. “Get Malone.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I patted Butch on the shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, pal,” I said.

  “Sure, Boss,” he said weakly.

  “You better get a wrap on that leg,” I said, glancing at Gen. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  She nodded and went to work on him.

  I charged around the corner and up the street to where I’d parked my Blazer. I didn’t have any surefire way of knowing where Malone was headed, but I could guess. He’d been in bed with the mayor on the whole thing, so he was probably going to meet Kerry Kevyle now to let him know that all of the witnesses were finally dead.

  I stomped on the accelerator and flew around the corner of Jones Street, tires squealing as I roared through traffic towards the nearest freeway onramp. If my hunch about Malone was right, I wanted to catch him while he was still at the mayor’s house. I wanted to catch the two of them together. And then I wanted to bang their heads together like two overripe melons.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the Flagstone Estates. I parked around the corner out of sight so they wouldn’t see me coming, and made the quick hike across the estate. The mayor’s mansion was a serene setting as I approached it from the west. Fireflies and will o’ wisps buzzed around the sprawling lawns, darting in and out of the hedges at the edges of the estate. The scent of lilac and freshly mown grass filled the air. The lights that lined the drive were warm and welcoming. Down the slope, I saw the San Francisco skyline against the backdrop of the bay, the lights of the skyscrapers twinkling as dusk fell over the city.

  So this was how the other half lived. The nobles. The criminals. The people we trust to keep us safe. This was all the proof I needed that crime does pay. It wasn’t going to pay much longer, though. Malone had crossed a line by trying to kill me, and even more so by murdering Flick. Now it was time to pay the piper.

  I saw a Mini-Cooper limousine in the driveway, an unde
rcity police van parked behind it. I grinned as I saw the two of them together. It was like a vision, a physical manifestation of everything I had guessed about the two of them, sitting right there in front of me. The limo represented wealth and ambition, the police car power and privilege. Together, they became something else entirely. Together, they were corruption, abuse, scandal and murder. My fists clenched reflexively as I slipped across the lawn and approached the front of the house.

  When I got to the door, I took great delight in kicking it so hard that it shattered into a million pieces. Splinters of wood grenaded out into the entryway. One of the boards flipped through the air and embedded itself in the far wall. I stepped inside, turned the corner, and came face to face with a seven-foot hobgoblin wearing a driver’s uniform. He snarled and took a wide swing at me. I threw up my left arm, blocking him, and jabbed him in the chin with a solid right uppercut.

  The hobgoblin stumbled back, surprised. Seven-foot hobgoblins aren’t used to people hitting back. He shook it off and charged me. He nearly tackled me, but I was in no mood for wrestling. As he hammered into my body, I bent low and lifted him, tossing the three hundred pound chauffer over my head like a rag doll. He somersaulted twice on his way across the living room and then crashed into the grand piano with a resounding crescendo that left the instrument a pile of splintered wood and snapped strings. The hobgoblin’s body lay draped across the remains, his head hanging, blood trickling from his nose and from numerous cuts on his face.

  I heard a noise in the next room and stepped around the corner to find Malone in the kitchen. He drew his pistol as he saw me. He raised his arm and fired reflexively, without even bothering to aim. The shot missed me and I heard the sound of glass breaking behind me. I reached out and grabbed the stainless steel toaster from the counter next to me. I threw it at his face with all my might. Malone squeezed off a wildly inaccurate shot as he dodged aside, and then ducked around the far corner.

  As Malone disappeared from sight, I knelt down behind the kitchen island. I could hear his heavy breathing in the distance. I craned my neck around, looking for a way to sneak around and get the jump on him. The problem was, I knew I’d be a sitting duck the instant I stuck my neck out.

  Malone ran out of patience. I heard the movement of his hooves against the ceramic tiles, and he jumped back into the room. “Gotcha!” he shouted, laughing maniacally as he fired half a dozen rounds across the room. It took that long for him to register that I wasn’t standing there anymore. I twisted around the corner of the island and jumped up, suddenly appearing right next to him. Malone’s face registered shock. He swung the pistol around but I reached out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could squeeze off another shot.

  “Drop it!” I said, crushing his wrist in my vice-like grip.

  He struggled for a moment, so I gave it a little extra pressure. The bones in his wrist snapped like twigs. He cried out and the pistol clattered to the floor. I reached for his face, planning to knock him unconscious, but I stopped cold as I felt the cold steel barrel of a gun press up to the back of my neck. The mayor, I thought. I was wondering how long it would be until he showed up.

  “Let him go,” a woman’s voice said behind my back.

  I released Malone and raised my hands in the air, frowning. “Moira?” I said, disbelief evident in my voice. “Where’s your husband? Don’t tell me it was you working with Malone all along?”

  “Of course it was, you moron. You don’t think my husband balances his own checkbook, do you?”

  “So it was you… you were the one Malone was giving the money to?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, stepping away. “You okay, Chaz?” He nodded, grasping his wrist as he went to join her. I turned slowly to face them.

  “What are we going to do with him?” she said.

  “Kill him,” Malone shouted. “That SOB broke my arm!”

  Moira’s grip tightened on her revolver as she pulled back the hammer. Her finger tightened on the trigger. A thousand thoughts raced through my head all at once. I was wondering what caliber it was, how much damage it might do. I was wondering how many shots my body could take before I was finished.

  I was also watching her eyes, wondering if she was truly capable of killing me. I saw hesitation, but I also saw something dark. Ambition, aggression, control…

  “You said you didn’t own any guns,” I said.

  “I lied.”

  “Why’d you do it? Tell me that much before you kill me. What was it all for?”

  “Just kill him,” Malone said eagerly.

  “It was for money of course,” Moira said, ignoring him. “Why else?”

  I wrinkled up my forehead. “Money? You’re surrounded by money. How could you need more?”

  “You really think so?” she said. “I don’t blame you. That was what I thought too. When I agreed to marry my worthless husband I was young, naïve. I didn’t know about slick politicians and their lies. I didn’t realize the truth until we were in the middle of his campaign for mayor, when checks started bouncing and creditors started calling in the middle of the night.”

  “Your husband had money problems, way back then?” I said.

  She smiled grimly. “More than money problems. He was penniless and indebted up to his eyeballs. He was bankrupt… but half of the money he owed was to the mob, so bankruptcy wasn’t even an option. There was no escaping it.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “If you don’t pay the mob back, they break your bones and kill your loved ones. You were frightened for your life, weren’t you?”

  “Terrified,” she said. “It’s funny, you never really know what you’re capable of until you’re terrified like that. It takes that kind of adversity to bring you into focus.”

  “So who came up with the idea to make the forged weapons?” I said.

  “Oh, that was my idea. My husband was already a collector back then and when I found out what he’d paid for some of those pieces of junk, I was furious. I couldn’t fathom how someone could pay tens of thousands of dollars for an enchanted piece of steel. And there wasn’t even any way to prove the pieces were genuine!”

  “Makes sense to me,” I said. “You saw how valuable they were to the right buyers, and realized what a great scam it was. Easy money. Forge a few weapons; throw a cheap enchantment or two on ‘em, and get out of debt quick.”

  “You have no idea,” she said. “At first I just wanted to pay off the loans, but then the money started rolling in. Truckloads of it. It seems everybody wants a genuine copy of Excalibur or Odin’s spear Gungnir. Before I knew it, we had paid off the loans and financed my husband’s campaign, and the money just kept coming.”

  “So why didn’t you stop then?” I said. “You had everything you wanted. You were out of debt, you had money, power. You could have stopped and nobody ever would have known.”

  “We thought about it. After my husband got elected, we didn’t really need the money anymore. But then he decided to campaign again, this time a human campaign. If you think it’s expensive to run for mayor of the undercity, you should see what it takes to run a human campaign. You need to have millions before you even think about tossing your hat in the ring. And then you need more millions.

  “Humans don’t vote based on ideals, you see. Not most of them. They vote for whoever has the best commercials on TV. It’s all about money. If you have enough, you can buy anything in the human world.”

  “When did your husband find out you were selling the weapons?” I said.

  “Oh, he always knew. He balked when I first suggested it, but then we took a trip through the bazaar to see what people were buying and he changed his mind right away. From there it was just a matter of finding people we could trust, people who could get the weapons to the street without having them traced back to us…”

  “You mean like Castle O’Rourke and Malone here.”

  “Exactly. Malone was an old friend and we knew that with his five kids he’d be ea
ger for a shot at some easy money.”

  “And O’Rourke?”

  “He was available. He could be bought.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “So why did you kill him?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Moira said, glancing nervously at Malone.

  “That’s enough,” Malone said. “Shoot this idiot or give me the gun so I can.”

  Moira pursed her lips and sighed. “All right. Sorry about this Steward. I hate to be the one to kill a living legend, but you know how it is.”

  I snarled and threw my weight forward, slamming into the island that stood between us. The weight of the counter resisted me for half a second. Then I heard a loud cracking sound underneath, and it broke free. Moira squeezed the trigger, firing a shot wildly over my head as the island surged forward. The gun’s recoil threw her arm back. She never got another chance to take aim.

  The island hit her and Malone at the same time, knocking their legs out from underneath them. Malone landed on his broken wrist and let out a howl as he sprawled out across the floor. Moira hit her head on the counter on her way down, and was unconscious by the time she hit the ground.

  I heard the hiss of a broken gas line coming up from the floor beneath the island. I stomped around and stood over the two of them, assessing the situation. Moira was out like a light, but I didn’t see any blood. Her breathing looked even and steady. She was going to be fine. Malone looked up at me, terrified.

  “Don’t kill me, Hank! Please don’t kill me!”

  I knelt down and grabbed him by the throat. “I can’t think of one good reason I shouldn’t kill you,” I snarled between clenched teeth. That was the last thing he heard as he lost consciousness. I didn’t kill him of course, even though I might have enjoyed it. I just wanted to make sure he knew I could do it. I wanted him to think about that while he was napping. I wanted my face to be etched into his head in such a way that it would fuel his nightmares for a long, long time.

  I searched Malone and found a backup revolver in his ankle holster, and another pistol in the pocket of his coat. That was the gun I was looking for, the gun that had killed Castle O’Rourke. I gathered up all the weapons, including Moira’s revolver, and shoved them into my pockets.