by Linda Welch
They stared at me, turned away, and had a muted conversation. I hefted out a sigh and told myself to be patient. You don’t rush the dead, not if you want answers.
They turned back to me. “Word was someone wanted guys with a working knowledge of munitions,” John said. “Me and Ronald, we’re ex-military, we fit the bill.”
Knowing Ron and John, albeit briefly, I could imagine them bragging.
“So we passed the word we were interested,” Ronald said. “We were outside Saint Anthony’s and a black car pulled up alongside, and a guy in back asks if we want a job.”
“What sort of black car?”
“Dunno,” John replied.
“Said he needs guys who can handle incendiaries. Said he heard we got experience,” Ronald told me.
I got fairly excited. “Who was he? What did he look like?”
“Dunno,” John repeated. “Couldn’t see him. Car had tinted windows, real dark, and he cracked his window down just a bit.”
“Enough to pass us a hundred-dollar bill,” said Ronald.
“Each,” from John.
I held up my hands to slow them down. “What about his voice?”
“Er . . . foreign-ish,” John said.
“Old? Young?”
They exchanged looks. “Might be somewhere in between,” Ronald said.
I paced back and forth in front of them. Possibly a middle-aged man, and when a person says foreign, they usually mean European. “Go on,” I urged.
“So we meet five other guys and a van picks us up and brings us here. We took the perimeter and launched grenades at the house,” John said.
So my first impression was correct, the house was bombed. The guy in the black car meant business. “Who were the other five?”
“Never seen them before,” Ronald said. “Didn’t take much notice of them.”
“The van - did you see the license plate?”
Both shook their heads. “It was plain white,” John offered helpfully.
“The driver?”
“White-haired guy, mid-thirties, tall,” Ronald said.
“The guy with the accent?”
“Had an accent all right,” John said.
“Chicago, I’d say. What d’you think, John?” said Ronald.
“Dunno. He didn’t say much,” said John.
“Caucasian?” I asked.
They looked at me as if I were stupid. I gave them stupid-look right back. “A lot of men have white hair.”
“Yeah, he was white, all over,” from Ronald.
“He briefed you and let you at it?”
Ronald nodded.
I kept pacing with their eyes tracking me. “What time of day was this?”
“Eight-ish,” from John.
“What happened to you two?” I knew someone killed them, but I wanted their take on it.
“We hung around to make sure the guy didn’t make it out.” John hefted his sword. “He comes out, we take care of him with these.”
“Strange, that,” said Ronald. “Said we gotta take his head off if he gets out the house. I says to John, ain’t nobody coming out of there. I was wrong, though.”
John swung his arms out, the sword cleaving the air. “The place went up like a bomb.”
“Then they came at us,” Ronald said.
What? “Wait a minute! What guy, and who came at you?”
I think the ferocity of my tone unnerved them. They drew closer together. “Guy who owned this place. Clare?” Ronald said.
“Daven Clare was in the house?”
John sniggered. “Till he came out the back like a campfire on legs.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“We waited till he fell over and settled down to a smolder. Looked dead to me, but a deal’s a deal.” John smacked the blade of his sword on his palm. “I was going down there to finish him off and Ron headed for the others to tell them, then they turned up,” John said.
I advanced on them. “What makes you think it was Clare?”
Ronald eyed John, who pretended not to see him. “We waited till he got home to light up the place,” Ronald said. “We hid out till he drove up. The white-haired guy identified him. Clare used a key to get in - you don’t lock your house when you got company staying with you, do you. He had to be alone in there.”
Obviously, they were mistaken. Someone else was in Daven’s house.
“You said they came at you after dark; they turned up,” I prodded.
“A young guy, Latino, long black hair. And a woman with him, wasn’t there, John.”
“Hard to pin her down. She was here. She was there. Only got a glimpse of her as she zipped about. Never seen a person move that fast.”
Warning tingles ran up my spine. I had a decidedly eerie idea of whom they spoke.
“You didn’t get a good look when she broke your necks?”
They looked at me dumbly. I squinted at them. They turned their heads to avoid my gaze. Could they possibly not have seen the face of their killer? But something about their posture told me otherwise.
“Guys, you’re dead. You can tell me.”
Ronald hunched his shoulders. “So, it was a woman.”
“Not that I’m embarrassed a woman did me in, but there was nothing to her,” from John.
“Yeah. Didn’t look like she could snap a twig,” Ronald added.
“So she killed you and wounded your ego at the same time. Big deal.” I smothered a grin - don’t laugh at dead people. “What did she look like?”
“Be-ootiful,” said John. “Long black hair, white skin, red lips, legs up to her backside.”
Gia Sabato. Had to be. And she must be one powerful lady to snap a man’s neck. And fast. Like a demon.
They had nothing more of value to tell me. The dead go through a period of disorientation, or a kind of sleep, which lasts anywhere from half an hour to a day. The fire department was there when Ronald and John woke, the fire almost extinguished. Someone must have removed their bodies before emergency services arrived.
Where was Daven while all this was going on? They hadn’t seen him with Gia and Rio; they were convinced he died at the house.
Time I was gone from there. I flapped my hand at them. “I gotta get going.”
“Wait!” John called. “Aren’t you going to whisper us onward?”
I could have told them they would remain near the ruins of Daven Clare’s house until their killer died. I could have told them all the things I tell victims. But I didn’t look back, I just kept going. “You tried to burn a man alive in his own home. What do you think?”
I doubted I’d revisit Daven Clare’s property without a good reason. Weird as it may sound, I count some shades as my friends and make a point of spending time with them. Others are useful to me. But there are some I’ll never willingly go near again, and these two fell into that category. John and Ronald were not worth my time.
***
I drove home slowly, but I barely noticed the scenery.
An anonymous man hired John, Ronald and other homeless men to kill Daven Clare. A man with white hair drove them to Daven’s house in a white van. They waited till Daven, or someone they thought was Daven, got home and then set fire to his house. John and Ronald were at the rear of the house when a man came out. Poor guy - sounded like he was a goner. They were about to obey orders and cut of the guy’s head when Gia and Rio arrived. They killed Ronald and John, and they must have taken the body of the arson victim. The rest of the gang found Ronald’s and John’s bodies and got out of there before emergency services arrived.
Who was in the house? It sure as hell wasn’t Daven Clare.
Chapter Nine
I made a list. I checked it twice. So, who was naughty and who was nice?
Three weeks ago, someone hired local bums to burn down Daven Clare’s house. Not just your regular arson, either. They used grenade launchers. Someone took no chances; they want Daven very definitely dead.
The arsonists did
n’t see who hired them, but he drove a big black car. He could be middle-aged and he has a European accent.
The bums thought Daven died in the blaze. Gia and Rio turned up before they could leave. (How did they know about the fire? Where was Daven? If he wasn’t in the house, then who did John and Ronald see?)
Gia killed two of the arsonists WITH HER BARE HANDS, but the rest got away. The dead boys say she’s fast and strong. Like a demon.
Days later, a black Mercedes-Benz repeatedly drives past Rio’s home. The same black car John and Ronald saw, driven by the man who hired them?
A couple of days later, Rio takes his brother to Tremonton.
Nine days ago he brings said brother home. Leaves him at the door.
Not seen since.
Gia and Daven. Are they demons? Your ordinary Joe looks at a demon and sees a regular human being; I look at one and see him as he really is. But demons can make me see them as human beings if they put a little effort into it.
A minion of Royal’s brother did that to me once and Royal did it a few times, until I told him I much prefer his exotic demon appearance. His coppery demon eyes glint when he moves; they sparkle like sunlight on mica. His copper and gold hair slithers over his shoulders like heavy silk threaded with metallic fibers.
Demons are beautiful and Royal doesn’t have those pointed demon teeth. He had them capped long ago. Being a careful demon permanently living in our world and passing himself off as human, he didn’t want to spoil the illusion by kissing a woman and having her feel those pointed teeth against her lips.
So, if Gia and Daven are demons who make me think they’re human, they were warned I can see their true appearance, they were prepared. Who else but Royal knows I see demons as they truly are? Conclusion: if they’re demons, Royal warned them I would see them as such. He knows they’re deliberately deceiving me. And so is he.
I get stuck there, on Royal. Why are you lying to me, Royal? I know you are. What happened to the trust? And all his malarkey about serving and protecting me?
Including Royal, I didn’t have one nice person on my list.
I picked up the phone and dialed Gia’s number. I’d tell her what I discovered, but I hadn’t made up my mind whether or not to ask her what Daven and Royal were up to. I got an answering machine. I didn’t leave a message.
I sat at the table, chin in hands. Elizabeth’s journal stared up at me from where it lay open.
“I heard Daddy. I looked away only a second or two yet when I looked back up at the Gallery the Man was gone. Daddy looked at the floor but the dusty coating was too scuffed by all who passed there to decipher one footprint from another. He asked me if the Man was not one of our Boys and I told him positively he was not. He told me not to say anything to our Native Boys because they will think the Man is a Naga. I did not know that Word and Daddy explained that Naga are guardian spirits of Indian legend. Some are protectors of the land but others are evil dependent on religious belief. He reminded me of the two huge Statues at the door of the Pyramid Temple. He said the Boys are terribly superstitious and insist Nagka is teeming with Naga. I told him if that is the case we would have seen them. Daddy said that Naga live in dark places and emerge only at Night as we sleep. I pointed out that Indian legends are very convenient and he laughed at my little Wit. I thought about the strange Native Man for hours. He looked like a heathen Lord.”
I pushed the open book away and decided to give in to the hollow in my gut. A frozen micro meal, quick and easy.
Jack was deep in an old M.A.S.H. rerun. Mel followed me as I got the tub of shredded parmesan out the fridge and put it next to the box of Light and Lean. The big salt and pepper canisters sit on the back of the stove, always handy, because I add salt to just about everything but dessert. I pulled the carton out the box, stuck it in the microwave and waited with salt shaker poised.
Mel stood at my shoulder. “You know a low-sodium meal is no longer low-sodium when one shakes salt all over it?”
“Yes, one does know.”
We waited exactly four minutes, in silence, until the timer dinged. I opened the meal and furiously shook salt atop it. Being highly experienced in the deficiencies of your average microwave meal, I know just how much to sprinkle on. Next, the parmesan. Plenty of that, too.
“And it’s no longer low-fat when one piles on the mozzarella.”
“It’s parmesan.” The little meal went back in the microwave. I waited another two minutes until the oven dinged, grabbed the container and a fork and sat at the table.
“You’re going to kill yourself, the muck you eat.”
“You’re just jealous.” I forked up a mouthful. “Mm, mm, this is absolutely delicious. Tomato and herbs, a hint of garlic, chunky little lumps of ground beef, hot melting cheese. Can’t get any better than this.”
It actually wasn’t so great, and low fat microwave meals are low fat because you don’t get much in the packet.
“Your diet is terrible: coffee, donuts, waffles and dinky microwave meals,” she retorted dismissively, at the same time leaning nearer the table.
“Yep, and I’m really enjoying this dinky microwave meal.”
“You can be such a bitch.”
“I do my best.”
“Do you mind?” said Jack.
”Why do you bother with lite food?” Mel persisted.
“The same reason I drink diet cola. I like the taste.”
“Will you shut up! I’m trying to watch this,” from Jack.
“If you like it so much, why do - ?”
Jack erupted up between us like a spewing volcano. “For God’s sake, stop bickering. You two will be the death of me!”
We looked at him. I wondered if his choice of words were deliberate. Knowing Jack, they were.
The phone rang. Thinking it might be Royal, I leaped from the chair and to the counter. But it wasn’t Royal and I recognized the number on Caller ID. I swallowed my mouthful and glowered at Mel. “Keep it down a minute will you.”
I took a deep breath. “Hello?”
“How are you, dear?” Margot asked.
“I’m well, thank you, Senora.”
“I am calling about the matter we discussed. Gerarco talked to the young men in question and we are convinced they know nothing.”
“Okay. Please tell him I appreciate his help.”
“I will, dear. I hope you find young Alissario for us. His mother is a dear friend and he’s a nice boy.”
“I’ll do my very best.”
“I know you will. Now you take care of yourself.”
“I will, Senora. I hope you and Senor Labiosa have a lovely summer.”
The brief conversation told me what I wanted to know. Only someone with Gerarco’s influence can call in members of rival gangs. In fact, acting as negotiator is one of the few gang-related duties he still personally performs, except he calls them favors. And when he gives his ruling, it sticks. I hoped when Margot said talked, she meant it literally and not something more painfully persuasive. In any case, if Gerarco said rival gang members no longer had a beef with Rio, I believed him.
I sat down again and stirred at the remains of my spaghetti. A black Mercedes-Benz. The fire at Daven’s house. My thoughts ran in circles.
A guy in a black car put a hit on Daven Clare, but the attempt failed. The hit-bums saw Rio and Gia at Daven’s house. A black Mercedes-Benz was seen in Rio’s neighborhood. Rio disappeared.
The same car? The same man? Did Mercedes-Benz man take Rio because he could identify the arsonists? Or did the kid know someone was after him and went into hiding, not daring to contact Gia?
Why did neither Gia nor Daven tell me about the attempt on Daven’s life?
Dammit, all I had were questions!
Chapter Ten
I paced and jotted notes for much of the night. Exhausted, I couldn’t be still. I needed to vent at something, someone, but nothing and no one was available.
When I’m stressed, I eat too much, or exercis
e more, or both. I hadn’t hiked the north bench trails since this time last year.
I came down the stairs wearing a white T-shirt, loose blue pants elasticized at the ankle and hiking boots. I know how to dress sexy when I want. You should see me in my quilted winter coat and earmuffs.
“Get the paper in before you leave, will you,” Jack ordered.
“And a good morning to you.” I saluted smartly. “Paper. Yes. Yes, sir!”
I left the front door open and walked down the path. “Now, you wait right there.”
“Har har,” Jack said to my back. “You are so funny, and this early in the morning too.”
“You aren’t having coffee?” Mel asked from behind him.
“The world is coming to an end!” Jack wailed.
I got the paper off the sidewalk and headed back to them. “I’ll pick some up at the Mini-Mart.”
Just to be contrary, I tossed the paper in the hallway and about-turned, but had second thoughts. I shouldn’t take out my angst on Jack and Mel. It wasn’t their fault Royal acted like an ass and our clients scared the life out of me. I took the paper to the kitchen and spread the pages across the table.
“Don’t put yourself out,” from Jack.
So much for trying to be nice. “I’m off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I slapped myself upside the head. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t.”
I ignored their spluttering and went out to my Subaru Forrester, noticing the film of dust and bird droppings, making a mental note to gas up and get a cheap car wash on the way back.
***
With steam wafting from the plastic cup I held in one hand, I took a left off Winston and headed up University Drive. Not a lot of traffic uses the road during the week, so I had it pretty much to myself. There would be more traffic, vehicular and foot, when people headed for the east bench trails on the weekend. University meanders along behind River Valley University, and I looked down on all the buildings surrounding little University Park and its tiny pond. Students scurried on their way to early classes. Most parking spots along Grafton Avenue were already taken and latecomers would have to jockey for the few unreserved slots in the parking lots.