The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 1 thru 5 (Smoke Special Edition)

by Craig Halloran

  Smoke replied, “I just hate rats. I tell you what though. Maybe we can make a deal.”

  The rat man stopped and turned his ear. “A deal. What sort of deal?”

  “We want to know who the heart of the Drake is.”

  Swift started laughing. “Ha ha ha! You’ll never know that unless you become one of our kind. Heh-heh. But that can be arranged if you want to know bad enough.”

  Sidney’s thoughts raced to her sister, Allison.

  What kind of madness have they done to her? What about Megan?

  “Let’s get out and get paid, Smoke.” She pointed the Glock’s barrel at Swift’s nose. “I’m running out of patience.”

  After a long and winding walk, the deader Jax led them through some metal double doors and up a stairwell. Soft light crept through the cracks in the doors above. Jax pushed them open, revealing the ground floor of a warehouse. It was empty, save for long rows of shelves and abandoned multipurpose appliances that were scattered all over.

  Sid took a deep breath and dialed up the FBI on her phone. While she waited, she sent a text to Cyrus Tweel. She kept the gun on Swift. “You’ve been extremely cooperative.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? You’re a formidable pair that outwitted me. In truth, it’s your bravery that I admire most. So many cringe. Cry. Some are so terrified that they have a heart attack and die. But not you two. It’s no wonder you are wanted and hated so bad.”

  “Sounds like we’re doing the right thing then,” she said, checking her phone. There wasn’t a text from Cyrus yet, which seemed odd. “It feels good keeping the vermin off the streets.”

  “Hah,” Swift scoffed. “Who do you think really keeps the vermin off the streets, law enforcement? Hah. You see, that’s part of what we do for your kind.”

  “Pardon me?” said Sidney.

  “You know, long before I became what I am, I used to be a priest.” Swift’s form started to change. His bulging sinews and body hair thinned, leaving only a small man with a rat’s head and thinning grey hair. “I took care of many. Drug addicts. The homeless. The wayward and desperate. There was no end to it. Then, a friend of mine introduced me to the Drake and showed me true power that let me embrace my inner nature.” His eyes filled with lust. “There’s nothing like it in the world.”

  Smoke tightened the flex cuffs on him. “And your point is?”

  “That power can be yours, eh? And you won’t have to answer to these fools that run your cities. Most of them work for us anyway. They are the ones who pay us to keep the unwanted off the streets. They become dinner for my rats.” Swift glanced at his pet that Smoke still had in his hands. “Could you show some compassion and let my pet go before local law enforcement arrives? I fear they just might shoot her.”

  “Sure,” Smoke said. He slung the rat up high in the air.

  Sid took aim and fired.

  Blam!

  The rat exploded into bits and pieces.

  Swift screamed, “Noooooo!”

  “She’s gone now,” Smoke said. “You were saying something about dinner and compassion?”

  Trembling with rage, the rat-man said, “You’ll pay! You will pay!”

  Sid caught a glimpse through one of the upper warehouse windows of a helicopter coming in for a landing. She kept the gun pointed at Swift’s nose. “Looks like your ride is here, Mister Venison. Gee, I wonder who is going to feed all your rats when you’re gone? Maybe DC’s finest pest control will have to euthanize them.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Swift said, puffing himself up.

  Two squads of men stormed into the warehouse carrying automatic machine guns, dressed from head to toe in helmets and Kevlar body armor. One of them flashed an FBI badge.

  Sid recognized him.

  It was Agent Jonnie Wok, a stocky but short Asian with a Southern accent.

  “We’ll take it from here,” said Agent Wok.

  “I’m not releasing anyone until I hear from Cyrus Tweel.” She checked her phone. There still wasn’t any text from Cyrus.

  The agents had them hemmed in, gun barrels on everyone’s chests.

  “Miss Shaw, we can’t stand here and dilly dally,” said Agent Wok. “I’ve got a job to do, and yours is finished. Now, step away and let us handle this.”

  Sid looked down at Agent Wok. “I need to hear from Cyrus.”

  Agent Wok stepped closer. “Well, maybe he’s on vacation. Or maybe he’s taking a sick day. Or maybe he’s in the shitter? I don’t have time to wait for him, and I don’t have to either.” He looked hard at her face. “Say, that’s a pretty nasty scratch. You might want to get that looked at.”

  “Don’t try to butter me up now, Wok.” She texted Cyrus again, saying, “Wok here. Need your clearance.” She hit ‘send’.

  “Agent Shaw—I mean Bounty Hunter Shaw or whatever the hell you call yourself—we need to move.” He glanced over at Jax the deader. “Shit! Someone cuff that thing!” He focused on Swift Venison. “What’s he do?”

  “He’s the Pied Piper,” Smoke said.

  “The what?”

  Sid’s phone buzzed. There was a text from Cyrus. It read, “On my way. Stay put.”

  Agent Wok took out his phone, checked the text, and rolled his eyes. “Aw, great. Looks like we’re all staying. Damn, I was hoping to avoid Cyrus. Just seeing him gives me a brain freeze.” He stuffed his phone inside his pocket. “Didn’t you use to date that guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Man, what were you thinking?” Agent Wok twirled his finger beside his head. “Let’s get these prisoners secured. Head to toe. We can’t have these freaks getting loose. ”

  The agents put Swift and Jax into security straitjackets and muzzled their mouths. Their feet were shackled with short chains. After that, they sat them both down on the floor.

  Agent Wok took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Say, how much are you getting paid for this gig anyway?”

  “More than you make in a year,” Sid said, stuffing her weapon into her holster. “Why, you looking for a new job?”

  “No.” Wok fanned his face. “I’d rather not smell like a sewer. Besides, this gig pays well enough. I like it.”

  “Prisoner transport? Hah!”

  “There’s more to it than that,” Agent Wok said. “I meet a lot of interesting people.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Smiling, Agent Wok said, “Maybe we should have dinner sometime and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

  Sid’s eyes glided over to Smoke. He stood with his back to her, facing the prisoners.

  She leaned in toward Agent Wok and asked, “Just tell me. Where do you take them?”

  “Sorry, can’t tell you that, even though I feel compelled to.” He glanced over his shoulder and then said to her, “But I might give in over dinner and breakfast.”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  He shrugged, nodded, and stroked his chin. “I always have, and I probably always will.”

  Sid slipped away and found herself at Smoke’s side.

  He was staring at the prisoners.

  Their hands and feet were covered in mitten-like gloves and booties. Their ears were covered with hearing protection, and blindfolds were on them. Both of the freaks seemed calm and at ease.

  “What’s on your mind?” Sid leaned close to Smoke.

  “Maybe you should have dinner with him.”

  “What?” She leaned away again. “No! Why?”

  “Well, the truth is, I want to know where they take them.”

  “So you want me to sleep with him?”

  “Well no. Just get him drunk and make him think you’ll sleep with him. He’ll fall for it.”

  Sid’s neck muscles tightened. “You’d better not be serious.”

  Stone-faced, Smoke turned and looked her in the eye. “No. I don’t think I’d like that.”

  “Well, now that I think about it, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. After all, Jonnie is pretty funny, and he loves to party.
”

  Smoke’s stone-faced expression turned dark.

  Good. “So do you have any more stupid ideas?”

  “No, but I do want to know where they take them.”

  Sid’s breathing eased. She brushed her hand against his. “So do I, but why are you so worried about it?”

  “Sometimes I have a hard time believing they’re actually incarcerating them.”

  “Me too.”

  “Look sharp, everyone,” Agent Wok said, “Section Chief Tweel just landed.”

  Here came Cyrus, marching through the warehouse doors wearing a beige trench coat and looking as thin as ever. He wasn’t alone either. Rebecca Lang was with him.

  “Damn,” Sid said, “she’s back.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Swift Venison was gone. Jax the deader, gone. Agent Wok the Chinese redneck and company, gone. Only Sid, Smoke, Cyrus, and Rebecca Lang remained. Sidney hadn’t seen the mousy blonde since the day she killed Deanne Drukker in cold blood. ‘She’s a murderer, and murderers must die.’ That’s what Rebecca had said, and it still gave Sid chills to this day. And now, the woman who should be as far away from law enforcement as possible was back.

  How in the hell did this happen?

  “My bitcoin account is awfully low,” Smoke said, holding up his phone. “About twenty-five grand by my count.”

  Sid checked her account as well and shook her head. “What’s the deal, Cyrus? The bounty was one hundred grand split between me and him. This is only half. Where’s the rest?”

  Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but Rebecca—wearing a blouse and a knee-length skirt—cut him off. “I can answer that. We aren’t paying you that much. Budget cuts.”

  “I don’t care about your budget cuts. We are going to be paid what we’re owed.”

  Rebecca faced off with Sid, made a sour face, and stepped back. “Ew, what have you been into?”

  “It’s not what I’ve been into that should worry you, but what I’m about to get into.” Sid balled up her fist. “Now release my money!”

  “The way I figure it,” Rebecca said, “you stand to make a lot of money if bitcoin soars again. So be patient and make do.”

  “You aren’t my financial advisor, and we didn’t just risk our necks for a measly fifty K. We just about died down there!” Sid wanted to knock the woman’s head off her shoulders. It wasn’t about the money either, even though she could use it—she was way behind on all her bills. No, it was principle. A bargain struck. A deal. But worst of all, she hated Rebecca’s involvement. That tramp was an arrogant, prissy, conniving little witch. “I’ll just get ahold of Leroy then.”

  “Leroy’s dead,” Cyrus said. He was cleaning his glasses with his tie and put them back on. “Heart attack, I believe. Hey, he was old.”

  “Very old,” Rebecca added, “and very dead.”

  “When did this happen?” Sid asked.

  “A couple weeks ago,” said Cyrus. There was something different about Section Chief Cyrus. He was more reserved, less arrogant. He rubbed his hands together, caught Sid looking at them, and stopped. “I didn’t find out about it until after he was buried.”

  “And you couldn’t have told me this?”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Rebecca said with a sneer. “It’s not like you’d quit. After all, you need the money.”

  Sid shifted her hips and prepared to let loose a roundhouse kick.

  Smoke stepped in her path of attack. “Are you going to pay us the rest or not?” He addressed Cyrus, but Rebecca answered.

  “No, I’m not. And seeing how this is all off the record, consider yourselves lucky you got what you got.”

  Towering over Rebecca, powerful arms crossed over his chest, Smoke looked down at her. “Do you want to know what happened to the last person who didn’t pay me what they owed me?”

  Rebecca swallowed. “I could not care less.” She spun around on her heel. “Let’s go, Cyrus.”

  “Hold on!” Sid said. “What about the Black Slate?”

  Rebecca kept walking.

  Cyrus turned to look at Sid as he walked backward. “We’ll let you know.”

  ***

  A week later, Sidney lay in bed inside her apartment. It was early morning after what had been another long and restless night. She rubbed her temples. A nagging headache hadn’t left since she’d seen Rebecca and Cyrus.

  I can’t stand that woman.

  Sid had blown Smoke off too. She needed time to think. Sort things out. She was supposed to be getting some steady pay as a liaison for the FBI, but the deposits weren’t coming through. Now, Rebecca had stiffed them on their last bounty. Even worse, Bitcoin had taken a twenty-five percent hit the day after that last deposit. She tugged at her hair.

  Am I an idiot?

  Then there was the other odd thing. Leroy Sullivan. He was a big shot with the FBI who was supposed to be overseeing her dealings with the Black Slate. Now he’d died. Supposedly. Allegedly. Had he really? Sid had exhausted herself searching the obituaries and found nothing. It was more than odd. More than strange. The ice-blue-eyed old man had vanished.

  Her financial stability had vanished with him.

  What am I going to do?

  She picked up her phone and pulled up the photo album. She found some pictures of Megan in there. She stopped on one of her favorite pics. Megan was on a swing with her teddy bear, looking as happy as she could be. Sid’s eyes started to water. Working on the Black Slate gave her hope of finding Megan and saving her sister. If she could find that monster at the top of the Drake, then she could put an end to it. But now, she wasn’t any closer than she’d ever been. She wiped her eyes and sniffed.

  “I’m so sorry, Megan.”

  She swung her legs off the bed, got up, and shuffled into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, she said to herself, “Good Lord, I’m a mess.” She ran her fingers over the gash that Swift Venison had given her. She huffed a laugh.

  What a stupid name, even for a rat.

  The claw marks were still red and itchy. From the vanity drawer she pulled out a tube of Neosporin. She squeezed some on her finger and rubbed it in. “At least I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  In the kitchen she scraped out just enough coffee grounds to make a cup of coffee. Her machine was out of coffee pods. It was one of the first expenses she’d shaved, by whittling down her coffee budget to a plastic can of Folgers. As she took a seat at the kitchen bar, the smell of fresh brew got her going a little bit again.

  Routine. That was what she needed to get out of this funk she was in. She closed her eyes and made a mental list.

  Coffee.

  News.

  Stretching.

  A long run.

  Workout.

  Hit the heavy bag.

  Kick the heavy bag.

  Smoke popped into her mind.

  Sex.

  She squeezed her eyes tight.

  No. No sex. No Smoke. Morning Glory, Sid. The man eats bullets!

  Oh, but those eyes.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sid completed the gauntlet of activity she’d planned for herself and returned to the apartment. Sweat soaked, she removed her neon-blue-and-jet-black jogging suit and tossed it onto the overstuffed hamper.

  Oh boy, I can sit at home and do laundry today. Whoopee!

  She took a hot shower, dried off, and slipped into the only clean clothes she could find: the gunmetal-gray Darkslayer T-shirt Guppy had given her and a pair of khaki shorts. She threw in the first load of laundry, headed into her small living room, and sat down. She turned the TV on to the local news.

  A hard rain started outside.

  Glad I got my run in.

  The outside weathercaster was getting drenched. The sewer drain behind him was overflowing.

  Sid thought of the massive rats inside those tunnels and cringed. She’d almost died … again. Devoured by rats like in an Indiana Jones movie. Her father, Keith, loved those movies. It got her thinking again about Swi
ft Venison. The things he’d said about power. Money. The temptation.

  He said he’d been a priest. He made it clear that the Drake worked for or with the politicians. They cleaned up the streets in grisly ways. And he’d said there was a bounty on her head. On Smoke’s head. But she didn’t feel any less safe than she had before. And Swift Venison hadn’t seemed that worried when they took him in. He’d almost seemed relieved.

  It had all been too easy.

  “Something stinks.” She rubbed her cheek. “Stinks bad.”

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  The sound jostled Sid from head to toe. Images of fiendish bounty hunters ran through her head. She found her Glock and took a quick peek through the blinds. Her breathing eased, and she opened the door.

  “Hi,” Smoke said with a sparkle in his dark eyes. He was clean shaven, and his lustrous hair was combed back in waves. He wore a burgundy polo shirt in a nice cotton blend and dark-blue jeans that stopped at the toes of his leather boots. “Nice shirt.”

  “You should call first,” Sid said, stepping aside and closing the door behind him.

  “But that would ruin the surprise,” he said, taking a seat on the couch.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I’d rather you ruin a surprise than ruin my day.”

  “That’s kinda harsh.” He patted the sofa cushion beside him. “Why don’t you just sit down?”

  “Look, I’m sorry, John. I really am. But that’s not a good idea.” He smells good. Really good. And the semi-preppy thing really works for him. “And what’s with the clothes? Did you swing by the mall on your way over here or something?”

  “I thought we could go and have lunch? Somewhere nice.”

  “Like a waffle house?”

  “Maybe a little nicer than that. I know a great 24-hour breakfast buffet at Truck Stop Ninety-nine.”

  “Shut up,” she said, letting loose a little smile.

  There was something innocent and boyish in Smoke’s expression. He seemed a little nervous, maybe.

  “So, is this visit business or pleasure?”

  Smoke’s eyes brightened. “Pleasure?”

  “Just an expression. Bad choice of words. I should have said, ‘social.’”