Shit. A couple of hookers, talking about killing like it was a given. And me with my weapon in the van.
I adjusted my wilting cock then pulled my mask off and dropped it on the desk. “Both of you stop right now and tell me what the hell is going on.” I glowered at them.
Brigitte ignored me. “I’m talking about selling you,” she told Jasmine, eyes wide with distress. “The kind where you don’t come back, where you don’t get a say anymore.” She held up a digital recorder, pressed a button. A man’s voice spoke. Jasmine’s next. The deal should be done next week. We’ll get her packaged up and ready to ship out as soon as we get through the Saturday night shit.
Brigitte punched the button again, and silence hung in the room.
Double shit. I knew damn well we were right in the middle of the “Saturday night shit,” not to mention prostitution, human trafficking, and who the hell knew what else. I met Boudreaux’s eyes. He gave a slight nod and pulled his phone out of the pouch at his belt. Time to get some backup.
Jasmine hugged her arms around herself, face pale. “That … was David,” she whispered.
Without warning, Boudreaux stripped off his headpiece, snapped off one of the horns with an angry twist, then casually set both pieces on the desk as though nothing had happened and returned to his phone call.
I stared at him. “What the hell, dude?”
He merely gave me a baffled look. “What?”
Scowling, I snapped my gaze to Brigitte. Every time someone freaked and broke something, she was there.
Unfortunately, right now I had more important things to deal with. “Who is that on the recording?” I demanded. “Is this some kind of white slavery thing?”
Brigitte gave a tight nod. “Sex slaves, and worse. David’s deep into some nasty shit. He got sick of being just a pimp, even a high–class one. And dealing ecstasy wasn’t enough. Jasmine and me, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Boudreaux ended his call and put his phone away, then jerked his head up. “Oh shit. David?” He asked, stress in his voice. “David Wohlreich?”
I cursed as I put the name to the face and the pieces clicked into place. “Yeah, David Wohlreich. We saw him out on the floor. The devil guy who looked familiar.” I knew the narcs had him on their radar for prostitution and drugs, but human trafficking took it to a whole new level. I’d been too busy watching tits and ass to recognize him earlier. If I had, I wouldn’t have done something stupid like go to the back with one of his prostitutes.
But before I could come up with a brilliant plan to get out of this mess, the door opened again and the two zombies entered.
“I need to see everyone’s hands, please,” the man said in a mild but commanding tone, leveling a gun at us and moving with an effortless grace. The woman followed him in, closed the door, and took up a position with her back to the wall.
Sweat stung my armpits. No doubt this pair belonged to Wohlreich. Did they know we were cops? “Look, we don’t want any trouble,” I said and held my hands out to the side to look as nonthreatening as possible. “We were just leaving.”
“No, you’re not leaving just yet,” the gun–wielding zombie said. Now that we were in normal lighting I could see that he was dark–skinned behind the makeup, with plenty of lean muscle under the latex. “Everyone against the wall, please,” he continued, “and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Brigitte’s eyes darted nervously, and I had the feeling she was about to bolt, even though there was nowhere to run. “Are you here to get rid of me?” Her voice quavered.
I took a slow step backwards while I searched for any opportunity to turn a suck–ass situation into a merely crappy one. It wasn’t looking promising. “Just stay cool, Brigitte,” I said softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“He’s here for me. I know it,” she said in a shaking voice. “I… I think I’m like him.”
“Like him?” I asked, baffled.
The zombie ignored me and kept the gun steady. “That’s right, Brigitte. We need you to come with us.”
She shook her head frantically. “No. Please. I don’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“I know you don’t,” he said, still utterly calm. “We’re trying to help you. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? People breaking things around you?”
I knew it! She was the cause of the weird freak outs.
Terror streaked across her face. “You can’t help me! You’re going to find a way to kill me!”
Boudreaux looked sharply at her. “Find a way?” he asked in an echo of my own thought. “What the hell are you talking about? Dude has a gun.”
The zombie kept his focus on Brigitte. “I’m not here to kill you, though I know exactly how to do so if I wanted to,” he said calmly. “But if you don’t let us help you, you’ll cause trouble around the wrong person, and you will get killed. Time is short, we’re in the middle of a hornets nest, and we need to go. Now.”
Brigitte trembled for a few seconds, then lifted her chin. “Okay, but I’m not leaving without Jasmine.”
He gave a slight nod. “If she’s willing.”
“Who the hell are you?” I finally blurted. “You’re not working for Wohlreich?”
The zombie shifted his attention to me, eyes keen. He hesitated a second, then lowered his weapon, to my relief. “No, I don’t work for him. And we should probably continue this discussion outside.”
I glanced over at Boudreaux then back to the zombie. “Sounds good to me.”
“Wohlreich has a handful of men here running girls and drugs down at the other end of the building,” he informed us, radiating calm authority. “We’re heading for the back exit. I’ll take point and my partner will take the rear. Let’s move.”
My gut told me this dude was military or law enforcement. “What agency are you with?” I asked, peering at him and the woman.
“That’s classified.”
I snorted. Likely Feds of some sort. “I’m Pellini, and this is my partner, Boudreaux. We’re with the Beaulac PD.” I ignored Jasmine’s sharp intake of breath. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t gonna be banging a butterfly tonight. I snagged my mask off the table, slipped it on, and pulled my hood up. Better to stay in costume as we escaped.
The zombie didn’t offer a name in return, to my annoyance. After a quiet word with his partner, he opened the door a crack, listened for a moment, then moved out.
“We’ll give him ten seconds, then we’re moving,” the zombie woman said quietly. She was in damn good shape beneath the latex and fake gore as well.
I turned to the others. Jasmine still looked shell–shocked from the bomb Brigitte had dropped on her. “C’mon, ladies,” I said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I took Jasmine by the elbow to prompt her to move and headed through the door, heart pounding.
As we stepped into the hall I saw zombie guy duck into an office further down. A second later, Devil Horns a.k.a. David Wohlreich and the two men in suits and sparkly hats rounded the corner, deep in conversation and heading our way.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I murmured to Jasmine, “talk us out of this.”
Wohlreich looked up, took in the sight of our little group as he approached. “Jasmine, sweetie, we’ve been looking for you.”
To my relief, she pulled herself together enough to smile. “Hey, babe. I, uh, had some work to do.” She tipped her head in my direction.
Wohlreich’s gaze raked me before returning to her. “Good girl. You about done? These gentlemen would like to get to know you.” He gestured to the men with him.
Her smile turned brittle. “I… I’m just walking these guys out.”
“Do so, then come right back in.” His tone was mild, but it was clearly an order. His gaze went past me and settled on Brigitte. His eyes narrowed, and I saw recognition there. Aw crap.
In a swift move, Wohlreich reached to the small of his back and pulled a gun. “Nobody do anything stupid,” he said, voice dangerous. “Who do we have here besides Brigitte?�
��
Fuck this noise. No way was I gonna end up on the wrong side of a hostage situation. And no way was this dipshit hurting the girls. Snarling behind the mask, I channeled my inner Dark Angel, then turned sharply and whacked Wohlreich hard with my goddamn wings.
As Wohlreich staggered, the sparkling white of Boudreaux leapt past me and tackled the asshole while I shielded Jasmine and Brigitte. Sometimes being “meaty” was damned useful.
The suited men backpedaled as they reached for their own weapons. I caught sight of someone else coming toward us from the end of the hall, but even as I registered his presence the zombie guy stepped out of the office and took him down in swift and flowing moves that ended with the newcomer dropping like a stone. I’d never seen anyone move that fast. I almost felt sorry for the man.
Wohlreich’s gun skittered down the hall as Boudreaux slugged him, but the suited men had their weapons out and on us.
I turned and seized Brigitte’s wrist, locked my eyes on hers. “Get pissed!” I urged her. Somehow she made weird shit happen, and she’d looked angry or upset every time. I was even willing to risk that I’d be the one to freak out. Hell, at this point it couldn’t get much worse. “C’mon, you hate these pricks!”
She stiffened, and for an instant I thought she would protest, then her eyes locked on the two men. As I watched, her lips curled back from her teeth in a feral snarl, fury etched into her features.
Then everything seemed to happen at once. One of the suited men let out a scream of rage and hurled his gun at the other man, striking him in the shoulder. Two gunshots ripped through the air, and I saw the zombie slam into the wall, blood splattering the dingy white. Beyond him, a new shooter advanced from the corner.
I shouted at the girls to get behind me, even as zombie chick leaped forward and laid into the now–unarmed suit man with a police baton. Boudreaux delivered another hard punch to Wohlreich, but I saw the second suit man raising his gun to take my partner out. Letting out a growl, I ripped Boudreaux’s wings off, then whacked suit man as hard as I could with them. The leathery wings looked delicate, but all that pretty sparkle rested on a steel support, and the blow knocked the asshole back hard.
Unfortunately, not hard enough to take him completely out, and he got off a wild shot as he staggered back. I heard the ping of a ricochet and Brigitte’s scream, then I let out an oof! as something punched me hard in my left side.
I looked up to see the shooter down the hall with his gun leveled at me. That sonofabitch shot me! And he was about to do so again, I realized as the pain in my side spread like a flow of lava. A smirk curved his mouth as he stepped forward. There was nowhere for me to go, and we both knew it. I tensed, but before he could tighten his finger on the trigger, zombie guy abruptly pushed off the wall and hit the shooter in the back of the neck with an elbow strike so hard the crunch echoed through the hall.
The gunman crumpled to the floor. I clamped my hand to my side and leaned heavily against the wall as I did a quick assessment of the scene. Boudreaux rolled off Wohlreich and stood, shaking out his right hand. Somewhere in all of this the zombie chick had taken out the second suit man. Impossibly, zombie guy was still up and moving, coughing blood. How the hell? I’d seen him take two in the back.
Zombie chick collapsed her baton and rushed to him, shoving something that looked like a packet of yogurt into his hand. The music from the rink stopped, and I heard the mumble of the announcer. Everything grew weirdly quiet other than our heavy breathing.
Looking behind me, I saw Butterfly Girl murmuring reassurances as she pressed the crumpled fabric of one of her wings over a wound in Brigitte’s right forearm.
My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, landing hard on my ass, wings twisting and gouging me. Sirens in the distance were like sweet music. “Shit. Boudreaux, we got three shot… and multiple suspects down. Don’t know if there are more. Call it in.”
Boudreaux nodded and pulled out his phone. Zombie guy coughed up a gout of blood, then sucked down whatever was in the packet. He took another one from the woman, then came toward us — moving really fucking well for a shot–up guy. I stared at him. I’d watched him get shot twice center mass, with no body armor. There was enough blood on the floor, wall, and his clothing to confirm that.
“Don’t call me in as a gunshot victim,” he said, radiating authority, then looked past me toward Brigitte. “Her either.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” I asked hoarsely.
The zombie woman pulled out another packet and gave it to Brigitte.
“Classified,” he said, and sucked down the contents of his second packet. “And I’d very much appreciate it if you would treat it as such.”
Boudreaux gulped, then seemed to realize the dispatcher had been repeatedly querying him. “Uh… This is Detective Boudreaux. Got… uh…” He faltered, seeing the same thing I was — the wound on Brigitte’s arm closing up like magic. “Officer down,” he managed, voice unsteady. “Gunshot. Five suspects down, building not cleared. Need backup and EMS.”
My vision seemed a little fuzzy, as did my brain. The zombie guy crouched by me, and I squinted up at him. “Can you give me some of that miracle drug?”
“Wouldn’t work on you. Sorry,” he said. “We’re physiologically different. That’s all I can say about it right now.” He paused, leaned closer. “Look, it’s really important to a lot of people like Brigitte, like me, that none of this gets out.”
I let out a weak snort. “Yeah. Sure. Like anyone would believe us.” I cocked my head toward Brigitte. “What’s up with her? The anger and the breaking stuff?”
His quiet gaze went to her. “She’s giving off a… scent that affects some people. We’ll help her.”
That made as much sense as the rest of it. In other words, none. What the hell kind of agency did he work for anyway? “Just get the girls out safe, okay?”
He looked up as the sirens wailed closer. “I have to go. Name’s Kyle, by the way,” he said as he stood. “We’ll take care of the ladies.”
I had to really focus to understand what he was saying, but I managed to lift my hand a few inches in acknowledgment. I wanted to tell him that he’d better take damn good care of the ladies, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out. He said something else, but it was lost in the fog closing in around me. I had a vague sense of people moving away, then other people coming in. Lots of shouting, and someone laughing, then the fog grew thick and everything went quiet.
§
Someone’s raspy breathing woke me up, and after a moment I realized it was mine.
“Vince? You back among the living?”
Boudreaux. Hospital. My throat hurt and I focused on working enough moisture into my mouth to swallow. Against my better judgment, I forced my eyes open. “Yeah,” I rasped.
“It’s about damn time.” Boudreaux stood beside the bed, wearing a set of oversized navy blue PD sweats, streaks of white makeup and glitter on his face and hair.
“So it all happened?” I asked weakly. “Butterfly Girl. David Wohlreich. The weird shit with the zombies that we’re not going to talk about?”
“Yep. It all happened, and you got your ass shot. Just got out of surgery about an hour ago.”
I managed a smile. “We really almost fucked a butterfly?”
Boudreaux shot me a nervous grin. “Yeah. Almost.”
“And made a huge goddamn bust?”
“We’re heroes. Broke up a human trafficking and ecstasy operation. Go figure.”
“Hot damn!,” I said, then groaned, remembering. “Shit. Does everyone in the department know about the costumes?”
“What do you think?” He snorted. “No way was that gonna stay quiet.”
“Fuuuuck. Well, I guess if you’re gonna wear sequins, best to do it while being a hero.” I said, managing a feeble smile.
“We’ll never live it down, but it’s better,” Boudreaux said, then grimaced. “The costumes are a mess. Blood all over them. Wings trashed.”
“I think I need morphine,” I said, only half kidding. “Damn. Probably best to cut our losses and move on.” My gut clenched with a very real pang of loss.
“Can’t do that. We gotta have them back in shape in two weeks.”
“Huh?”
Boudreaux grinned. “We have to be ready for the photo shoots in New Orleans.”
It took a few seconds for that to sink in, then I got it. Mardi Gras ball appearances. “You mean we won?”
“Yep. The whole shebang. Grand prize.” His grin widened. “The Dark Angel and Crystal Incubus took it home even without skating. Oh, and you have flowers,” he added while I was still trying to process that we’d won. He plucked the card from a simple arrangement of lavender roses and held it out for me.
I frowned over at the flowers, took the card. “The department doesn’t usually send roses,” I said.
“Nope, they sure don’t.”
He looked like the cat that ate the canary, which told me he’d already taken a peek. I rolled my eyes and slid the little card from the envelope. A glittery holographic butterfly on the front gave me my first big clue, and I felt a slow smile spread across my face. Inside, was a red lipstick kiss and Get well soon, my Dark Angel, signed Your Little Butterfly.
I dropped the card to my chest. “Oh man, this is bad.”
“It is? How could that be bad?”
“I have a boner for a butterfly and I’m stuck in the goddamn hospital.”
Boudreaux laughed, and hooked his thumb toward the flat blankets. “In your mind, maybe.”
“That’s good enough for me right now, man.” I smiled, already planning a new costume. “Good enough for me.”
Two–Minute Warning
Vylar Kaftan
KATYA STRAPPED ON HER NEW DANCEKILL gear, hoping she looked intimidating. She glanced around the room. Everyone looked strong and flexible, like acrobats; some wore modded gear she couldn’t even identify. She shivered. This Game was off–grid. Nearby, a hundred other rooms were packed with champions itching for the Game. Most of these were ranked league players, attending with hidden faces and jailbroken gear. Some of the more aggressive mods could wreck her gear, or even kill her — and that was why the pros played the illegal Games. For excitement. She didn’t belong here.
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