Viper Moon

by Lee Roland

  The stink of beer, urine, and other unsavory odors filled the air, but, thank the Mother, no stash of weapons and explosives appeared.

  “Hey, witchy. You too late for the party,” Snag called to me from across the room.

  Witchy. Ugh. I hated that. I had used one of Abby’s repellant potions to rescue Snag from the monsters that night. Using a magic potion made me a witch in his eyes.

  Snag sat in a plastic chair with his back to a wall, wearing nothing but extraordinarily worn and dirty jocks. I kept my eyes on his face because part of his equipment peeked out from one stretched-out leg hole in the jocks. Some things I didn’t want to see.

  Mattresses scattered on the floor held gang members not on guard duty, either alone or with their girls. Most slept, but a few engaged in other, more personal activities.

  Snag’s dirty blond hair fell in strings down his shoulders and his ribs curved in on one side, making his thin body lopsided. He had a serious limp, too. Not exactly a prime male specimen, but he held the great equalizer, a .357 Magnum, balanced on his thigh. Intelligent, but completely lacking in any sense of morality, he made the perfect Bastinado leader, even if he did have to kill one of his own men occasionally to prove his management skills.

  A naked woman sat in another plastic chair next to him. Her tattooed breasts drooped like wilted flowers, a woman old enough to be his mother. Probably wasn’t, but the Barrows aged everyone who stayed here too long.

  Snag reached over, grabbed her by the hair, and jerked her out of the chair. She slammed to the concrete floor with a single cry of pain. Great Mother help her. She crawled away whimpering.

  “Sit down.” Snag pointed at the chair he’d forcibly vacated for me. “Someone get her a cold one.” He shouted the words to the room in general. He had a raspy, croaking voice, as if he’d been chewing dry crackers and needed water to wash them down.

  The last thing I wanted was to sit in that chair. Oh, damn. Such an honor to sit by the Big Devil. I forced my mouth into a fake smile and sat.

  Snag silently laughed at me. He’d marked my revulsion.

  One of the girls came running over with a cold beer. At least it had a sealed cap.

  “You should be my woman,” Snag said. He gestured at the gang and chuckled. “All this could be yours, too.”

  I’d give Snag one thing: he had a wicked sense of humor. He wasn’t stupid. Vicious, yes, but not stupid.

  I laughed a little at his joke. “You mean you’d share, Snag?”

  His gaze ran up and down my body. “I will if you will.”

  “I’m flattered, Snag, but I already have someone. You understand.”

  Snag’s good humor held. “Yeah, guess you get enough. Hear you doing that pretty boy and the cop.”

  I winked at him. “I am truly blessed these days.”

  No secrets in the Barrows and no point in letting him know I wasn’t “doing” Michael as well as Flynn. No cop scared a Bastinado unless the entire force descended en masse, but I’d always heard that everyone walked wide around Michael.

  Snag chuckled. “Got something for you.” He waved his hand and one of the gang brought him a wadded-up bloody rag.

  “Aw, you shouldn’t have.” My stomach churned.

  Snag unfolded the rag and lifted out a chain with the gang’s devil head insignia stamped on a pendant attached to one link. He offered it to me. “Motherfucker don’t need it anymore.”

  I could only assume the said “motherfucker” was dead now. “The Devil chains have to be earned, Snag. I haven’t—”

  Snag broke out in loud, shrill laughter, exposing a mouthful of blackened teeth. The rest of the gang laughed with him. Forced mirth, but when the Big Devil laughed, they laughed with him. He tossed the chain at me. I caught it and turned it in my hands. At least the blood was dried.

  “You did the Slashers, Witchy. Think we wasn’t watching the motherfuckers? Took ’em down and blew them to hell in little fucking pieces.”

  I winced. “An accident, Snag. Only an accident.”

  “Don’t matter. They roach shit now.”

  “How about you? Nobody’s offered you guns? Explosives?”

  Snag’s smile faded. “Who’s asking? You or the cop?”

  “Me. Exeter Street almost killed me. And there was another, a warehouse.”

  He nodded. “Heard that. Cops got those. You were there, though. Heard that, too.”

  “Another accident. Someone’s passing out serious shit like a dirty old man handing out candy to little girls. Maybe the Devils should get in on the action. Don’t want to be the last kids on the block to get the new toys.”

  Snag grunted. He stared around at his gang. They stared back with watchful eyes. Communal living left little room for secrets, and every man wanted a chance to be Big Devil. I used to be curious how Snag reached his status, given his physical limitations, but then I began to understand his level of intelligence when it came to the Barrows’ streets. Under different circumstances, with an education—and a good doctor for his physical problems—Snag would make a hell of a lawyer or stockbroker.

  “Contacted the man,” Snag said. “Ain’t heard nothing—yet. You keep blowing ’em up and calling the cops, won’t be none left.”

  “If only that were true. Tell me who the man is, and maybe I can make sure no one gets any more excess firepower. You get into that kind of war, they’ll send in the big boys. National guard has tanks, big guns.” I had no earthly idea what the national guard had, and I hoped Snag didn’t, either.

  “I’ll think about it.” He reached over and slapped my knee. “Now. Since you’re an official Devil, you got to be nish-e-ated.”

  Damn! That didn’t sound good. “Taking out the Slashers wasn’t enough?”

  “Naw. You got to do three of the boys.” He leered and waved his hand in the general direction of the assembled lesser Slum Devils. “You can take your pick.”

  “Is that how you made it? Was it fun? Which three boys did you choose?”

  Snag howled with laughter, slinging his head. Thin wet droplets whipped off his hair and hit me in the face. I’d have to scrub my skin raw to get it off.

  The gang didn’t laugh with him this time. Snag was making a joke at my expense—I hoped—since the usual initiation involved killing and kidnapping.

  When he calmed, I asked, “Why don’t I break a few bones? Breaking bones is a lot more fun than sex.”

  More laughter from Snag and dirty looks from the gang. I needed to get out. I’d learned very little for my time and effort, and the longer I hung around, the greater the danger. Eventually someone would challenge me.

  Snag’s hand tightened on the pistol. His eyes narrowed and he made a barely audible rumble in his throat. A bare-chested bruiser shuffled toward us. Serious tattoos covered his arms and shaved head. He stood at least six-five, and his massive bare beer gut spilled over his belt. He appeared dangerous, but not very smart. The butt of a pistol stuck out his pants pocket.

  “What you want, Pogo?” Snag spoke as if asking for the time of day.

  Pogo? He had to be kidding.

  Pogo pointed at me. “Bitch. I’ll teach her some manners.”

  Snag smiled. “Nah. Too dangerous. Wouldn’t want my main man to get hurt.”

  Pogo sneered.

  “Tell you what, Pogo.” Snag’s eyes had a calculating look. “You take the witch, you can have her, teach her all you want. But I get—” He stared around the room. “Dawn, get your ass over here.”

  Snag’s voice sounded like he wanted to negotiate. I knew better. The Big Devil didn’t negotiate anything.

  Pogo growled like a bulldog.

  A pale, pitifully thin girl in shorts and a torn T-shirt came forward. Part of one breast peeked from a tear in the shirt, but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t look over fourteen. Head bowed, eyes on the concrete floor, she locked her bony arms across her stomach, as if those brittle sticks would protect her.

  I couldn’t afford pity at that mo
ment. I couldn’t afford justifiable rage. They make me weak. Calculated justice, though—I could do that.

  Snag nodded. “Okay, Pogo. You take the witch, you get an extra twenty percent of the next haul. She takes you, I get Dawn.”

  Pogo made a chuffing sound I took to be laughter. “She ain’t no witch. Just another stinking whore.”

  Snag spared me a single glance, and that said everything. Pogo was a problem Snag wanted me to remove. My reaction to Dawn’s abuse was a sure thing in his eyes. Getting others to do the dangerous dirty work was one way he stayed Big Devil.

  I rubbed my hands together in fake anticipation. “Tell you what, Snag. I take Pogo and I get Dawn. I’m thinking of branching out into girls anyway.” I flicked my thumb over Nirah’s pocket. She had already moved into position.

  The woman Snag had thrown out of the chair had crawled around and crouched at his other side. He bopped her on the head with his gun. Hit her hard enough to make her teeth click together. She smiled at him, adoration filling her eyes. “Deal,” Snag said. “I don’t like ’em that young anyway.”

  I laid the Devil chain—my Devil chain—on my chair and stood to face Pogo.

  “Don’t have any guns with me, Pogo. Is it too much to expect a bastard—sorry, Bastinado—to play fair?” Nirah inched up. She had a three-foot strike range, but if she fell on the floor, some overzealous shit might try to shoot her.

  Pogo smelled like he’d dabbed eau de Dumpster perfume behind his ears. He obliged me by moving closer and giving me a gap-toothed grin. He stood almost a foot taller than me and outweighed me by at least one hundred and fifty pounds.

  I moved my breasts within three inches of him.

  He seized the back of my neck and dragged me against his stinking body.

  Nirah barely had to move to nip him right in the middle of his chest.

  Pogo froze.

  I punched up with my left fist and knocked his hand loose from my neck. Then I stepped back. Didn’t want him to fall on me. Nirah slipped back down in the pouch, out of sight.

  I walked back, casually picked up the Devil chain, and sat beside Snag again.

  Snag didn’t say anything. He, like everyone in the room, had his eyes on Pogo.

  Pogo remained upright. Unusual for someone bitten by Nirah, but he had extensive body mass for the venom to cover. He gasped, hiccupped, and dropped to his knees. His eyes bulged and bloody teardrops formed in the corners. His head bobbed up and down like the little hula doll my grandpa kept on the dash of his pickup truck. Nirah’s poison finally completed the circuit and his nervous system shut down, his heart stopped. He toppled over and died.

  For today, the Barrows held a little less filth. Guilt would never touch me on this one.

  Silence held the room in a taut grip.

  “Snag.” He jumped when I said his name. “You have any more cold beer?”

  Snag nodded and snapped his fingers. One of the girls brought me the beer. She offered the bottle at arm’s length, then ran away the instant I had it in my hand.

  Now all of the Slum Devils believed I was a witch. Not necessarily a bad thing. Bastinados lived in the Barrows and were, with good reason, a superstitious lot. Pogo’s disbelief in my witch’s power was foolhardy in their eyes. Certainly, Snag had faith in me, and the intelligence to maneuver me into solving his problem.

  “Damn,” Snag said softly. “I thought you’d knife him.”

  “What! And have him bleed all over me?” I wanted no more blood on me, thank you.

  “Don’t know if I want you a Devil, after all,” he said.

  “Aw, Snag, you’ve hurt my feelings.”

  Snag shrugged. “Don’t know who the gunman is, but I’ll find out.”

  “I appreciate that. Hardware like that is expensive. How’d the Slashers pay for it?”

  Snag frowned. “Didn’t pay. Otto, one of my guys, was on watch. Weird. First, I thought he got high. Drugging on the job. Seeing things. Don’t think so now. He followed the Slashers into the Zombie.”

  “I’d have to be really high to follow a bunch of Bastinados into the Zombie, Snag.”

  “Me, too. Otto was a good little Devil, but he weren’t too smart.” He nodded at my Devil chain. Apparently, the dried blood had belonged to Otto. “Anyway, Slashers went together in a circle, made funny noises; then all the fuckers fell in line and kissed each other’s asses. Then they got the stuff.” Contempt filled Snag’s voice. He probably didn’t have weapons because whoever passed them out thought him too independent. He wouldn’t get in line for anything. He’d described what Abby once described as ritual binding.

  “How were they delivered?” I asked.

  “Trucks. No markings. What you think, witch?”

  “I think you should avoid ass kissing at all costs, Snag. Move to California, maybe. But I’d appreciate it if you’d get me a name first.” I drained the beer and set the bottle on the concrete floor. “Let’s go, Dawn.”

  Dawn made tentative steps toward me, but that required her to walk around Pogo’s body. She stopped. In a single small gesture of defiance, she found a tiny sliver of courage. She spit on him.

  Snag grunted. He pointed at Pogo. “How’d you . . . ?” “Magic, Snag. Pure magic. Think hard about California.”

  chapter 22

  Dawn didn’t protest when we left. For some perverse reason, once some girls made it with a gang, they’d fight to stay there, no matter how brutal their treatment. Snag insisted I accept the gang chain. Big deal. Make the witch who single-handedly blasted the Slashers to hell an honorary Devil. I raised Snag’s status in Bastinado land, at the cost of making him a little afraid of me. Maybe he’d come through with the name of the weapons dealer. I stuffed the chain under the seat to throw in the river later.

  I tried again to dredge up some concern that I’d become a cold, efficient killer with unorthodox weapons. I couldn’t find any remorse, in spite of my effort.

  I drove Dawn to Sister Alice May’s place, a two-story storefront at the edge of the Barrows. Sister Alice specialized in helping girls brutalized by Bastinados. She had a good success rate—maybe ten percent.

  “You’ll like Sister Alice,” I told Dawn.

  Dawn, who hadn’t said a word until then, responded with a litany of obscene acts Pogo had forced on her since he’d snatched her leaving the mall one night. She gave no time frame. Maybe a month or even a year ago, but her torment stretched far too long. Her monotone voice sounded thin as her body, but when she reached the part about the “three-way” and “Boston Tea Party,” I stopped listening. With great determination, she chewed on her fingernails between words.

  How much hurt I could have laid on Pogo if I hadn’t been in such a hurry. I should have used a knife—blinded him, cut his balls off, skinned him alive. Then I thought about doing the same to Snag, who richly deserved punishment. He let such things happen.

  By the time we reached Sister Alice’s place, Dawn had finished her litany. She wiped her bloody fingertips, minus nails, on her pitiful shirt and shorts. I had to help her out of the car and lead her to the shelter.

  Sister Alice met us at the door. Her face contorted with rage. “Who did this to her?” She sighed and shook her head when I explained. Her anger softened to resignation. I expected she’d seen worse.

  “He won’t do it to anyone else, Sister.” I offered the information without hesitation. I trusted Sister Alice as I trusted Vic.

  She gave me a sad smile. “No, but there are others—though a few less of them, I hear.” Half the Barrows probably knew about the Exeter Street explosion. And they believed I was responsible. I hadn’t done a damn thing except run through a room followed by a hungry monster. Another day in the life of the Huntress.

  Sister Alice found a place for Dawn and began the search for her parents. As I left, the image of Flynn finding Selene in Dawn’s condition suddenly popped into my mind.

  I checked my cell phone. No messages. I called Abby. Nothing from Flynn, either. Disappoint
ed? Yes. I headed for the Archangel. Maybe Michael had some information.

  Michael wasn’t at the Archangel, but when I was heading out, his Jag pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside my car.

  The passenger window slid down. “Get in,” Michael said. “Please,” he added when I raised my eyebrows.

  “Okay, but you have to promise to behave.” I opened the door.

  “Oh, I promise.” He winked at me.

  I climbed in and the window slid closed. Within seconds the AC compensated for the steaming hot air that flooded in.

  “Have you learned anything today?” Michael asked.

  “Oh, yes. Stale cookies taste nasty. Someone’s arming the gangs with heavy weapons. Orgies are a seriously sick way to have sex. Bastinados are not immune to snake venom.” I shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Stale cookies—how dreadful. Let me take you to the Lace Curtain for an early dinner. Take your mind off such unsavory cuisine.” He turned the Jag down onto Blanding Street and headed uptown. The five-star Lace Curtain, sitting atop the Princess Lily Hotel, charged a cop’s monthly salary for a single meal. Like most places, Duivel’s priorities sucked. An early dinner suited me, though. Only one problem.

  “The Lace Curtain is a pretty fancy place, Michael. Let’s hit a drive-through and pretend it’s edible. I’m not really dressed and”—I peeked down my shirt—“I have a snake between my boobs.”

  “The snake is fine, but you’re a bit shabby. There’s a private dining room.”

  Flynn had accepted Nefertiti and Nirah, but not with the casual air of Michael, who’d seen far stranger things in the Barrows. If we managed to get through this and find Selene, he’d be gone. I tried to shake off the thought. I had to get out of my own head. Everything would depend on what happened during the dark moon, I supposed, and if I was able to rescue Selene. He’d never want me otherwise, because I’d always remind him of her—and my failure.

  “Have you forgiven me for offering the reward?” Michael asked.