Viper Moon

by Lee Roland

  “Not forgiven. It takes too much energy to be mad and I’ve had too many things to do. Have you learned anything?”

  “Not much, and I still can’t find Hammer. That should have been easy.”

  “Hammer isn’t a problem anymore.” I wanted to move the conversation away from Hammer. “How’d you get so rich?” I asked. “Maybe I could invest my pissy little trust fund.”

  “I’ll give you money if you’ll take it.”

  “Shit. I don’t want—”

  “I know.” He laughed. “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. Most women would—”

  “Fall over and lick your feet.”

  “But not the Huntress.” He reached over and stroked my hair.

  “Nope.” The only one I wanted to taste was Flynn.

  Michael sighed. “To answer your question, my mother was an only child. Her parents were wealthy. They wanted nothing to do with her or me, but they did set up trust funds. I’m good at making money, too. I quadrupled my inheritance before I graduated from college. I had to. The family had locked Mother up at Candlewood. They kept her in a cage the size of a coffin and gave her shock treatments. I couldn’t allow that to continue.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Michael then asked me to tell him what happened at Avondale, right down to the smallest detail. He made no comment as I spoke, and offered no explanations when I finished.

  “Here we are.” He drove into the underground parking lot of the Princess Lily Hotel. “What does the snake like to eat?”

  “She prefers live mice.”

  “Sounds delicious, but I don’t know if it’s on the menu.”

  “She’ll settle for caviar.” I lifted my shirt and peeked down at Nirah. “Won’t you, baby? Get that nasty taste out of your mouth.”

  Michael laughed as the hotel’s staff came running to open our doors and escort us to a private elevator for the forty-two-floor ride to the Lace Curtain restaurant—only it wasn’t quite a restaurant.

  chapter 23

  I expected to see the restaurant when the elevator doors slid open. Instead, we exited onto a windowless, ten-square-foot vestibule with pink marble floors, gilded walls, and a single door across from the elevator. The door opened and a sharp-looking man in a gray suit and gold tie greeted us. His eyes played over me, but his face never lost its smiling, servile expression.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Michael,” he said with a slight bow.

  “Good afternoon.” Michael gave the man one of those gracious nods he occasionally bestowed on his followers at the Archangel. “Ms. Archer and I will be dining in.”

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll have the maître d’ call, unless you prefer that he come up.”

  “A call will be fine. The wine . . . ?”

  “Is chilled and ready.” The man walked out and closed the door soundlessly behind him.

  I studied my surroundings. “Hmm, this isn’t the Lace Curtain.”

  Michael went to a sleek black marble bar. “The Curtain is two floors below us. This is my suite.”

  “Yeah, this looks more like you than the decadent O Oriental harem room at the Archangel.”

  I surveyed the elegant modern room, which screamed of luxury. It was masculine, powerful. A talented decorator had filled it with clean-cut furniture, leather, and brass accessories in a spacious area enclosed by sheets of glass windows. I gazed out the windows to the south, where the Barrows stretched in the distance. Today, a murky dirty brown haze spread over it, like oil skimming over a shallow pond.

  “Decadent?” Michael came to stand beside me. “You mean my humble home?”

  “Yes, your humble home.”

  “I come here occasionally. When I have to meet people I can’t, or don’t want to, take to the Archangel.”

  “So you rent hotel rooms?” I asked.

  “No. This is the owner’s suite.”

  Nirah’s head slipped out of her pocket. He held out his hand and she glided onto it and up his arm. She stretched forward and her tongue flicked across his ear. His eyes never left me.

  “Huntress, if only you would care for me as the little one does.” Nirah kissed him, on the cheek, the lips, then glided across and onto his shoulder. “Was I getting close, before Flynn came along? If he left, would you come to me?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  That probably wasn’t true. I would fight his attraction for the same reason I always had. Michael owned things—and people.

  The phone rang.

  I kept my face to the window wall as Michael sighed and answered. He told whoever called to send up some caviar immediately. He went back to the bar. “Come here, Cass. I’ll behave.”

  He was on the other side of the bar, so I went to sit on one of the stools. Michael reached under the counter and handed me a bottle of beer. Expensive beer. He poured himself a glass of bloodred wine. Nirah curled on his shoulder, weaving her body in and out of his hair.

  “The guns,” he said. “Did you learn anything?”

  The sudden change of subject caught me by surprise.

  “Ah . . . they belonged to your Goblin Den partner, Theron. I talked to him last night. They’re for his army of Bastinados. You know anything about an army? Theron said he was going to be the new king of the Barrows. Who’s the current king? The one he plans to replace.”

  Michael frowned. “That can’t be. He’s hallucinating.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I sounded skeptical, for good reason. “That happens a lot in the Barrows.”

  “I’ll take care of him, Cass. It’s past time.”

  “Theron is not a problem now.”

  Michael cocked his head, suddenly interested. He stared at me for a long time. “Is there anything I need to do?”

  “Find a new partner to run the Goblin Den.” I could see from the expression on his face that he understood. “My, you have been a busy girl, haven’t you?”

  I shrugged. Neither Hammer nor Theron had died by my hand.

  The doorbell chimed softly. Michael lifted Nirah off his shoulder, gently placed her on the bar, and went to answer it. When he returned, he held a shallow, platesized dish of slimy black beads. He set the dish on the bar and Nirah dove in, literally headfirst. She rolled and started scooping them up in great gulps. Michael sat on a stool beside me.

  “So, Huntress, what do you think? You think I’m arming the Bastinados?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t want it to be you. How much was the stuff in the warehouse worth? That many guns . . .”

  “Millions. I’m having trouble with the concept of a petty pornographer like Pericles Theron purchasing and delivering that many weapons, even if he had the money. Two months ago, I learned that some of the Bastinado gangs had merged, and someone was arming them. It is not—was not—Theron. He had his fingers in it most likely, but he wasn’t a power person.”

  “Little man with big ideas,” I said. I smiled at his use of past tense. Wasn’t.

  “Indeed. Cass, this coming dark moon is—”

  “Stop. I have to be in the Barrows tomorrow night. It’s not negotiable.”

  Michael sighed. “Then I’ll be with you. You don’t know—”

  “Right. I don’t know. So tell me. I want to hear the words.”

  “Very well. I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you came charging into the Archangel’s kitchen looking for that girl. You kicked my feet out from under me when I told you to leave.”

  “Damn! That wasn’t what I wanted.” I took a step back.

  “What did you want?” His eyes sparkled and he laughed softly.

  “The truth, Michael. The things I don’t know. Who are you? What’s your place in the Barrows?”

  He stopped smiling. Cool, calm Michael returned, only this time without the usual arrogant amusement. “You once told me you desired me, Huntress, but you couldn’t have everything you wanted. You have my love. That’s all I can give you now.”

  Great Mother, what a pain in the ass.

 
Another phone rang, this time my cell. I stepped away from Michael and turned my back. This was far too intense for me. Flynn spoke when I answered.

  “Come down to the Fourteenth Precinct station right away and give a statement on the guns.” No greeting, no hello, no warmth touched his voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to be arrested for obstruction if you don’t.”

  “Shouldn’t we—?”

  “Now, Cass. Right now!” He hung up.

  Was someone listening to him? We really needed to get our stories straight if we were going to do statements. Something was happening and it wasn’t good. But it did allow me to escape.

  “I need to go,” I said to Michael. “We’ll have dinner some other time. They’re threatening to arrest me if I don’t go in and give a report on the guns.”

  “They think you’re an arms dealer?”

  “I don’t know. I have a bit of a history with the police.”

  “It’s not Theron?”

  “Theron? I told you: forget him and find a new partner. Will you take me to my car, or do I need to catch a bus?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Flynn’s precinct on Broad Street. The Fourteenth.” Michael asked for five minutes and went into the other room.

  Nirah was literally swimming in the caviar dish, her body rolling over and her tail twitching in the air. She was so full, she barely moved when I lifted her out and bathed her with warm water in the bar sink. Her slim body swelled in the middle from her gastronomical orgy and she smelled fishy. I laid her on a towel, dumped the remaining caviar down the drain, washed the bowl, and rinsed it in hot water. No accidentally poisoning anyone if she’d drooled while she was eating.

  When Michael returned, he said he’d arranged a ride to the precinct for me. “I’d take you, but it’s best you not show up with me,” he said.

  I agreed.

  I lifted Nirah from the bar and slipped her into her pocket.

  Michael came to me and laid his hands on my shoulders. “Please believe me when I say I love you.”

  “I believe you, but—”

  The door burst open and Reverend Victor marched in.

  I froze and my mouth dropped open.

  “Good afternoon, Cassandra.” Vic seemed far different from when I’d seen him at the mission. His voice was hard and clipped. “I came to pay my brother a visit. I’m sorry to see you here.”

  “Brother?” He’d already warned me about Michael, but his brother?

  “My brother,” Victor said. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a little family talk.”

  “True,” Michael said, as calm as if he stood on the Archangel’s floor during a very ordinary day. “I’ve been very fortunate.”

  “What?” The word popped from my mouth like I’d spit out a piece of sour candy.

  “Oh, yes, Cassandra, the Archangel and I have a great deal in common.” Victor laughed, again quite satisfied. “I warned you about him, didn’t I?”

  I swallowed hard. “You told me not to give him my soul, which I hadn’t planned on doing anyway, but I don’t remember anything about him being a relative.”

  “How did you think I knew him well enough to warn you?” Victor asked.

  “You don’t look like brothers.” I gazed at them. One tall, blond, and handsome and the other short, slim, and dark; genetics played nasty tricks at times.

  “That’s because we have different fathers.” Victor seemed a bit calmer now.

  “Fortunately, we do.” Michael almost snarled the words.

  “Michael is upset with me because I used the family business profits ministering to the poor,” Vic said.

  “It’s called embezzlement, Victor.” Michael’s voice seethed with rage. “If I don’t sell this damned hotel in the next year, I’ll file for bankruptcy and Mother can come and live with you.”

  “You shouldn’t be so bitter, Michael.” Vic spoke softly and I heard no anger in his voice, only a deliberate truth. “Mother always loved you best.”

  “Does that mean she never tried to strangle you?” Michael’s hands were clenched into fists.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. I was an only child once.” Vic sighed.

  Elise of Avondale, Elise of the Barrows, crazy Elise—whatever her sons’ relationships with each other, life couldn’t have been easy. I had missed something, a key piece of the puzzle surrounding her. Maybe the piece Michael had sent me to Avondale to find.

  “I need to go.” No matter how curious, this wasn’t my business.

  Michael led me to the door and told me to go to the basement, where someone would be waiting for me. As the door closed, I saw Victor heading for the bar.

  Michael said he’d have my car taken from the Archangel to my apartment, but I told him to take it to Abby’s instead. He didn’t ask for my key, so I figured it was his problem. What other secrets were these two men keeping?

  My ride was an unremarkable shuttle van that belonged to the hotel. The nice elderly man driving talked the whole way, mostly trying to elicit information on why he had to chauffeur me to the police station instead of the airport.

  Haphazard concrete block additions tacked onto an ancient but graceful brick building housed the Fourteenth Precinct station. Except for the old cinnamoncolored brick part, the structure squatted on the block like a windowless fortress designed by a paranoid architect. Or maybe it was the proximity to the Barrows that made it strange. I’d been here only once before.

  I went to the front desk, gave my name, and a uniform escorted me into the pale fluorescent hallways that made up the guts of the building. I rubbed Nirah to reassure her. She was fine. I wished someone would reassure me.

  My escort led me into a lounge room with an orange plastic-covered couch and equally orange chairs. An empty snack machine and a drink machine with an OUT OF ORDER sign completed the decor. The uniform stood against the wall when I sat down. Did I actually rate a guard?

  The lounge opened wide into the hallway on one side, where a continuous parade of uniforms and other assorted cops went by. They all stared at me. I managed to hide my discomfort with my don’t-give-a-shit facade, but the uniform standing watch over me didn’t bother to hide anything. He glared at everyone. I guess he wanted to be somewhere else. Another uniform walked by and jerked to a stop. Insky.

  I’d retrieved Insky’s eight-year-old daughter a couple of years back. His addict ex-wife lost custody, then snatched the girl. She thought she could hide in some crappy apartment house along River Street with her drug-dealing boyfriend. She backed down when I arrived, but the boyfriend was an ass. When I took him down, I kicked him a couple of extra times for Insky, who is a wonderful father and all-around nice guy.

  “Cass?” Insky approached. “Everything okay?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. Flynn said I needed to come and give a statement on the guns. I happened to be there when he found them. They don’t get around to it soon, I’m going to leave.”

  I eyed my guard. Sure enough, his body tensed and his hand did an automatic check of his gun. He had orders to keep me from leaving. Insky caught the gesture, too, and his eyes narrowed. He sat in one of the plastic chairs beside me.

  “I didn’t know you and Flynn were such good friends,” Insky said. He lifted an eyebrow, obviously curious, but I didn’t want to answer that question, at least not in public.

  “Have you seen Flynn?” I asked him.

  “He’s upstairs yelling at Krause.”

  I silently groaned. What a pain. Lieutenant Robert Krause was one of the holy rollers who declared war on Duivel’s psychics a couple of years ago. He “investigated” Abby—and me—but our clients refused to say we did anything wrong. True to my obstinate nature, I always gave him a hard time. I made a good living as a PI until he came along. Three years ago I gave up my PI license and my gun license, which stopped some of the harassment.

  Robert’s crusade crashed on the rocks of political expediency when h
e set up a sting and “accidentally” arrested a city council member as she visited her own private and very masculine fortune-teller. Abby, confident and serene, always cooperated, so Robert reserved the greatest portion of his loathing for me.

  “I thought they sent Righteous Robert to purgatory in the records department,” I said.

  “Election.” Insky gave an exaggerated sigh. “New mayor goes to Robert’s church. Robert promised to be good and they gave him his halo back.”

  I laughed and even my guard smiled.

  Of course, if I were in Robert’s place, I’d be suspicious of me, too. While I might be honorable in my own way, I am not a virtuous person by modern cultural standards. Virtuous person is Flynn’s province. I knew that’s what made everything about me so hard for him.

  The sound of voices, loud voices, coming toward us made us all sit up.

  “I’ll do what’s necessary, Detective.” That was Robert, snarling to put a junior officer in his place.

  “You’re twisting facts to create evidence for your crazy theories.” Junior officer Flynn wasn’t buying. He kept his voice calm and reasonable. Smart. Left on his own, Robert would eventually trip over his own zealous feet. I’d move that event along if I could.

  Robert stopped when he saw me. A short, chunky man dressed in beige polyester, he filled the stereotype of a used-car salesman. His face turned red and he balled up his fists. “What’s she doing here?” he shouted. “I said interrogation.”

  Flynn stepped forward. “She came to make a statement on the weapons. Not be interrogated.” He still sounded calm, but I detected an edge.

  Robert glared at me. “Get her in a room.”

  He whirled and marched off down the hall.

  I stood. Flynn laid a hand on my shoulder. “Cass, please.”

  I shrugged his hand off, even though I wanted it to stay. If I broke down, I might do something foolish like ask him not to reject me.

  “Please what, Flynn? They aren’t my guns.”

  “He knows that. He’s trying to pin something, anything on you.”

  “Well, I can—”

  “Hey!” Another uniform marched down the hall. “Fuck off, Flynn.”

  Great Mother, if you put him in filthy clothes and shaved his head, he could be the late Bastinado Pogo’s twin brother, even if his name tag did say BRUNNER.