Tombyards & Butterflies: A Montague and Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 1)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Should I expect a Council hit squad there?”

  “No one calls them that anymore. The Council calls them Resolution Teams now. And no—she should be alone.”

  “This would be much easier if I didn’t have to bring her in alive. Dead vampires don’t fight back,” I said, shifting my weight as my legs started to fall asleep.

  “She’ll be hungry, which will require precaution on your part. She’s young, but she’s formidable.”

  “The best precaution would be blasting her with UV lights and then picking up the charbroiled remains.”

  “Not an option,” she answered and delicately placed the cup on the table and stood effortlessly and bowed. “Arigatou gozaimasu, thank you for the tea.”

  I tried to stand gracefully, and failed. “Kochira koso arigatou gozaimasu, thank you for the visit, it was my honor, Michiko,” I said and bowed in response after regaining my balance.

  “I am pleased to hear that your Nihongo is improving,” she said with a brief smile. “There will be compensation once she’s in your custody. Her parents would like her…relocated.”

  “And you’re facilitating the relocation,” I said, finally understanding her role. “What’s your connection to her?”

  She gave me a cold stare and my next question evaporated. Sometimes I forgot she was a deadly agent of destruction, capable of violence in a split second.

  “There’s no connection as far as she’s concerned and I want it to remain that way,” she said after a pause.

  “So what do I tell her when she asks? She will ask. At least, I would.”

  “I don’t care how you explain your presence there,” she replied in her clipped tone. “Convince her you’re not there to kill her, and keep her alive.”

  “Got it,” I said with a nod and a shrug of my shoulders. “Have a rational conversation with a hungry vampire who doesn’t know me. Should be easy.”

  “If this were easy, I wouldn’t be here. Failure will cause my…displeasure.”

  “I’ll get it done. She’ll either be here by morning, or we’ll have been horribly mauled.”

  “Simon, I can’t stress enough how delicate a matter this is,” she said and walked up to me. Even in heels, she only came up to my chest. Her long black hair framed her face as she looked up at me, and my heart paused for a millisecond. “If you screw this up, if the Dark Council needs to get involved, I’ll kill you slowly with my bare hands.”

  I smiled.

  “Chi—I’ve been forty for the last five years.”

  She smiled back and my blood froze in my veins.

  “It seems your recent entry into immortality has given you a slight case of SOSS,” she said and patted my chest lightly. “It’s okay. I’ve seen these symptoms before in our newly turned vampires. It never lasts long, and neither do they.”

  “SOSS? What’s SOSS?”

  “Sudden onset supernatural stupidity. New vampires think that because they’ve become immortal, they can’t die.”

  “But they can,” I said, remembering a few vampires I turned to ash. “Vampires are immortal unless destroyed.”

  “My point exactly,” she said and disappeared.

  THREE

  I CHECKED THE photo again and called Monty. He picked up on the second ring.

  “What?” he said, annoyed.

  “Did they pick him up?” I asked, turning the photo in my hand.

  The NYTF was usually good with these sorts of things, and Ramirez was solid, but I also had Olga to worry about so I wanted to make sure.

  “You saw Olga, or rather she saw you,” he said.

  I could hear the smile. “Yeah, I told her the end of the week.”

  “You have the most fascinating women in your life, Simon.”

  “That’s me, the most interesting man in the world. Did Ramirez make the payment?”

  “He did and he also said to forget Luger’s since I did most of the heavy lifting and you were basically a tour guide.”

  “Bastard,” I said with a laugh. “He could’ve at least offered to take you.”

  “He knows I don’t eat meat. He was being gracious in not offering.”

  “Luger’s has some great salads, I’m sure.”

  “You’re stalling. What did your vampire want?”

  “It’s a job—under the radar,” I answered after a pause. “No DC.”

  “Wonderful. Is this a paying job? Or are we doing more charity work?”

  “She said we would be compensated.”

  “Compensation for a vampire isn’t what you imagine.”

  “Sounded like the financial kind,” I said.

  “Did you get that part in writing or did she just bat her eyes at you and stop your heart? Seriously, I don’t see the attraction.”

  “Well, she’s—” I started.

  “I was talking about her. Tell me about this job and why under the radar?”

  I explained the details and gave him the address. I stressed that she’d said to bring him along.

  “200 Park Avenue. And we need to collect this Wittenbraden vampire alive? It’s a trap—decline.”

  “I can’t, it’s Chi. What’s the issue? I’m sure the two of us can handle a five-year-old vamp.”

  “You don’t recognize the address?”

  “I do, the MetLife building, the one that bisects Park Avenue.”

  “Yes, and also the home to the MetLife Donor Center—a blood bank.”

  “A vampire at a blood bank? That makes no sense. Is she planning a withdrawal?”

  “Here’s something else that doesn’t make sense,” he said. “How does your vampire know she will be there in two hours?”

  “She wouldn’t unless she—shit, this is a setup.”

  “Precisely, so walk away.”

  “They’re going to kill her at the blood bank. That’s why Chi can’t be part of this. She wants us to stop them.”

  “If the girl’s been shunned, why go through this elaborate production? There’s something else going on here.”

  “I’ll pack the bag and meet you at Roselli’s.”

  “UV lights and silver ammo. Make sure you bring them, especially the ammo, this time,” he said.

  I winced at the mention of silver ammo. “Got it, putting it in the bag now.”

  I grabbed a few magazines of specially coated silver ammo for the Grim Whisper and tossed them into my Mach 3 backpack. This silver wouldn’t kill them like it did the Were, but it hurt like hell. They cost a small fortune but had saved my life on more than one occasion.

  “Ramirez said something I need to look into. It may be nothing, but it sounded off. I have to go to the morgue,” Monty said, sounding distracted.

  “The morgue? You need me to come along?”

  “No, this is just a routine ID. I’ll meet you at Roselli’s in forty-five minutes. Get my usual.”

  Roselli’s meant I would have to upgrade what I was wearing or else suffer the owner’s ridicule.

  FOUR

  GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL at night was a wonder to behold, if you slowed down long enough to take it in, that is. Roselli’s catered to the ‘night crowd,’ as they referred to the supernatural community, by making the after-midnight menu exorbitant, even by New York City standards.

  This didn’t stop some of the more adventurous and wealthy New Yorkers from dining in the exclusive restaurant, where a filet mignon could set you back upward of two hundred dollars. They didn’t realize, though, that if they weren’t careful, some of the clientele would consider them part of the menu.

  The owner, Piero Roselli, was a vampire from the old country. He’d never told me which part of the old country, except to say that it was far away. He was an older-looking man with a dignified air. I always joked that he was the original most interesting man in the world. He could always be seen wearing a dark suit with an indigo shirt. He never wore a tie.

  “Tell me why I would put a laccio…a noose around my neck?” he once asked me. It didn’t stop him f
rom being my fashion critic.

  A few years back, Monty and I had sat in Roselli’s and I told him wearing a suit made it difficult on the cases I worked. He made a tsking sound and grabbed my cheek hard, and explained it to me.

  “You look at this one—the spy, he’s English, what’s his name…Bond?”

  “That’s a character from a movie, Piero,” I said, wincing as he squeezed my cheek.

  “No,” he said, and wagged his finger at me. “That is an idea. He fights, drives and makes explosions—in suit.”

  “If I did that, my suits would have to be made out of steel or Kevlar—incomodo, uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t be denso, best material for suit is wool,” he said and patted my cheek hard enough for me to see stars. “I call my tailor, Vincenzo from Chiaia in Napoli. You see him, and he makes some suits for you.”

  “Really, Piero, that’s very gracious of you, but I don’t think—” I started. Monty shook his head slightly, and I sighed. “Fine, I’ll see your tailor.”

  “Good,” he said with the matter settled. Then he pointed at me. “But no ties, eh?”

  “No ties,” I replied in an effort to avoid another seismic face-pat.

  That was how I came to own a dozen handmade Neapolitan suits.

  I walked into Roselli’s and the crowd was just hitting its stride. Piero had expanded the restaurant a few years ago and added a dance floor one level down. I could hear and feel the bass beats reverberate through the floor and thump in my chest. The restaurant proper was two levels up.

  As I ascended the steps, I could see a few members of the Dark Council occupying some of the more coveted tables. When I reached the highest floor, Piero glided up to me and stopped a few feet away. He sat everyone. If he didn’t seat you, you weren’t staying.

  “Buona sera,” he said and stood back to inspect my suit. After a few seconds, I got the almost imperceptible Roselli nod of approval. “Where is Montague?” He pronounced it “Montagooeh” and refused to be corrected.

  “Evening, Piero,” I said, distracted as I took a subtle headcount of Council members. “He said he’ll be here soon. Looks like a full house.”

  “Simon,” he said and grabbed me by the elbow as he led me to our table. He always pronounced the first syllable as ‘see’ instead of the traditional ‘sigh,’ “You work tonight?”

  I nodded as I let my eyes scan the room.“I may have something to do a little later on, why?”

  “Consiglio Nero,” he said and pointed a finger at me, getting my attention. “Don’t look, don’t talk, eh?”

  Apparently I wasn’t as subtle as I thought. He stared at me until I nodded and then sat me down with my back to the rest of the room. Monty arrived ten minutes later with Piero shadowing him.

  “Food or only business?”

  “Both—I’m starving,” I said. “The usual for Monty.”

  He nodded and left us alone. I slid the picture of Georgianna across the table. Monty took it and put it aside.

  “That’s from Ramirez,” he said, passing me an envelope full of large bills. “It feels a little crowded for this time of night.”

  “I noticed. Could you do your thing?” I said and waved my hand around. “You know, the mute-button spell?”

  “One moment,” he said and shook out his hands. “It’s not as easy as it looks, and it’s not called the ‘mute-button’ spell.”

  “It should be.”

  He gave me a look and made a gesture with his hand. The sounds of the room became instantly muffled. Several of the patrons looked in our direction. Monty had effectively prevented them from overhearing our conversation. I also liked to call it his ‘sphere of silence,’ which he also hated, of course.

  “She looks young,” he said as he picked up the photo and looked at it. “Did your vampire give you a reason for the shunning?”

  “No, and what are they doing here? I’ve never seen Roselli’s this full of DC before.”

  “The same thing your vampire is doing, only a little more overt,” he answered as he scanned around the room. “There’s no way they could be involved with a vampire killing. They were having dinner here.”

  I checked my watch. We had an hour left before they planned to kill Georgianna.

  “I still don’t get how Chi knows she’ll be there at that exact time. How can she be so accurate without setting it up?”

  “I think I may have the answer to that one,” he said as Piero returned to oversee the placement of our plates. If he noticed that Monty had cast his sphere, he gave no indication and made sure the servers placed the plates just as he indicated.

  Once everything was served, he gave us a short bow and stepped away. A large carafe of the finest distilled water on the planet would be our beverage for the meal. Monty had a large salad that I’m sure was picked from the richest soil in creation. I had a Japanese A5 wagyu filet. Roselli’s was one of the few places in the city certified to serve authentic wagyu Kobe, and it showed.

  We never ordered from a menu at Roselli’s. He just appeared with what he thought I should have that evening along with Monty’s usual. He hadn’t been wrong yet.

  “You were saying?” I said after stuffing a forkful of beef in my mouth. Monty just stared at me for a few seconds and chewed on his salad. We had put our dietary differences to rest long ago, but it never ceased to amaze him how much I ate.

  “Why do you even bother?” he asked, looking at me with mild amazement. “It’s not like you need to eat.”

  “Because I get hungry?” I said around another forkful. “Being immortal doesn’t mean I don’t get hungry.”

  “That’s a double negative,” he said. “‘Being immortal doesn’t stop me from desiring food’ is more appropriate.”

  “Right now I desire this large slab of juicy beef,” I said and cut another piece. “Being immortal has not killed my appetite.”

  “It should. You don’t need food or much sleep and your body heals at an accelerated rate,” he said as he gestured at me with his fork. “Magic-based attacks are useless against you. You’re a perfect candidate for the mage school.”

  “Except I don’t practice or trust magic,” I answered. “Now, if you could get me a set of adamantium claws, I could”—I made a fist in front of my face—“snikt be a total badass.”

  He looked at me and groaned.

  “No, please,” he said, shaking his head. “We don’t have time for your Wolverine fixation.”

  “Wolverine is the patron saint of badassery,” I said, while nodding solemnly. “As such, Saint Wolverine can never be mocked—ever.”

  “Spare me. You should really consider apprenticeship at the Circle.”

  “Is this the same Golden Circle you’re currently AWOL from?”

  He narrowed his eyes and coughed into his hand. “That’s different. I think they could help you.”

  “Don’t need that kind of help, but thanks. Why don’t you teach me? Aren’t you one of the most powerful mages in the sect?”

  “No,” he said clenching his jaw. “I won’t do that again.”

  I knew better than to prod. We had discussed this topic before and it never ended well.

  “We have time for dessert?” I asked, changing to a less volatile topic.

  “No, we have thirty minutes,” he answered and finished his salad. “As I was saying, I think I know how your vampire figured out the hour.”

  “Less traffic?”

  “Something like that,” he said and placed his napkin on the table. “ I did some checking and found out that the MetLife Donor Center gets several deliveries throughout the day, but because of its location, it receives the largest shipment in”—he looked at his watch—“about twenty-five minutes.”

  “Perfect target to hijack if you’re a hungry vampire that, what—has poor social skills?” I said. “I don’t buy it. She can take anyone off the street—she doesn’t need to hit a bank.”

  “We may have a bigger a problem. My trip to the morgue was…d
isturbing.”

  “When is visiting a large group of corpses not disturbing?” “How’s Allen?”

  “According to him, one of his specimens disappeared.”

  “What do you mean—disappeared? Undead?”

  “No, he said there was no trail and no decomposition,” Monty replied. “A dead person just got up and walked out of the morgue.”

  “Dead people, with the exception of that group over there,” I said, gesturing to the Dark Council vampires around one of the tables, “don’t get up and leave the morgue of their own volition. He must’ve been mistaken and someone went zombie on him.”

  “We can look into it later, but right now we have to leave,” he said, straightening his sleeves.

  “Look into it later? Really?” I said, with a shudder. “I hate dealing with zombies. It’s never like the TV show.”

  “Nothing is,” he said and made another gesture, removing the sphere of silence. The sounds of the room rushed back at us, increasing in volume. “You need to excuse yourself or Piero will never forgive us.”

  As we stood, Piero appeared. I explained that we needed to leave and that we would have to miss the dolce, the dessert. Roselli’s desserts redefined the concept of culinary genius. He shook his head and scowled, saying something unintelligible. Not having dessert with a meal was a serious breach of etiquette with Piero.

  “I will have Giuseppe save you a piece of the Tiramisu Trece Negro,” he said softly as he clasped his hands reverently, with a solemn expression.

  His words impaled me where I stood. My eyes pleaded with Monty. “The Tiramisu Thirteen?” I asked, stunned.

  “No time,” Monty said, shaking his head. “Sorry, we can get some afterwards.”

  “You understand this is tiramisu with Remy Martin Louis XIII Black Pearl used as the cognac ingredient?”

  “We…have…no…time,” Monty stressed, pointing at his watch. “Let’s go.”

  “Piero, please express my extreme disappointment to Giuseppe at not being able to enjoy dessert,” I said, trying to sound contrite as I shot Monty a glare. “I’ll come back to enjoy the magnificence of his craftsmanship.”