by S. L. Wright
Dread swallowed, as if belatedly realizing he should have started with the sugar. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Allay. It was Vex’s orders to put you in the cage, you know that. And it was his orders that Ram should be tortured to break you. I couldn’t help it that I liked it. And I couldn’t help it that my need to replenish my life force overwhelmed my good sense and I tried to kill you.”
“Is this supposed to be an apology?”
“It’s the truth. That’s better than an apology.” His back was ramrod straight. “I don’t want to see you dead. In fact, I’d like to work with you. Now that Vex is gone and we all know it’s been Ram killing off demons, that changes everything.”
“You want to use me to get to Ram.”
“Not to hurt him, Allay. He could have killed me, but he didn’t. And he did me a favor, getting rid of Vex so handily. I owe him my thanks for that.”
I almost wanted to laugh at the way he had turned this around. “Ram swore to kill any demon who harms humans. That includes torturing them in big iron cages.”
He lifted a hand like that was a minor consideration. “Naturally my cage will be dismantled immediately. Now that I know the rules, I’ll follow them. I always have. Vex would be the first to tell you that. I know plenty of con-sensual ways of getting what I need.”
I wasn’t sure if Ram would believe that. The desire for our favorite emotion was very powerful, almost like an addiction. Surely Dread would do whatever it took to make people afraid of him. But I said, “Ram will be glad to hear that.”
“Will you tell him?”
“Sure, the next time I see him,” I agreed. “For your part, can you keep the Vex demons off my back?”
“For that, you have to agree not to make baseless accusations about the church. Those were some very nasty calls you made, Allay. Why did you threaten to reveal Mackleby’s bribes?”
“I wanted to make you let Ram go, remember? Now I know what a mistake that was. Having my window shot out was warning enough.”
Dread shook his head. “Mackleby didn’t shoot up your bar, Allay. Believe me, I would know. He hires his muscle through us. Even if he wanted to go freelance, there wasn’t enough time for him to find someone to pull that job. The surveillance camera on the corner of Second and Avenue C was disabled, so we know it was a pro. But as to who hired the gunman, I can’t say for certain.”
“Really?” If Dread was right, that changed everything. “Then who shot up my bar?”
“You must have an enemy. Perhaps a demon with a grudge?”
“A demon wouldn’t use a gun.”
Dread tilted his head. “Not unless the demon was sending a message, and wanted you frightened and confused. Not dead. Because he had other uses for you. ...”
“You think Vex sent the gunman.” I felt that sinking feeling of the world reorienting itself. Vex had wanted me confused and scared enough to run to him, to agree to star in his religious resurrection.
“I’m glad you haven’t said anything to the police about Mackleby,” Dread went on smoothly. “Or our work together.”
My shameful past as his bagman, handing off sums of money large and small to a bunch of crooks, was not something I really wanted to admit to. And he didn’t want me to blow the whistle on the church’s nefarious doings: bribes here, payouts there, with a little extortion thrown in for good measure. “I’m sure the police are already looking into it. They must think I’m crazy. But they’ll find out that Vex bought this bar and put it into trust for me.”
“Actually, it was purchased in the prophet’s name.” That was Dread’s persona. “Rather than go into the details, I think it’s best to say you grew up as part of the church and your parents were staunch members until their death. I took over care for you, even after you grew disgruntled with our philosophy.”
“So you bought me a bar.” I gave a short laugh.
Shock rolled her eyes, her first reaction to our discussion. “You’ve got to be kidding. The tabloids will say you two were sleeping together and you gave Allay this place as hush money.”
I pounced on it. “That’s right. So we might as well be up front about it. We’ll tell the cops that I’m your discarded mistress.”
That wasn’t what Shock expected. Her mouth snapped shut.
Dread didn’t like it, either. “I’d rather keep that as speculation. It would be less likely to be publicized.”
“Well, I’d rather be explicit. I have to be able to work with the police in this neighborhood—I need to convince them that I’m finally being honest with them. Besides, with all the publicity you’ve had lately, isn’t it time for you to be the one who’s sweeping girls off their feet?”
It was a barb that lay close to home, seeing as his prophet persona was the unfortunate guy whose society wife had just run off with a playboy twenty years her junior. If the police did leak this to the media, I wouldn’t shed any tears over Lash. If the prophet was publicly linked to a young goth bartender in Alphabet City, she’d probably get off on the humiliation.
Not that I wanted that kind of publicity. But I needed a hold over Dread. Having him admit to the police that there had been an affair between us gave me leverage on his prophet persona. I wanted more than his word that we were striking a truce.
And he knew it. But he needed me because of Ram. Ram could sneak up on him at any moment and kill him. My goodwill was a potential defense.
“Agreed,” Dread said stiffly. “I’ll tell the police we were lovers when you first came to the city. The bar was placed into trust for you nearly a year after you started working here. So that’s how long we were together. I’m expecting, naturally, that you won’t go to the press with this story.”
I nodded. “Who wants that?” Almost casually, I asked, “Are you still planning on a resurrection? I know you wanted to be the star of that show, and now that Vex is gone, there’s nothing stopping you.”
Dread gave an all-too-real flinch. “No, no. I am not meant for the figurehead role.” He was thinking about the degradation of his wife’s abandonment splashed across the daily papers. “I couldn’t take on the mantle of messiah.”
“I thought you were raring to get rid of Vex and branch out on your own.”
“Know thyself, I’ve always said. After all these years of acting as prophet, I’ve decided I’m much more effective as the power behind the throne, so to speak.”
“What throne? You can’t mean Goad.”
His look was pure disdain. “Of course not. I work for no one. I intend to keep . . . behind-the-scenes would be a better term.”
I wasn’t sure how Dread was going to function alone. “Well, you’re going to have your hands full dealing with Goad. He’s head of his own line. More than a third of the Vex demons are his offspring, while you have none. How can you control him?”
Dread raised his head confidently. “I can handle him. And Glory, too.” Glory was the only other powerhouse in the demon world, undisputed head of her own extensive line and snug in her Harlem territory surrounded by her most trustworthy offspring. Dread added, “I hear you made an agreement with her, as well.”
“Considering that was yesterday, you’re well-informed.” It had to be Savor. I had trusted her, after she had told me that she was a double agent for Glory. But she must have gone straight back to Dread with what I told her.
I knew I couldn’t trust Savor.
“I’ll make the same bargain with you that I made with Glory,” I offered. “I won’t hurt you and yours, and you won’t hurt me and mine.” I gestured to Bliss and Shock. “And nobody pulls a demon resurrection.”
“Agreed,” Dread said, as if his word was his bond. “I wouldn’t mind making the same pact with Glory. That raid on Harlem was Vex’s idea, with Goad executing it.”
“I told Glory that.”
“I know.” Dread smiled for the first time, pleased with all of the things he knew about me. He checked his watch, judging how long it would take Ram to return from the Upper West Side. �
��Our time is up. Come, Zeal.”
He didn’t know as much as he thought he did. It was a good lesson in not being too sure of yourself.
2
As Dread’s slippery signature gradually disappeared, swallowed by Shock’s repetitive buzzing, she carefully locked the door behind them.
“We can’t live boarded up,” I pointed out. “We’ll have to take Dread at his word at some point.”
Shock looked long and hard at me. “You really intend to open up the bar?”
I had to smile. “It’s the beginning of a new era, Shock. Don’t you want to celebrate?”
She frowned, but was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door. We all tensed.
“It could be the trap,” Shock warned. “Both of you stay in here.”
The bolt clicked into place as she closed the door to the foyer behind her.
I didn’t want to be afraid, but I was. Bliss, Shock, and I were flotsam in a dangerous sea. Except for one thing: Ram. Everyone knew that Ram had exposed himself to save my life. I was going to be popular now for a very different reason than my alluring human-demon energy, which offered the best of both worlds, so to speak. Now because of Ram, I would have another spotlight focused on me.
“There’s a cop car outside,” Bliss said quietly, looking through the crack along the side of the shutter.
From the other side of the door, I heard voices; Shock demanded that they identify themselves. Though her persona was petite, she had all the authority of a New York City EMT who was used to dealing with the most hardened criminals as well as panicked, hurt, and dying people. She fed until she overproduced, and when she had given birth to her latest offspring, Petrify, in my apartment, I had let him go rather than kill him and take his life force.
Would things have been different if I had killed Petrify? He would be dead now instead of Pique.
I doubted it would have mattered in the end. I would have still confronted Pique outside my bar, which would have led to Ram saving my life and me inviting him in for a midnight “snack.” Which in turn drove me right into Vex’s waiting arms.
“Allay?” Shock called through the door. “The police are here to speak to you.”
I opened the door to let in two cops, a man and a woman. Lieutenant Markman, my nemesis in blue, wasn’t with them, thank the gods. He’d probably show up soon. “I know you wanted to see me. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” I said to the officers. “I’ve been trying to get the bar open again, and I lost track of time.”
They stood in the center of the bar, staring around intently as if it were the scene of a crime. Which technically it was, only not today. Right now, the smell of Pine-Sol was stronger than anything else.
Officer Suarez was as short as Shock, but much stockier with dark hair pulled tight back into a bun. The gear on her belt made her waist disappear. She looked like a small, efficient tank. Officer Rizzo was a bear of a man with buzzed blond hair and a good-natured expression. Only now he was frowning with his hands ready to go for his belt.
Either one of them could be Ram, and I wouldn’t know it. I could tell by the way Shock drew back, she was thinking the same thing.
“We’re responding to a 911 call,” Suarez said briskly. “There are reports of a disturbance taking place in the bar.”
I shot Bliss a look. She had been sitting by the phone the whole time I spoke to Dread. “Nobody here called 911. There hasn’t been any disturbance. Other than the ice machine not working. ...”
Neither of them smiled back at me. Suarez flipped open her book to read, “Perps are male, Caucasian, black hair, five foot eight inches. Female, Caucasian, brown hair, five foot six inches.”
My mouth opened slightly. This was Ram’s doing. He must have called the cops when he realized Dread and Zeal were here. That meant he was nearby. “Uh, that sounds like the . . . insurance adjusters. They were just here checking on the repairs that have been done.”
“Do you mind if we look around?” Suarez demanded.
“Not at all. Go ahead,” I agreed.
They split up, one checking the bathroom while the other went into the stockroom and checked the cooler.
When they reconvened back out in the bar, Suarez asked, “We’d like to check upstairs, miss.”
Shock made a slight motion with her hand, warding me off. I didn’t need her advice. I didn’t want anyone poking around in my place. Even if there weren’t any bulky envelops of cash waiting for me to hand off to the Fellowship’s stooges.
“I don’t think so,” I said flatly. “I don’t know who called 911 to send you here, but I have to be very careful. My windows were shot out this past weekend, and I can’t take any chances.”
“We know that, Ms. Meyers.” Her head turned at the sound of brakes squealing outside. “That would be Lieutenant Markman. He radioed that he’s on his way to speak to you.”
“Oh.” Then I added hastily, “Good.”
Shock went to let the lieutenant inside, along with another man. Lieutenant Markman was the oldest in the bunch, rounding in the face and belly, with his silvering hair cut very short. He knew I had been lying the last time we spoke—I’d been sitting right here, soaked in Pepe’s blood and surrounded by shattered glass, claiming I had no idea who had shot out the windows of my bar and nearly killed my janitor.
Did it make a difference that I’d been wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been Mackleby; maybe one of Vex’s henchmen had done it.
“You didn’t come by the station this morning, Ms. Meyers.” Markman came close to intimidate me and get control of the interview. “Why is that?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated sincerely. People liked it when you apologized. “There’s been a lot to do to open up the bar, and the insurance adjusters just came by to sign off on everything.”
“We’ve got a few leads on who might be behind the shooting, Ms. Meyers. And I’d like to hear more from you about your relationship with the Fellowship of Truth.”
“You think they have something to do with this?” I asked, in hopefully genuine surprise. “I don’t think so.”
“Three days ago you were ready to file a police report accusing Prophet Anderson of kidnapping your friend Mr. Theo Ram, who subsequently turned out to be nonexistent. What was that about?”
I gestured to the same chair Dread had used during our discussion. “Let’s sit down and talk about this. But I’d rather it be more private, if you don’t mind.”
Lieutenant Markman dismissed Suarez and Rizzo, who both looked disappointed to be cut out of the loop. “This is Detective Paulo. He’s in charge of your case.”
The detective sat down to Markman’s right, the better to watch me as I was questioned. Paulo had unattractive stubble and bleary, narrow eyes, shifting them between the three of us, trying to catch every nuance of our reactions.
It put me immediately on guard, when what I wanted to do was make Lieutenant Markman trust me. “You probably already know,” I explained. “Thomas Anderson bought this bar and put it into trust for me. But I was misinformed last week that it wasn’t really in trust for me, that the church still owned it and the prophet could throw me out whenever he wanted to.” This part was a bit vague. “I went over there demanding to know the truth, and . . . he was angry and pretended that it was true. Just to provoke me. See, we were lovers a long time ago, and he promised he would always take care of me. I was hurt when I thought he went back on that promise, and he was hurt when he thought I was questioning his honor. But now we’ve sorted it all out. I own the bar, like he always told me.”
I took a deep breath and waited to see his reaction.
Markman nodded. “Yes, we found out about the trust. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Are you kidding me? If the media gets hold of this, I’m toast. There’ll be photographers all over me. The Post has Mr. and Mrs. Prophet on their front page at least once a week, as it is. Instead of Mark Cravet, it would be my photo splashed everywhere.” I shook my head.
“I made a mistake ten years ago, but I left all that behind me.”
Markman looked around the bar. “You’re still reaping the rewards.”
“Yeah, if you call working sixteen-hour days a reward.”
He raised a brow and consulted his notes.“What about ‘Theo Ram’? Did he even exist? Or was that trumped up as a handy accusation against Mr. Anderson?”
“Yes, there was a guy who called himself Theo Ram. Like I told you, he lied to me. But I really don’t think he’s the kind who would shoot up my bar. He seems more interested in . . . conning women into intimacy.”
Shock looked pleased at that accusation. Since “Theo Ram” would likely never appear again, I didn’t see any harm in pointing the finger at Ram’s old persona. The one he had used to lure me into his web.
“Have you seen him since that time?”
Suddenly I remembered all the surveillance cameras that now dotted the city streets. “He helped me home last night after I had too much sake to drink. Bl-”—I stumbled over her name—“Belissa was with us.”
This was veering off my plan, and from Shock’s expression she didn’t like it. But it turned out my instincts were correct when Markman consulted his pad. “At eleven forty-one last night, two officers reported seeing a man carrying a woman out of the park accompanied by her sister.”
“Belissa is my friend from high school, back in L.A. She just arrived for a visit. We went out to celebrate at a Japanese restaurant, but I had a bit too much sake.”
“Why did you go to dinner with a man who lied to you about Mr. Anderson?”
“We didn’t. We ran into Theo afterwards, while we were walking home through the park. I was feeling bad, and he helped me get home.”
“You just ran into him?” Markman asked skeptically.
“He probably followed us,” I conceded. “He said he wanted to apologize for lying about who he was. His name is really Rick.” For some reason, Casablanca was in my head. Maybe it was the interrogation scene. . . .
“Last name,” Markman demanded.