by Faulks, Kim
Only, where was he now?
And what the hell was he?
Some kind of incubus?
The looks fit, but if Titus was his son, then surely I would’ve sensed it somehow. No. He was something else, something more powerful, something more secretive…and I had one more stop to find out what that was.
I gripped the wheel and stifled a yawn. I could sleep when this was over. Right now, I needed one more long haul. Greenwich City was a good three hours’ drive along the state line.
I’d get halfway and then stop to sleep. Tomorrow I had a date with a piece of shit called Henry Mughausser, and there was no begging and pleading on this earth that would save him.
Chapter Eleven
Lorn
I never looked at the map as I nosed the car east from Eytan and hugged the state line. I stared into oncoming headlights, wincing as they came too close, until my eyes turned grainy and raw.
One more truck stop, and five more hours of fitful sleep. I tossed and turned and finally opened tearing eyes to the first rays of the morning sun.
Last night felt like a dream…the car, the walk…the truth.
Reginald Banks wasn’t Titus’s real father. His bloodline lay with another man…a stranger captured in one image. I groaned, rolled, and threw out my hand, slapping the image on the passenger’s seat and dragged it to my eyes. “Who the fuck are you, mystery man?”
Without his mother, or any kind of information about him other than this damn picture, I was screwed. Royally fucking screwed.
I stared until my eyes seeped and the image blurred, before I cast the damn thing to the seat once more. The day weighed heavily on my shoulders as I opened the door and hauled my body from behind the wheel.
There was a whisper in my head, one I refused to listen to…a nagging feeling coiling around my spine. I yawned, stretched, and then went into the busy service station. Trucks lined the rear of the expansive building. There were showers and toilets for the truckers on one side and a restaurant on the other.
My skin itched. I longed for the sting of hot water on my shoulders…and with the thought came a memory and Titus’s voice filled my head.
Should’ve taken a shower. They’ll smell me for miles.
A smile crested my lips as my reply followed. I wouldn’t bother. I’ve realized there are two types of jobs in my line. One that you shower before…and one you shower after. And this is one you shower after.
The heavy thud of my own boots followed me as I went toward the restroom. I entered the stall with the image of him lingering in my mind. He wouldn’t want me to do this. He’d fight for another way.
But there was no other way.
And he wasn’t here.
I flushed the toilet and then strode from the stall, avoiding the mirror. Still that nagging feeling sank like fangs into my mind as I walked toward the restaurant on the other side of the service center.
The place was busy, tired truckers hunched over plates filled with scrambled eggs and bacon. They lifted their heads as I entered, and watched me take a seat at the nearest booth.
“What can I getcha?” a waitress called before she stepped too close.
“Coffee…and toast.”
“Mhhmm,” she scribbled the order onto a pad and then leaned forward to snatch the menus from the table.
I closed my eyes to her anger. Not today. No way…not today.
I’m coming for you, Lorn…the night hag whispered. You won’t see me. But I’m coming.
I wrenched open my eyes, with my pulse thundering in my ears. Hard stares watched me from around the tables. I glanced over my shoulder and then exhaled.
I was losing my shit…and that nagging feeling found its name…
Dread.
My damn hands shook as I brushed the hair from my eyes.
To kill a mortal-eating demon was one thing…but to kill a human in cold blood…I swallowed that feeling of helplessness, and shoved it all the way under the search for justice and the truth.
Henry Mughausser knew about Titus…and he knew about the hag. He knew a whole lot more than I needed. If he told me what I wanted to know, then maybe…The words turned chilling and cold inside my head.
“Here you go,” the waitress stepped close and plonked a cup in front of me, and then a small jug of creamer.
The toast was cold, and the coffee bitter. I chewed and swallowed, adding to the growing acid in my belly with each mouthful. When I was done, I left a small tip and worked my way to the car.
The sun was rising, crawling its way over the mountains in the distance. Greenwich City was at least an hour’s drive. I’d hit rush hour by the time I got there, but that was okay…I had time.
I walked to my car and popped the trunk. Shadows clung to the edges where the yellow light from the tiny bulb couldn’t reach. I grabbed the shotgun, checked the rounds, and then scanned the parking lot before I pulled the weapon free.
I had a license to carry the gun, but for paranormal purposes only. White salt marks marred the steel. But I’d use no salt today. I slammed the trunk lid down and stepped to the driver’s door. This was good…I avoided the rear-view mirror as the words filled my mind.
I stowed the gun in the well of the passenger’s seat and started the car. Trucks pulled out of the bay in front, and I shoved the car into gear and followed.
The signs for Greenwich City were plentiful. I drove in silence, listening to the tires and the roar of the traffic beside me as tiny peaks of city buildings broke through the tree line in the distance.
Get the guy and take him somewhere private. Someplace we could talk, some place he could beg. I could see it all. He’d cry…I didn’t know what they were planning, I swear. And I’d reply, of course you did, you knew who they were and you knew what they did. They killed my mom and my grandmother. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go…
I could almost hear the words, almost feel them on the tip of my tongue as the towering buildings came closer. I scanned the mess of papers beside me for the torn piece of paper with my own scribble.
Mughausser Place. Even had a damn building named after him. Cars kept merging as the traffic slowed, and inch by inch we rolled into the city. I glanced into the rear- view and signalled before I slowly pulled into another lane.
Car horns blared, but no one did a damn thing. That was the joy of having a fifteen-year-old car and zero fucks to give. I rolled over the traffic bridge and into the perfect city streets of Greenwich.
The building I needed was on the other side of the towering skyscrapers. I eased through block after block until the traffic eased and I was through. I pulled over to the side of the road and grabbed Alma’s laptop.
The directions were iffy at best. My damn finger shuddered and danced all over the fucking map. I clenched my fist and then scanned the streets in front of me. Henry was a stockbroker to the stars, it said, helping many actors and public personalities achieve financial freedom. “But how free are you, Henry? How free are you…”
This was my first real lead to the tight ball of mess that was the Nine, and it was now my mission to unravel them one loose strand at a time. I pulled back out onto the road and then found street after street until I pulled up outside a smaller, square building made of steel and glass. The place sparkled in the morning sun. I pulled up in the shade of a towering ash tree and watched people come and go, scanning the top of the sixth floor and then down again.
There were guards at the front. I counted four at the front where I could see and I was betting there were more inside. Great. Fucking wonderful. I breathed deep and tried to think. There had to be another way inside. A service entrance…there’s always a service entrance. The dark and dingy places that smelled like fetid water and yesterday’s trash.
A white truck pulled up alongside the building and then slowly nosed out into the middle of the street, blocking my view of the building. I took one look at the shotgun next to me and tried to breathe.
There was n
o coming back from this. Not even if I wanted to. Right or wrong…innocent or guilty…before, the line had been so clear. I leaned over, grabbed the butt of the shotgun and dragged it free as I shoved the driver’s door open.
I was striding across the road, hiding my movements beside the reversing truck as it navigated the tight opening of the service lane and then pulled to a stop.
The guards inside stayed right where they were as I turned and squeezed down the side of the truck as both doors opened and two workmen climbed out. I waited at the end, shotgun in full sight, and nodded toward the door. “My fight isn’t with you. Don’t make me change that.”
There was a scurry as the driver nodded forward and dragged a set of keys from his pocket. He muttered in words I didn’t understand and then fumbled with the key.
“Your delivery,” I answered, and motioned to the back of the truck. “I’ll wait for your delivery.”
The other guy moved, reaching up to unlatch the bolt and swing the door free. Fear shone in their eyes. I stared at their hands, the trolley they rolled from the rear of the truck—anywhere as long as it wasn’t their gazes.
And as they pushed the laden trolley with crates of food toward the doorway, a strange calmness came over me.
I pulled out the Hamsa and brought the idol to my lips. Heat carved a line across my palm as the driver and his companion pushed in front, leading the way. The door closed behind us with a boom, leaving us in the gloomy hallway. A word slipped from the driver’s lips…one this time I could understand…elevator. He lifted his hand and motioned toward one end of the hallway and then waited.
I shook my head and then motioned to them and me. “We stick together.”
He knew. I could see it in the steel-like glint in his eyes, before he slowly dropped his gaze to the shotgun in my hand.
There was no shaking of my hands now, not even a tremor in my strength. I was taking a human hostage…it was a foot across the line… “We stay together,” I growled and motioned him forward.
He spoke to his companion and then motioned to the trolley. The goods were left abandoned as he took a slow step forward. I pointed to the ceiling. “All the way up, my friend.”
The driver pushed his helper forward, giving me his back in an act of protection as he pushed out the door and into the dank hallway.
Service carts lines the walls, some empty, others with boxes of liquor still to be unloaded. Concrete walls and overhead ducts completed the image. The driver hit the elevator button and then glanced at me. His eyes gravitated not to the shotgun in my hand, but to the line of obsidian fire that ran along my arm.
“Diablo,” he muttered and wrenched his gaze to mine.
“Diablo’s daughter,” I corrected. “If that makes a lick of difference.”
The elevator let out a ping, and the doors opened. The faint, muffled sound of voices in the next car over filled the space as we got on.
A bead of sweat trickled down my collar as I stared at the closed doors and then lifted my gaze to those glowing red numbers.
2…
3…
4…
5…
6.
And that strange calmness made itself known. There was an emptiness inside…down in the core…in the pit, and that dark whisper of warning came too late.
The elevator shuddered to a stop and then opened its doors wide and I stepped into my own slippery slide to hell. Bright lights flickered overhead…cheery voices chatted on the phone. My world seemed to narrow as I made my way along the corridor and headed to the main office toward the front of the building.
It was all sparkling and shiny, all perfectly poised, as I stepped through the open double doors etched with gold…
Henry Mughausser, member FINRA, SIPC.
Two receptionists sat to my left, their drone tried to pierce the hollow inside my head. “Excuse me! Excuse me…do you have an app—oh my God…SHE HAS A GUN!”
Still I left them all behind, turning right toward the small door. The heavy thud…thud…thud…of my heart was all I could hear now as lifted the shotgun. Midnight flames raced as chaos filled the room behind me.
I gripped the handle and shoved. A faint voice spilled along the hallway.
It was as if I moved automatically now…as if I wasn’t myself at all.
My finger slipped from the guard to the trigger as I lifted the weapon high and stepped through the open glass door.
His back was to me, leaning backward on the chair as he talked into a headset. “Listen, Gary, I’m not trying to hold you up here, but I’m talking about real investment. Why don’t we try this, you transfer your three million into my account tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do for you…wait a minute, someone’s calling me on the other line.”
Red lights flashed on the phone beside his desk…I didn’t need to imagine what they were for. Henry gave a grunt and then a snarl before leaning sideways.
“They’re going to tell you there’s a woman headed your way with a gun.”
He stilled, hand halfway to a flashing button on the phone…just like he was halfway to salvation.
“Gary, I’m going to have to call you back,” he slowly murmured.
“I’d tell him not to hold his breath,” I suggested, and aimed the sight at the back of his head. “I don’t think you’ll outlive today.”
There was a whimper before he slowly turned. Recognition bloomed in his eyes like the fourth of July…boom…boom…boom…as he met my gaze. “You…”
“Me…” I answered.
The phone chirped and buzzed, vibrating against the glass desk. He glanced toward the light…so fucking obvious. The chair squeaked and squealed as he fully turned to face me.
“I’m going to make this real easy for you. Tell me everything, and you get to walk out of here. Fuck me around and I’ll splatter you all over this fancy office.”
“You can’t,” he muttered, then paled and glanced toward the door.
“Can’t? Can’t what, Henry? Can’t kill you…can’t make you talk…can’t expose you for the foul slimy motherfucker you are? Two questions, that’s all you’re getting…what you say depends on the outcome.”
Footsteps sounded along the hall. But it was too late now, too late to stop the rising tide. Black flames dance along my arm, swallowing the gun as I swung the muzzle toward the door.
I lined up the drywall through the open doorway and squeezed the trigger. The familiar kick smacked my shoulder before the boom ripped free. “Stay back,” I yelled. “You stay back, don’t make me hurt you!”
Pellets embedded into the wall. Flying bits of debris tore free to ping against the glass.
There was a grunt and then a feeble cry behind me. I swung the shotgun, watching Henry turn red-faced as he tried to heave the glass desk over to create a shield. But the thing was heavy…and he was a weak-ass piece of shit. And I had no idea why he thought his fancy glass desk would protect him from a shotgun.
Instead, he slipped, and then fumbled as the phone and all his stuff fell to the floor around him. His flabby jaw trembled as he glanced to the mess on the floor and closed his hand around a granite paperweight and then shoved to his knees.
“Put the fucking thing down, Henry.” My anger lashed deep as he used the desk to push to a stand.
He stumbled forward, hands fluttering in the air as he raised the rock. “S-stay back.”
“Two questions,” I growled. “And I let you walk out of here alive. Tell me what Titus Banks is, and give me the rest of the Nine.”
His eyes widened, a tiny shake of the head followed. I raised the weapon again and took aim.
“I don’t know…look, I don’t know, they don’t tell me a damn thing.”
I dropped the muzzle and pulled the trigger. The boom was instantly followed with a crack as the glass desk shattered.
Fragments flew in all directions. Pain lashed my side, piercing and stabbing, as outside someone screamed. A thick shard lodged in his cheek and a trickle of
blood slipped free.
The stupid fuck cried out and clapped a hand to his face before falling backwards. “I don’t know anything. I just do the money…I just do the fucking money…”
I glanced at the open laptop sitting on the floor. It wasn’t in the plan…but hate wanted it all. “You just do the money, right?”
The toupee on his head wobbled as he nodded.
“Then bring it up, let’s see those dollars.”
His eyes widened as he stilled for a second…unsure, and then leaned forward to grasp the laptop. His fingers flew across the keyboard, punching in login after login, and then he shoved the screen around.
I stared at the numbers…and then stared some more…my gut rolled, acid punched into the back of my throat. I jerked my gaze toward him and then back down. “They have all that money?”
“Y-yes…”
“And you can transfer it to any account?”
Jagged breaths were the only answer until, with a small nod, he answered, “Yes.”
“I give you the numbers and you transfer it now.”
He glanced toward the hallway. “And you’ll let me go?”
“Sure…after you answer the two questions I came here for.”
He closed his eyes for a second and then slowly went to work. I recited the numbers and then pulled out my phone. A few seconds later, he shoved the laptop toward me and I scanned the numbers and nodded.
It was done. One more nail in their coffin. One more blow they never saw coming. I skimmed the screen of my phone and then logged into my account.
All those numbers.
All that money.
I’d put it to good use…somehow.
Movement fumbled in front of me as he finally made his move. He shoved up to his feet, grabbed the paperweight, and hurled it toward me. It was one of those soft throws you see little kids do with their dad.
I threw out my hand and slapped the damn thing away as, behind me, boots thundered along the hall. “Looks like we have company.”
The pop…pop…pop…of shots just pissed me off. I lifted my hand, the sigil engulfed now, leaving flames to lick the air.