Deshi said, “I don’t know. I think if they wanted to kill him they would have done it in the park.”
But isn’t that what almost happened? Orin had taken so much damage from the beating that he’d never be able to heal it all. He could still chill and die.
“What do you know about Rehbek’ah, Deshi?” Because in the park he acted like he knew something. Not to mention he was a Prince.
Dehsi pulled her to the sofa and Haley leaned into him as they sat down. Warmth spread across his skin and sank into her bones. She sighed.
Deshi petted Haley down her back. He said, “To be honest, I don’t know a lot. The Athens Dens have never been very influential. I’ve never heard any complaints about her Mother, Re’ka. I think she had a few ties with the MKFK. Gave them money, funded some of their legislative efforts.”
It wasn’t the worst news, but not the greatest either. The Man Kind for Kin foundation had a reputation of being a media whore extremist group who wanted Kin elevated above Humans. They recruited people to pimp themselves out as food. The night clubs in the Dens were full of naive activists who tattooed Chetrah on their chests and let Kin feed from them. Eating Human flesh was only illegal if it was done involuntarily.
“Anything else?”
Deshi shrugged. “Before I came to Georgia I heard rumors about Rehbek’ah. Re’ka wanted permission for Rehbek’ah to clutch, but the other Queens would not allow it. They called her unstable. But if Re’ka really is dead and Rehbek’ah is in control… What’s the Human saying? Up a creek without a paddle?”
“Up shit creek,” Haley corrected.
Deshi gave a nod, picked up his cup and took a sip. “That would be the one.”
“There has to be something we can do about her. If she starts hurting people it makes all the Queens look bad. They don’t need that. We don’t need that. Deshi, she could bring the Alchemists down on all of us.” Haley thought about Texas and cringed. The Houston Dens had been home to the most powerful and heavily populated Hive in the United States. A thousand or more Kin died that day. Thanks to modern weaponry, killing Kin was a lot easier than it used to be.
Deshi stroked her hair. “What I’d like to know is how Re’ka died. The only possible explanation is Rehbek’ah. And then there is still the how.”
Before Haley could give that much thought, the phone on the end table rang.
Deshi answered it. “Hello? Yes, send him up.” He put the receiver back on the cradle. “The lawyer is here.”
“I guess we find out if we can save Orin now, don’t we?”
The Jersey City Prince smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Haley drained her cup and sat it on the coffee table. She refused to think about the worst. Besides, if the lawyer was half as good at his job as Manny, Orin would be in good shape.
Chapter 22
Farley got off the bus at the next exit. Whatever Darco was doing, it didn’t concern him. He had a Faerie to track.
This part of the Gray Zone was narrow, and it was a short walk to the entrance of the Dens. The multi-block area surrounding the Wall was the city’s solution to the less -than-respectable members of society. While it had originally been zoned to give Lesser-Breds and Folk somewhere to stay out of the way, it was also home to a variety of Humans, some running from the law, some trying to disappear, and some simply too poor to live anywhere else. Free utilities, no taxes, combined with the already low cost of living, were the city’s way of keeping them here.
No surprise it worked.
Up ahead, between the crumbling walls of abandoned buildings and factories, loomed the Wall. Burn barrels stood single file on the busted sidewalk and were surrounded by equal parts Lesser-Bred and ferals trying to get warm. Farley felt the heat of their stares as he passed by.
Flesh traders didn’t hang out in places like Medan’s night club, The Pit. No, they preferred darker, deeper holes near the heart of the Dens. But then dangerous things usually did. That way if they decided to put a cap in your ass, they didn’t have to dig as deep.
Farley took a left into the alley, cut through a causeway which took him through the Wall, and made his way down a small set of stairs leading below the streets. Doors lined both sides of the narrow tunnel. Some led to private homes and some to small shops offering the kind of business that didn’t want window shoppers or foot traffic.
Down here, the scent of blood and sex were thick.
A left, then a sharp right, and Farley climbed a staircase into the center of a brick building which might have begun its life as some sort of factory. The Dens were full of these spontaneous urges of forced civility. Snapshots of Human society’s attempt to assimilate Kin.
Of course it never worked.
Now the burned-out remains of the failed project served as a meeting point for shippers and traders of all kinds.
No music greeted Farley when he broke to the surface again. No lines waited at the door filled with reckless Humans pretending to be Kin, and no dancing bodies clogged the floor. In this dark smoke-filled place there was only a sense of impending cruelty. The Humans carried fire power, the Kin their strength, and the Folk were tightly guarded by half-breeds. The combination created the perfect mix for an explosion of violence.
On instinct Farley ran his eyes over the thick crowd of people talking in low voices. The clientele in a place like this rarely changed, so there were a lot of faces he recognized. Those who knew him pegged him with a stare and usually followed it with a nod. Those who didn’t would look away. But Farley never stayed a stranger for very long with any flesh dealer. His job with the CFKR was no secret, which meant sooner or later they all came looking for him. Or more precisely looking for the kind information he could get. When Farley came to the table with something to share, the traders, no matter how big and nasty, would listen.
Off in the corner a loner caught Farley’s attention. Cowboy Hat was a little slow in dropping his eyes, and throwing off a whole lot of making-like-the-natives, which sure as shit meant he didn’t belong. Farley didn’t think about it much. Sometimes Vice would get impatient and send in one of their own. Weird thing, though, this guy didn’t give off any cop vibe. Farley put a mental check by the guy’s face. He’d look into it later. Right now there was only one Human Farley wanted to talk to--Frankie Caplin.
And there he was at a corner table, counting his money. Two Berettas lay on the table, one for each hand, grips out so that they’d be quick to access. A pair of goons stood off to the side and made no attempt to conceal the MG4s they carried. ‘Cause when you didn’t have teeth and claws to establish dominance, bullets were a great alternative.
Not to mention effective as hell.
As Farley closed the distance, he nodded at each of the guards and held his hands out to the side. Look ma, no claws. Even though weapons were against the nature of the species, approaching a table with hands concealed was a good way to get shot.
“Frankie, my man.” Farley pulled out a chair. “You and I need to talk.”
Frankie’s doughy face jiggled with the effort it took for him to suck on the cigar clenched between his teeth. By the smell of the thing there was a little more than the average long strand tobacco rolled between the Maduro. He made a motion with his hand and Farley sat down.
Frankie didn’t look up. “What can I do for you today, wyrm?”
“I need to find Inoata.”
“I’m sure you do.” The flesh trader smiled around his cigar. He fondled his short dreads with his sausage fingers. The fucker was always touching himself like that.
Farley said, “I know Inoata does some part time stuff for you. I need to find him. He fucked me.”
“In the literal or proverbial sense?” Frankie was the only one who laughed. “I don’t know where he is.”
Farley’s nose twitched. Humans lied so often most of them didn’t even seem aware they were doing it. If only they could smell themselves.
The waitress walked over and Farley looked up. She said, “You want y
our usual?”
Farley caught her hand and licked her palm. “Sure, Cherie.” He always tried his best to show respect to the woman, but then all the Males were good to her. As a Lesser-Bred, Cherie was as close to being with a Female most Males would ever get. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the Humans and Folk in the place. They treated her like a disease.
Cherie gave Farley’s ear a tweak . His eyes locked on the swell of her ass flashing under the hem of her short skirt as she headed back to the bar. Farley hissed a little and shifted in his seat.
Frankie said, “You’re such a fucking good Samaritan.”
“She’s female.” And Farley said it like it should explain everything. For him it did.
Frankie frowned. “I’m busy, wyrm. Either tell me what you want or get lost.”
Farley turned back around. “I’m tired of sleeping in the gutter with the rats, Frankie. Inoata’s been jerking my dick for almost a week and I need to find him.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got a good source who says he’s double dipping on the buyers for the December load.”
Frankie made like Bob Marley on his cigar. There was definitely more than tobacco in the thing. “And what makes you say that?”
“Normally, Vice is so Chatty Cathy I have to beat them off of me with a stick. Lately not so much, which can only mean they’re milking a different cow. Inoata’s name came up. You know,” Farley gave a shrug, “in conversation.”
“And this info is good?’
“My info’s always good. If Inoata is dirty, a whole lot of shit is gonna hit this place. And believe you me, we’ll all be face first in the crapper if Medan gets fingered for any of it.”
Frankie’s gaze came up. Before he could speak, Cherie returned with two shots of tequila and a beer.
Farley slapped his palms together and rubbed while rolling his shoulders. Oh yeah, he was more than ready to feel the burn. For Kin, alcohol set their metabolism in high gear, shooting their adrenaline into overdrive. For them, the euphoric sensation was a different form of sex.
Farley threw a twenty down on the table, picked up the first shot and tossed it back. Warmth spread under his skin and a low lean growl eased out of his clenched teeth. To keep the heat from spiking too fast he drank some of the beer.
Shot two, coming right up.
The next one stroked him twice as hot, making his muscles tremble and his breathing hitch. Frankie watched him with a curious expression. But then the man always did enjoy a good show and Farley had no inhibitions giving the man one. Hell, he would have taken Frankie in the back for some fist action if he thought it would make him talk, but the flesh dealer preferred small, weak, and illegal. Still, Farley knew his appearance was enough to play into the man’s fantasies.
Farley pushed up his shirt just enough to flash some skin and worked his fingers across his stomach, groaning.
“You want another?” Cherie asked. Farley nodded and let his eyes slide half closed while he enjoyed the chemical induced glow. Every so often he sucked on the beer to keep up the heat.
When Frankie spoke, his voice was thick. “You were saying, wyrm?”
Farley tipped his beer at Frankie and gave him a lazy smile. “Our asses will be on the platter, I think, or something like that.”
“And what makes you think anything on this load would rain all over Medan?”
“Because the cops know she won’t come out to defend the charges. She’ll pay whatever fines they come up with, then she’ll send her marks out to collect the individuals she thinks played a part in costing her money. Something tells me the trail of bread crumbs is going to lead right back to this post.”
Frankie leaned forward and his watery gaze narrowed down to thin slits. “You know, for a low man on the food chain you sure get busy with the Dominants. Especially the cops. So how’s that work, wyrm? You fucking them too?”
This dangerous line was Farley’s home territory. And in order to stay alive he could never lie. His info had to be firm, like concrete. Which meant he really did have to leak Vice locations, undercover units, wire taps and just about anything else to keep traders coming back to him when every neuron in their twitchy little brains warned them of a set up.
Smiling, Farley cocked one leg up on the chair and dipped his fingertips just inside the hem of his skaters. Frankie’s eyes followed. “Shit. That’s my job.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I don’t see things like the rest of those in the business. The only good place for a rat is in the sewer. Face down.” He gave Farley a glare and lined up his stacks of Franklins, touching his money a lot like he did himself.
Cherie returned with two more tequila shots. She’d over filled them and the liquor kissed the edge. Farley gave her another twenty and threw back the first one. When he spoke, his throat was still tight. “I can appreciate your apprehension, Frankie. I really can.” Damn, he was burning up. Farley took a breath and opened his mouth so he could pant. The trader tried to keep his eyes from showing interest but it wasn’t working. Farley rubbed his free hand on his thigh, encouraging the burn. “I mean, if I was in your position I’d be weary of me too.” His hand trembled when he picked up the shot. No doubt, this one would push him over.
As expected, the alcohol hit Farley’s stomach and set a blowtorch off in his bones. He went forward, forehead hitting the table. If Frankie wanted to kill him, here was his chance. This was also a part of the game. By being reckless around them, Farley hoped to prove he had nothing to hide.
He groaned and slid his hand further down the front of his skaters. God of Man, doing this made him miss his true form, the feel of the wind under his wings, the kick of his fire lung. For a few seconds Farley was there, his sails cutting the sky, his body alive with the power of flight.
Too bad the euphoric sensation never lasted very long. As the burn faded, Farley sat back feeling used up and ready to pool inside his clothes. “Fuck, that was nice.”
Frankie jabbed his cigar at the air between them. “Tell you what, wyrm. I’m feeling generous. You give me something good and maybe I’ll be able to point you in Inoata’s general direction.”
“That’s right neighborly of you, Frankie.” Farley grinned, flashing fang. “I tell you what, you throw in a couple of those bills and I’ll give you something better.” The man flipped up his eyes. Farley pretended not to notice. “Let’s say, ah, a tidbit that will save you a tombstone.”
Frankie pulled out one bill, then two. He slid them across the table but kept his hand in place. His scent tasted spicy now.
Farley caught Frankie’s gaze. “You’ve got a shipment coming into Savannah in three days from China. Some deal you made the dealer over the internet with a trader who goes by SamRed. He told you he was leader of the Zhua gang and promised you a load of little fortune cookies. What you don’t know is he’s International Vice. Works out of Hong Kong, ex-military. If you go into Savannah to pick up those girls, jail is gonna be the last thing you have worry about. Word is he got himself a nice five digit bonus to insure an itchy trigger finger. And because this guy is Internal Ops he can Swiss cheese your ass and get away with it.” Frankie’s mouth twitched. Farley dipped his chin. “My suggestion to you, Frankie--whoever you owe money to, pay up. Cause them fuckers got deep pockets.”
Frankie blinked and pulled out another Franklin and put it with the rest. He moved his hand. Farley snatched the money up and crammed it into a front pocket.
The flesh trader leaned back and said, “Inoata is doing some flesh trolling for a local buyer and he’s been picking up some of those white bread suburban types right out of their fancy private schools. Been hanging ‘round up on the north end where those high dollar freaks who play the pits hang out. He’s due in over on Middleton, about nine blocks outside the Pit. It’s an outside drop-off tonight. They say he’s got a full load.” Frankie slung the cigar butt to the other side of his mouth with a flip of his tongue. “Supposed to meet up with Dogo Carlos ‘round four AM. B
ut Carlos…his truck ain’t been running so good.”
A grin spread across Farley’s face. “You think he might be scheduled for a break down?”
Frankie gave a beefy shrug. “You never know, those kinds of things just happen. Been happen’n lots lately since he’s been behind in his payments. Karma ya know. Such a bitch.”
“I hear yah, what goes around comes around.”
Frankie gave him a look. “Don’t I know it. But word to the wise, wyrm. Inoata’s got heat on his back you don’t want any part of.”
Farley arched an eye brow. “As in teeth and claws?” If a Kin was gunning for him, that was how he’d die.
Frankie snubbed out the smoldering cigar and flicked the butt onto the floor. “Naw. We’re talking five-O. Seems he picked the wrong package. Kid belongs to some Federal big-wig. If Inoata was smart he’d dump the fucker, but he’s not so smart that way.”
Yeah, smart was definitely not one of the words Farley would use to describe the Faerie.
Farley stood up. “As always my man, nice doing business with you.”
Frankie didn’t reply. He just pulled out another spiced cigar and lit up.
Back on topside, the air was had acquired a bite. Farley burrowed into his duster and headed up the alley, passing faceless figures moving in and out of alleyways doing business.
So, Inoata had bitten off a little more than he could chew and picked up some Fed’s kid? Maybe that’s why upstairs was on Garrett to send him into the GLG grand. Christ, the man was probably taking heat from every angle. No wonder he was wound up tight enough to snap.
If Inoata was pulling a nasty and snatching kids for that psycho Heikman, then Farley had an even bigger reason to snag the Faerie’s ass at all costs.
Back on the other side of the causeway, the wind snapped the edge of Farley’s duster around his legs, but it wasn’t just the cold making his muscles jump, it was the aftermath of the burn. He needed to eat. There was a Mickey D’s about a block down. The place was battered all to hell, held together with duct tape and a prayer, but it was clean, and since it was inside the Gray Zone they’d let him eat indoors.
City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood Page 17