Clip Joint

by Debra Dunbar

  Sebastian scowled. “True value. That is your only assistance. Continue.”

  Vincent scoured his memory. “To become a creature of power, not for gain, but for loyalty.”

  Sebastian snapped his fingers. A loud crack sounded from Vincent’s right hand, and he sucked in a rushed breath. His pinky finger curled backward, pointing to his shoulder.

  Vincent gasped, reaching to steady his trembling hand.

  Sebastian shook his head. “To become a creature of power, not for my own gain, but for the betterment of those who have earned my loyalty. Continue.”

  Vincent shook his head, “I…I don’t…remember.”

  “Clearly.” He took a step forward. “Which is why we’re drilling it now. Continue.”

  Vincent clamped his eyes shut, reaching as far back into his childhood as he could dive. “To reflect on my betters in a way that forwards their fortune.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Good. Next?”

  “That’s not it?”

  Another snap.

  Another finger peeled back against Vincent’s arm as he yelped in pain.

  “No,” Sebastian replied. “There’s so much more.”

  “I…can’t…”

  With a sigh of resignation, Sebastian took a seat beside Vincent. “To reflect on my betters in a way that forwards their fortune,” a broken finger, “their stature,” another broken finger, “and the light the Lord of Creation chooses to shine upon them.”

  Vincent pitched to the side, gripping his hand as sweat poured from his face.

  Sebastian patted his back, then balled a fist in midair.

  All of Vincent’s fingers snapped back into alignment. The pain subsided so quickly it nearly caused him to vomit.

  Sebastian stood up. “Well, I think we’ve established the nature of this drill. Don’t you?”

  Vincent opened his eyes.

  Sebastian stood resolute before him. “Again. The pledge.”

  “To be an asset of true value. To become a creature of power, not for my own gain, but for my betters’ loyalty.”

  Sebastian snapped his fingers, and something deep within Vincent’s thigh snapped. This time, he did vomit.

  Sebastian took a step back. “For the betterment of those who have earned my loyalty. It helps if you dissect the pledge phrase by phrase. After all, why would your betters ever pledge loyalty to you?”

  Vincent gripped his leg in silence.

  “Continue,” Sebastian urged.

  It took them five agonizing minutes before Vincent managed the complete pledge. It slipped into place like a rusted bolt oiled for the first time in years. He got the old cadence, the meter of the priests as he’d recited it in his youth. Once he’d recited it correctly, not only in verbiage but with flow, Sebastian lavished him with praise. He stroked his hands, his legs, and a couple of the ribs he’d resorted to when he’d run out of limbs. He ran hands over Vincent’s scalp, smoothing his hair against his skull.

  “Well done,” Sebastian whispered, only inches from Vincent’s ear. “So good.”

  When Sebastian left Vincent to rest, gasping for breath on his cot, the sounds from Betty’s cell barely registered.

  To become a creature of power, not for my own gain, but for the betterment of those who have earned my loyalty.

  Those who have earned my loyalty.

  Earned.

  The words hit him in a way they hadn’t when he’d been a child, in a way that he was certain Sebastian and the others here hadn’t intended. Earned.

  There were few people in his life that he could honestly say had earned his loyalty. He’d spent so many years giving that away to those he’d been told were his betters, his famiglia, those he was supposed to serve. Never once had he considered that his loyalty was something that must be earned.

  Chapter 17

  Hattie took a sip of coffee as her fingers traced a line down the page of Cooper’s journal, pausing at a reference to Absalom, Pennsylvania. She slipped a map from beneath the journal, nearly knocking over a salt shaker as she searched for the word. Diners at nearby tables shot her sidelong glances, clearly put out by the chaos on her table.

  Her waiter returned for a third time to take her order.

  “I’m expecting someone,” she replied, yet again.

  “Ma’am, these tables are for paying customers.”

  She waved him off. “Oh, don’t twist your trousers. He’ll be along.”

  Hattie dismissed him and returned her attention to the map briefly before something else caught her eye. The journal had proved to be a mishmash of arcane symbols, scrawled notes, and the occasional lewd doodle. Cooper had started his pincher hunt just north of Baltimore, chasing down leads and rumors that had consistently lead to fraudsters making some coin off the popular spiritualist movement, or sleight-of-hand entertainment magicians. It seemed sheer luck, or not-luck, that he’d finally hit upon someone that had pointed him up toward Amish country. But what was this hastily scratched Absalom?

  She glanced up, relieved to finally see Lefty enter Shakes’s Bistro. He stomped to knock loose the sidewalk slush and pulled his coat off his shoulder with a fluid, practiced motion, handing it to the coat check boy with a nod. Then he reached for a paper at the host stand and proceed into the room for his usual table.

  Hattie smiled at Lefty from that table.

  The man blinked several times, approaching with a dour expression. “Miss Malloy?”

  “You’re late,” she announced, shoving the opposite chair from the table with her toe.

  “I see you’ve been watching me,” he replied, taking a seat and lifting his finger to order a coffee from the waiter across the room. He surveyed the items spread across the table. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I have. And I have questions. Starting with this.” She held up the journal and waved it at him. “Why give me this? What did you intend for me to do with it?”

  “Figure out what’s going on with this Hell pincher and if the sorta thing that happened to Cooper is gonna become regular-like. Vito believes it was a normal accidental fire, and he’s been too busy taking care of those Richmond mooks and worrying about New York to think too much on that situation. But if this Hell pincher’s got some beef with the Crew or is in the employ of someone who does, then that’s a problem I wanna take to Vito.”

  Hattie scowled. “I don’t care if this Hell pincher sends a demon up Vito Corbi’s arse. I’d even hold the match for him.”

  “Maybe so, but you and Vincent have been noodling over this demon thing since Deltaville. Figured you might wanna keep looking into that situation while he’s gone.” Lefty stirred some cream and sugar into his coffee and sipped it as his eyes perused the map over the brim of his cup. “I take it you’ve found something.”

  “I have. And I think I know where to go.” She pointed on the map. “This is Deltaville down here. And this is where Cooper got cooked and we nearly got cooked outside of Ephrata.”

  “What’s that mark?” Lefty tapped the red circle she’d made around Darlington, Maryland.

  Here’s where she had to tread carefully. “Christmas Eve I was up north and came across the scene of a fire. A witness described what could only be the Hell pincher and one of his demons. It was a hotel, Lefty. People died. Children died.”

  He eyed the map, seemingly unfazed that people and children had died in that fire. “That’s a good distance out of the city. What took you up that far northeast?”

  She could easily say she was meeting a man up there—and it was technically true—but Hattie hated for Lefty to think she was skipping off for a rendezvous behind Vincent’s back.

  “Something you most likely don’t want to know about,” she told him instead.

  His eyebrows rose, his mouth settling into even more of a stern line than it had been before.

  Hattie poked at the map. “Either way, Cooper’s notes seem to point to a shop in the tiny hamlet of Absalom.”

  Lefty reviewed the map. “That’s
a ways north of Philadelphia. Long drive.”

  He sat silent for a long while, nursing his coffee.

  Hattie felt the urge to nudge him but thought better of it. She just sat back in her chair as he mulled the proposition over.

  “I can’t take you up there, you know.” He nodded at the map. “I go haring off out of state behind Vito’s back right now and my head’s gonna be on a pike outside the Old Moravia. And he’s not gonna give me approval to drive up through Philadelphia territory chasing some demon-witch that cooked Cooper. Not now. He’s got more important stuff to worry about.”

  “Maybe not. You’re the one who said that this guy might be targeting the Crew. Think Lefty—we’ve encountered two demons. One was positioned to do some damage to the Richmond gang. That can’t be an accident. And the other nearly killed me and Vincent. Cooper got killed by one. Don’t you think this is something that at least you should look into as a member of the Crew? Just in case it’s something Vito needs to know about?”

  He eyed her over the rim of his cup. “So you’re suddenly all worried about the Crew and Vito?”

  She blew out a puff of air in exasperation. “No, but I need some way to get up there. And you’re pretty useful in a fight.”

  He fidgeted. “And you’re sure you’ll find him up there in Absalom?”

  “No, I’m not sure, but—”

  “And you’re sure you can control him if you do find him?”

  “No, but—”

  Lefty scowled. “This isn’t a plan, Miss Malloy. It’s suicide.”

  “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would.” He sighed. “Vincent wouldn’t want this. Wait until he gets back, and talk to him—”

  “When he gets back? From being tortured? How long is that going to be? And do you really think your goblin of a boss is going to let his precious, retrained pincher out of his sight long enough to go to Absalom?” She glared at Lefty. “Darlington isn’t that far from Baltimore. You sure waiting is such a good idea?”

  Lefty finished his coffee and reached for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. “Yes.” He glared at Hattie. “You need to wait. This Hell pincher could be anywhere. Haring all over three states looking for him is a fool’s errand.” He dropped the napkin onto the table. “You and Vincent damned near got killed by one of those flaming nightmares. Taking one on alone?” He stood up, threw some money on the table, and pushed his chair in. “Don’t let Vincent come back to find you dead. Understand?”

  She nodded and watched him leave, thinking about his words.

  She wasn’t stupid. She had no intention of facing this thing on her own. She just wanted to find out more—to know what this Hell pincher was planning, if there was an immediate threat or not.

  And if there was an immediate threat? Well, she wasn’t averse to racing back home and throwing a city full of gangsters at the problem. As long as people were safe, she was happy to let them waste bullets on demons.

  But something Lefty had said bothered her. He thought there was a possibility that the Hell pincher was targeting the Crew, or the mobs specifically. Not that she had a problem with that, but the idea that someone might have hired the Hell pincher as a sort of infernal hit man was worrisome.

  A gang war between New York and Baltimore with demons instead of bullets—that wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to imagine.

  Hattie gathered her map and the journal and left the restaurant, heading to the one place where she might be able to gain access to a vehicle.

  At Locust Point, the front drive had been cleared and the door was cracked open. Hattie squeezed through the opening to the meager warmth inside the warehouse. A kerosene heater blazed in the center of the space, making it just comfortable enough to work.

  Raymond nodded to her from the Runabout parked inside the warehouse. The bonnet was open with greasy rags strewn along the bumper.

  “Morning,” she called.

  “Morning,” he called back with a grin, returning his attention to the engine. The baby must be teething. He looked exhausted.

  She peered into the office to find Lizzie scribbling into her ledger book.

  “Truck’s on the fritz?” she asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “Just maintenance.”

  “No delivery today?”

  “Tomorrow. Six barrels to Wilmington.”

  Hattie wrinkled her nose. “Guess I can’t borrow the truck for a day or two then.”

  Lizzie closed the ledger and motioned for Hattie to sit. “Didn’t you just take a personal run up north Christmas Eve? Got something else already?”

  “This isn’t running booze.” Hattie plopped down in the chair and curled her feet up under her. “This is more of a personal errand. Something I need to do up north. It’s a bit of a drive, so I’d need the truck two, maybe three days depending on what I found out.”

  The other woman fixed Hattie with a hard stare. “Raymond told me about what happened. You’re not fixing to drive into New York and do some sorta jail break are you? Because if that’s the case you’re definitely not borrowing the truck.”

  “I’ve got no idea where in Ithaca they’re holding Vincent, and I’ve been repeatedly told the place is a fortress and I’d just be getting us both killed. I’m not going on a rescue mission.” There was a defeated note to Hattie’s last words. It felt like Vincent had been gone forever. This felt longer than those three and a half months had been. What were they doing to him? Would he come back the same?

  Lizzie’s expression softened. “Do the run early with Raymond tomorrow, then take the truck. Just don’t do anything rash, anything foolish, okay? Promise me.”

  “Thank you.” Hattie smiled at the other woman and stood. “And I promise I won’t do anything rash or foolish.”

  “Good.” Lizzie opened up the ledger book again. “And if the truck breaks down or you get into a pickle, you call me, you hear?”

  Hattie stood, stunned at the offer.

  The other woman looked up with a sad smile. “I know what it’s like to worry, to not know if someone you love is going to come home or not. I might not want to hear all the details of your escapades, but I care.” She bent her head back down. “As long as I’m not gonna wind up with my ass in the wind, I care. Now get going. You probably need to pack a bag and get some money together if you’re gonna leave right after delivering those barrels tomorrow.”

  Chapter 18

  Vincent had completely lost track of time in the windowless rooms of this place. He’d tried to keep a count of the meals to gauge how long he’d been here, but he wasn’t sure how often they were being fed, in spite of Sebastian’s assurances of providing regular meals. Had it been two weeks yet? It felt like more.

  Everything was a blur of pain and isolation and repeating that pledge as if it were a litany. After Christmas Eve there had been silence from the room next to him and Vincent wondered what had happened to Betty. Was she still there? Had they killed her? Or maybe she’d decided to cooperate and proven so compliant they’d already sold her into a family.

  The thought that she might have been released first rankled, as if this were some sort of sick competition he was desperate to win.

  He was desperate to survive and get out. That’s all that mattered. Whether Betty was still here or not, shouldn’t matter.

  His stomach growled and Vincent wondered if it was time for breakfast yet. Or dinner. There was a muffled scrape of the building door opening and closing and the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  Gertha’s footsteps. He’d learned to differentiate them, their weight and cadence. He shuddered, anticipating he was about to spend a few hours in excruciating pain. At least he wouldn’t have to recite that damned pledge over and over again like Sebastian made him do. That was almost as bad as having his bones broken.

  The cell door opened and Gertha entered with a long, slender baton of dark wood. She cracked it against the wall, and Vincent stood instantly, eyes on
the floor. He hated how automatic it felt.

  She held the door to the cell open and nodded for him to exit. As he plodded toward the room across the hall, she tapped him on the shoulder with the baton and pointed to the main exit.

  Vincent blinked several times in confusion. Was it over? Had he survived the course? It didn’t seem likely. He’d grown to distrust literally everything Gertha and Sebastian said and did. Every word, every action. They were all lies.

  Vincent marched for the large iron door leading toward daylight. Gertha slipped a key into the lock and shoved the door open. He squinted against the bright light bouncing off the snow banks lining the tiny path leading away from the cottage. When he took his first step outside, he realized he was barefoot.

  Gertha stuck the end of her baton into the small of his skull just above the neck and pushed him forward. He hopped out into the bitter cold slush hoping this wouldn’t take long.

  The cleared path gave way to unshoveled snow that had been compacted with what looked like horse hoof prints.

  Gertha swung her baton against the backs of Vincent’s knees, sending him pitching forward. He caught himself with his hands, elbow-deep in snow. His pants were now wet with freezing cold, as well as his sleeves. The chill seeped quickly into his flesh and he began to shiver.

  But he didn’t dare move from that spot.

  Gertha stepped away, leaving him alone. For the first time since he’d arrived, Vincent was out in the open, with no eyes on him that he knew of. Naturally, someone would be watching. These people weren’t careless. Vincent had taken his dose of power-sapping elixir the night prior, and he could still feel the dull-numb dampening effect throughout his being. There would be no escape.

  Vincent squinted as he chastised himself for even thinking it. Even if he could escape, it would mean a death sentence for both him and Lefty. But the nonstop torture he’d suffered these past days, both physical and mental, had drawn every minute in Ithaca into years. He felt he was losing himself here. For the life of him, Vincent couldn’t even remember what the new lobby of the Old Moravia looked like. The way the coffee tasted at Shakes’ Bistro. The way the family downstairs used to cook chowder, making the entire floor of his building smell like a celebration. These were all shadows, now. Things he should remember but couldn’t.