by Skye Knizley
She smiled at the revelers and drove past on her way to the older buildings that surrounded the district. Paco’s gang patrolled the southeast corner of Old Town, making an old hostel their hangout. Aspen parked as close as she could get and bundled up in her jacket and purple hat before slogging through the snow and into the alleys of the old city.
Blackbriar Hostel had closed in 1967 after a fire had consumed most of one wing and killed six people. As far as the city was concerned, it was an accident. The truth was that a pack of rogue vampires had been trapped in the building by hunters Solomon and King. They’d burned the building as a last resort. Paco and his crew had moved in forty years later. They’d cleaned out the building and set up shop on the first floor, using it as a base of operations as well as an infirmary and home. The Sisters of Mercy watched over them from the hospital a few blocks away, Paco returned the favor by protecting them and bringing them those in need. By Aspen’s reckoning the groups working together had saved hundreds of Thirst addicts, as well as combating heroin and cocaine addiction. It was Paco’s personal mission to save everyone he could, he’d lost his younger sister to a Thirst-crazed addict when she was just twelve years old.
Blackbriar looked every bit the abandoned building it was. The upper floors were boarded up, the western wing was still a pile of rubble held up with rusting stanchions and the words “condemned” had been painted on every side in official city orange.
Aspen rounded the corner and spotted Mateo, Paco’s right hand. He was a tall, thin man with dark skin and black hair held in dreadlocks. He was wearing a gold coat and black pants that looked a size too big for him, but were cut to hide the variety of weapons he carried on his person. Mateo was a walking arsenal.
He glanced at Aspen and smiled wide, showing off his perfect white teeth. “Aspen my chica! Long time no see, girl!” he said.
Aspen hugged him, ignoring the smell of gun oil that clung to his clothes. “Sup, Mateo? How’s Gina?”
Gina was Mateo’s older sister. She’d gotten in above her head, almost drowning in prostitution and drugs. Aspen, Jynx and Mateo had gotten her out, ending a branch of the Latin Kings that was encroaching into the city.
“She’s good, real good. Clean for six months now,” Mateo said. “Got a job down at a theater in Koreatown.”
“Awesome, that’s good to hear,” Aspen said, ending the hug.
“All due to you, little chica. You and that crazy blonde girl,” Mateo said.
Aspen shook her head. “You did your part, Mateo. We just brought the firepower and magik.”
Mateo waved away her comment. “Nah, girl, you two. If Jynxie hadn’t had my back and you hadn’t gotten the drugs out of Gina with your mojo, it would have been over. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mateo. That’s what friends are for. Is Love Machine around?” Aspen asked.
“Paco? Yeah, he’s inside playing Santa Claus. You ever see him wrap a present? Tragic, yo,” Mateo snickered.
Aspen grabbed the door and pulled it open. “I’m not helping this time. I still have papercuts from his sister’s sweet sixteen.”
Mateo smiled and pressed a button, alerting the guards inside that a friendly was entering the building. The interior of Blackbriar belied the exterior. Paco spent every dime of the money he confiscated from dealers on taking care of others and improving the ‘hood, which included Blackbriar. Where the outside was falling down, the inside was either refurbished or rebuilt completely. A short hallway covered in gang tags and graffiti led through a double door into the main hall. The hallway doubled as an x-ray machine watched over by Specs and No-No, two of Paco’s crew. If they let you out of the kill zone, it’s because they wanted you there.
The main hall was three stories high and decorated in 20s art deco like the original building, constructed in 1921. Two sweeping staircases led to the second floor where the dorms were, while corridors led deeper into the building. The western hallway was blocked with caution tape, the others were guarded by members of the crew. They were dressed like street thugs, armed with Ak-97s and Berettas. Paco left nothing to chance.
“Yo, little mama, what’s the sitch?” Paco asked, entering from the southern hallway. He was carrying a holiday present that looked as if it had been wrapped by an angry raccoon. Paco was a talented leader, brave to a fault and had become a good friend. But he was terrible at wrapping gifts.
“Heya, Paco. What’s that?” Aspen asked.
Paco looked at the package and shrugged. “It’s a Power Ranger thing for Izzy, but the damn tape got stuck to my fingers. Would you...?”
Aspen held up her hands. “Not this time, I’m still healing.”
Paco laughed and set the package aside. “Guessing the way you’re dressed and lacking your wife this ain’t a social call. What can Love Machine do for you?”
The way he said it, Machine sounded like “muh cheen.” He did it on purpose, using people’s racism and assumptions against them. At first glance, no one would guess he’d graduated with a law degree from Chicago University.
“Damien Riscassi,” Aspen said.
Paco whistled through his teeth. “You don’t start slow, do you? He’s a rising tide, that one.”
Aspen rested a hip on the table and unzipped her jacket. “What do you mean?”
“I forget you and the Fürstin aren’t narcotics. Damien breezed in three months ago, fresh off a nickel at Joliet, and started taking over most of the drug business on this side of the city,” Paco said. “Took out the last of the Kings, took down Bobby Sing and sold Jimmy Blue Eyes out to the Feds, all to consolidate his power. He’s a sick piece of work.”
The Kings wouldn’t have been too hard to take down, she and Jynx had already done the lion’s share of the work. Bobby Sing, on the other hand, was part of the Outfit. If Damien had pushed them out of the District without retaliation, he was a bigger threat than she’d thought.
“Most of the Riscassi family is like that,” she said. “Where is Damien hanging his hat?”
Paco cocked his head. “You sure about this, chica?”
Aspen smiled. “I can handle it, and I’ve got Jynxie as backup if need be.”
“If anything happens to you, Raven will have my head on a stick at Court,” Paco replied.
“He might be pushing Thirst,” Aspen said softly.
Paco’s face hardened. “In my ‘hood?”
Aspen pulled an empty vial from her pocket and set it on the counter. “Wilson said this might be his.”
Paco turned the vial in his fingers, examining the logo. “Could be. His other products have a similar clown smile, minus the fangs.”
Aspen knew how he felt about Thirst. Opiates and meth were bad enough. Thirst was death, bad enough that Paco was known to kill dealers without warning.
“Tell me where to find him,” Aspen said.
Paco handed back the vial. “The Scrivener over on Wells. He and his crew took it over when they took out Bobby Sing. If he isn’t there, one of his goons will know where to find him.”
Aspen squeezed his hand. “I got this, Paco. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“You got a plan, Asp?” Paco asked.
“Charm,” Aspen said with a smile.
Paco made a face. “You ain’t Ripper, Asp. Watch your ass.”
Aspen stood and headed for the door. “Always.”
She left her Jeep behind, a purple Wrangler in the middle of a snowstorm was likely to cause comment. The Scrivener was only a few blocks and gave her time to think. How was she really going to play this? Charm would only get her so far. Raven would just go in and push buttons, trusting her instincts and fighting ability to get her out if things went sideways. She wasn’t the most subtle person, but it worked for her. Aspen, however, thought that subtly was more likely to get her back out in one piece.
She stopped in the shadow
of a store closed by the storm and rummaged in her pouches. A quick glamour spell changed her features and added a year of drug addition to her skin, making her complexion ruddier, her eyes bloodshot and her nose as red as old Saint Nick’s. It wasn’t quite a cherry, but close enough.
When she was satisfied, she continued through onto Wells. Like the other streets in the area, it was almost abandoned. A taxi idled at the stop light one block down and a few people wandered the streets, but not many. It was too cold and snowy to be out this close to the season. Anyone on the street had a reason to be.
The Scrivener was two blocks down, a brick-faced tavern with a literary feel. Known for being more subdued than the bars on the other side of old town, it had once attracted a clientele that consisted of writers, librarians and other bookish types. The gold logo in the window consisted of a stylized typewriter with a pen, ink and paper beside it. The word Scrivener was written beneath in gold block letters and books were visible on the display table inside.
There its relationship with books ended. Loud jazz echoed from somewhere within and two men in black suits and coats stood outside, the mini-Uzis visible just beneath. They looked as if Mad Magazine would be a complicated read, definitely not the kind of people who used to debate Hemingway over a hot toddy.
Aspen passed them without comment and turned down the alley that separated the Scrivener from an old theater, now closed and abandoned. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she walked, the smell of urine and vomit clung to the air and filled her nostrils, making it hard not to gag. Someone had been using the place as a toilet. A lot of someones, by the stench.
Behind the bar was a small paved lot surrounded on three sides by the walls of adjoining buildings. There were no other exits besides the alley and the green-painted service entrance to the building.
Aspen paused by the door and took a breath before checking the lock. The knob turned easily and she pulled it open. Beyond was the bar’s back room, a small storage area filled with case of booze and kegs of beer. She could hear music coming from the front and loud voices talking not too far away, but the room looked clear. She entered and closed the door behind her, using a charm to quiet the sound. She then crept deeper into the building, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
The storage room had two exits, one into the bar’s even smaller kitchen, one into a short hallway. The voices were coming from that direction, and she followed them to the manager’s office at the end of the corridor. The door was closed, but the voices were loud enough to hear plainly above the music from the bar proper. Two men, one with a Brooklyn accent, were arguing over a “cut.” Aspen guessed they were talking about how much Brooklyn was getting paid, and Brooklyn thought he deserved a bigger piece of the pie.
“Listen, Fish, I been pushing your shit for a month now,” Brooklyn said. “I can’t live on two bills a week.”
“Tommy, you missed quota twice,” Fish replied. “Two bills is generous, bring in some more customers and Damien will cut you more cash, that’s how it works.”
Brooklyn Tommy sounded disgusted. “In New York I got a share of sales. We’re pushin’ this to high end stiffs, I handed you ten large just for the last three weeks. I should get five bills.”
“This ain’t New York, Tommy. You don’t like your pay, go back to the coast and face the music. I’m sure the Outfit will understand why you killed Frankie Sims,” Fish said.
“That ain’t fair, Fish. I did what Damien asked,” Tommy replied. “Frankie got in the way.”
“Like I said, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Fish said.
Aspen rolled her eyes, it was like she’d fallen into a bad gangster movie. Fish sounded exactly like James Cagney in Public Enemy and Tommy was a fair duplicate for Paul Muni.
“Fine. If I freeze to death in this storm, you can ‘splain it to Damien,” Tommy complained.
“He won’t lose no sleep over it, Tommy. Now get back out there, there’s a Christmas party goin’ on at the history museum. Lots of high rollers, go make some new friends,” Fish said.
Aspen could hear them moving around and she hurried deeper into the shadows at the end of the hall. A moment later the door opened and a tall, heavy-set man stepped out. He was dressed in a brown suit and Fedora with a darker brown overcoat that had seen better days. He paused to light a cigarette and walked down the hall, trailing acrid smoke. When he was gone, Fish sighed and Aspen could hear him dialing a phone.
“Boss? It’s Fish. The guy down from Brooklyn, Tommy? I think he’s going to be a problem. He wants a bigger cut.”
There was a pause, then Fish laughed. “Dat’s what I told him. He don’t like it he can go home, am I right?”
Another pause and Aspen wished she could hear what the other person was saying. Was it Damien or an underboss? Who was pulling the strings on this one?
“Right, boss. He’s doin’ the party. If he doesn’t straighten up, I’ll get one of the brothers to handle it,” Fish said.
The call ended and Aspen could hear Fish moving around the office, shuffling papers and closing drawers. Drug dealers kept surprisingly accurate records considering how illegal their business was. You had to know who owed you money, regardless.
Aspen waited in the darkness, using her magik to make the shadows even deeper than they were naturally. Staff passed the end of the hallway, moving back and forth between the kitchen and the bar. Only one looked in her direction, and he noticed nothing. It was a casual glance, nothing more.
After what felt like forever, but was less than thirty minutes, Fish stepped into the hall, shrugging into a fur-collar coat as he moved. He was a big man, portly with no neck and a fish-shaped head, likely the source of his nickname. He closed and locked the office then walked away, his gait making the floor creak. He rounded the corner and vanished into the bar. As soon as he was out of sight, Aspen moved to the door. A simple puff of faerie dust and a quick charm unlocked the door and she slipped through into the office. It was a big room, wide and as long as the hallway. File cabinets stood against one wall opposite a wooden desk. Two leather chairs flanked the desk and a bookshelf took up most of the empty wall.
She checked the cabinets first, rummaging through files at random. Most of them had to do with the bar and belonged to the previous owner. Sales receipts, bar receipts, booze orders, all the things that kept a small business running. The last cabinet, however, contained the mother load. Two dozen vials of thirst in foam packing, all neatly labeled with the lips and fang logo they’d found in Decker’s apartment. Aspen photographed them for evidence and closed the drawer, looking for anything else that might be of use. The desk was littered with paper, none pertinent to the case, but the drawers showed more promise. The top one opened at her touch and she found more vials along with enough cash to buy a Caribbean condo and still have money left over. She photographed everything and continued the search, poking through the other drawers and the cubbyhole beneath, but finding nothing, no indication as to where the Thirst was coming from or whose blood was in it.
A sound in the kitchen made her jump, someone was coming. She replaced everything the way she’d found it, took a vial from the stash in the drawer and returned to the hallway, where she almost ran into Fish, returning from the bar area.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
Aspen assumed her role as addict. “Hey, look Fish, I needed a hit, that’s all. Tommy wouldn’t hook me up and I thought−”
Fish grabbed her arm and twisted until her hand opened. “You thought you’d just help yourself?”
He snatched the vial away. “Look, kid, don’t come in here. Get your fix from a dealer or don’t get it at all, understand?”
“But Fish, I need it, I’m hurting real bad,” Aspen said, wrapping her arms around her torso and hunching.
“Hurt someplace else. I catch you here again, I’ll feed you to the
hogs!” Fish snapped.
He grabbed her elbow and dragged her down the hallway, where two thugs came at his call.
“Take this piece of trash out back and remind her why sneaking into the bar is a mistake, yeah?” Fish roared.
The larger of the thugs cracked his knuckles. “No problem, boss. She won’t come back.”
Fish shook his head. “Don’t kill her, Damien don’t want anything coming back to the bar. Just a lesson.”
He turned away and Aspen allowed herself to be dragged away, complaining and whining the whole way. Once outside, the smaller of the two men pushed her down in the snow and leered.
“You got a mighty fine body under that coat, girl. Let’s see it!”
Aspen rolled her eyes, but kept up her act. “No, please, I’m just hurting, can you help me? Just a hit, I’ll do anything.”
“Fish said no,” the larger man said. “Now take off the coat or we’ll take it off for you.”
“Not happening,” Aspen said, standing. She dropped her glamour and produced her badge. “I’m not in narc or I’d drag both of you into custody. Where are you getting the Thirst?”
The smaller man snatched at her badge and laughed. “This ain’t real, kid. Now we’re really going to hurt you.”
Aspen sighed and shook her head. Maybe this was why Raven just didn’t do subtle. Criminals were stupid.
“The badge is real and so are the charges,” she tried. “Give me your supplier’s name.”
The big thug laughed and reached for her. “One more dead cop, then.”