by E. A. Copen
“Get in the car, Hunter, or I swear, everything I bring home from the store is going to be green and organic.”
He made a face but got into the car. It may have only been parked there for an hour or so, but it was already hotter than an oven on the inside. I burned my hands on the steering wheel, trying to get in. We rolled the windows down and had to sit and wait for it to cool off a bit before I could even touch anything to drive.
In the meantime, I cast my eyes out over the horizon, trying to ignore the way Hunter sank into one of his handheld video games. My neighbors were home. At least, I think they were my neighbors, though the car parked in the driveway was too nice to match the exterior of the trailer. In fact, it was way too nice. Call me crazy but, if they could afford a big white Jaguar, they probably could afford to fix the deck that was falling off.
While we were sitting there waiting for it to cool off, the back door of the trailer swung open so hard I thought it would come off its hinges and an overdressed and heavily pregnant doll of a woman stormed out. She was dressed to match the car: expensive, loud, and proud, with pumps that made me wonder how she managed to walk in them, especially as pregnant as she was. Behind her came a man. He was tall, maybe six-six. Long straight black hair hung down to his mid-back. He was good-looking, but more in the rugged sense of the word rather than the model look. He might have been able to pass as an actor or something, so long as the movie needed an athletic, native-guy type. In contrast to the woman that stormed away, he wore a plain white t-shirt and a ripped-up pair of blue jeans.
When the woman reached the end of the walk, he caught up to her and said something. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but it was obvious from the way he carried himself that the two were in the midst of a serious argument. She turned on her heels and raised her hand as if to strike him, but he caught it before she could. The two stood toe to toe for a minute in a posture that said he could wipe the floor with her if he so chose. He chose not to.
She smirked, jerked her arm free, and then blew him a kiss and gave him a teasing wave. Only when she got into the Jag on the passenger side did I realize that there was someone else in the car. The Jag took off out of the driveway, sending up a spray of red dust behind it.
“Mom.” Hunter's irritated growl snapped my attention back to the car. I looked at him and watched sweat trace a path down the side of his nose. “Can we go?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I put my key in the ignition and turned it. The car coughed, sputtered and then died. I tried again. This time, I didn't even get a protesting whine from the car.
“Shit.” I took a deep breath and rested my forehead on the steering wheel to offer a prayer. Please, car. Not today.
“I thought you said not to cuss.”
“Curse words are like magick words for cars,” I muttered and tried it again. Nothing.
I looked up to see the neighbor staring my car down, hands casually tucked in his pockets. After I tried to turn the car over a fourth time without success, he started our way.
Panic washed over me in the form of a cold sweat. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to my neighbors, especially the good-looking ones... Okay, so that was exactly it. I didn't want to talk to him. I mean, we were living on a reservation for supernaturals. All sorts of powerful, nasty things lived there, every one of them capable of snuffing me out with a whisper. Vampires, ogres, werewolves, wizards...all of them lived there. The only plain old vanilla humans that lived on the reservation were those cops unlucky enough to be assigned to the detail. That meant whatever was approaching my car was probably bad news.
I got out and opened the hood of my car. Hunter followed, still absorbed in his game, and leaned on the passenger side door. Not sixty seconds later, my neighbor called out to me in a pleasant voice oozing with confidence, “Need a hand?”
I wanted to turn him away. The less I got involved with the locals, the safer I'd feel, even if that safety was an illusion. I also knew it was a long-ass walk back into the main part of town where I could buy whatever parts I needed if they had them at all.
“Maybe,” I said, fiddling with the wires going to the battery. “She's not starting. You able to give me a jump?”
I turned around and found him frowning, staring me down in the blandest, most expressionless way possible. “You only pulled in about an hour ago. How old's your battery?”
Damn. Just my luck that I'd get a guy that knew a thing or two about cars. “Replaced it last year.”
“Well,” he said, leaning over the engine. “I could jump you, sure, but I don't think your battery is the problem. I think you've got a starter issue.” After a minute of staring down into the engine, he turned and offered me a hand. “Sal Silvermoon.”
I hesitated. That was the second time that day I’d heard that last name. Silvermoon was Chanter’s last name too, wasn’t it? While that didn't necessarily mean the two of them were blood relatives, it was too much of a stretch that two Native Americans were living on the same supernatural reservation with the same last name that didn't share some bond. Judging by the two silver rings in his right ear, chances were also good that Sal was also a werewolf like Chanter.
“Judah,” I said and took his hand. “Judah Black.”
That’s when I noticed something else, something even more unsettling about Sal. Sal had access to an unsettling amount of magick. The pressure of it invading my space simply took my breath away.
I've met a lot of wizards, warlocks, Wiccans, and whatnots in my day. Most of them were dabblers whose biggest trick was making someone else itch or break out in warts. There were very, very few truly powerful practitioners of the art of magick. I didn't know what kind of magick he specialized in and wouldn't until I got a chance to do a little more snooping, but I did know that, whatever it was, he was very skilled with it. That alone set off some alarm bells in my head. I knew I needed to know more about Sal, but I had to be careful moving forward not to let on that I was suspicious. I didn’t want to set him off.
He took my hand in a crushing grip that he eased after a second and smiled. “That's funny. You've got a man's name.”
“You've got a girl's name,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but mine's short for something else. Not many people can pronounce it right. I get Saloos and Salsa, but no one seems to get Saloso right. So, I'm just Sal.” He leaned around the passenger side of the car for a look when Hunter mumbled something to his game.
“My son, Hunter,” I announced.
“Uh-huh,” Sal answered in a tone that told me he was thinking heavily. “Well, if you need a ride in town, I have a truck. Parts store should still be open, and there might be enough light left in the day that I can get that swapped out for you.”
I offered Sal a strained smile. “Actually, I can do the repairs myself.”
Sal shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Offer for the ride still stands, though, if you’re open to it.”
I looked at Hunter. If I turned Sal down, I didn’t know when I’d get another chance to find out more about him. If he wasn’t a suspect in the murder, then he might have some information about Elias that Chanter and Valentino had withheld. But getting those answers meant putting my son in an enclosed space with a potentially dangerous man.
In the end, I reasoned that if Sal wanted to hurt either of us, he would have done so already.
“Sure thing, as long as you don’t mind Hunter tagging along.”
“Not a problem at all,” Sal said, finally cracking a smile. “Come on, then. Truck’s out back.”
Chapter Eight
Sal's truck had air conditioning. Normally, trivial things like that don't get me too excited, but today I'd take any excuse I could get. I sat in the passenger seat, Hunter wedged in between us, basking in the musty but frosty air washing over me on the ride back into town. The silence in the cab would have been more awkward if I had the brainpower to think about it, but it was the first quiet I'd had all day.
Of cours
e, Sal had to go and ruin everything by addressing Hunter, who was still absorbed in his video game. “That stuff will rot your brain, kid.”
“Cigarettes cause lung cancer,” Hunter said without looking up. “That's the pot calling the kettle black.”
I had no idea what Hunter was talking about until I glanced around and saw the pack of cheap cigarettes tucked under a hat on the dash. Hunter hadn't even looked up since climbing in, and the cab didn't reek like most smokers' cars do.
Hunter had always had a good nose on him. Underneath that surface explanation, though, I knew better. Maybe Chanter was right, but I couldn't assume that was going to happen to him. After all, he'd passed every test so far and believe you me, BSI has a ton of them. Kids these days can't even pass from grade to grade in school without some verification that they've been through testing. Every year, I signed the release forms and prayed. So far, it looked like someone upstairs agreed with me that my little boy didn't deserve to have that curse dropped on him. Maybe, despite everything, we'd be okay.
“Got me there, kid,” Sal said, still maintaining a cheery tone. “Everyone's got a vice, I suppose. I figure you'll make more friends if you look up rather than down.”
“What's the point?”
“Hunter,” I started, but he finally lowered the game and turned to me.
“Really. What's the point? I'm not stupid. This is the fifth place we've lived. We'll be lucky if we keep this place a year before they ship us off somewhere else.”
“That's enough,” I snapped sharper than I meant. If the silence wasn't awkward before, it was then.
Hunter settled down in his seat, arms folded and his bottom lip protruding.
Sal eased the truck to a stop at the next stop sign and lingered there long enough to shift forward in his seat to look at me. “BSI moves you around a lot, huh?”
“News gets around fast here, doesn't it?”
He chuckled. “That it does. But I can sympathize with all the moving around. I couldn't stay put after Iraq. Not until I got here.”
I turned in my seat with a skeptical glance. I supposed that explained a few things like that cloud of cool confidence around him. If he'd been to Iraq, that meant he was a vet. The fighting over there had been bad. Really, it had only come to a halt because of the riots back home when the vampires came out. The country couldn't afford to fight a two-front war, one front being halfway across the globe. Still, he didn't exactly have regulation military written all over him.
“You were in the military?” I asked as we pulled into the parking lot of the auto parts store. It was sandwiched in between a hardware store and what looked like an herb shop. A big pop vending machine stood next to the door.
Sal rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a tattoo: two winged serpents intertwined over a cross, the symbol of a combat medic. The only reason I recognized it was because my grandpa had worn a badge with a similar symbol when we put him in the ground. “Managed two tours before I got tired of it.”
Hunter turned toward Sal. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear the morbid excitement in his voice when he asked, “Did you kill anyone?”
“Hunter, that's not... That's rude.”
Sal didn't say anything but put the truck in park and fished out his wallet. He dangled two-dollar bills in front of Hunter. “Go and grab yourself a Coke, kid.” Hunter seized the bills and scampered over my lap and out before I could even react. “Hope that's fine with you,” Sal mumbled and tucked his wallet away.
I'd already figured out that Sal wasn't in the habit of picking people up and driving them around. The cab of the truck was too small for this sort of outing to be a regular thing, and the conversation we'd carried had been awkward enough that it was obvious he wasn't much of a talker. Sal struck me as more of a doer than anything else. If he'd wanted to hurt that woman, whoever she was, he would have.
I'd been replaying that scene over and over in my head, trying to decide what kind of expression to paint over his face while it happened. My car had been too far away to see any details, but it mattered whether he had gripped her arm and stared at her with malice or hurt. After all, there was a killer on the loose somewhere on the reservation.
“It's fine,” I said and purposely avoided looking at him. “I assume you have something to say you didn't want him to hear?”
Sal sighed. “I knew Elias, and I know the state Valentino's in. I figure you already know I’m a werewolf and a member of the local pack. Chanter left a message with me an hour ago about you.” The upholstery of the seat creaked as he shifted his weight. “Given my history and that we're neighbors, I thought I'd give you a heads up. It wasn't me.”
I turned around and stared at the end of his nose, figuring it probably wasn't a good idea to look him straight on. A lot of animals consider that a challenge and he was part animal, so... “Is there any particular reason I should rule you out other than scout's honor?”
Hunter finished making his selection at the vending machine and started to walk back toward the truck. The sweating bottle of pop in his hands made my mouth water.
“I'd like to help,” Sal said slowly as if he had all the time in the world before Hunter got back. “I have information to give you, but I can't do it openly.”
“Why?” The question fell out of my mouth before it got through the filter in my brain, and it came out short-tempered, so I went with it. “Everyone else has been vague, uncooperative, and downright obstructive to everything I've tried to do so far. Why would you help me?”
He smirked. “You're asking what's in it for me?” That wasn't exactly what I meant, but if it got him talking, sure. “That's the complicated part.”
“Does it have anything to do with the woman I saw leaving your trailer earlier?”
“Would you really turn away evidence if it did?”
Hunter stopped next to the front of the truck expectantly, clearly waiting for me to get out. I turned to glare at Sal. Dammit. He'd known me less than half an hour and, already, he had my back against the wall. Whatever it was he wanted, I was probably going to have to help him with it to get his information. That seemed to be the way things worked around Paint Rock. No one was willing to part with anything unless you were willing to give something up first.
“Your information had better be worth it,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“I'll wait on you here, then,” he called after me as I stepped out of the truck. I made sure to slam the door behind me in case it wasn't clear that I wasn't happy about his quid pro quo proposal.
They didn't have a starter that would work with my car, so I had to order one in, which wasn't surprising, given that the parts store was an indoor lemonade stand for car parts. The only things I saw behind the counter were basic parts for oil changes and that sort of thing. The shop owner assured me the part would be in within two business days. That would have been comforting if it wasn't already Thursday. It would be Monday probably before I ever saw my part. I trudged out of the parts store more frustrated than when I'd gone in.
“Does this mean we're going to have to bum more rides?” Hunter asked and then chugged from his bottle.
“Probably.” The thought wasn't comforting, especially when I reviewed everything I'd learned in the last few hours.
Whoever had killed Elias had done it with magick, of that I was sure. I was also sure that Elias was at least on friendly terms with his killer. So far, Sal was the only one I'd met who had enough juice to crank out a major spell and could have been friends with Elias. It made me suspicious how ready and willing he was to give up information that would lead me elsewhere. It felt too convenient. Maybe. The only way to be sure was to follow that lead to the end of the road.
The trick was going to be doing it without endangering both myself and my son, who was happy our car had broken down again. “Are we still going to go to the store? I bet we could get ice cream. It won't melt if we keep it in the cab with the air conditioning.”
“Have t
o ask Mr. Silvermoon about that.”
Sal hopped out of the truck when we wandered down the walk toward him. When he opened the passenger side door for us, he probably thought he was chivalrous. All it did was make my blood boil. “So, no part?”
“Specialty part. It'll be in by Monday.”
“Bummer.”
“Tell me about it.” I stood outside the truck and folded my arms. Trying to look irritated with the air conditioning washing out over me was almost impossible. “We still need to get to the store. Unless you're busy?”
That mischievous, shit-eating grin spread over his face again. “You know, you can just ask me. I promise I don't bite. Well, mostly.”
I grabbed the passenger side door and swung it closed without getting in. “Look,” I said firmly, “I don't know what your game is, but I'm not in the mood to play it. I've been trading something for nothing all day, and once, just once, I'd like to get something with no strings attached. Is that really so much to ask? I'm the law for Christ's sake. Aren't you people obligated to assist me? What's with the games?”
“No games,” Sal said with a shrug. “Trust and cooperation are earned around here. You can't blame us for not trusting the government. Since you're an agent of the government...”
That was it. I could take the petty little exchanges, the doubtful glances, and even the outright criticism. What I couldn't take was being told how to do my job by yet another know-it-all male. “I've been here one day. One freaking day and already I'm at my wit's end. I'm trying to help you. What part of that is so hard to understand? Don't you people want this crime solved? What am I doing wrong? I just...”
My thought, whatever it had been, slipped away. In the course of my conversation, I'd taken a rather aggressive step forward and locked eyes with Sal. In retrospect, that probably wasn't the wisest thing I could have done. But I was mad enough and tired enough that I didn't even think about it. I just did it.