Текст книги "A Devil in the Details"

Автор книги: K. A. Stewart

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Yes, we were definitely in for some bad weather.

20

I wanted it to rain. Maybe if it rained the tension in the air would snap and we could all breathe again.

There were no theme songs for the day. Instead, Kristyn and I kept the radio tuned to a local station for weather updates. The store was nearly deserted. In the three hours I’d been at work, we’d seen two customers. Perhaps two dozen people had walked past the door in total. Sierra Vista looked like a ghost town. No one was willing to brave the ominous clouds, even though no actual precipitation seemed forthcoming.

My punk-haired boss grumbled. “I feel bad calling you in. If I’da known we’d be this dead . . .”

“You’re not supposed to be here alone. You know that.” We were victims of corporate policy. No one worked the store solo. I think it was supposed to cut down on employee theft or something.

“I shoulda known he was too good to be true.” All morning, she’d been beating herself up for hiring Paulo, our no-show of the day. “He was probably illegal—I never could get him to put his social on the paperwork.”

I had other reasons for cursing Paulo. If fleeing from me in the Wal-Mart hadn’t made him look guilty of something, refusing to show up and face me again certainly did. I had a lot of questions, and very few available answers. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that I decided to commit that greatest of mortal sins, nosiness.

Under the pretense of reworking next week’s schedule for Kristyn, I set up camp in the small closet that served as her office. Flipping on the turquoise lava lamp for light, I began rifling through the employee files. Later, I would have to point out to her that she should really lock that cabinet, but for the moment it worked to my advantage.

My own file was in the folder marked O—for “old dude,” I presume. Paulo’s was under T for “temporary.” In our high-turnover world, no one counted as a permanent employee until they lasted through two paychecks. “Well well, Señor Riaz. Let’s see what I can find out about you.” I kept an ear out for the thud of Kristyn’s boots as I perused his paperwork.

There wasn’t much to know. The application was filled out in neat block lettering with a sketchy ballpoint pen. Paulo listed no social security number, as Kristyn said, and when I tried the phone number, it went to the car dealership across the highway. The only address was a street name, no number, and he hadn’t even bothered to write down the zip code. And she hired him with only this information? Kristyn baffled me—often.

My superior’s hiring ethics aside, there was no doubt in my mind that Paulo had been hiding something. Sure, all the omissions could have been explained as laziness or maybe even a language barrier (though I’d rate that as a stretch), but when the gut tells you it’s hinky, it usually is. Without Paulo there to interrogate, I wondered if I would ever find out the truth.

Putting the paperwork neatly back in place, I shut the cabinet up tight and scribbled down a rough draft of the schedule for Kristyn’s approval. I even remembered to pencil myself in for some time off in two weeks.

Once I returned to the front, Kristyn and I busied ourselves with putting out new stock, and when that was done, we shot paperclips at each other in a running rubber-band fight through the store. She called an end to it after the third time she scored a hit on me because I was staring out the plate glass window into the growing darkness.

“It’s no fun playing with you if you’re not paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

She came to stand next to me, tugging on a lock of violently purple hair. “It looks nasty out there.”

“Yeah. We’re gonna get nailed.” I hoped Mira and Anna had gone to Dixie’s. The lack of a basement was the one thing I hated about our house. In this area of the country, a basement is almost a necessity.

The wind whipped up a small dust devil amidst the construction debris. I watched it dance across the open grassy courtyard and bend the new saplings nearly in half. Just as abruptly, it spent itself in a fit of dusty pique and vanished.

“You can go home if you want. Go make sure Mira and Annabelle are okay.”

“Then you’d be alone. Mira’s tough. She can take care of anything. I’ll stay here with you.” In the distance to the northwest, I could see flickers of light in the towering clouds. “Lightning’s coming.”

The phone rang, a jarring sound misplaced against the low throb of the punk music currently playing. We both jumped, then exchanged sheepish chuckles.

Kristyn hung headfirst over the counter to answer it, her plaid hind end aimed skyward. I swear I didn’t look. “It is where it’s at. This is Kristyn. How can I help you?” Her business voice changed quickly to her friendly voice. “Oh, hey, Mira! We were just talking about you! Yeah, he’s right here.”

She launched the cordless phone at me, and I caught it with a minimum of fumbling, thankfully. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey. How’s work going?”

“Super slow. You guys at Dixie’s?”

“Yeah, Anna’s finger painting with banana pudding.” Now there was an image. I had to chuckle. “Um . . . your phone keeps ringing.”

“Did you answer it?”

“Yeah. It’s some guy, not Ivan. He won’t give me his name, but he insists that you know him, and that he needs to talk to you immediately. He’s called about four times now.” And she’d probably started giving him nasty answers after the first two. My wife wasn’t one to play coy with. I’d seen her reduce telemarketers to tears in a matter of moments.

It had to be Kidd. “Give me the number. I’ll call him back from here.” Grabbing an ink pen shaped like a famous wizard’s magic wand, I scrawled down the digits. Yup. That was the hotel number. “You guys had better get your heads down. It looks like this thing’s about to open up and blast us to Oz.”

“We’ll be okay. You be careful, all right? Please?” There was no hiding the worry in her voice.

“I will. Promise. I’ll call you as soon as it passes, so you know we’re not marching on the Emerald City.” After mutual I– love-yous, I hung up the phone. “I’m gonna go in the back for a minute and make a call, Kristyn.”

“Make it quick. I need help with all these customers.” She smirked, gesturing at the empty store.

Our employee break room consisted of a wall of basket lockers, a soda machine, and the hot-water heater for the three tenants around us. Yeah, someone didn’t think that design out real well. I found a free spot leaning against the bulletin board—between the year-old ROCKFEST TICKETS NOW ON SALE! sign and the reminder to clock in and out for breaks—and called Kidd’s hotel room.

He answered almost immediately. “Hello?”

“Mr. Kidd, I understand you’ve been annoying the hell out of my wife.” I wasn’t nearly as irritated as I sounded, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh . . . yes . . . that . . . I’m sorry. I just . . . I needed to speak to you, and that’s the only number I have for you and—” I don’t know how much longer he might have babbled on, because I interrupted him.

“What did you want, Mr. Kidd?”

“I—I wondered if perhaps we couldn’t speed up the process and everything. I mean, two weeks is a long time. A lot can happen in two weeks. What if something were to happen to me in the meantime? I don’t want to die, with this still hanging over me.”

“I didn’t set the time, Mr. Kidd; your ‘friend’ did.” And yeah, with my leg hurt, I wasn’t going to rush into the fray by any means. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“Things happen, Mr. Dawson. All the time. Car accidents, plane wrecks.” There was very real fear in his voice. He truly thought he’d never live to see his soul returned. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, but there is such a thing as taking it too far.

“I can’t speed up the cycle of the moon. Two weeks. Less than that, even.”

“Could I come talk to you in person? Where are you?”

“No, you may not.” Never mix work with . . . other work. Just safer for everyone involved that way. “I’m at my other job, and they don’t know about things like—” Realizing at the last second that to say “things like you” would not be a good idea, I finished instead, “Like what we’re dealing with. I intend to keep it that way.”

“But I really think—”

In the background, I heard the unmistakable and imperious sound of Travis Verelli’s voice. “Is that him? You’re talking to him, aren’t you? Put down the phone, Nelson! We discussed this!”

Kidd tried to get his plea out in a rush. “Please, Mr. Dawson, I really need to . . . Ack!”

I listened in amazement as the two grown men proceeded to tussle over the phone. I couldn’t even tell who was winning, but there were many grunts and half-muffled expletives. In all honesty, I didn’t hold much hope for Verelli in a physical scuffle, especially not against a professional athlete—even an old one.

The phone crashed to the floor with a jarring clatter and I winced, holding it at arm’s length. When I finally put it back to my ear, I heard nothing but silence beyond. What the hell happened?

“Um, Mr. Kidd? Hello?” I got no answer; not even the sound of heavy breathing. “Uh, listen, you work things out with your agent, and I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?” I hung up on dead silence, unsure what else to do. Weird.

Sure, Kidd’s pleas made sense. I am not a man without sympathy. The thought of dying while the minions of Hell owned my soul was not pleasant; I admit this. But I couldn’t speed up time, or protect him from the random acts of nature, or God, or even his well-meaning agent. And considering that I was most likely facing jail time in the near future, Nelson Kidd, for good or ill, was on his own.

Something low and mournful, fitting to the darkness outside, wailed from the radio as I walked back to the front. I flicked it quickly to a bouncier station. We didn’t need to add to the oppressive atmosphere.

Kristyn stood at the windows, watching the wind whip the leaves from the tiny trees. “Ellen came over. She says they’re closing up shop and going home.” She nodded toward the jewelry shop across the street.

“You wanna go home?” It wasn’t my first Missouri storm. It wouldn’t be my last. But even I could tell that this was going to be one for the record books.

“Jesus, if corporate found out I’d shut the place down during business hours, they’d burn me at the stake.” Kristyn chewed on her lower lip, though, watching the lightning strobe through the darkened sky. It was closer now. “I’m gonna call Chris and Leanne and tell them to stay home, though. No reason to drag them out in this mess.”

“Good idea.” The shopping center was deserted, from what I could see. Nothing stirred, save the billows of yellow construction dirt on the far side of the courtyard, churned up by the sporadic wind gusts. The shop lights opposite us gleamed weakly through the clay dust fog. Something white and plastic went bumping down the street and out of sight—a bucket, maybe. “Come on. If stuff gets nasty, we don’t want to be standing by these windows.”

I put my arm around her shoulder—normally a no-no with our strict corporate stance on sexual harassment, but damn the Man—and led her to the back of the store where we could hover over the radio and pretend we were contributing to the greater good. It was going to be a long damn day.

21

My day got significantly worse when the doorbell chimed, announcing someone’s arrival. Believing that no human would be insane enough to go shopping on a day like this, I fully expected it to be Axel.

As it turned out, I was wrong about Axel, and the sanity of our visitor was definitely in question.

Nelson Kidd struggled to get his umbrella down, but the wind had warped it beyond salvation, and he finally flung it to the floor to watch it spin in drunken circles. Even at a distance, I could see the staring, glazed expression in his blue eyes. I’d seen that look before, in victims of sudden catastrophe. It was the look they had right after they went numb and just before they started screaming.

Kristyn rounded the counter to greet him with her retail-brilliant smile, but I grabbed her arm and shook my head at her. I’d handle this one.

“Welcome to It. Is there something I can help you find?” Out of Kristyn’s view, I gave Kidd a warning look. He’d better be damn careful what he said here. Pretending he’d answered me, I grabbed his elbow, squeezing just the right place to make his fingers go numb, and dragged him into the racks of assorted hoodies. “How the hell did you find this place?” I hissed.

The old man winced and extracted his arm from my grip. “Caller ID on the phone. I did a reverse lookup on the Internet.”

Damn the Internet. “Well, in case you’re wondering, coming out in this is what is going to get you killed. Are you insane?”

He ignored my question and clutched at my shirt like a drowning man. “You have to help me. Look, I wired the funds like you told me. Twice your asking price.” He waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of my eyes. “He doesn’t want to give up my soul. He’s going to kill me before you can help me. . . .”

“No. He’s not.” I snatched the paper from him, mostly to get it out of my face, then carefully extracted myself from his fevered grip. “They can’t hurt you, unless you allow it.” But oh, if the demon could find a loophole, trust me, he would. I firmly believe that the very first lawyer was a demon. I didn’t tell Nelson Kidd that. The man was an inch away from snapping as it was. “Where’s Verelli?” As much as I didn’t like the slimy agent, I thought he could at least corral his client until this bout of paranoia had passed.

“He’s . . . tied up. Agent stuff, I dunno.” Kidd’s eyes darted nervously, but before I could question him further, thunder boomed directly overhead and the lights, giving one flicker, went out. A few tense heartbeats passed before the generators kicked in and the emergency lights hummed to life. In the sickly green lighting, I could see the whites of Kidd’s eyes, wide with panic. “He’s going to kill me. . . .”

“No one’s going to kill you.” I grabbed his arm again, just to keep track of him. “Kristyn? Let’s go ahead and hit the storm shelter, ’kay? I’ll lock the doors.” Well, I’d lock them once I could get Kidd confined. It was rather like dragging Annabelle when she was in one of her obstinate moods. Every step toward the back was an exercise in pitting my weight against his.

I almost made it.

Outside, a low whine began and quickly swelled into a strident wail. The early-warning system, tornado sirens, shrilled their warning for blocks around.

“No!” With a strength born of sheer terror, Kidd wrenched free of my grasp and bolted for the door. It binged cheerfully as he disappeared into the storm.

“Fuck!” Kristyn stared at me wide-eyed as I grabbed one of the hoodies from the rack and pulled it on. “I’ll get him. You get to shelter.”

I don’t know whether she locked the doors behind me as I ran out. The rain had just started to fall, large drops the size of fifty-cent pieces, big enough to sting against bare skin. The wind whipped my hair around my face until I pulled up my hood, scanning the area. Only our side of the shopping center had lost power. On the lighted side, the neon storefronts threw rivulets of colored light across the rain-slicked pavement.

Down the block, I watched Kidd’s fleeing figure disappear just past the Starbucks. Where the hell did he think he was going? The parking lot was in the other direction. “Hey! Get back here!” Although my right leg reminded me I was a bastard, I ran after him anyway, calling Kidd every nasty name I could think of—you know, the really good ones I can’t say in front of Annabelle.

Lightning struck close enough for me to smell the ozone, and the thunder made my teeth rattle. I rounded the corner past Starbucks and caught a glimpse of Kidd headed toward the opposite side of the empty grandstand. No bands were playing today. No one was around at all, except me and the lunatic I was chasing through the rain.

“Kidd!” My voice was lost to the grumbling clouds above us and the wail of the tornado sirens.

In all fairness, I was hurt, and he was a professional athlete. It didn’t matter that he was twenty years older than I. He ran like a damn jackrabbit. I even lost sight of him once, darting between the Thai place and some expensive perfume shop.

Soaked to the skin already, I came around the corner to find him stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Rivers of yellow mud ran from the construction site across the street, marring the cheerful neon reflections from the shop windows. I slowed to a walk, afraid to startle him into bolting again. “Kidd?”

His eyes fixed on something above us, he never seemed to notice the rain pouring down his face. I followed his gaze to the sign for the newest restaurant on the block. It was the garish marquee for Moonlight & Roses. The neon full moon shone like a beacon in the darkness, the purple roses casting everything in a mauve sheen.

Kidd looked at me, finally, and I realized that tears mingled with the rain on his weathered cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Wanting to ask what he was sorry for, I started to form the words, but then, seeing a sick determination settle into his eyes, I realized his intention. We were in a deserted place, and that sign was there above us—the one with the full moon, shining down. Under the full moon . . . I couldn’t move fast enough to stop him.

“______________!” The hound-demon’s name screeched through my skull, drowning even the tornado sirens for a moment.

“You son of a bitch!” I hit him square in the jaw, but it was too late. The damage was done. It was here, under the full moon, as agreed.

“I had to. Please believe me. I had to!” Kidd rubbed his jaw, cowering against the restaurant wall. “He said he’d release me. . . .”

The darkness gathered, solidified, and the pony-sized hellhound padded out of the black nothingness with a growling chuckle. “I never said when.” Kidd moaned and sank into a shivering, sodden heap.

Lightning flashed, throwing the demon into sharp relief, a mountain of black fur seemingly untouched by the downpour. My hood had long since fallen down, my mop of wet hair hanging around my face. I looked like a drowned rat or maybe something skinnier—a weasel or a ferret, maybe. I’m sure I was the scariest rodent in the county.

The demon smiled, long canines gleaming white in its muzzle. “I have come at the appointed time, champion. Let the battle commence.”

“I don’t have my equipment; we can’t fight now.”

“I agreed only to allow the armor. You did not say it was a requirement.”

Fuck! The demon was right. I hadn’t been careful enough in my wording. Dammit, I knew better! “I don’t have a weapon. The terms said a melee weapon of my choice.” Shoulda grabbed my sword. Knew I shoulda grabbed it. This is why we listen to the voices, Jesse.

My katana was at home. Sure, I could stall long enough to go get it, but I knew the moment I laid my hands on it, the demon would be there. And there was no way I could put Mira and Anna in danger like that. My mind raced for other choices.

Even if I could get to my truck, I had only my small skinning knife in the door. That wasn’t going to do much against this behemoth. Hair spray and a lighter? Not in this rain. Kitchen knives from a restaurant? Not much better than my own blade.

“Do I understand that you choose to fight with only your hands?”

“Don’t rush me!” Did that thing look bigger than just a moment ago? I was so screwed.

“I am at the end of my patience. Choose now, or fight as you are!” It rocked back on its massive haunches, prepared to spring.

I did the only thing I could. I ran.

My leg burned, but I ran as if the hounds of Hell were on my heels. Oh wait—they were. Somehow, despite the constant thunder and wailing of the sirens, I could hear the demon’s claws on the sidewalk and its panting breath as it loped behind me, expending only minimal effort in catching me. It would wait until I tired, then run me to ground. I had to find a weapon before then.

Part of me knew there were still people behind those darkened storefronts, innocent bystanders who could easily become casualties. I ran the other way, into the construction site. Maybe someone had left something I could use—a claw hammer, a crowbar. Hell, I’d take a forklift at this point, and I didn’t even know how to drive one.

The yellow mud slithered under my feet, making running precarious at best. I crested the first mound of dirt and slid down the opposite side on my rump, covering myself in good Missouri clay. I heard the thing slip and slide down the same hill behind me, the sludge giving way under its heavier weight. I glanced back long enough to see it sprawled in the muck, struggling to get to its feet again. I savored the petty pleasure as I gained distance on it.

Angry now, the demon raised a low howl, baying in counterpoint to the incessant sirens. I fought the despair that tried to settle into my guts and just kept moving, telling myself that I refused to die wearing a sparkly vampire hoodie.

The skeleton of the unfinished parking garage loomed in the strobing light, and I darted for a gaping hole in the wall. Fido came galloping after me, snarling when it could only get its massive head through the opening. For a heartbeat, it tried to force the hulking shoulders through, then abandoned the effort. One point for scrawny guys everywhere. I lost track of it as it circled around to find a larger door.

There was no roof to stop the rain, and the partial walls did very little to deflect some of the wind. The strident wail of the tornado sirens reminded me that somewhere nearby, something very big and nasty was on the way. They didn’t sound unless there was a funnel on the ground. What a time to be playing hide-and-seek.

The hellhound bayed, proving that it had my scent again, and I stumbled on my bad leg, scrabbling a few feet on hands and knees before I could regain my footing. Great, now I was gonna die embarrassed, too. Dammit, I needed more time!

The lightning showed me the shell of an empty elevator shaft ahead, and I ducked into it. There was no car there, no cables, just the concrete tower stretching three floors above me. Think quick, Jess. It was coming. It bellowed again, closing in on me.

My hands found rungs built into the wall, and I was climbing before I’d formed a conscious plan. The wall shuddered under my hands as the hellhound barreled in headfirst, slamming its massive bulk into the wall. Jaws snapped inches below my heel. A split second before it leapt again, I flopped out onto the second level, and I kicked at those enormous paws as it tried to scrabble up after me. “Down, boy! Bad dog!” It hit the ground hard, and I heard it snarl in irritation. It would have to find yet another way to get to me. I’d bought myself a few extra moments.

The second floor wasn’t finished, and at the far end, the mud formed a ramp for the machines that hadn’t been there in months. There were tools there, and I slid to my knees, frantically sorting through the discarded implements. In the yellow muck, my hand landed on something cold and metal. I didn’t care what it was anymore. I grabbed it.

It was only a piece of one-inch pipe, maybe two feet long, bent at a right angle at one end. But it was heavy, and it would serve as a makeshift tonfa until I could find something better. A brief search found another of similar shape, and now I had a pair. It was better than nothing.

I put my back against a concrete wall and waited, my new weapons resting against my forearms. Against a sword or knife, I could parry with them, disarm with them, snap bone. Against that maw full of fangs, I could maybe break a few teeth before it crushed my arm to jelly. Wonderful.

The corner I sheltered in would be good to protect my flanks, but I was also pinned with nowhere to retreat. I couldn’t stay here.

“Come out, come out, little slayer.”

I resented that. “I’m just wiry!” Never let it be said that I didn’t go down a smart-ass to the end.

The hound padded around a column, every muscle illuminated by the flashes of lightning. It was smiling. Splattered all over with yellow mud, it looked even more like some giant dire hyena from prehistoric times. Were there dire hyenas? I guess I’d never know.

I dropped into a fighting stance, hoping the thing hadn’t seen me favoring my right leg. If I could dodge left the first time, I was good. If it forced me right, onto my bad leg . . . Oh, who was I kidding? I was puppy chow.

It came fast, faster than anything that size had a right to be. I ducked left, improvised tonfas guarding my right side, and I was running again. The hound hit the concrete wall with all four feet and bounced off in pursuit. This was no leisurely chase now. I was armed, the contract fulfilled. Now the demon meant to kill.

The tingle down my spine told me there was a snap coming at my hamstring, and I jinked hard right. My leg screamed in pain, but held, and the vicious teeth snapped loudly on empty air. I wasn’t so lucky next time, and something sharp raked down my left thigh. I was never sure if it was claws or teeth.

There was no electric pop, no shock from my wife’s warding spells. I’d forfeited that protection when I had negotiated for a strictly physical fight. At the time, it had seemed a fair trade, but now I frantically wished for something, anything more between my skin and those wicked teeth.

The demon’s massive paws threatened to tangle with my own feet as we ran, and it threw its shoulder into my hip. I let the fall take me, rolling through it and back to my feet. I swung into that mass of solid fur and muscle with one pipe, and connected hard with something that sounded like it hurt. Blight wafted off into the air and the thing snarled, but it kept coming.

I could feel my blood soaking through my torn jeans only because it was warm against the rain-soaked chill. There would be no finding a better place to fight. I was done running, and the demon knew it. It held me at bay and circled, trying to find an opening. One lunge met with my makeshift tonfa, metal against muzzle, and I heard a crack as one of the sharp canines shattered. The white bone chips evaporated into black mist, flitting away to join with the rest of the demon’s spent energy. It backed away, shaking its head and growling. Man, did that thing look pissed off.

They say, when you’re about to die, your life flashes before you. People talk about seeing loved ones gone before, or forgotten things from childhood. Maybe I should have been thinking of my wife and daughter, soon to be without husband and father. I wasn’t. My only thought, which I voiced crystal clear above the pain and pounding adrenaline, was, “Hotel phones don’t have caller ID.”

The demon actually paused at that, head tilted comically to the side.

“Hotel phones don’t have caller ID. He said that’s how he found where I worked.” A rumble started somewhere in the demon’s chest, and it gathered itself to spring again. “How did he know where I worked?”

Thunder crashed, deafening both of us, and in the flashing light, I spied another figure standing behind the demon. The demon followed my gaze, and I was too surprised to even take advantage of its distraction.

I thought at first it was Kidd, until I realized it was too tall, too skinny. Then hope flared irrationally, and for one interminable heartbeat, I thought it was Miguel. The stranger walked forward, and a flash of lightning illuminated his face.

“He made it his business to know.” Paulo appeared from the depths of the parking garage. His usual T-shirt and jeans had been exchanged for ill-fitting studded leather armor. A machete, the blade so old it was nearly black, dangled from one hand.

The demon backed away to put both of us in its sight. “Treachery . . . fouled contract . . .” I swear, it lisped around its broken teeth, and it made even that sound purely evil.

The dark teen kept his eyes on the demon as he spoke. “They stalked you, Jesse Dawson, as they stalked mi hermano and Señor Archer.” He pointed the stained blade at the hellhound. “So now I stalk them.”