A Montague & Strong Short Story Collection (Montague & Strong Case Files)
Page 1
Contents
Title
Quotation
No God Is Safe
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
The Date
“Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no ...
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
The War Mage
“Once you are so unfortunate as to be drawn into a...
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
AUTHOR NOTES
TOMBYARDS & BUTTERFLIES
Contact me:
Thank you for reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A
Montague & Strong
Short Story Collection
By
Orlando A. Sanchez
“You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret: All the best people are.”
-Carroll
No God is Safe
By
Orlando A. Sanchez
A Montague & Strong Detective Agency Short
“I know, too, that death is the only god who comes when you call.”-Zelazny
“I know, too, that death is the only god who comes when you call.”
― Roger Zelazny
ONE
“I NEED YOU to apprehend my wife,” a voice in a South Asian accent I couldn’t quite place said from the door. “She needs to be stopped and punished.”
I had just kicked up my feet, ready to dive into my latest Platoon F novel, when I heard him. I looked up to see who it was. I occasionally got confused individuals who thought I was some kind of law enforcement.
The man was tall, dark skinned, and handsome enough to have stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. His pressed suit rested on his frame impeccably. Everything about him screamed money. He stood in the doorway for a second and examined my office. I had a large desk with some filing cabinets off to one side. It was sparse but neat.
“Wrong place,” I said with a sigh, turning back to my book. “Try the police. They’re much better at that sort of thing.” I didn’t do vendettas or kink jobs. Last thing I needed was some angry Dominatrix coming after me with a whip.
“I was instructed to see you,” I looked up and saw him step back, reading the sign next to my door. “Simon Strong Detective Agency, yes?”
At a nod he came in and sat in one of the client chairs opposite me and stared. His piercing eyes were black and his expression was a cross between mildly amused and disgusted. I got that a lot.
I’d had to pull a few strings to swing an office in the Moscow, an upscale building on Manhattan’s lower west side. When I say office, I really meant walk-in closet with a view. It wasn’t much to look at and took all my savings, but it was mine. At least until my ice-queen property owner decided I had overstayed my welcome and evicted me.
I put my book down when I realized he wasn’t going away. “How can I help you?” I said, admiring the gold earrings he wore in each ear.
“You are Simon Strong? The detective?” His voice was a rich timbre that filled the space. If Morgan Freeman ever got tired of using his voice, this man had a job.
“That’s me,” I said, sitting up. Something was pinging off about him, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. He nodded as if making a mental note. “What can I do for you, Mr.—?”
“Shiva—Mr. Shiva,” he said quickly, smoothing down his suit with a gloved hand. He shifted in the chair, careful to avoid touching anything. The condescension was getting on my nerves.
“Like the god?” I was trying to be cautious. Using a god’s name to conduct business usually got you the wrong kind of attention. Names have power—a god’s name more than most. If he was using this name, he was either insane or suicidal—and both were bad for my health.
“Precisely. My wife is cheating on me.” He glanced off to the side before adding. “I’m certain of it.”
I sighed suddenly wary. Infidelity cases were the worst. They paid well, but someone always ended up hurt. I usually avoided them, but my rent was due and my landlady wasn’t the forgiving type.
“What makes you say that?”
“Intuition. She’s been acting strangely lately and smelling—different. If that makes sense.”
It didn’t. Then again none of this did.
“How’d you find me?”
If he said the internet or some other nonsense, I could get rid of him and get back to my Platoon F. I wasn’t listed anywhere.
“I have…acquaintances on the New York Task Force,” he answered after a pause. “Specifically, Sergeant Ramirez told me to contact you due to the delicate nature of my request.” He pulled out two envelopes from inside his suit jacket.
Angel Ramirez had been with the NYTF for the last two years. He was rough around the edges, tough as hell, and a loyal— if not slightly crazy—friend. I trusted him with my life.
I cursed under my breath.
“Ramirez?”
“Your discretion will be greatly appreciated,” he said with a tight smile, placing the envelopes on the edge of the desk. “I was informed you handled cases with the utmost confidentiality.”
Shit. It was the right answer and he was blowing smoke up my ass. My time in the force was expunged. My retirement was payback for pissing off the wrong supernatural. It was either get rid of me or find bodies in the street—starting with mine.
If he wanted discretion, it meant he was high profile. If Ramirez sent him my way, he was powerful and a headache. Ramirez loved unloading cases like this on me. I would have to remember to thank him for sending me tall, dark, and creepy; I knew a witch who could hex his coffee into urine. Just the thought of it made me smile.
“What do you want from me?” I made sure the hesitation in my voice was clear.
“Proof. Concrete, irrefutable proof.” He pushed the envelopes across the desk.
“What kind of proof are you looking for—photographic?”
I really hoped he would say yes. It would mean a few pictures of the wife with the other man and then case closed.
He shook his head slowly and stared at me. Something about that stare set off all sorts of alarms. The voice I rarely listened to was telling me to walk away—now. I ignored it and it gave me the finger.
He never took his eyes off me when he said, “I need you to catch her in the act.”
“Whoa,” I said, putting my hands on the table and pushing back. “You aren’t planning a violent divorce, are you? When someone wants to catch the other person in flagrante delicto, it never ends well.”
“I just want to be there when you catch her in the act. That’s all.” He sat back in his chair.
“Not rip her to shreds or put a bullet in the both of them?”
He shook his head calmly. “No violence—just a confrontation. I want her to know that I know. Then maybe we can move past this and heal.”
“Fine.” I pulled out a pad and pen. “The wife have a name?”
“Kalika,” he said with an emotion that made me pause. He still love
d her. This made him dangerous.
I made a note of the name. Another god or—in this case—goddess. Kali was one of the nastier ones. If I was going to be facing people using gods’ names, I needed to be careful. Worshippers of obscure deities were the most unstable of all.
“Do you have a schedule she keeps or know of any places she frequents that seem suspect?”
He tapped the thinner of the two envelopes. “Everything you need is in here.” He placed a hand on the thicker envelope and pushed it closer to me. “I trust this will cover your expenses.”
A stack of hundreds stared back at me when I opened the envelope. I closed it and pushed it back. It was enough to cover and smother my expenses for a year. I opened the other envelope and saw it held pictures and a pendant. I emptied the contents on the desk.
I shook my head, looking at the money. “This is too much—this isn’t a hit,” I said, holding up the pendant as I pushed the envelope full of money back across the desk to him. “What’s this?”
The pendant was a circular disc inscribed with an endless knot on both sides. A simple black cord was threaded through the center of the disc.
“That is a measure of protection.” He pointed at the pendant. “I strongly urge you to wear it when dealing with her.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, tapping the money envelope. “That’s too much.”
“Please take it to cover any expense you may incur on this assignment.” He pushed the envelope back. “How soon can you begin?”
“I’ll start—tomorrow night,” I said, still trying to shake the feeling that I should turn him and this job down. “That soon enough?”
“Excellent. A word of caution, though,” he said, pointing to one of the pictures. “That location is her base of operations and is patrolled regularly. She keeps bodyguards with her most of the time. Avoid them. If you can fulfill the assignment without her knowing of your involvement, it would be safer.”
“How do I get you on the scene once I have the information?”
He gave me a short nod and held up a finger. “Please take my number and call me with any developments.” He reached into his jacket and handed me a card before standing. He smoothed down his pants before looking around the office again with a sniff and then extended his hand.
“Safer for whom—you?” I said, standing. I took his hand, and an arc of electricity jumped from his into mine. A surge of energy raced up my arm and made me wince. He gave me a slight smile and let go.
“No, Mr. Strong. Safer for you.” He turned to leave the office. “Please be careful—life is short.”
TWO
I LOOKED AT the two pictures. One was of a woman with the same complexion as the man who had just left my office. To say she was beautiful would be the understatement of the century. She was stunning, with a figure to match. Long black hair framed her full face and she wore a black dress that hugged her in all the right places. The picture was of her walking down the street, her back to the camera. She had turned at the last second, right before it was taken, flashing a smile capable of making you forget your name.
I was sitting there in awe until I focused on the eyes. A chill ran through me as I realized I was looking at the eyes of a killer. I put the picture down with a shiver and picked up the other one. It was a large industrial building located somewhere downtown near the Hudson. I turned it over and read the address, when my phone rang. I connected the call on the third ring.
“Strong,” Ramirez barked over the noise in the background, “I need your help. I have a Level Two 10-57.”
“I’m on a case,” I said, still holding the picture of the building, and thanks for sending me tall, suave, and creepy.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve had my hands full all day with my own issues. I need you on this one. Was I being unclear?”
“He mentioned you by name.” I looked at the items on my desk. “And he paid well—too well.”
Alarms were going off in my head again. The voice was telling me to call Mr. Shiva and return his money. I don’t like being played, but one look at the picture of the wife with deadly eyes helped me decide. I’d call Shiva later and tell him to find someone else. This one had disaster written all over it.
“My name isn’t exactly a secret in the NYTF,” Ramirez said after a pause. “If this client is scamming you, we can look into that after you help me with this.”
“You know I don’t do missing-person cases,” I answered, snapping out of my thoughts. “Those cases always end badly. Either they’re dead or they want to stay missing.”
“I know, but this is different—” Ramirez started.
“And since when do you need a Level Two for a missing person?” I interrupted. “The whole task force, really? Who’s missing?”
“It’s not a missing person, Simon. It’s missing persons,” Ramirez whispered. “Children are disappearing. Someone or something is taking them.”
“What?” I was suddenly short of breath as the rage threatened to cloud my vision. “How long? How long has the NYTF been involved?”
There was no scenario where kids going missing ended well. If the NYTF was involved, it meant supernatural activity, which usually consisted of sacrifices… or worse. I didn’t want to think what the worse could be.
“People go missing all the time, but kids? This is different,” Ramirez said. “A week. We’ve had reports all over the city and it’s getting worse.”
“A week,” I whispered back. “You waited a goddamn week before calling me? How many have been taken?”
“Yes, because I was given instructions not to bring in outside contractors until the brass brought in their expert—a magic-user. We’ve documented seven children, but there may be more.”
“A magic-user?” I said, incredulous as I stuffed the items on my desk back into the envelopes. I pocketed the pendant, since extra protection was always good. “The NYTF is using wizards now? Who’d they call? The guy from Chicago?”
“No, this one’s British, complete with an accent I barely understand,” Ramirez replied. “They say he’s been on this case worldwide. New York is just his latest stop.”
“Worldwide?” I said in disbelief. “You have anything you can give me on the case? A name? Anything?”
“I have an address and a POI,” Ramirez said and then lowered his voice. “I can give you the address, but the person of interest is classified even above my paygrade.”
“What’s the address?” I opened my strongbox, grabbing my gun and loading it with a magazine of 9 mm hollow-point ammunition before holstering it. “Is the Council saying anything about this?”
“Not yet,” Ramirez said over the rustling of paper. “We’ve managed a total blackout, but I doubt that’s going to last much longer. Here’s the address…”
He read me the address, and my stomach lurched as I reached for one of the envelopes Shiva left me. I pulled out the picture of the large industrial building and read the address on the back—it was the same.
THREE
“SHIT, ANGEL, YOU sure this is the address?” I said, barely registering his voice. I turned the picture over again several times. “This has been confirmed?”
“Every possible way,” Ramirez answered, sounding surprised. “What is it?”
“When are you checking this place out? Tell me you haven’t given a destroy order yet.”
I needed to get down there and see what was going on before the NYTF mobilized and sent in shock troops. Subtlety wasn’t big in their operational protocol. The potential of children being involved was the only reason the building wasn’t a pile of rubble—otherwise it would’ve suffered a catastrophic implosion by now.
“Not yet. The wizard thinks there are some major players involved,” Ramirez answered with a sigh. “We’re giving him forty-eight and then the building is dust. He’s going to recon tonight. I want you there with him.”
“That’s why you called me,” I said as the realization dawned. “You don’t trust him
.”
“Of course I don’t trust him,” Ramirez snapped back. “He uses magic, speaks English I don’t understand, and only drinks tea. Who doesn’t drink coffee?”
“This wizard have a name?” I asked, smiling at his comment. “Or does he go by a code name like Gandalf One?”
“Funny, smartass,” Ramirez said as he pounded the keys on a keyboard. “Here it is—goes by Montague—Tristan Montague. He leaves here in an hour. I need you here in thirty minutes.”
I grabbed the picture of the wife and the location before heading out. The NYTF headquarters was a state-of-the-art facility housed in a renovated bank building off 14th Street and 8th Avenue. The public was unaware of the function or the existence of the NYTF, and that’s how they preferred it. The supernatural community belonged to the shadows. They were just below the radar, on the periphery of the collective consciousness.
It allowed non-magical humans to live normal, comfortable lives without the constant fear of monsters coexisting in the same city. The last supernatural war had almost wiped out humanity. The Dark Council had been formed to prevent another war from ever happening. Its presence created an uneasy truce between the supernatural, human governments, and those who were aware or sensitive enough to realize that there was something more behind the veil.
I climbed the stone steps and entered the spacious lobby, with a nod to the guard. I had been back a few times since my retirement, as a consultant for some of the harder cases Ramirez worked. His office reminded me of a paper explosion. Several desks were covered with books and piles of documents, precariously balanced and on the verge of collapse. Only one desk contained a surface that was visible. I peeked in and saw a man in a suit hunched over a set of plans.
“Ramirez around?” I asked, scanning the room quickly but not seeing him.
“Said he was going to procure a vehicle while we wait for his detective,” the man answered without looking up from the plans. “He should be back shortly.”
I noticed the English accent and figured this was the wizard. He kept his shoulder-length hair loose and moved a few strands out of his face as he scanned the plans.