Arms Dealers

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Not specifically, but they were very fresh. Still warm in most cases.”

  “Not like the ones stolen from graves, then?”

  “No, not at all. Some still bled. They made quite a mess.”

  “I’m sure they did. Do you know who owned these chop shops?”

  Dee lifted her arm and pointed at Rose Marie.

  “For the record, please, Ms. Terry,” said Grimhildr.

  “Rose Marie Van Dee.”

  “I see,” said Sam, turning to look at the jury. “How did you come to know that?”

  “She was the one who sent Jack and me to the apartment. Besides, she runs everything in the New York Locus.”

  “She runs everything?” asked McCoy.

  Leibman shot to his feet. “Your Honor!”

  “Mr. McCoy, clean it up.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He turned to Dee. “Speaking only of things you have direct knowledge of, please tells us the business Rose Marie Van Dee controls.”

  “Easy,” said Dee. “Zombie prostitution, gambling, the protection racket, the chop shops, trade in illegal artifacts, murders for hire. She even brokers mercenary contracts to private warlords in other Locii—both in and outside the Covenancy.”

  “And I want to stress for the jury that you have direct knowledge of these businesses?”

  “Yes. Before I convinced her to use me as a soldier, Rose Marie made me keep her books.” She turned a withering glare on Van Dee. “I kept copies.”

  “Your Honor, I present the items V1 through V13 for inclusion into evidence.”

  “So noted.”

  Rose Marie leaned in close to Leibman, grabbed his arm, and hissed into his ear—a stream of angry susurration and sibilants.

  Gyuki leaned forward and peered at them. “Is there a problem, Mr. Leibman?”

  “Uh, no, Your Honor. Nothing at this time.”

  With a smile, Sam led Dee Terry through the accounting journals of the Van Dee Family, while Rose Marie simmered and shot her murderous glares.

  When McCoy yielded, Leibman approached the witness stand, smiling, and said, “Ms. Terry, I have only a few questions for you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Let’s start with this morning’s so-called attack, shall we? You testified you believe my client is behind the attack. Do you have evidence of her involvement?”

  “Evidence? Like what?”

  Leibman spread his hands. “Why, I have no idea. Something that physically links my client to those zombies.”

  “Oh. Does me recognizing them not count?” She darted a glance at Angie.

  “Isn’t it possible you are mistaken?”

  Dee pursed her lips. “I see what you’re trying to do, but I’ve known some of those zees for years.”

  “Zees?”

  “Yeah. Zees. Zombies.”

  “Oh, I see. How did you know them?”

  “I’d see them at Cabal gatherings, or sometimes in the shop after something went wrong and they needed a new limb or two.”

  “Ah. And is it your testimony that Rose Marie Van Dee accompanied these, uh, zees during those instances?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Isn’t it true that you’ve never seen my client with any of those zombies?”

  “Well…”

  “I’ll take that as a no. Does it then stand to reason that your assertion Ms. Van Dee is behind the attack is mere speculation?”

  Terry scoffed and rolled her eyes at the jury. “I’m not sure what planet you’re from, but let me assure you Mama Rose Marie controls the Zombie mafia in this Locus. Everyone knows that.”

  “Let’s talk about this Zombie mafia you keep mentioning.” He turned and paced toward McCoy, then spun back, pointing his finger at Dee. “Do you have any evidence that this Zombie mafia even exists?”

  “Er…”

  “Or that my client was a part of it?”

  “I—”

  “Or that you are a part of it?”

  Dee drew herself up and opened her mouth.

  “Isn’t it true you made the whole thing up to get out of trouble? Didn’t you name my client only because the police gave you her name?”

  “Your Honor!” McCoy leaped to his feet. “He’s badgering the witness. If he’s going to ask a question, she should have a chance to answer it.”

  “I’m afraid I agree with the prosecutor, Mr. Leibman. Objection sustained. Clerk, strike the last five questions from defense counsel. The jury will disregard the exchange.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” said Sam, sinking into his seat.

  Leibman dropped his chin to his chest, and when he lifted his face, he was smiling. “Thank you, Your Honor. If I may rephrase?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I believe we can get to the bottom of this with a single question. Ms. Terry, do you personally have a single shred of evidence that the Zombie mafia exists? A paycheck stub? A tax form? Business cards? Anything?”

  Dee rolled her eyes. “It’s a secret occult cabal, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. The infamous secret organization. Don’t you think it’s convenient that you don’t have to prove this organization even exists to land a sweetheart deal from the Locus Magister’s office?” He waved his hand. “Never mind. The answer is self-evident.”

  Shaking her head, Dee shrugged her shoulders.

  “Who helped you fabricate the business records previously entered into evidence? Was it someone in Mr. McCoy’s office? Ms. Carmichael, perhaps?”

  Angie chuckled and rolled her eyes for the jury, and Van Dee hissed at her like a cat in heat.

  “I didn’t fabricate those records. I fabricated the ones she shows the police and tax man.”

  “Ah, so you admit to fabricating records?”

  “Sure, I cooked her books. That’s what she wanted.”

  Leibman smiled and nodded, then gave a meaningful look to the members of the jury. “And do you have a written record of my client’s instructions to do so?”

  Dee scoffed. “That’s not how this works, Leibman. You, above all, should know that.”

  Paul’s face drained of color. He snapped around and strode to his seat. “No more questions.”

  Sam looked at him in open suspicion, then turned his gaze on Dee Terry, but she was staring daggers at Rose Marie Van Dee.

  “Mr. McCoy?” asked Grimhildr. “Would you care to redirect?”

  “Not at this time, Your Honor, but I’d like to reserve the right to recall this witness pending developments.”

  “Very well.” The judge looked at the clock on the wall and took up her gavel. “Let’s adjourn for lunch.”

  13

  The rest of the day passed without surprises. Sam elicited the same information from Jack Barnett as he had from Dee Terry, and Leibman made the same allegations and implications. Everyone, including Judge Gyuki, seemed bored with the whole thing, and Sam couldn’t blame them. Grimhildr adjourned the court, stifling a yawn.

  “It’s time to pass Terry and Barnett off to the Covenancy Marshals,” Angie said. “Unless you want Dee in the witness room for easy recall?”

  Sam shook his head. “No, send them on. I may recall her, but I hope I don’t have to. Let the Covenancy babysit them until I know.”

  “Right. In that case, I’m off with Oriscoe and Nogan to do the handoff.” She treated him to a crooked smile. “Don’t look so glum, Sam. Leibman can posture all he wants, but everyone knows the Zombie mafia is real.”

  “It’s not that,” Sam said with a frown.

  “What, then?”

  “‘That’s not how it works, Leibman. You, above all, should know that.’ That’s what Terry said.”

  “Yes, and then Leibman almost ran back to the defense table.”

  “Like a dog with his tail between his legs.”

  Angie cocked her head to the side, her long, sable hair cascading off her shoulder. “You don’t think…”

  “I hope not.”

  “Should I look into it?�
�

  Sam shook his head, his eyes far away. “Let me talk to him first.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sam.”

  “It probably isn’t, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

  “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me, too, Angie. Me, too.”

  14

  Leery led Dru, Dee, Jack, and Angie down the stairs to the Pearl Street side entrance. He’d set the meeting with the Marshal Service for five, right after court let out, and he already had the zombies’ gear in hand. “Well, I haven’t hated spending so much time with you two,” he said as he pushed out into the cold afternoon air.

  “Likewise, smartass,” said Jack.

  “One of you Oriscoe?” asked a tall ebony-skinned man in a dark suit.

  “God, I hope not,” said Leery. “I hear that guy’s a nutcase.”

  Shaking her head, Dru hooked her thumb at him. “That’s him. I’m Dru Nogan, and this is our Assistant Locus Magister, Angie Carmichael.”

  “Then these two must be our charges?” he asked, his face grim and cold.

  “Dee Terry and Jack Barnett,” said Jack.

  The black man shook his head. “No longer. Once we’re underway, my partner will brief you on your temporary identities.”

  A short fireplug of a man stepped toward the rear of their car and opened the door. “We’re right here,” he said in a voice that sounded like a big rig grinding into first gear. “Hope you have everything. You won’t be coming back.”

  “Yeah, about that,” said Leery. “Terry may be recalled, but we’ll give you plenty of notice.”

  The squat man turned a dead-eyed stare on Oriscoe. “Do that.”

  “Well, it’s been nice knowing you, Dee. Again.”

  “Right. Get stuffed, Oriscoe.”

  “That’s the innocent girl I remember.”

  Dee and Jack slid into the back of the black Lincoln, and the short man walked around to the other side and opened his door.

  “Say, we never did get your names,” said Leery.

  “No, you didn’t,” said the tall black man. He turned and climbed into the driver’s seat. When his partner got in, he cranked up the engine and backed away.

  “Nice fella, that guy,” said Leery.

  “Must have been a postman before joining the Marshals,” said Angie. “Bet he hates dogs.”

  “Very funny,” said Leery. “So, where are you parked, counselor?”

  “I’m not. I shared a cab with Sam, but he’s got something to do.”

  Leery looked up and down the sidewalk. “Planning on walking back?”

  “On a nice day like this? Walking nine miles in these heels would be hell, anyway.” She flapped a hand at the gray, overcast sky. “I wouldn’t say no to ride in a cop car.”

  “We’re this way,” said Leery gesturing away from Centre street.

  “Play your cards right, and I’ll buy you a cup of joe, Leery.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  15

  They came out of the Starbucks down the block from the building that the LM’s office shared with the Manhattan District Attorney, Angie holding a short coffee with the familiar green logo on the side in each hand. She passed one of the small cups to Dru and grinned at Leery, who held a trenta in each hand. Angie gestured at him with her cup. “Where do you put it all?”

  “Everywhere I go, the same question. A guy’s gotta have some secrets, right?”

  Angie grinned and glanced at Dru. “Seven sugars? I guess you never developed the taste for it?”

  “I like it sweet.” Dru sniffed and looked away.

  “Well, I better get back,” said Angie. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Anytime, Carmichael,” said Leery. He turned the other way, toward where he’d double-parked their car. “Come on, Dru. Don’t get all mushy.” He started up the block, taking a gulp from each cup.

  “Something’s bothering me, Leery.”

  “Yeah? What’s that, Dru?”

  “Those Marshals.”

  “Spit it out, Nogan. I’m not a mind-reader, you know.”

  “Something felt…” She shook her head. “They didn’t act right.”

  “Eh. Those Covenancy pricks sometimes get a stick up their—”

  “No, it’s more than that. More than ego. They never gave us their names.”

  “Nope.”

  “And that car…”

  “What? It was a little flashy, I’ll grant you, but they are Covenancy pricks.”

  “I don’t think Lincolns are used by any service, Leery. It’s too expensive for—” A scream from behind them interrupted her, and they both spun around.

  Halfway down the block on 125th Street, Angie darted out into the street, accompanied by the screech of tires. Her hat was gone, and one of her sleeves was torn at the shoulder.

  “Angie,” Dru murmured. Fingers dancing in the air, she started up the street at a run.

  Leery tossed his coffees away and burst from his clothes with a sigh that turned into a snarl as he let his darker half out to play. He howled and charged down the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the mundanes who shrank away in terror.

  Dru glanced his way and quickly sketched an illusion with her free hand, uttered a sharp word, and threw it at him. Angie stopped on the double yellow lines and turned to face the way she’d come. Then, she, too, began a spell. Leery poured on the speed, ignoring the traffic, pelting between cars where he could, and over them when he couldn’t.

  A zombie horde poured from the parking garage near Angie, and she backed into the other lane, ignoring the cars and yelling drivers, still invoking her spell. She’d tossed her coffee and briefcase away and reached one hand toward the sky, pointing at the horde with the other.

  Dru finished her rune set and barked her power word, then flung it down the street, its power crackling and setting Leery’s fur on end as it raced past. Car alarms and horns marked its passage.

  Behind Angie, a bugge and a long-legged, spindly-armed creature stepped out of the alley. The vittra had a long, hooked nose and what appeared to be bark the color of fall leaves for skin. Unaware, Angie backed straight toward them, trying to keep space between her and the zombies.

  “Angie!” Dru cried, pointing at the unseelies, but Angie neither saw nor heard.

  Leery heard her though, and he leaped atop the car next to him, then used the cars as stepping-stones to cross the river of traffic. He howled as he ran, leaping like a ballet dancer from car to car, his yellow eyes blazing at the unseelie assassins.

  The vittra darted a glance at Leery and recoiled a step, but the bugge withdrew a huge nickel-plated pistol and leveled it at Angie’s back.

  Leery whined at Angie, but her attention was glued to the zombie horde that charged out from the parking garage and spilled into the street. With a snarl, he hurled himself through the air at the bugge, becoming a snarling fur-covered missile with flashing teeth and claws. The ugly creature glanced at him at last, eyes widening, but settled into a Weaver stance and returned his attention to Angie’s back. Leery crashed into him, hooking his arm around the bugge’s throat and whipping the unseelie around in a staggering semicircle with his momentum.

  The report of the giant pistol crashed in Leery’s ears, and he whined at the pain. The bugge thrashed and kicked, trying to regain his feet, and Leery went after his gun arm, sinking his claws into the creature’s lean, lanky bicep.

  Angie threw a glance over her shoulder, and the zombie horde screamed in unison, charging off the sidewalk and through the gaps in the traffic at her. But she jerked her skyward hand toward the horde, and power crackled from the heavens, blue-white bolts of electricity raining down on them, flinging undead bodies in every direction. Carmichael snapped her attention to the remaining zombies and began working another spell.

  The bugge lost his grip on the pistol and turned on Leery, snarling and showing a mouthful of short, pointed teeth. Oriscoe peeled his lips back in a werewo
lf grin, showing every one of his own fangs, and growled deep in his chest. He kicked at the bugge’s knee and wrinkled his nose at the green-wood snapping sound of the bugge’s leg breaking.

  He released the bugge’s bicep as the creature fell into a screaming heap on the sidewalk, dragging Leery down with him. Something brown skittered past them and darted into the maze of cars. Oriscoe leaped to his feet, kicking the nickel-plated revolver into the storm drain as he did so. He threw back his head and howled a warning, then leaped to the roof of the nearest car, scanning the warren of spaces between the cars stalled in the traffic on 125th Street.

  Dru trotted up the sidewalk on the same side as the zombie horde, drawing runes in the air and chanting in the Verba Patiendi. Angie had her eyes squeezed shut in concentration, one hand throwing gestures that looked like gang signs at the zombies, her other hand flung above her head, clawing at the swirl of dark clouds high above her head.

  Leery shifted his gaze from place to place, scanning for anything brown and spindly for a moment, then charged toward Angie, stopping on the roof of the Yellow Cab to her left. He spun and tried to watch her back.

  Angie shrieked a string of power words and gouts of vermillion flame with an eighteen-inch girth leaped skyward. Zombies close to the pillars of flame smoldered and smoked, and the odor of grilling meat filled the air. She glanced up at Leery and flashed him a smile that was one part victorious and two parts enraged. He nodded at her, and she turned back to the fight.

  Dru stopped twenty yards from the zombies and hurled a spell into the back of them. It hit them like an invisible bulldozer, flinging broken bodies to the left and right with a sickening, dry-tinder crunch. She started another rune set, sketching in the air with a quick but sure hand.

  Leery turned his attention back to the sea of automobiles, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting scent of all that exhaust. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed something low to the ground streak from one car to the next, and he snapped his head in that direction, muscles tensed for another leaping tackle.

  The three remaining zombies turned and ran up the street, away from Dru, and away from Angie’s fire and lightning. Leery ignored them.

  A low moaning—like the sound of building gale winds—started somewhere in the sea of cars, and Leery’s lupine ears twitched toward the sound. A blast of cold air washed over him, ruffling his fur and sending a shiver racing down his spine. He put his nose in the air and sniffed, trying to make sense of the scents on that evil wind, despite the interference of the exhaust fumes.