by K. J. Emrick
What he wouldn’t be able to tell me is where the Demons’ leader is right now. It could take a few hours to find him using the traditional methods and I’m in kind of a hurry. I need to do this before Ulva sends some of her furry werewolf buddies after the guy.
Thankfully, I’ve got a faster way.
“Take me,” I tell Harry, “to the leader of the Northside Demons, wherever he is, right now.”
With a wide grin, he lifts his fingers, and the sound of the snap is like thunder.
Chapter Nine
It’s a weird sensation to have your car moved from one place to another in the blink of an eye. One minute the road ahead is straight and narrow, lined with trees and sidewalks, light traffic all around me.
The next, you’re in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, a black pickup truck in front of you and a car to each side.
I shove my foot down on the brake hard enough to touch floorboard…until my mind catches up with the change in my momentum. I’m already stopped. The engine is off. The cars next to me are parked. I’m parked. Nobody’s going to run into anyone. I was in motion two seconds ago. Now I’m sitting still.
Breathing heavily, I yank the keys out of the ignition and twist myself sideways to look up at Harry. “You could have given me some warning.”
“My apologies. Perhaps something more like…” Grinning like a fool, he spreads his hands wide. “Ta-da!”
Man, it’s hard to stay mad at a guy making goofy magic-trick references. “Fine. That was a neat trick, I guess. Good job. So why are we at a Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“You asked me to bring you to where the leader of the Northside Demons is at this very moment.” Holding his hand out, palm up, he gestures again toward the small square donut shop on the corner. “Ta-da.”
He says it with less drama this time, but I take his point. “The guy’s in there?”
“His name is Jorge de Blanco, and yes he is in there.”
Then I was right. No way Chris and the police could have found de Blanco relaxing away the afternoon in a place like this. “Why’s he in a Dunkin’ Donuts, exactly?”
Harry gives me a shrug. “He likes their new cinnamon sugar pumpkin latte.”
“Well, sure. I mean, who doesn’t?”
“Their triple chocolate chunk cookies are very good as well, I hear.”
With a sigh, I lean back into my seat. “I was being sarcastic, Harry.”
“You were being sarcastic about cookies?”
“What? No! I like cookies as much as the next girl.”
“But you said…”
“I was being sarcastic,” I explain patiently, “about the pumpkin latte. I mean, seriously. When did we start putting pumpkin flavoring into everything we eat? Pumpkin and cinnamon, pumpkin and cinnamon. I mean, really. Nobody eats real pumpkins, they just carve them up for Halloween and throw all the inside stuff away. Why do we want something in our coffee that we don’t want to eat in real life?”
Harry drums his fingers on the dash. “I think maybe I would like to try this pumpkin drink.”
Of course he would. Harry’s all about trying new experiences in the world of human beings, more so now that he’s got a longer leash on life. “I tell you what. I’ll bring you one when I’m done. Extra large. You said the guy’s name is Jorge de Blanco? How did you know?”
“Well,” he says drily, “I never used to get out of the house much, so I would read. Ha! I have done the sarcasm as well!”
He’s so proud of himself that I don’t have the heart to tell him that wasn’t exactly sarcasm. It was funny, though, I’ll give him that. “All right, all right. I’ll pat you on the back later. So. Is this de Blanco guy alone?”
Harry tugs at his ear with a frown. “I can make him be alone, if you like. You still have two wishes left for this story.”
“Case. This is a case, not a story. And let’s leave those last two wishes for something I really need. I can handle talking to a gangster in a Dunkin’ Donuts even if he’s got a couple of friends with him. In fact, having a lot of people inside should keep things nice and civil. He’s not going to be stupid enough to try hurting me in front of witnesses.”
“Yes. Because gang members are known for not being stupid.”
Wow. He really is getting the hang of sarcasm. “You make a good point. That’s why I’m bringing my secret weapon with me.”
“Your pistol?”
“I’ll have that with me, sure, but I was talking about you.”
His smile is so wide it puts dimples in his cheeks. “I am pleased to be at your side.”
“Not as pleased as I am. Okay. Back into your tassel.”
I pat my hip where the braided piece of rope fringe hangs off my belt. With a wink and an eager expression, he poofs himself away. A rush of air fills the space where he was sitting.
Under my hand I feel the tassel wiggle as Harry settles in. “Don’t get frisky down there,” I tell him, certain that he can hear me. “I’m ticklish there.”
The tassel twists again, and I’m certain he did it on purpose.
It isn’t until I’m inside the door of the donut shop that I remember I didn’t ask Harry what Jorge de Blanco looks like. He’s Hispanic obviously, with a name like that, but that’s not much of a description. I’m not about to walk up to everybody who speaks Spanish and ask them if they happen to be a gang leader. Pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well.
Turns out I don’t have any trouble finding him. Over in the corner table there’s a guy with a shaved head and the black silhouette of a pitchfork-wielding devil tattooed on the side of his neck—a demon. Gold chains around his neck. Deep brown skin and a narrow face. The black t-shirt under his jean jacket looks about two sizes too small against those pectorals.
Behind a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses, he doesn’t seem to be looking at anything but if you look closely, you can see the way the muscles in his face twitch. He’s paying attention to everything, and everyone.
On either side of him at the table sit two other dudes who could be twins. Same caramel skin. Same shaggy brown hair. Same ears that are too big for their heads. They’re even wearing the same shirts buttoned up all the way to their necks and black jeans. Where the bald guy is watching everyone on the sly, these guys are glaring at anyone who gets too close. The nearest tables are empty because nobody wants to get anywhere near those three.
Yup. I’d say I’ve found my guy.
Before going to the table, I go up to the counter and place an order, keeping one eye on that corner table to make sure they don’t leave before I get my two medium mochas.
Smiling, I bring them over to the table and set them down in front of the twins. “Your guards looked thirsty,” I tell the bald guy. “I hope you don’t mind. I noticed you were the only one with a drink, so I thought I’d start with a peace offering. You’re Jorge de Blanco, aren’t you? We need to talk.”
De Blanco sits where he is, hands wrapped around his own drink in its paper cup. Dunkin’ stopped using styrofoam. Better for the environment. I can smell the pumpkin spice in his latte from here. It’s a long moment of silence before de Blanco moves just his finger, flicking out to point at me.
In response the twins both stand half out of their chairs, matching snarls on their faces.
“Get out of here, chica,” the one tells me.
“We don’t want no Girl Scout cookies, puta,” the other one says, in an identical voice.
I speak Spanish just fine, and I’m not very happy with what they just called me. “My name isn’t puta, and it’s not chica, either. It’s Sidney.”
“Sidney?” the one on the left laughs.
“Ain’t that a boy’s name?” asks the one on the right.
Ha ha. That line’s even funnier the millionth time I’ve heard it. “Listen, boys, I just need a minute with your boss. It’s about a necklace. It belongs to a very influential family living in your area, and someone stole it. Ring any bells?”
“Ah, so because we�
��re Hispanic and proud,” the one begins.
“You think we’re all thieves,” the other one ends.
“No,” I correct him. “I think you’re thieves because you’re in a gang whose main source of income is stealing from other people. Now, can you two stay quiet for just a minute so me and your boss can have a chat? I mean, I bought you both a drink. The least you can do is let me ask a few questions.”
The two of them exchange a look, and without saying a word they reach down for their steaming hot cups of mocha and snap the lids off. Their hands cock back and in three seconds, I can see that I’m going to be wearing the contents of both cups.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I tell them flatly. My voice is cold as stone, and it’s enough to make them freeze in place. “I’ll break both of your wrists before you move those cups another inch.”
I mean it, and they can see that I mean it, and even though they’re both tough street gang thugs they’re suddenly not sure what to do about the crazy chica puta standing at their table. When I’m sure they aren’t going to do something stupid that will force me to draw my gun or unleash Harry from his tassel, I look de Blanco straight in his sunglasses.
“This won’t take long. I promise. I just need to know about the necklace—”
“We don’t have it,” he says, speaking for the first time. His voice is surprisingly high-pitched for a guy who is the leader of one of the toughest gangs in Detroit. “That answers your questions. Now go.”
“Uh, actually no.” I stand my ground, facing him down. “That doesn’t answer my questions at all. You and I both know what necklace we’re talking about and where it was stolen from. I’m trying to avoid police involvement. I can do that but you’re going to have to work with me and answer—”
I stop, because my future-sense saw him slamming down his cup, pumpkin-flavored coffee drink going everywhere, and then I see him reaching for a gun under his shirt. I have a gun, too, but his is bigger and that’s not the point anyway.
I’m sure he’s only going to use it to scare me, but once you pull a gun there’s always a chance of it going off. On purpose or by accident, it doesn’t matter. One slip of your finger and the trigger snaps back and a lethal projectile goes shooting in a straight line at high velocity, until it hits something.
Something, or someone.
There’s a lot of people in here, people who I’m not going to put in danger just because de Blanco and his buddies want to act all macho. No sense making this into a scene. Not here. Not now.
Harry twists in his tassel, eager to come out and help me. I reach down and hold the short bit of rope tightly, hoping he gets the message. Not now.
Taking a step back I put my hands up, showing that I’m not going to pose a threat. “Okay,” I say, as de Blanco eases his hand away from his waist and the gun he has concealed there. “It looks like I was wrong. You guys didn’t have anything to do with the stolen necklace I mentioned, just like you said. So I’m just going to leave, and you guys can just enjoy those drinks.”
De Blanco is watching me with an expression hidden behind his sunglasses. When he goes back to drinking his pumpkiny cinnamony coffee thing, his twin thugs relax into their seats. When I turn my back on them, I can still hear them whispering in Spanish and making comments that make my ears burn. I keep a close watch with my future-sense, but they don’t try anything. It’s just the insults. Just the hateful, hurtful insults. Nobody should talk about a woman the way they are. This sort of behavior shouldn’t be tolerated. Someone needs to teach those guys some manners.
I have a strong suspicion that someone’s going to be me.
Back in Roxy, I slam the door closed. I take a breath.
Then I slam my hands against the steering wheel just as hard as I possibly can, and again, and again, until the sides of my hands throb.
Harry stops me. He popped back into the passenger seat at some point and now his huge hands are wrapped gently but firmly around my wrists, pulling my hands to his chest, keeping me from beating out my frustrations on my poor car. “Shh,” he says to me. “Shh, my lady. I am here. I am here with you.”
“I’m fine, Harry, I’m just angry. That’s all.”
“Because of those three men? They are nothing. You should have let me out when they began threatening you or made a wish to put them in their place. I could have sealed their mouths and turned their tongues to molten lead. I could have—”
“You don’t get it,” I tell him, relaxing into his embrace, spreading my fingers against his chest. “Those guys, they’re just like dozens of other guys I’ve known through my life. Back in high school, in the military, or…or everywhere. There’s always guys like that. I hate it. I hate them. But, there’s only one way to deal with it. They won’t learn by talking to them.” Although, I can’t say I don’t like the idea of Harry exacting some sort of punishment upon them. “You have to stand right in their face and not back down and take whatever they think they’re dishing out. Take it, and not let it bother you.”
His eyes move to the steering wheel, maybe looking for dents from my beating fists. “It would appear that it has bothered you, if just a little.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because you don’t know what it’s like to be a woman and have punks say…things like that to you.” I pull my hands back from him, and he reluctantly lets them slide through his fingertips. “It’s just words, but they sting. And guys like that know it.”
The corners of his mouth turn down. He comes from a time when men defended a woman’s honor, and the women were docile and needy and reliant on the man’s strength. That was his world. This is mine, and a woman can do what she needs to do for herself in this world—has to do it for herself.
“And you think,” he says to me, “that the only way to beat them is to let them see you are unaffected by their taunting?”
“Yes, I do. They only do it because they get enjoyment out of it. Take the enjoyment away and there’s no reason for them to keep it up.”
“There are other ways to take away their enjoyment.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“By beating them soundly about the head and shoulders until they stop laughing. I could have helped you, if you’d let me.”
“But that’s the thing, Harry. If I can’t do it myself, then I’ll never get it to stop. Women need to stand up for themselves. Those guys will get what’s coming to them. They’ll learn that you can’t just insult a woman and then laugh it off. Their day will come. In the meantime, water off a duck’s back.”
“I think…I may understand.” His eyes say differently, but I let it go. “So when will their day come?”
I shift myself to look out through the windshield again at the Dunkin’ Donuts, one foot tucked up on the seat. “Probably as soon as they finish those stupid flavored drinks. We’re going to follow them to someplace that has fewer bystanders and then they’ll see how much of a puta I can really be.”
“Ha! Now that is the Sidney Stone I know so well. Smart, and pretty,” he adds, warmth coloring his words. “No one will ever decide who you are. No one but you.”
His hand is on mine again, although I don’t remember him reaching for me. My gaze is locked with his. The space between us seems…closer somehow. When he leans in…
My phone rings, and it startles me more than it does Harry. I’d been so lost in the warm comfort of the moment, overwhelmed by the knowledge that I had no idea what was going to happen next, that I’d lost track of my future-sense. Harry does that to me, sometimes. Gets me all turned around. I like being with him. I like the way our friendship makes me feel and moments like this are, um, nice. This time there was something more than friendship I was feeling and I wish I could figure out—
The ringtone again, and I smile as Harry rolls his eyes. Whatever he was going to say or do a moment ago is over now. I swipe the answer button on the phone screen and put it up to my ear.
“Hey Chris,” I say, hearing his voice before he speaks.
“Hey. How’d you know it was me?” he asks.
“Um. Caller ID.” Which is only half true. The number was the police station but that didn’t necessarily mean it was Chris. I knew it was him because I heard his ‘hello’ before he had the chance to say it. I know I’m going to have to tell him about this part of me at some point but for now a little white lie is probably for the best.
“Okay. Well, hey, I’ve got the information you needed. Um. You’re not going to like it. Do you have a minute? Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, you’re not interrupting anything.” Next to me, Harry shifts. His head turns to the side and he stares out the window with his arms crossed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was sulking. “It’s Chris, Harry. I asked him to find something out for me.”
“And I’m delivering,” Chris says in my ear. “So. I looked into one Mister Samuel Kato who has been living at that apartment where you guys jumped out the window. How are you feeling, by the way?”
It figures he’d be worried about me. “My legs are still a little sore. It’s okay, Chris. I’m tough.”
“Yes, she is,” Harry comments.
I bump my shoulder against his. “Thanks, big guy.”
“Harry’s there with you?” Chris asks me. “You should let him know about this, too.”
“Okay, hold on.” Putting the phone on speaker, I lay it on the dash. “You’ve got both of us now. Did you find anything on Kato?”
Absolutely nothing.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Harry looks up at me. I look over at him. What did that mean?
“You still there?” Chris asks.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just not sure I understood you. Nothing? You found nothing on Kato? Like, nothing?”
The guy doesn’t exist…
“The guy doesn’t exist, Sid. He’s listed as the registered occupant of that apartment by the landlord, but that’s about all there is to Samuel Kato. No bank account. No driver’s license. No vehicles registered to him. No previous addresses. Just nothing. I tell you what, the guy’s a freaking ghost.”
