Desolate Mantle (Street Games Book 2)

by L. K. Hill

  Kyra had opened her mouth to say she didn’t want anything in return. She clamped it shut again. “Help me? How?”

  “Give me your brother’s name. I’ll make some inquiries. You do what you can to find this killer. We will help one another.”

  Kyra told herself to breathe. What if Boss could find Manny for her? Could it be that simple? Of course not. Nothing about Abstreuse was ever simple. And she didn’t like the idea of giving Manny’s name to a mobster. But could she pass up this opportunity?

  “If,” she ventured. “If I do find more information on the killer, how will I contact you?”

  Boss nodded at Jerome, who walked behind the desk and opened a drawer. From it he pulled what looked like a dark blue wristband. Jerome came back around the desk and held it out to her. She took it gingerly. It did indeed seem to be a rubber wristband. Directly in the center marched a line of tiny, white, closely-spaced circles. From any distance away, it would look like a thin white line.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “We have plenty of people who walk the Mire regularly. I myself go there often, even when not tailing you. If you have information you need to give us, wear this band around your upper left arm, over your clothes if need be. Push it all the way up into your armpit. It may take a few days, but people who know will recognize it and relay the message that you need to talk to us. The right people will find you to collect your information.”

  Kyra watched him warily. “So it won’t be you? Or anyone I recognize?”

  Jerome shook his head.

  “How will I know it’s a messenger from you and not an imposter?”

  “They will have an armband like this one, only opposite in color. It will be white with a blue line of dots. And it will be worn around the left ankle. Because white stands out in the Mire, they often cover it with their pant legs. You may ask to see it. They won’t be offended.”

  “In fact,” Boss said. “They should and will take offense if you don’t ask to see it. Identification is a necessary process, and we can’t have anyone getting sloppy. If they don’t have the ankle band, you do not speak to them about what you’ve found. If they don’t have it and claim to be an emissary from me, you shoot them between the eyes. Do you understand?”

  Kyra willed her heart to slide back down into her chest. She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Boss said. “Then our business is concluded.”

  “You must be careful,” Jerome said, addressing Kyra. “Come to us with information. Don’t go chasing this person into the darkness again.”

  Boss sat behind his desk once again. When Jerome addressed Kyra, he froze, lifting his eyes to stare at his underboss. His face was tranquil, but Kyra could swear she detected a question in his eyes.

  “I can take care of myself,” she told Jerome.

  “There are other things, besides Hushes, in those dark places,” he said. “If you find yourself too close to the dark again, you may not be so lucky.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” she said curtly.

  Jerome pressed his lips together, his eyes glinting with annoyance, but said no more.

  Boss glanced between them several more times before speaking. “My men will blindfold you once more and take you back to where they picked you up. Unless of course you’d like a ride to your hotel. You do seem to be limping.”

  Kyra froze midway to her feet. Nothing. Those eyes of his missed absolutely nothing. If she couldn’t hide anything from him, the best she could do was let him know he didn’t intimidate her, despite the fact that he did. “I would appreciate a ride to my hotel. Thank you.”

  He inclined his head. The blindfold hid him from her eyes. Two of the guards took her firmly by the arms again and led her from the room. They turned sideways to get through the door again, and as they did, Boss’s voice reached her ears.

  “I think we’re done with the Hush, now. You may dispose of him.”

  The gunshot that rang through building was so loud, Kyra stumbled, feeling it zing through her spine. Her guards held her up easily and they moved forward, as though the sound was a figment of Kyra’s imagination.

  In darkness, she was escorted back around twists and turns, through the bakery smell, and into a vehicle. The car hummed beneath her.

  “You may re-apply your wig,” a deep, now-familiar voice said from the front seat. Kyra obeyed, doing the best she could around the blindfold. It wasn’t on right or attached well, but if they just dropped her at her hotel, it would do.

  The second car trip felt much shorter than the first. During it, she replayed the interview in her head, trying to fix details so she wouldn’t forget them. She mentally framed the information as though explaining it to someone else. That someone was Gabe Nichols. She imagined calling him, or going to his house, and telling him everything. Of course, it was impossible. She’d severed her link to him. And since she’d told Boss she had no help from the cops, it was best to keep it that way.

  Besides, Gabe would inevitably point out how many more dangers existed that she hadn’t known about before. More ammunition for his argument against her search. Or worse, maybe he’d want her to inform to the cops on the mob. The idea turned her insides to jelly.

  Eventually the car stopped and they helped her from it. When she felt pavement beneath her feet and heard the car door shut behind her, warm breath fell onto her face and strong fingers wrapped around her elbow. The man holding her arm wasn’t rough, but his grip was firm. When the blindfold came off, she gazed up into the face of Jerome Dellaire. He hadn’t been in the car during the trip to see his boss—she was sure of it—but for some reason he’d accompanied her on the return trip.

  “Do you know where you are?” His English was impeccable. He had the air of someone who held himself with absolute perfection. Something of an enigma, then. Not the sort of man she’d expect to find doing surveillance in the Slip Mire.

  Kyra glanced around and immediately recognized the alley. She nodded. “About a block from my hotel.”

  “My men have seen you sneak in the back when you’re in your street guise,” he glanced up at her ominously perched wig. “I didn’t believe you would want to be seen being dropped off in the parking lot.”

  Kyra nodded, watching Dellaire carefully. She’d need every detail she could gather about him before approaching Josie again. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t be appreciative,” he said sharply, his dark eyes flashing. “We’ll be watching you.”

  He turned toward the car, and she decided to be bold. The worst he could do was refuse to answer her questions. “You’re in the Mire a lot, aren’t you?”

  With a hand on the door handle of the SUV, Dellaire turned to regard her suspiciously. “As much as I need to be.”

  “I thought your name was Nickel. Is it a lie? Or an alias?”

  He studied her for several seconds before answering, his gaze calculating. She wondered what conclusions he drew from what he saw. “The latter.”

  Kyra arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I have my reasons. You aren’t the only one who needs more than one face to survive.”

  A strange understanding pass between them, and cold fear stole into Kyra’s chest. This was not the sort of man she wanted to have any kind of connection to. “May I ask what it means?”

  “I pay well for information and loyalty, but the second you cross me, your life isn’t worth as much as my name implies.”

  Kyra barely kept from swallowing. Of course she hadn’t needed the explanation to know he was formidable. Dellaire could surely turn Josie inside-out. He could probably do it three times and convince Josie he hadn’t. “Good to know,” she said, proud her voice didn’t shake.

  Dellaire’s frown deepened and he studied her with eyes so dark as to look black in the dimness. Perceptive eyes, those. And terrifyingly intelligent. He nodded to his men and they all got into the car without question. When all the doors were closed, he turned
back to Kyra. Up close, she took in the details of his face. Small, deep-set eyes—she couldn’t tell what color in the darkness—a scar on his chin, and pock marks on his cheeks. Dellaire lowered his voice. “Can I give you some advice, Chameleon?”

  Kyra sighed, not sure she liked the pet name the mobsters had chosen for her. “Okay.”

  “Stay away from the Carmichael District.”

  It took her a minute to register the location. She frowned and took a step forward. “What do you know of that?”

  “Very little, except that you’ve been there often in past weeks, and it’s not the kind of thing you’ll want to be involved in.” He turned and opened the car door.

  “Is it a mob operation?”

  He turned, but didn’t shut the door. “No,” Dellaire said firmly. “The Sons of Ares are running it. I don’t know the details. I only know the kinds of numbers that come across my desk. Chances are it isn’t what you think. Stay away. It will only hinder you.” He turned toward the car again.

  “My brother might be in that warehouse,” Kyra called out, unable to keep the desperation from her voice, and not sure why she was yelling it at the back of this man’s head.

  He paused again, turning slowly. “If your brother is in there, you should leave this city. It means he is already beyond your reach.” A pause and his voice dropped so low she could barely hear it. “Far beyond.” He stared at her for a moment. “You are in over your head, Chamaeleon.”

  Kyra swallowed. “So be it.”

  He gazed at her another moment before nodding. He turned to climb into the SUV.

  “Why did you save me, Dellaire? That night? From the Prowler.”

  He turned. “I told you it wasn’t about you. The rules—”

  “I don’t buy Boss’s bullshit about the rules,” Kyra snapped. “You could have left me for him and pounced on him later. It would have been easier to sneak up on him. Easier to capture him and take him to Boss. You kept him from harming me.”

  Dellaire took three steps toward her, standing so close she had to crane her neck back to look him in the eye. “Don’t go reading into that, Chamaeleon. I am a monster. Even monsters act without thinking sometimes.”

  He spun and climbed into the SUV. The car screeched forward, nearly running over her toes. They paused only briefly at the intersection three hundred yards away, before disappearing around a corner.

  Kyra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It felt like she’d held it ever since they’d picked her up. She put her hand out behind her to lean against the wall. Stumbling back a few steps, she leaned against the cold concrete as pain lanced through her injured leg. She slid to the ground, thoughts swirling.

  The mob. Kidnapped by the godfather of Abstreuse. He’d be watching her. The thought didn’t make her heart pound any harder, but somehow it still took her breath away. Her joints felt weak. She pulled her knees into her chest and leaned her forehead against the top of them, running over the entire interview in her head. Should she change what she was doing? Re-think her strategy? After ten minutes, she couldn’t find any reason why she should.

  They’d be watching her. Okay. She’d always have to take that into account. Make sure any tails they put on her didn’t compromise her in any way. She didn’t see it as being a problem. They’d been watching her for months and she hadn’t known it. Obviously they could go unseen when they wanted to. It was another angle to keep in mind. With every decision, she’d have to consider not only what it might do to her relationship with the Sons of Ares, but also whether it might potentially piss off the mob. Another danger, another ball to juggle.

  Images of the man in the corner, covered in blood, flashed through her mind. She shuddered. A gritty reality that could barely be stomached, and certainly not ignored. She’d probably dream about it for a while. She pushed the image away.

  Kyra leaned her head back until it rested against the cold stone, shivering in earnest. The weight of her own naiveté settled on her. Crushing. At the beginning, when she’d first made plans to come to Abstreuse, she’d known the risks. That throwing in her lot with a remorseless, homicidal gang might mean her death. At the very least, if she found Manny and brought him out, she’d be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Yet, she’d always been confident she could pull it off. Even if the gang always searched for her thereafter, they had no reason to connect Supra to her real identity. As long as she stayed cautious, gave them no reason to suspect who she really was…

  Now there was the mob, who controlled a large part of the gang, and they knew exactly who she was. And where she was. That fact, more than anything else, made her shiver, sitting there in the darkness. Even if Boss couldn’t care less, it would be relatively simple for anyone who wanted to know more about her find out what Boss knew. Just some minor digging, or a favor.

  For the first time since arriving in Abstreuse, Kyra seriously considered leaving. For five full minutes she considered it. Going back to her hotel, packing up, driving back to her family. Telling them she’d finished her research, and she would now write about life in the Slip Mire. That, and nothing more. The scene in her head was pleasant, easy. A relief.

  But…Manny.

  If she left now, she’d never know what happened to him. Chances were good she’d never see or hear from her brother again. The thought made her chest hurt. Could she truly give up? Abandon him? Relinquish all the work she’d done in the past months to nothing but wasted effort?

  No. No, she couldn’t.

  She twisted to the side, putting her weight on one hip, turning her back to the direction her hotel was in and looking toward the intersection where the SUV had disappeared. She wouldn’t resign herself to not seeing her brother again. If she’d wanted to do that, she wouldn’t have come to Abstreuse in the first place. She’d always known it wouldn’t be easy. Giving up simply wasn’t in her.

  She didn’t have to change her intentions or her strategy, but her expectations. No more unfounded optimism. No more hope that she could go back to normal life when this was done, no matter the outcome. Her search for Manny would ruin her life, one way or the other. Whether because it would cut her physical life short or simply relegate her to hiding for the rest of her days would depend on the outcome, and that she had no way of foreseeing. Either way, nothing would ever be as it was. Not for her.

  She took a deep, painful breath as the full weight of her decision settled on her. She would stay in this dark city and search for her brother. She would enter the gang, try to stave off the mob, and perhaps see Gabe Nichols again.

  She shook off the last thought. No, she wouldn’t see Gabe again. She’d burned that bridge. If her life was to be dismal after leaving Abstreuse, there was no reason to keep up any kind of relationship with Gabe, especially the kind he’d hinted at the night he’d patched her up in his kitchen.

  Better to leave the painful conversation in the hospital as their last interaction. Much better. To remember him as a man she’d once met during her time in the Slip Mire. A good man. A good cop she’d once crossed paths with, who’d tried to help her, but would ultimately be only a brief part of her past. The part that would remain forever clandestine.

  Whether or not she found Manny, her months here in Abstreuse would always remain cloaked in darkness. It was something she’d never be able to tell anyone about, or write about in one of her books. It would only open the door for the enemies she made here to find her, and put her family at risk. It simply couldn’t be. Only she would remember what she’d done here, who she’d met. That she’d existed in this way, in this place.

  She, and Gabe Nichols.

  Even he wouldn’t know everything. She’d told him most of it, but if she didn’t see him again, he’d only be and know a small part. Especially if she still had months to go before finding Manny.

  But she would find him. One way or the other. She’d always been a firm believer that any success was a sum of failures that came before. If her time here
was to be lost and forgotten by everyone but herself and God, she would do everything in her power to ensure success. She had to find Manny, or—she shuddered to think it—his body, or something that would let her sleep at night, knowing she’d done everything humanly possible. Otherwise, her failure here, if she did fail, would consume her.

  Kyra’s eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. She stared at the dirty, pockmarked brick wall across the alley from her, but hardly saw it. Her future stretched out before her, a cold road she would walk alone. And it was her choice.

  It hardly mattered. Kyra’s soul was already plenty battered. She wouldn’t risk damaging it further by turning her back on Manny. She’d taken up this mantle, as Gabe aptly named it, and she would see it through.

  Getting to her feet, she headed deeper into the Slip Mire. Time to go tell Josie what she’d learned of Jerome Dellaire’s identity. He’d let her work for him. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. She would enter the gang, and with it, the most dangerous phase of her search yet.

  She quickened her step, striding aggressively into the darkness, ignoring her throbbing foot. The more headlong approach she took to something she feared, the less chance she would chicken out.

  If she’d had qualms about being harsh with Gabe in the hospital before, finding out about the mob surely reinforced that she’d done the right thing. The only thing that was fair to him.

  Don’t get attached to me, Detective, she thought as stagger-jogged deeper into the Mire. I’ll only shatter your heart. She stalked silently through the darkness, toward Josie’s part of town. The red light of the Mire accompanied her.

  Chapter 22

  “I need to see Josie.”

  The two guards at the mouth of the Josie’s street exchanged glances. These same two were always at this station all night, and they knew well who she was. “Is he expecting you?” The one on the right wore a do-rag over his bald head. His nose looked to have gone twelve rounds with a brick wall.