by L. K. Hill
Kyra shook her head. “He wanted some information from me. He said when I found it, I should come back. He’ll want to see me.”
The guards exchanged looks again. The one on the right who’d spoken nodded at the other, as-yet-silent one. The silent one turned and headed for Josie’s dwelling.
The guard said nothing else, but stared at Kyra as she imagined he would at a bug beneath his boot. She shifted her weight onto her good leg to wait. The bad one throbbed so hard she could feel the pain in her earlobes.
Five full minutes passed before the guard appeared again. When close enough, he nodded to his friend. “Looks like Josie will see you,” the bald guy said. “We’ll have to pat you down.”
“Can I just give you my weapons?”
The guard gave her an amused look, with a slightly sadistic gleam to it. He grabbed her roughly by the arm, spun her around, and kicked her ankles until her feet were planted wide, her arms straight out to the sides. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out when he kicked her bad leg, feeling for all the world like she was modeling the Vitruvian man. After several minutes of being frisked by the first guard, whose irreverent grin made her want to clock him, he held all her weapons and motioned for her to walk ahead of him toward Josie’s place.
A third guard appeared from inside and she followed him into the building. The air smelled smoky, and the pungent scent of pot hung thickly in the air. She breathed shallowly. At the very least she’d probably feel really happy on her way home. Moving from the trashy, unfinished hallway into one of the posh rooms, she found Josie sitting behind his huge, beautiful desk—not unlike the one the Boss had steepled his fingers over—looking like nothing so much as a king on his throne.
His shrewd, jaundiced eyes followed her as she entered the room, and she waited for him to speak. “Well?” he demanded.
Kyra took a slow breath. “You told me to return when I figured out who Jerome Dellaire is.”
Josie raised an eyebrow. “Too bad you didn’t figure it earlier, no?”
She elected not to answer that. Either answer could be used against her.
Nodding to the guard who’d escorted her in, Josie motioned her to a seat on the other side of his desk. Her escort left the room, but armed men with biceps like boulders stood on either side of the door. Another towered at Josie’s back. She took the seat across from him slowly, not making any sudden movements. “Dellaire is the Underboss for the mob, which means he’s the right hand man for the resident Boss. You gave me his real name, but he doesn’t use that in the Mire. He goes by Nickel.”
“And why do you suppose dat is?” Josie rummaged absently in one of the desk’s drawers. He never took his eyes from her face.
“Because he pays well for information and loyalty. When someone crosses him, their lives are no longer worth so much as a nickel.”
Looking unsurprised, Josie pulled out what he’d been rummaging for—a joint, as it turned out—and snatched up a lighter, jamming the roll between his lips. “You found someone who knew him and gave you de information.” His words were more muddled than usual with his lips clamped around the joint. “’Oo was it?”
Kyra had a feeling her answer would surprise him. She forced herself to shrug. “It was him. Dellaire himself.”
Josie had raised his lighter to the far end of his rolled cigarette and clicked it once, though the flame didn’t catch. He froze at her words, turning slowly toward her. Then, tossing the lighter onto the desk so hard it bounced, he yanked the joint from his lips. “I don’t appreciate being lied to,” he growled.
Kyra breathed calmly. “Dellaire is tall and lean, with an afflu—rich-guy quality to him, as though he wants everyone to understand how damn perfect he is. He’s dangerous like a wounded mutt is dangerous. He has dark hair, which he keeps in a long pony tail, fine features, strong jaw, and eyes so dark they sometimes look black.”
Josie’s eyes widened slowly as she spoke. When she finished, he stared at her for ten full seconds. His mouth worked briefly before anything came out of it. “How de hell did you meet Jerome Dellaire? No one gets an appointment with him.”
And by no one, I assume that means you. Kyra let a small smile play over her lips. For the first time since arriving in Abstreuse, she had the upper hand over one of the Sons of Ares. “You asked me to find out who the man was, Josie. Not reveal my sources.”
His eyebrows jumped, his eyes showing equal parts surprise and outrage. “You refuse to answer me, then?”
Kyra shrugged. “It means nothing to me either way. But two can play at this game. I want a job.”
Josie’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and he leaned back in his chair. When he spoke, his eyes darkened, his words tinged with anger. “You really are a plucky little bitch, aren’t you?”
He turned his head to the side and stared at the wall. They sat that way for long minutes. Nothing moved. It wasn’t lost on Kyra that she’d been called a bitch twice in the last two hours. Before coming to Abstreuse, that would have bothered her. It didn’t at all now. Maybe she’d actually become the Mireling she pretended to be.
As the seconds dragged by, she began counting her heartbeats, just for something to focus on. She wasn’t about to be the one to break the silence. Finally, Josie sat forward, clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him.
“Very well. You can have de job. It’ll hardly be any’ting. Grunt work. No’ting more. And understand dis.” He pointed a long, slender index finger at her, and she got the feeling it pointed at the spot directly between her eyes. “I’ll be watching you. Give me a reason to let you go and I will.” His tone left no doubt that the ‘letting go’ would involve her life, not her job, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
Kyra forced another lazy smile. “Agreed. When do I start?”
Josie glared at her. “Come back here in two days’ for your first assignment.”
An hour later she walked through the Slip Mire, keeping to the shadows and dodging random Mirelings as she always did, but she might as well have been floating. Despite her throbbing leg, she hadn’t seen so much success, or felt so good since coming to Abstreuse. It was disconcerting to feel that way, when only a short time before, she’d been in such a dark frame of mind. Josie would make her whole existence here substantially more dangerous. She couldn’t help it. She walked as though on springs.
She had forty-eight hours to kill. She could wander the Mire, checking in with contacts and such as she always did, but it felt superfluous now. The whole point of doing that was to figure out how best to enter the gang. Now that she’d succeeded, her energy would be focused there, looking for Manny, rather than in the more general Mireling population.
Yet, going back to her hotel to sleep or putter around her room didn’t hold a lot of appeal either. There was always her blog, she supposed. Updating it would take all of twenty minutes. More than anything, she wished she had someone to talk to, to tell about her success. That, of course, brought thoughts of Gabe. She pushed them away. Perhaps writing would be her best recourse. It might be the best way to get all of her energy—both glee and fear—onto the page, and she’d feel better.
As she passed the mouth of a particular alley, she glanced into it, then changed direction, deciding to take the long way through the Carmichael district. She still had no answers as to what was happening in the warehouse, and she felt like luck was on her side right now. Besides, as soon as she sat down her leg would probably stiffen up. She’d pay dearly tomorrow for pushing it so hard today, and she wanted to put off the inevitable as long as possible.
Dellaire’s warning about the warehouse flashed in her mind. Such an odd warning. And what had he meant about Manny being beyond her reach? As though anyone in that warehouse would be. She pushed the thought away. She couldn’t think about that now. She truly didn’t care what was going on in there. If Manny was part of it, she was going in to get him. Besides, Manny wouldn’t be a part of anything truly depraved. If the activities in the warehous
e were, then the Manny Jenkins mentioned probably wasn’t her brother. She had to know either way, though. Dellaire couldn’t frighten her into giving up.
As she limped along, the silence pressing in around her dampened her mood. The Carmichael district had more of a creep factor than the rest of Slip Mire because of its emptiness. In other dark, quiet parts of the Mire, sound still wafted over from other streets. Lights could be seen, if only in the distance. And people skulked in the shadows. Not people a passerby would want to gawk too openly at, but at least there was a human presence. Here, only silence reigned, and the loneliness of vacant buildings. A feeling of abandonment. Even stray animals steered clear of these streets. Kyra shivered. A cold, unpleasant wind was picking up.
She approached the warehouse from the same street and direction as she had the first night she’d happened upon it. That night, she’d only stopped because she heard voices. There was no sound now. Falling into a crouch, she peered around the corner anyway, studying the darkness for movement. Her leg felt completely numb now, so it didn’t give her any grief. She hunched there for half an hour or more, shivering against the wind and letting her eyes roam over every part of the warehouse, looking for something new. Something that would tell her what this whole thing was about. As with every other time, the warehouse loomed dark and silent. She could see the tear in the paper covering the windows from inside. It let out a tiny point of light that told her absolutely nothing about the goings-on inside.
She’d gotten inside only one time. Right inside the door was a faux entryway. Particle board shielded the main space of the warehouse from those who came through the door. She’d have to get past the entryway to see anything. The last time, the guards chased her away. She didn’t relish the idea of trying to enter again. At least, not without a solid plan.
A scratching sound reached her ears. It was faint, and coming from the street she peered down, far in the distance. Kyra held her breath and listened. It grew stronger, closer, coming toward the warehouse. When dark, moving silhouettes appeared in the distance, Kyra ducked around the corner and out of sight. Minutes later, the sound of a male voice reached her ears. She caught snatches of it, but each time the wind gusted, the voice floated away from her. “This way…take care of…”
Kyra peered around the corner, moving as little as possible. The same two men she’d observed that first night, who’d chased her into the middle of Gabe’s crime scene, ushered a group of people into the warehouse. It was happening again. Six people, all looking like typical Mirelings—gaunt, strung out, like they had no idea what was going on—were being shown into the building. Just like before. Chances were, like the others, this group wouldn’t come out again.
With a sigh, Kyra moved back around the corner. If only she had some way to fool the guards into taking her—
Kyra clapped a hand silently to her forehead. Of course! The answer had been right in front of her the entire time. She’d been so caught up in the Josie situation, in everything with Gabe, that she hadn’t put together the obvious solution. Kyra bounced her head against the brick wall behind her, not enough to do any real harm, but hard enough to bring on a vague headache. At times like this, she thought Gabe was right: this work really was too dangerous for her. Her own idiocy might get her killed.
Kyra waited until the Mirelings disappeared inside. Their guards followed them in briefly. Before Kyra counted to sixty, they emerged again and made their way back down the street in the direction they’d first come. Looking for more Mirelings to bring, no doubt. Kyra waited until their footsteps faded beyond hearing. She made a slow count of one hundred before moving.
Keeping several streets away from the warehouse, she made her way out of the Carmichael district and toward her hotel. She hadn’t brought anything other than her weapons with her to Josie’s place. She hadn’t wanted him confiscating her phone, and she certainly couldn’t have brought a credit card with the name ‘Kyra Roberts’ on it. Now, she wished she’d found some way to bring them with her. Suddenly she couldn’t get back to her hotel fast enough.
She’d change out of her Supra getup, dig out her credit cards, and go shopping. It was still early. If she worked fast enough, she might be able to get inside the warehouse tonight. The thought spiked her adrenaline, and she broke into a limping jog.
***
Gabe sat staring at the open file in front of him. His eyes glazed over and he blinked several times. All that did was produce enough water to make it feel like he was crying. He rubbed the moisture from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to focus on the file again. He’d been at this so long, his eyelids were beginning to twitch.
The door to the observation room opened and Shaun stepped in, followed by Tyke. Shaun glanced from Gabe to Cora, who also sat at the table reading files. They’d originally come in here to observe Eltern being interrogated. The interrogation room now stood empty. For some reason, this table had become the unofficial center for operations on this case. Tyke took a seat beside Cora. Gabe kept his gaze on Shaun, who remained standing.
“Anything?”
Shaun opened his mouth to talk, but Tyke beat him to the answer. “He’s nuts,” Tyke muttered. Shaun glared at him. Tyke noticed Shaun’s expression and immediately looked surprised, then chastised.
Gabe’s shoulders slumped. “Tell me that’s not all.”
Shaun sighed. “He was well-behaved during transport. Tyke and I walked him in ourselves and sat him down in front of the psychiatrist. We’d cuffed him, of course. Saw no reason to restrain him further. Five minutes into the interview, he jumped to his feet, screaming, and launched himself into the wall.”
Gabe stared at his boss. “Into…the wall?”
Tyke nodded. “We’re talking, his feet actually left the ground. He was hitting the wall three feet above his head. He’d slide down, get up, and do it again.”
Cora’s eyes shifted guardedly between Tyke and Shaun. “Seriously?”
They both nodded.
“What did he scream?” Gabe asked.
Shaun shook his head. “Nothing coherent. Just…screaming.”
Gabe ruthlessly crushed the chills tingling up and down his spine and embraced his annoyance. Sitting back in his chair, he rubbed his eyes again. “Whatever this guy is, he isn’t crazy,” he growled.
Shaun’s answering voice was level, impassive. “You don’t think so?”
“We’re being manipulated, Shaun,” Gabe said, looking his boss in the eye. “This guy lived across the street from me for a week. He did normal things. Unpacked boxes, set up his garage, met the neighbors. Obviously that was an act, but so is this. He’s playing the insane card.”
“Uh, sorry to be the devil’s advocate here,” Tyke said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not crazy, Gabe. No normal person would do…any of this.”
“It doesn’t mean he is crazy either,” Gabe said firmly. “It means he’s smart. Hiding things. Trying to control the situation.”
“I don’t disagree,” Shaun said quietly. “With either of you. We’re probably dealing with a very intelligent psychopath. Or perhaps sociopath. Either way, we’ll have to wait for the psych eval to come back before we decide what the next step will be.”
A moment of silence followed. “Maybe,” Tyke began, then glanced at Gabe seeming to think better of it.
“What, Tyke?”
Tyke shrugged uncomfortably. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
“Well let’s hear it,” Gabe said irritably. “I need all the theories I can get, man.”
Tyke sighed. “I don’t mean to add drama to the fire, but it seems to me that, if he is being manipulative…it doesn’t add up. What he said to you in the garage, so soon after you got that last cross… he must have known you would figure it out. Why would he reveal himself to you, and then go into psych-patient mode all of a sudden? If he wanted you to know who he is, why would he suddenly…” Tyke rubbed his forehead.
“What are you saying, Tyke?” Gabe as
ked softly.
“I don’t really know, except…he’s stalling for some reason. It’s like he’s dragging his feet, waiting for something else to happen.”
Gabe sat back in his chair, thinking. It made sense to explain in that way. “The question is,” he murmured, “what’s he waiting for?”
The chills returned.
Tossing a folder she’d been thumbing through onto the table, Cora barked a mirthless laugh. “Thanks, Boys. That’ll help me sleep tonight.”
Shaun sighed. “One way or the other, it’s a waiting game, now. As soon as I get the psychiatrist’s report, we’ll decide what to do next. In the meantime, Gabe, I want you to go home. Get some sleep.”
Gabe gaped at Shaun. “Are you kidding?”
“You’ve been up for two days, Gabe. Eltern is in the psych ward under lock, key, and straight jacket. He’s not going anywhere. You’ll want to be able to look at this with fresh eyes tomorrow. That’s an order,” he added when Gabe set his jaw.
Gabe sighed. He didn’t want to go home and sleep, but his eyelids twitched more frequently by the hour.
“One more thing,” Shaun said. “Some of the other detectives in the department are offering their help. They want to look over all the files. That would include the reports from back when your brother was kidnapped. I know you can recite those reports backward and forward in your sleep, but new eyes may pick up things you haven’t.”
Gabe arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking my permission?”
“Technically, no. But out of respect…”
Gabe nodded. “Let them read the files. They should know the details.”
The thought of his life’s tragedy being laid open for all of Abstreuse’s finest to see made a small corner of Gabe’s stomach squirm. He ignored it. No time to be self-conscious now. His brother’s case just became very active again, for the first time in twenty-five years.
