Black Knight 02 - Back in Black
Page 1
Contents
Back in Black
Stay Tuned at the end of the book for scenes from Derek
For information on appearances, signings, autographed
This book is dedicated to everyone who bought the first
Also by John G. Hartness
The Black Knight Chronicles
Vol. 1 - Hard Day’s Knight
Vol. 2 - Back in Black
Other work -
The Chosen
Red Dirt Boy
Returning the Favor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Author’s Note
Dead Dwarves Don’t Dance
The Chosen
Back in Black
Black Knight Chronicles, Vol. 2
By John G. Hartness
Falstaff Books
Charlotte, NC
Stay Tuned at the end of the book for scenes from
Derek J. Canyon’s
Dead Dwarves Don’t Dance
And
John G. Hartness’
The Chosen
For information on appearances, signings, autographed copies, etc. please visit
http://www.johnhartness.com
@johnhartness on Twitter
Copyright 2010 by John G. Hartness
Back in Black by John G. Hartness is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
This book is dedicated to everyone who bought the first one. I thank you for the encouragement.
My cats thank you for the Fancy Feast.
Also by John G. Hartness
The Black Knight Chronicles
Vol. 1 - Hard Day’s Knight
Vol. 2 - Back in Black
Other work -
The Chosen
Red Dirt Boy
Returning the Favor
Chapter 1
The foot came at my face almost faster than I could see, and way faster than I could do anything about. I took the shot straight to my jaw, and if I hadn't seen it coming at the last minute, relaxing my neck to roll with the impact, I probably would have been chewing out of the other side of my face for a while. Except for the fact that I'm on a liquid diet. Forever. But I took the kick to the mouth and was just fast enough to spin away from the uppercut that followed. I delivered a punch of my own to my opponent's ribs and had the satisfaction of hearing a "whoof" of exhalation that let me know my shot hit home even through the body armor.
I grabbed an exposed arm and spun my attacker into a hammerlock, but didn't spread my feet far enough apart. I ended up tossed head over heels as the slippery black-clad figure put some kind of judo hex move on me that left me splayed flat on my back like a retarded box turtle. I lay there helpless as the tip of a wooden stake flashed down at my chest, stopping a hair before it pierced the skin.
"Uncle." I gasped, and sat up slowly, avoiding the oversized toothpick that was a lot closer than I ever figured a mortal would be able to get without my permission.
"You see, Jimmy. It doesn't matter the physical advantages an opponent has, if you're more mentally together and focused, you're unbeatable. All the super-speed and strength in the world is useless against a determined, well-prepared opponent. If this had been a real fight, you'd have been a little pile of dust and fangs in the middle of the living room floor." My opponent, the always-fetching Sabrina Law, helped me up, wincing a little from the punch I'd landed on her ribs.
"As long as the opponent was wearing body armor. If you were in street clothes, I'd have broken a couple of ribs with that punch." I limped over to the couch and collapsed onto it with a huge sigh, propping my feet up on the coffee table.
Sabrina took the armchair across from me and starting getting out of her SWAT gear. I thought she looked pretty good in black Kevlar, but I've been known to have a Call of Duty fetish.
"True enough," she replied, kicking off her combat boots and heading towards the fridge. "But any well-prepared opponent is more than likely going to have some type of body armor. You got anything for me to drink in here?"
"Yeah, good point. If not body armor, then it'll be some kind of magical shielding or super-duper force field or something else I can't punch through. Oh, yeah, there's beer in the door. And grab me a bag from the crisper?" She brought two bottles of Miller Lite back into the den and tossed me a bag of blood from the fridge to go with my beer. We both took a long drink, and let out a sigh of pure contentment as our drinks made the bruises feel a little less sharp. I looked over at Sabrina, who glanced back at me and we both cracked up at the synchronicity of it all.
We had almost gotten over our bout of the giggles when my partner, Greg Knightwood, clumped down the stairs into our apartment. "What's so damn funny?" He grumbled as he came over to sit next to me on the couch.
"You had to be there." I said, snorting a little blood out of one nostril. Gross, I know, but what can I say, it's an occupational hazard of being a vampire. "Who peed in your Cheerios?"
"It's this stupid case. I hate divorces." Oh yeah. Greg had lost the coin toss and had to do surveillance tonight. Divorces are the worst thing in the world for private investigators, which is how Greg and I pay the bills. It's a lot of waiting in cars in sleazy parking lots while somebody does something inappropriate with someone they're not supposed to be doing anything with while the person they're supposed to be doing things with waits anxiously at home for us to come back to them with proof of what they wished they didn't already know. I don't know how Greg managed. Divorce surveillance always made me want to bite somebody. I took a little pity on my partner and fetched him a beer.
"Tonight it was the tour of all the Mecklenburg County biker strip clubs with his floozy girlfriend while his wife and mother of five children stayed home and baked four dozen cookies for the PTA bake sale tomorrow." He killed his beer in one long pull and headed to the fridge for another. Sabrina and I both raised our hands for a refill, and he brought three back to the couch.
"I hope she takes him for everything he's worth, the pig." Sabrina muttered.
I nodded, but Greg said, "That's the worst part! She can't even take him for anything, because he's been on unemployment for more than a year! She's the one working overtime to keep their McMansion and helping the kids with their homework and dealing with the bill collectors while he runs around chasing skirts! If I were a weaker man I'd just bite him. If I thought she wouldn't be a suspect I'd make him disappear. He's probably worth more dead than alive with life insurance, anyway."
"Always an option, bro. I'm up for a snack if you are." I finished my beer and made to put my shoes back on.
"No. I don't do that anymore. No matter how bad he is, he doesn't deserve that." Greg was purely a bag-drinker. He didn't touch blood from the tap anymore. I admired his resolve but didn't necessarily shar
e his strength of convictions. Sabrina was well aware of this and shot me a dirty look.
"Okey-dokey. You just say the word, partner, and he's a spot on my tie." I leaned back on the couch.
"You don't own a tie."
"Oh yeah. Good thing I don't have a respectable job, then." That's when Sabrina's cell phone rang and our night took a turn for the spectacularly crappy.
Chapter 2
Sabrina held up a finger to us in a vain hope that we'd be quiet, since it was obviously work on the line. In addition to being my friend and sparring partner, Sabrina is a detective for the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, and they have a certain level of prejudice against all private investigators, not just the undead blood-sucking type. So her superiors tolerated her association with Greg and me, but just barely.
"Law." She answered, all no-nonsense cop voice. "Okay, what's your twenty?" Thanks to our enhanced senses, Greg and I could both hear the voice on the other end of the phone describing another attack in an alley downtown. Charlotte's a bit short on alleys, they don't fit into the city's master plans, but lately one or more enthusiastic bigots had been filling up every alley they could find with the beaten bodies of the city's young gay men. Sabrina got the address, and signed off with "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Have the uniforms corral any witnesses they can until I get there."
She ran a hand through her hair in obvious frustration. These cases had been assigned to her partly out of penance for being friends with Greg and me. We'd been a little noisy in a case a few months ago, and Sabrina's bosses wanted her to keep her distance from us. To her credit as a person, she hadn't done so, but it meant that she got all the cases the good old boys in the department weren't interested in, and a series of gay-bashings in the heart of the New South were tailor made for a young female detective in the doghouse.
"Can we help?" I asked as Sabrina got out of her battle gear and put on a sweater and coat to head out into the December night.
"I think you guys have done enough to my reputation within the department, thanks." She smiled when she said it, but it was the kind of smile that looked like it was stretched almost to the breaking point.
"Alright, but if you need us to come down and sling around a little mojo, just let me know." I wasn't sure what bugged me more, that she wouldn't let us try to help or that our evening's sparring session was going to be cut short. Who was I kidding? I was irritated that another pretty gay boy had gotten his face bashed in and now I was stuck alone with my grumpy partner instead of dancing around the mat with a sexy chick in body armor.
She headed up the stairs into the winter night and I sat down to another night of video games and whining about surveillance with Greg. After about ten minutes he looked over at me and said, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Well, how long are you going to mope around here like a teenage girl waiting for the next Twilight movie?"
"You heard her. She doesn't want our help."
"And you're suddenly the obedient type?"
"I don't want to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong."
"Since when? I seem to recall that being a primary part of the mission statement of private investigators. You know, investigating? Remember that? It's what we do when we're not stripper-hopping and playing grab-ass with cute policewomen."
"First, she's a detective. Second, I never touched her ass. Third, did you just invent the term stripper-hopping?"
"My creativity knows no bounds. Now are you driving or am I?"
"You drive, I want some level of plausible deniability when we get caught." I got up and grabbed my long coat from the closet. Cold doesn't bother us, but going around with a couple of firearms and a retractable baton is a lot easier in winter when you can hide the artillery under a coat. I still wear the coat in summer, but I'm a lot more self-conscious about it. Greg, having long since gotten rid of any shred of self-consciousness in his soul (assuming we still have souls), put on his utility belt.
We took Greg's car, not just because I didn't feel like driving, but also because his car is way cooler than mine. He drives a 1967 GTO convertible, black on black with red interior that looks like something that should be racing for pink slips in an old movie, and he's had it restored to better than perfect condition. I drive a largely invisible six-year-old Honda Civic, because it's just about the perfect stakeout car. If you don't think so, when was the last time you noticed a navy blue Civic in your neighborhood? Greg's car is much better for interviewing image-conscious witnesses, and the demographic we were heading into definitely qualified.
We'd just pulled out of the garage when my cell rang. I heard the theme from "COPS" blare out and knew it was Sabrina before I even got it out of my pocket. For some reason she wasn't nearly as amused by my choice of ringtones as I was. "Yo, what's up?" I answered.
"Are you on your way here?" She asked, and her voice was shaky. I'd seen Sabrina in some pretty heavy situations, but there was a tone there that I'd never heard before.
"Ummm..." I hesitated because I'm a terrible liar, one of many things that kept me dateless for much of high school.
"I figured. When you get here don't bother skulking around, just tell the uniforms I called you in. I need your help on this one and the Lieutenant is just going to have to live with that."
"We should be there in about ten. What's wrong? You don't sound good." My smooth, tactful delivery was another thing that kept me home with Greg most Friday nights.
"I know the victim. He's...an old friend. Get here fast, it's bad." She sounded almost like she was going to cry, and I knew if she was that close to losing it things were very bad indeed.
"We'll be there as fast as we can. I'm here for you. I promise." I hung up the phone and looked over at Greg. "No comments. Just drive." I'd only known Sabrina a couple of months, but going to hell with somebody, almost literally, cemented the bonds of friendship a little faster than normal living. I opened the phone and made one other call as we were on our way. He picked up on the first ring, because that's the kind of priest he is.
"Jimmy, what's wrong?"
"Hey Mike. Why does anything have to be wrong? Couldn't I just be calling to say hello?"
"Not at midnight, son. Now spill it." Mike was our oldest friend; the only person Greg and I had any contact with from before we were turned. Even though he was a Catholic priest, I thought he might be useful.
"Mike, does the church still have a thing against gays?"
"The official position is to hate the sin and love the sinner, James, but what does that have to do with anything? Did you and Greg finally decide to proclaim your love for one another? I'm sure your detective friend will be disappointed, but if that's how you boys really feel, we'll support you any way we can. As long as you're not looking to adopt. I think gay vampire parents might be a little much for a child to go through middle school with." Greg had almost run off the road laughing, and Mike's monologue had lightened my mood a little, too.
"There's been another attack downtown, and Sabrina's friends with the victim. I thought she might need somebody to talk to. You know, somebody with a more spiritual bent than me and Captain Agnostic over here."
"That's remarkably sympathetic of you, James. If I didn't know you better, I'd think it was a sign of maturity. But I do, so I'm sure it will pass. But of course I'll be there for Sabrina. Give me the address and I'll be there as soon as I can get dressed." I told him where to meet us and reminded him to dress warmly, kindly mentioning to him that he isn't as young as he used to be. He signed off with a decidedly un-priestly response just as we pulled up to the crime scene.
Chapter 3
A narrow alley separated the main branch of the public library from the arts center that had once been the First Baptist Church. Now labeled Spirit Square, the old sanctuary was more likely to see an acoustic concert than a choir singing. But tonight it was blue lights instead of bluegrass as half a dozen police cruisers and a pair of ambulances crowded into the tight space bet
ween the buildings.
Yellow tape stretched across the mouth of the alley and a nervous young patrolman stood guarding the entrance to the crime scene like his career depended on it. I walked up to him as nonchalantly as I could and said “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to move along.” He looked over one shoulder to make sure none of his superiors saw his chatting with a civilian.
“Was there another beating? Aren’t you people ever going to do anything about these horrible crimes?” I put on my best affronted look and started to raise my voice. The rookie’s head spun back and forth like it was on a swivel, and I took pity on him.
“Calm down, Junior. We’re here to help. Detective Law called us in. Jimmy Black, Black Knight Investigations.” I held out my hand, but the young cop just looked at me.