Judging by the looks on their faces, Rebecca and Cyrus were confused and frustrated. They’d still been struggling to come to terms with the Black Slate. Now, a new element of the supernatural was right in their faces.
“So you’re privy to the Black Slate now, are you?”
Cyrus put on his glasses. “Funny you should ask, but yes we are.”
Smoke closed the car door. “Oh, I see. They’ve turned it over to you two nitwits. That’s why you haven’t contacted me about any jobs. You think you can handle it yourselves.”
“We can handle it,” Rebecca said. “We are handling it.”
“That’s why you’re reaching out to me then?”
“No, you were there. It’s an investigation, and you need to be more forthcoming, Smoke. We can and will take you in if need be, and you don’t want that.” Cyrus sighed. “Look, we don’t like or trust each other, fine. But my eyes are open a little wider now that I’ve seen the Slate. And we can use your services again, if you cooperate.”
Smoke sensed the ring of truth in Cyrus’s voice. A Black Slate opportunity offered some other options too. Hunting down those convicts might lead him to Sid, and he needed every scrap of information he could get. “Tell you what. Give me a case. Keep it simple, maybe just surveillance.”
Rebecca glanced at Cyrus. “Get the file.”
Cyrus glared at her. “You get it.”
“Excuse me?” Rebecca’s cheeks turned red. “Do I need to remind you I’m the senior field agent—”
“Senior field agent my ass. You’ve only been with the Bureau two years.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Oh, not this again. Just get the damn file!”
“How about I get it?” Smoke suggested. “I’ll let you two nitwits talk this out.”
“Screw it, I’ll get it!” Cyrus stormed off toward a black SUV.
Stiff chinned, Rebecca stood there tapping her foot.
“What’s the matter,” Smoke said, “still waiting for a ring on your finger?”
“We aren’t dating anymore. It’s just professional.”
“Well, I can’t blame him for breaking up with you.”
“It’s the other way around, you convict!” She stared up in his face. “What happened to Sidney? Seems she isn’t missing you. Weren’t you engaged? Man, that must be hard. She ditched you for The Drake.”
“You’re a bitter little woman, aren’t you.”
“No, I’m just motivated.”
“Ambitious is a better word.”
“That suits me fine.”
Cyrus approached with a black file and handed it to Smoke while glowering at Rebecca. “Here.”
The file looked legit. Pictures. Notes. Places. Details. Much like the other files Smoke had seen. “Heh, heh, heh.”
“What’s so funny?” Rebecca asked.
“I just can’t believe they’re letting the two of you in on this,” Smoke replied.
“Why’s that?” she said.
“Because you’re so stupid.”
Rebecca snatched after the file.
Smoke held it out of reach.
“Just let it be,” Cyrus said.
“Shut up!” she replied.
Ignoring Rebecca, Cyrus continued, “You’ve got the file, Smoke. It’s legit. We shared. Now you share. Let’s get on with this.”
It wasn’t going to kill Smoke to give them some information they probably already had. He opened his car door, tossed the file inside, and said, “Have you heard of Guermo?”
CHAPTER 15
Rebecca and Cyrus’s jaws had hung open while Smoke explained to them a little bit of what he knew. He told them about the vampires and that he thought there were hundreds of them out there, maybe thousands of the European fiends that had infiltrated America. He also told how their organization, Guermo, rivaled The Drake, and how a feud had started between them.
When they asked about his interest, that had been the tricky part. All he told them was he got a tip about The Drake that led him to The Guillotine. He didn’t dare admit The Drake had hired him, nor confirm Sid was with them. And yeah, he told them that on the side, he was still trying to track down Sid.
Rebecca had snickered anyway.
As for explaining the attack at The Guillotine, Smoke had just left it as self-defense and left them hanging.
Now, he was back at his service-garage apartment, eating a hot ham and cheese sandwich and drinking a sixty-four ounce Coke he’d picked up on the way home. Seated on his sofa, he grabbed a remote and pressed a button.
Beethoven’s 9th Symphony filled the room.
He started into the file. It was two women, a mother and daughter named Willa and Whitney Kerrington. They ran a chain of pawn shops in DC, but they weren’t seen very often. Supposedly, they worked for The Drake. It made sense. Pawn shops were great forums for a lot of seedy activities.
He studied images of the women more closely. They looked alike, surly gals with long chestnut hair down to their waists. Willa, the mother, had some grey in hers. They were both fit and casually dressed. One picture showed them in commando gear holding machine guns, but it looked like they were modeling. In another photo, Whitney, the daughter, was in an MMA fight. Another woman lay on the mat with a bloody nose, out cold.
Women these days.
He thought about Sid. He missed doing this with her. He’d done it for years, but it didn’t feel right without her. She’d left. Her decision. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been about to die, and not just him, either. Sam and Guppy, too. He could only imagine the scenarios Sid must be facing now. The lies. The deceit. He had to have faith that she’d hold up to it.
I need to find her.
***
It was evening. Smoke sat parked in the Camaro at one of the pawnshops run by the Kerringtons. Cleverly enough, the joint was named W&W Pawn and Jewelry. The store was located off a stretch of highway in east DC, crowded together with a bunch of other places in a strip mall. Traffic was pretty steady. Shady men and women slid in and out carrying everything from video game consoles to TVs. Even though it was quite warm and humid, many of the customers left the store with their hands stuffed deep in their pockets.
Smoke opened up a bag of jerky and started eating. He couldn’t see much inside the store without going in. The windows were barred and filled with displays. Cars came and went. No one in particular stood out, but it was still early. He could try some of the other shops or at least put some eyes on them, but he didn’t feel like fooling with Sam and Guppy. He didn’t want to tell them what he was doing. Right now, he just wanted to be left alone and renew his focus. Sometimes, others got in the way of seeing things.
Lone Eagle.
Music on, jerky gone, moon rising high in the sky, Smoke finally decided it was time to venture inside. He’d popped his door open and gotten a foot out the door when a maroon Corvette ZR-1 pulled in front of the pawn store into a handicapped spot. Two women got out, busy and fast-talking to one another. It was Whitney and Willa. They scurried inside.
Smoke gave it a few moments, locked up the car, and headed in. The store was fairly big. The first thing he saw was a motley assortment of shelves loaded with electronics with white tags hanging from them. There was a power tool section and thousands of DVDs and video game cartridges. It all had a musty smell to it.
A young man in glasses with tattoos covering his forearms sat like a toad, working on a slice of pizza and gazing at a fight on one of the TVs.
Smoke made his way over to the jewelry section, staring down into the glass cases. A decent girl sat on a stool behind the counter staring at her phone. He turned his back to the jewelry and made a quick scan of the place. Half a dozen customers were milling about. There were stacks of army and navy gear: canteens, packs, water jugs. Glass cases of guns and knives. Rifle racks behind them. There was more stolen merchandise here than there were shoes in a shoe store.
What a great American way to make a living.
“Can I help you
?” said a female voice with a Southern accent.
Smoke turned and faced the daughter, Whitney.
She was leaning on the jewelry counter, a little buck in the teeth, wearing a tight V-neck top that showed off her cosmetically enhanced chest. Her eyes were all smiles and giving him the once and twice over.
“Uh, I was looking for an engagement ring.”
CHAPTER 16
“Gonna get engaged? I’m a little sorry to hear that,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Whitney. And your name is?”
Taking her hand, he said, “They call me Smoke.”
“Your hands are warm, Smoke. You seem like a man with a lot of fire in you. Are you sure about getting engaged? You look too young to settle into marriage.”
“I’m sure.” He tapped on the top of the glass counter. “How about that one?”
“A princess cut. Nice choice. You know, we’ve got great deals on gold chains. I know they would look good around that strong neck of yours. Let me show you some.”
“Sure.”
She led him to another counter and took out some gold chains from underneath. “This one’s twenty-four carat. A real nice rope. Step over here and let me put it on you.”
He stepped between two counters and bent his knees a bit so she could reach his neck.
She locked on the chain, letting her fingers caress his neck and stop on his chest. “It looks great on you. Very sexy.” She licked the lipstick off her teeth. “You’ve got one hard body. I bet you’ve seen some action, haven’t you.”
Checking himself out in one of the mirrors, he said, “It depends on the kind of action you’re talking about.”
She pressed up against him and stuck her hand in his back pocket. “We have a better selection in the back.”
Smoke swallowed. He hadn’t planned on getting this close, this soon, to anybody. His little investigation was traveling down an unexpected path of temptation.
It can’t hurt to get a closer look at things, can it?
“Sure.”
She took the chain off his neck, tossed it in the case, then took him by the hand. “I think you’re going to like the selection I have, Smoke.” She was leading him to a door in the back when the mother stepped out.
“Whitney, what are you doing?” The mother, Willa, glanced at Smoke. “Never mind, I know what you’re doing.” She gave Smoke the once-over. “Can’t say I blame you, but we have business. And you aren’t supposed to be fooling around until your next fight is over.”
“They’re always late,” Whitney said.
An electric door alarm sounded, and three men entered the front of the building.
“Not today they aren’t.” Willa’s face drew tight. “Get it together.”
Whitney squeezed Smoke’s hand. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He shrugged.
That was close.
The first was a bear of a man. Chains hung from his thick neck like a beard of gold.
Willa scurried over to greet him.
Whitney gave Smoke a little shove in the back and patted his butt. “Scoot away, just not too far away.”
Making his way away from the crowd, Smoke kept his eyes on the men by glancing at the mirrors in the store. Two men behind the biggest guy held empty duffle bags. Smoke noted the same tattoo on the backs of all their necks: a black sun rising, the sign of The Drake. Not meeting eyes with any of them, Smoke slipped outside as soon as Willa and Whitney had stepped into the back with the men.
A midnight-blue Cadillac Escalade was parked in the slot in front of the building, with its engine running. The Drake goon in the driver’s seat was smoking.
Smoke reached into his pocket and removed a transparent sticker a quarter the size of a business card. It was like an inspection sticker.
The heavy eyes of the man in the driver’s seat found his. Smoke nodded, took the aisle between Willa’s Corvette and the Escalade, and faded behind the back of the SUV. He’d just slapped the sticker on the metal plate over the registration tab when he heard the car door open and close and heavy feet coming right for him.
The Drake goon peeped around the tail of the car and pointed a pistol at Smoke.
Down on a knee, Smoke pretended to tie his shoe. Showing surprise, he looked up at the man. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t want to trip.”
The man eyed the back of the SUV, gave it a long look. Still pointing the gun at Smoke, he said, “Get the hell out of here.”
Smoke hopped up with hands raised. “Sorry. No trouble. Sorry.” He skipped through a pair of slow-moving cars and made his way into the parking lot and stayed out of sight until he heard the SUV’s door close, then made his way back to his Camaro. He still had a good view of the pawnshop’s storefront and the Escalade.
Waiting, he rolled down his windows, took out his smart phone, and pulled up an app that he, Sam, and Guppy had created. It was for the sticker he had placed on the SUV’s license plate, inspired by Spiderman’s spider tracers. A series of fine wires created a microchip signal that was hard to detect but that he could trace. They’d used it on several cases before, and it worked about half the time. A red beacon on the phone glowed on a digital map.
“Whoop, there it is,” Smoke said with a smile.
He pushed the cassette tape back in the player and thumped to the Beastie Boys. The tape had run halfway through the song “Brass Monkey” when The Drake personnel exited the shop. Both of the duffle bags were loaded so full it looked like the seams would burst, and when they were tossed in, the big Escalade sagged on its suspension. The men got into the vehicle, and in seconds the car backed out and was gone.
“There we go,” Smoke said.
Checking that the signal on his phone was good, he waited about five minutes before he pulled out. There wasn’t any reason to rush with a good signal, but he didn’t want to get too far away in case the tracker faded out. Cruising through the parking lot, he was wheeling down the aisle when a woman jumped in front of his car. He slammed on the brakes.
It was Whitney.
CHAPTER 17
“Where do you think you’re going, Smokie?” Not being shy about it, she stuck half of her body inside the driver’s side window. “We have unfinished business. You need to come back inside or park this thing a little more private. Or not. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Sorry, Whitney, but I’m a pretty faithful guy.”
“I’ve heard that before. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll change your mind.” She clasped one hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss.
He broke it off. “Not now, Whitney.”
“I’m not letting you get away. I never lose a man.”
“Look, I have to go.”
“Aw Smokie, don’t be so bashful. It’ll be fine. I won’t tell anybody.”
Judging by the hungry look in her eyes, he could tell she wasn’t one to take no for an answer. He had learned over the years that some women you just couldn’t let down easy, no matter how hard you tried. “Didn’t I hear something about a fight you’ve been training for? Aren’t you supposed to abstain?”
“I never abstain. Ever. I just tell that to my mother. She’s my manager.” Whitney tried to kiss him again.
Smoke managed to fight her off. “You know, I really like those fights. When’s your next one? I’d like to see it.”
A new spark lit in her eyes. “Really?”
“Really. Just tell me the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”
She reared back a little. “You’re just saying that. I know how men like you like to lie.”
“No, I’m not a liar. I’ll be there. You’d better win, though. I don’t like losers.”
“That’s all the motivation I need. Got a pen?”
***
Following after the SUV from The Drake, Smoke looked at the message on his arm. Whitney had practically carved the time and place of her fight into his forearm with an ink pen. She wasn’t too pretty, or too smart, but she did have some cunning an
d a great body, and he kinda liked her assertiveness.
Smoke dabbed the sweat from his forehead.
That was too close.
With the tracker still working, he managed to get within a few car lengths of the SUV. They maintained a steady speed on the highway before they took a sudden exit and headed south onto another stretch of road. Several miles later, they turned off the main road and vanished down a long stretch that disappeared into the trees. He pulled over and watched the beacon on his phone until it came to a complete stop and didn’t move for several minutes.
“Bingo.”
According to the map, the goons had pulled into an old industrial complex that had been converted into a salvage yard called Red Mark Materials. It was one of those bits of information he might have had Sam and Guppy look into, but he didn’t want to fool with them. As for notifying Cyrus and Rebecca, he’d rather investigate on his own first, just in case he found Sid.
Can’t trust them anyway.
He drove another mile up the road and ditched his car in the parking lot of some business offices. He geared up. He had the sweetheart suit on under his clothes, filling him with new energy. It made him ravenously hungry if he wasn’t careful, though, so he gobbled down two MREs from his bag. Then he clasped on some holsters that held two automatic weapons and slid in two of those nasty sharp blades that Mal Gunderson made. He put on a pair of sunglasses—also courtesy of Mal—that sharpened his vision at night with a unique type of lens.
“Bat utility belt, check. Heh!”
Blood charging, he dashed into the woods. It made for a decent jog, and Smoke’s adrenaline was pumping when he stopped at the tall barrier fence. This salvage yard wasn’t some mom-and-pop shop from Sanford & Son. It was a full-blown complex encircled by a mile of security fencing or more. Looking through the chain-link, he could see lamp posts all over. Most of them were out. There were pallets of materials. Old cars. Boats. Campers. Row upon row of pipe, wiring, and similar building materials.
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 73
