The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series

by Craig Halloran

  There was only one Reggie Sidney knew of, even though it was a common name. The one she knew, Reggie the Doppelganger, had died a few days ago. She’d seen his body splattered all over the railroad tracks, or at least what she thought was him. The FBI would have picked up the remains, and she’d never given any consideration to a burial. Perhaps this was it. “Sorry, I had a flashback. I knew a shifter named Reggie. I’d be curious to see if this is an open coffin or not.”

  “I usually check in. Show respect. People like to see the faces of the dead, especially when it’s an enemy or rival. Sometimes the coffin is closed, though, because the body’s … well, not a body. Bad things happen to bad people. It can be pretty bad here in Vegas.”

  “I see.”

  Sid and Mark made their way up the steps into the funeral home. Mark signed the guest book, and they fell in line for the viewing. The people in the room reeked of criminal behavior and cigarette smoke. Gaudy jewelry covered calloused hands and leathery fingers. Men spoke softly, sometimes in angry murmurs. Others exchanged small packets from hand to hand.

  Respect for the dead, my ass.

  Sid and Mark crept forward one step at a time. The criminal element gave their condolences to a woman Sid didn’t recognize. The woman was in her sixties and pretty, wearing a black dress and holding a handkerchief to her nose. Her voice was soft and polite when she spoke. As she talked to the people in front of Sid, Sid eased up to the polished black coffin with Mark by her side. The coffin was open. The man lying in a bed of ivory satin within gave her the willies. It was Reginald the Doppelganger.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Did you know him?” asked a soft-spoken woman.

  Sid tore her eyes away from Reginald’s corpse. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mark beat her to it.

  “No, ma’am, I’m afraid. We are neighbors in the community. I like to pay my respects whenever I have the chance. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs., er, Ms. Hyatt. Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry. I’ve only been a Ms. for a few days, and I’m still getting used to it myself. Please, call me Carly.” She extended her hand, shaking both Mark’s and Sid’s. “And you are?”

  “My name is Mark. I own the tattoo parlor across the street. This is my chica, Sarah.” He put his arm around Sid’s waist and made a weak smile.

  “I see,” Carly said. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for stopping by.” Carly locked eyes with Sid. “Are you okay? You look a little peaked.”

  “I had a long drive yesterday. I wasn’t expecting to swing by a funeral today, either.” Sid kept her tone flat. “I’m not very comfortable in places like this. A childhood thing.”

  Carly placed her warm hand on Sid’s shoulder and rubbed it. “I understand, dear thing. There’s a bathroom in the rear if you need to refresh yourself. Thank you for coming.”

  Sid gave Carly a nod, then she and Mark moved on, wading into the crowded parlor and blending in. They sat down on a seafoam sofa trimmed in mahogany.

  “She didn’t seem too sad.”

  “Or happy either. A nice lady.”

  “Yeah, too nice.”

  A stick of gum in a tinfoil wrapper appeared in Mark’s hand. He offered it to Sid. “Big Red, my favorite.”

  “No thanks.” Sid could still see Carly through the crowd, hugging a man with a shaved head. A tall, athletic black woman was behind that man. Carly’s eyes searched the room and found Sid’s again. Sid put her hand on Mark’s knee and looked away. She’s on to me.

  “What is it, Sarah?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, Sarah. That was a clever one. I’m pretty sure she knew you were lying.”

  “Nah, not me. You’re the one who might have given it away. You knew that man, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe. You?”

  “No. I’ll have to do some digging.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That man, Reginald. He should be dead, but he shouldn’t be in one piece.”

  Mark scratched his neck. “Why, what happened?”

  “Let’s just say the train didn’t miss him, or so I thought.”

  “Ew, sounds grisly.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Sid noticed that two of the people Carly Hyatt had spoken with were making their way toward her and Mark. They stopped and stood right in front of them. Sid perched a brow. She gave Mark a glance then resumed her attention on the man and woman. A quick once-over revealed a police shield on the professionally dressed man’s belt. His black slacks and dress shirt were dry cleaned. He was handsome, his head shaved but not to the skin, and he carried a few more pounds than he needed to.

  “Uh, hi?”

  The black woman was a stark contrast to the man. Taller than Sid, she had the competitive look of an athlete, with a hard look in her dark eyes. Her straight face suggested that she didn’t trust many and wouldn’t hesitate to draw the pistol on her hip. Her attire was black on black, even a little FBI-like. She eyeballed Sid but focused her stare on Mark.

  Looking up at the woman, Mark said to her, “What’s with the heat?”

  The man said to the both of them, “I’m Detective Slade. This is my partner, Detective Hawthorne. How are you doing?”

  “As well as you could expect one to be at a funeral.” Sid cozied up to Mark. She couldn’t help but think she recognized the man. “Did you know the victim?”

  “Victim. That’s an interesting choice of words,” Detective Slade said.

  “Very interesting,” Detective Hawthorne agreed.

  Sid widened her eyes in mockery. “I’m an interesting person.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the man’s face. Who is this guy? I know I know him. Slade had at least a decade of life over her. He wasn’t threatening but relaxed and sharp. His eyes never left hers. “So, is there something that you’re interested in?”

  Slade hitched his thumb over his shoulder and said, “We’re investigating the death of Ms. Hyatt’s husband, Reginald. She says you came in from out of town. Whereabouts?”

  “First, I didn’t say I came in from out of town. Second, it’s none of your business, Detective. I’m here with my boyfriend, pretty much against my wishes.”

  Mark leaned back against the wall. “I’m a businessman, an honest one. If there is some shady business you’re checking into, I suggest you look around. There’s probably half a dozen murderers in here who should be in prison. Great job, Detective.”

  Detective Hawthorne got toe to toe with Mark. “Watch it, burrito breath.”

  “Burrito breath? What is that, racist? You better watch what you say, Amazon. I’ve got friends in high places in the LVPD.”

  “Make the call, chuck wagon,” Hawthorne said.

  Flabbergasted, Mark said, “What was that? I don’t even know what that means. Do you know what that means, Sid?”

  Morning Glory! Way to go, Mark!

  “Sid?” Detective Slade said. “Ms. Hyatt says you introduced yourself as Sarah. How interesting.”

  Hawthorne agreed. “Very interesting.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Sid didn’t hide her aggravation. “You two dimwits are easily entertained.”

  Hawthorne slid toward Sid.

  Slade gave her an easy smile. “Mrs. Hyatt’s a good woman. She knows when something or someone is out of place. I do too. It’s my job.”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t know nearly as much as you think, Detective. But I can assure you, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Sid removed her hand from Mark’s knee and reached into her pocket. She had one of her business cards in hand. She took her eyes off of Slade for a moment when a memory hit her. She looked right back at him and said, “I’ll be. And to think I almost missed it. But it’s my job to notice things too. Or at least it used to be, heh. You’re Wade Slade.”

  The detective smiled and nodded. “You got me. I can fool most people, but I can’t fool everybody. I assure you, I am a real detective, and I take my job very seriously.”

  “Huh.” Sid straightened h
er back and said to Hawthorne, “I think I know you too.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, Vanessa Hawthorne, captain of the 2008 USA volleyball team. Now that’s interesting. You both thought we were interesting. That’s a laugh.”

  “So you’re a fan?” Hawthorne said. “I don’t do autographs.”

  “You know them?” Mark asked. “I don’t know them. Who’s he?”

  “Wade Slade was a child TV star. Huge about two decades ago. He dropped off the face of the earth. Me and my sister used to watch your show a lot. I’ll be. It’s a shame about the hair.”

  “I still have it, but in my line of work, it became distracting.” Slade smoothed his hand over his head. “I should have worn my glasses. They hardly catch me with my glasses. Anyway. Sid, is it? I have to say, I don’t take you for trouble. The problem is, you move like law enforcement. Let me guess, FBI?”

  Sid didn’t want to reveal that much about herself, but because of what she knew about Slade, she said, “Former.”

  “I have to ask, what is a former agent doing in a place like this? You haven’t taken a dark path, have you?”

  “Let’s just say I’m looking for someone, but I assure you, it wasn’t that guy in the coffin. The person I’m looking for I haven’t seen.” Everything Sid said was the truth, even though she knew who Reginald was. He was the last person she expected to see. “Look at the element that surrounds us. There’s at least a dozen cases in here.”

  Hawthorne made a little smile. “You can say that again.”

  Sid swore that Slade was about to ask her if she knew the man in the coffin. The words were right on his lips. He fished his own card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I don’t know what you’re into, and I don’t want to know. I have plenty going on. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Sid. I’ll trust it.”

  Hawthorne gave Slade a little punch in the arm. “You’re just saying that because she was a fan. I hate it when you do that.”

  “No, that’s not why.”

  “Is to.”

  “Okay, Vanessa, then what’s your opinion? Should we take them downtown?”

  Hawthorne’s lips wiggled. “She’s okay, but I’m not so sure about Antonio Banderas. Look at those tattoos. He’s shady.”

  “You think everyone with tattoos is shady.”

  Hawthorne shrugged.

  “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s a tad judgmental.” Slade handed Sid his card. “In case you need some assistance.” Sid started to hand over her card, but Slade said, “No, keep it. I’ll assure Ms. Hyatt that you’re not an issue. Nice meeting you. The both of you. Carry on with whatever you’re doing.” The detectives disappeared into the crowd of mourners.

  “That was different,” Sid said.

  “Yeah, so now what?”

  Sid spied the exit out of the main parlor. “I’m going to check the powder room.”

  Mark nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Sid moved out of the parlor. This funeral home wasn’t as dated as the one run by Titus Tolliver. The furnishings, carpet, and wallpaper were old but still decades newer than the home near DC. She passed a woman coming out of the bathroom who had mascara smeared under her eyes.

  The woman bumped Sid, saying, “Excuse me.”

  Sid moved on past the bathroom and a kitchen in the back. Not seeing anybody, she opened a wooden door lacquered in dark stain with brass fittings. Through the window in the back of the building, she could see one hearse parked. A man in a shabby suit leaned against the back of it, smoking and talking on his cell phone. At the bottom of the stairwell, a single glowing light bulb hung from the ceiling. She crept down the stairs.

  The basement was damp and musty. Sid rubbed her nose. Old checkered tiles had a thin layer of soot over them. Much like the upstairs, there were parlors, but they were now used for storage and filled with old furniture. On cat’s feet, she moved deeper into the basement toward a hallway lined with doors on either side. The smell of embalming fluid strengthened the farther she went.

  The first door she came to was half open, spilling yellow light out into the hallway. Sid peeked her head inside. It was the embalming lab. A body lay covered on the metal cadaver table. A half-eaten sandwich and cup of soda were on a nearby desk. A roach raced over the floor.

  Whoever is on that table is big.

  She moved in. Standing by the table, she stretched out her fingers and pinched the sheet between them. She peeled the sheet back from the face. Just as she did, another presence entered the room.

  “Can I help you?”

  CHAPTER 13

  A long-faced man with sagging cheeks and hollow eyes had entered the lab. Very tall and big boned, he blocked the exit. Wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black slacks, the gaunt and creepy man looked like a typical mortician, just giant sized.

  Sid placed the lab table between her and the man. “I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I’m drawn to weird places.”

  The door clicked shut behind the man. His eyes found Sid’s, and his eyebrows lifted. He swept his thinning locks of hair aside and said, “You’d be surprised at the number of people I get down here. You’d think the smell would keep them away, but many are fascinated by the face of death. Pretty things such as yourself showing up here used to surprise me, but not anymore. I’m Frank.”

  “Sidney.”

  “As long as you’re here, you might as well get a gander at the rotting gem on the table.” He moved slowly across the room in three steps. With the steady and strong fingers of a dentist, he peeled back the sheet. “There you go. Have a look. He’s finished, mostly.”

  The tightness in Sid’s face eased. The man on the table wasn’t Smoke. It was a big-framed man covered in tattoos from head to toe. The mark of a rising black sun like an eye was on him in many places. Thank the Lord it’s not John!

  “Interesting reaction,” Frank said. “You were expecting someone else, I see.”

  “Everyone’s a detective these days. But yes, I was thinking it was someone else, and I’m glad it isn’t.” Her hand dropped toward her waist, and her fingers stretched for her gun. As she went for the weapon, she refrained. Frank was imposing, but he hadn’t posed a threat. Instead, he moved about like an old doctor past his prime but filled with wisdom, taking his own time about how he went about things. Sensing an opportunity, she said, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like—”

  “Fred Gywnne? Certainly, I’m his brother.”

  Sid’s jaw dropped.

  Frank chuckled. “I’m teasing, young lady. I’m of no relation to that lovable and affable Munster. Unlike him, I have a much darker side. Besides, I was more of a Ted Cassidy fan, myself.” He ran his fingers over the dead man’s face. “It seems I have a little too much embalming buildup there.” With his thumbs, he smoothed out a bulge that formed a crease in the man’s neck. “That’s better. You know, the tattooed ones are some of the best ones to do. The ink gives them the appearance of life. Especially in the face, but not many have their faces inked. Many of the Indians used paints during their burials,” he said as if he had been there way back when. “I learned many traits from the Indians.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll let you get back to work.” She made for the door.

  In a long side step, Frank cut her off. A sharp scalpel appeared in his hand. Casting a vulture-like glance down on Sid, he said, “Tell me, who are you really looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

  “It’s private.” Sid’s thoughts ran through a checklist. If the Drake was making plans to transform Smoke, this man would know something about that. If Frank is a shifter, just remember how cocky they are. She decided to play her card. “I’m looking for a big guy. He might have come here with Kane and Allison.”

  “It takes a lot of guts to drop right into a nest of vipers, Sidney. Perhaps I should remove them from you.”

  Feeling his cold, fetid breat
h on her face, she replied, “You’d be surprised at the number of vipers I’ve killed.”

  “Bravado. I like it.”

  Sid went for her gun.

  Quick as a snake, Frank seized her wrist.

  She punched him in the face with a hard fist.

  His teeth clattered, but he held her fast.

  Sid kneed his groin. The move drew forth a mocking chuckle.

  “Little woman, your struggles are in vain.” Frank yanked Sid into him. His arms enveloped her body. He lifted her from the ground and squeezed with the strength of a bear.

  “Uh!” Sid moaned. Her ribs cracked. Frank’s powerful squeeze made her eyes bulge. “Let go of me.”

  “It’s been a long time since I squeezed a person to death. Long ago, the Kanawha Indians called me Eh-hef-haloom. That was their word for bear breaker. I was the only person they ever saw kill a bear with his hands. Not long after that, I killed them. A lost tribe now forgotten, even in the history books, but there’s a county named after them.”

  Fighting for breath, Sid tried to scream. No sound came, only pain that felt like sharp daggers piercing her spine.

  Crack!

  Sid’s thoughts went into overdrive. Oh no! My back! The fear of paralysis surged through her. More cracking sounds followed. She could see her vertebrae popping out of place. The worst of the worst was happening.

  Suddenly, her captor wobbled.

  She slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor, sucking for air.

  The room exploded into a battleground of surging bodies. From out of nowhere, Mark plowed into Frank like a charging bull. He drove Frank back into his desk.

  Frank jammed the scalpel into Mark’s back.

  “Gah!”

  Detective Hawthorne swung a length of pipe into Frank’s big jaw.

  The big man’s head twisted away then back again with a broad grin. He slung Mark’s bleeding body away.

  “What are you, some kind of geriatric terminator?” Detective Hawthorne cocked back for another swing. She turned it loose.