Demon Master

by Daniel Pierce

  “Mister Hardigan, thank you for calling on me. I understand you’re interested in the two of us getting acquainted?” she asked in the measured tones of a belle. She was good.

  “I am, and thank you for taking my call without a prior, written appointment. Manners are fading, I’m afraid, but I admit to being a bit anxious about meeting you. What with my new situation and all,” I finished, leaving the unspoken dangling.

  She bit. “Situation? Tell me, Ring—may I call you Ring, since we may be friends quite soon?” she asked, and I said yes. “How has your situation changed that you find yourself wanting my company? You realize, of course, that I see only very select gentlemen, and not to be rude, but may we start with me asking what it is you do?”

  I knew that this was the delicate part of the conversation. A mixture of truth, lies, and something in between was what Wally and Risa suggested as a tactic to draw her into the discussion, that we might convince her to leave her gated walls.

  “Well, to be honest, very little. I had hoped to enjoy your company, show you around my city—” I was interrupted by her peal of laughter.

  “Oh, Ring, that is precious. I think that Joseph, who I’ll deal with directly”—her voice took an iron tone—“has sorely misread who you are. You most certainly do not meet the qualifications of the men I see.” She dragged on a cigarette, waiting for me to speak so she could end the conversation. Now was the time where I would demonstrate the fine line between carrot and stick. How she would react was uncertain, but appealing to vanity was a fine place to start.

  “Miss Delphine, if you’ll hear me out,” I began in my most placating tone. “True, I have very little money, and no current job. But I am a confident man. I’m also quite nice looking, according to my neighbor. She says I remind her of her middle son, who lives in Illinois.” I preened. I could not imagine Delphine’s face. “I can show you a really nice time. We have a great pizzeria just around the corner that serves wine.”

  With that absurdity, she brought the hammer down. “Ring, I am holding a cigarette. Do you think I lit it? No. I cannot recall the last time I drew my own bath. I have a staff that respects and fears me because of my reputation and the men who will gladly give their last cent to be with me. Now, I think this has gone on long enough.”

  Before she could hang up, I set the hook. “If you insist, Delphine. I only thought you would visit me because my uncle was a Baron, and I wanted to use the jewelry he left me for something memorable. Like you supposedly are.” Her intake of breath told me all I needed to know about her curiosity, which was alive and well. It was time to close the negotiations. “I can send you the same picture of the necklace I gave the other French lady. She told me she was very interested in visiting after she saw it, since she thought it might be a family heirloom.” Now I brought the stick to bear. “I think that you might reconsider, given that the necklace was made by an artisan of incredible skill, one of the finest in Europe. What would it hurt for you to take a look? I mean, if it’s good enough for someone as classy as . . . I think you pronounce her name Sandrine, is it good enough for you? I just want to have a really good time, you know?” I said, and then held my breath.

  “Sandrine?” she asked, and I heard her breathing quicken. “I may be interested, after all. I do have some free time this week, as it turns out. Social seasons can be so dull.” She was struggling to regain her velvety composure, and failing. “Can you describe this jewelry, Ring?” she asked me, solidly on the line.

  “Why don’t I show you instead? Remember, I’m just an unemployed nobody, so my description would be crude. Let the necklace speak for itself and stuff?” I asked her. She covered the receiver momentarily and then read off a phone number for me to send a picture.

  “Send it right along, won’t you?” she asked, letting her mask of control slip ever so slightly. “Who knows, Ring? It may be time for me to visit the tropics again.”

  44

  Florida: Ring

  Wally and Risa had gone for a run before dinner, so I had Gyro as my sous chef. We prepared—admittedly, with some sampling—an array of bread and olives, cheese, hummus, and basically every pickled item known to man. I chilled wine and set the table family style, knowing that Marcus, and probably Suma would be joining us, then opened a beer and took the beast into the yard for recreation. I sat at the dock while Gyro reinvestigated every single blade of Bermuda grass we managed to keep alive in the backyard. I rolled my shoulders to loosen them and stretched both legs and arms, getting ready for our dinner guests.

  I had a feeling that our meal would be memorable.

  Suma joined us along with Marcus, after picking him up at his hotel, and it made for a cheerful table as they traded war stories about the medical field, lawsuits, and the general decline of civilization. Now and then it did us good to hear about less bizarre lives. When the wine was gone and the plates were cleared, I asked Marcus if he had any training with weapons. His look confirmed my suspicions, so we all filed into the yard for an impromptu lesson on the finer points of knife fighting against ancient succubae that may or may not be wearing crinoline skirts. I really know very little about fashion among the immortals of New Orleans, but it seemed plausible.

  “Stand light on your feet, okay?” I instructed Marcus, as Suma sat on the grass while Wally and Risa assisted me on posing his limbs properly. I hadn’t given him a knife for the same reason I wouldn’t strap a butcher knife to Gyro’s paw; he simply wasn’t ready for it and it was patently unsafe. We drank a lot of wine, too, which added to the general danger, although I stopped at one glass, knowing that this lesson was going to occur.

  “How does that feel?” I asked him, taking in his generally clumsy bearing.

  “Okay. A bit stiff. Should I be moving around or something, you know, light on my feet?” he asked, giving voice to a common mistake made by amateurs.

  “No, stay still, breathing easy. Remember this: quiet mind, quiet feet. You want to be economical, not flying all over the place. All that does is make you unbalanced and at risk. Wally, reposition his legs and turn him a bit?” I asked her, as she moved to adjust his placing.

  She placed her arms around his chest and turned him to face me in a side stance, narrowing his profile dramatically. I heard her inhale as she playfully nuzzled his neck. He reacted as expected, with wide eyes and a hint of a blush. Wally can do that to a man in an instant. It’s her trademark. Well, that and a few other things, but this was the one she used at the moment.

  “What is that cologne, Marcus? It’s a panty dropper,” she said in her most lascivious tone. “Risa, come smell this guy. Amazing.” She stepped aside as Risa leaned in and sniffed his neck appreciatively.

  “Well? What is it, handsome?” Risa flirted, outrageously. She was at her maximum wattage, gazing up at him with doe eyes and a soft smile. It was a killer look.

  “It’s, well, it’s Armani. You like it that much, really? I’ll wear it more often now,” Marcus stammered, falling in love with his cologne choice just a bit more than he thought possible.

  “Okay, dreamboat.” I laughed. “Turn back, position again, like we showed you. Now, I’ll extend my hand, blade backward so you’re not hurt. Show me what your instincts are when I come forward and we’ll see where your skills are at.” Marcus settled again, trying to remain serious in the face of such flattery. It was challenging even for me, and I live with the girls.

  I balanced on my back foot slightly in a sixty to forty ratio, arm out slightly and my knife turned toward me. “Ready?” I asked him, and he smiled. Over his shoulder, Risa gave an imperceptible nod, and I lunged forward in a blazing strike as my wrist turned to plunge the blade in his heart, stopping only when my knuckles thumped against his breastbone with a muffled noise signaling the end of Marcus’ life as he knew it.

  Suma gasped. Risa and Wally stood, unmoving and imperturbable. Before his body could hit the patio, he began to sublimate like any immortal, old or new, and only Suma was surprised by the dainty
motes of blue that scattered on the breeze as what had been Marcus, toy of Delphine, vanished from the earth forever.

  “How did—how did you know?” Suma asked me, pale and shaken.

  “He smelled like Sandrine, but not a perfect match. Close enough for me. He must have begun to turn from fucking Delphine every night, and not even known that he was being recreated in her image. It was a matter of time before he began to kill on his own, probably starting with his ex-wife and moving on from there. I asked the girls to confirm it, and once they did with their little bit of theater, it was time for him to go.”

  Suma shook her head sadly, her gaze lingering on the empty clothes that Marcus had worn. Risa snatched them up and began walking toward the trash cans on the side of the house, while Wally casually asked us all if we were ready for another bottle of wine. It was business as usual. For us, anyway, but I sensed that Suma was receiving an education in casual death that she could do without if it were her choice.

  Being around us, it wasn’t. With a steadying hand, I helped her to her feet and led her inside, where she could shake off the adrenaline in a more civilized setting than the scraggly Bermuda grass of our backyard.

  “Why don’t you stay over? No funny stuff, I promise.” I smiled winningly at her, conscious of her mental state. “But you can rest here, and in the morning you can head over to the Butterfly for a normal, death-free lunch.”

  “That sounds like just what I ordered,” she replied, gamely. Her good humor was returning and we had wine to drink, so we joined Wally and Risa inside and gave Marcus no further thought. It was as if he had never been born, which was just one of the sad details that immortals brought to bear on innocents, day in and day out.

  45

  Florida: Ring

  I stayed true to my word. Suma rested easily in my bed, and I took the couch. After coffee and some lounging in which we were miraculously alone, Suma asked me a question that caught me off guard as I was rummaging breakfast for us.

  “When you were in the army, did you think about what would happen afterward? If you killed someone or did things that you thought you would have to answer for later? Like sins?” She was looking past me as she spoke.

  It troubled me that she knew that detail of my life as I couldn’t remember telling her, but she had spoken to the girls at length and the topic may have come up. I certainly didn’t hide my time overseas.

  “I didn’t think about it. I was hot and tired, hungry most of the time. Thirsty, miserable. I learned to despise the uncertainty of violence but relied on my team like they were family. The oldest in my squad was only twenty-six. Three of us were married, some had kids. We were all homesick. I would’ve strangled someone for a cheeseburger that didn’t taste like dust, but there was a job to do, so I did it. Sometimes, that meant killing. Mostly it meant waiting around and bitching, but yeah, there was fighting. I killed and I don’t really regret it.” I paused to hand Suma a wedge of orange.

  She took it and inhaled the scent with appreciation. “I’ll never get tired of that smell. Like the sun,” she said, nibbling. Around her bites she asked, “But you didn’t think about sin? About whether or not there would be some cost for doing what you were doing?” It was a fair question.

  “Are you really asking me if I believe in God?” I countered. “Because the answer has to be yes.”

  I think that surprised her. She looked expectantly at me for details, finishing her orange.

  “It just seems logical to me, that’s all,” I explained. “I don’t know about heaven. I don’t think that there is a hell; at least not like some of us portray it. There are no lakes of fire, or beasts and ice and darkness. All of those things are here, now, with us every day, so it doesn’t make sense to create a place to hold what is already a part of our daily lives. There is fire, endless fire from wars that we make. The cold of loneliness. Beasts, that we hunt and kill, or the worst among humanity. Those people are beasts, at least to me. I see what they are capable of, up close and personal, and it’s nauseating. And I believe in counterweights. After seeing what we have seen here, in the dark and sometimes in the light, well, I just think that there has to be something, someone, holding onto the other side of the rope and stopping all of us here from sliding down some shithole to be lost forever. And I think that God doesn’t really care what I’m doing as long as I’m helping to hold the rope, instead of stepping on the heads of everyone who is circling the drain around a long, cold fall into the permanent darkness.”

  I sliced another wedge of the orange, perfect and simple. So different from all of the rest of what was becoming a very complicated life.

  “Are you going to the Butterfly today?” I asked her, handing her the next section of her orange.

  Reaching out, she nodded. “I want to eat lunch with my sister and feel normal for ten seconds, not like merde!” she cursed abruptly in accented French when the orange slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. “Sorry. Clumsy!” she said, abashed at her minor outcry.

  “You cuss like a sailor, but not in English?” I asked her, bending down to wipe the floor with a towel. I didn’t want her to see my face at that moment. I had heard that same curse once before. At the beach. With Senya.

  “I do,” she admitted, sheepish. “My grandfather taught me the best cursing was in French. It has more vibrancy when you’re being dirty, don’t you think?” She laughed as she described the potency of lurid cursing in her second tongue.

  “That it does,” I agreed, with a forced smile. “I hope you enjoy lunch with Boon. It’s important to have family. People you can rely on.” I told her all this with a pasty grin, knowing that her simple little outburst had revealed who the Baron’s informant was, and how little I knew about Cazimir, Elizabeth, and everything.

  When Suma left I hurried to Risa’s room to find her reading on her laptop, quietly. Before I could say anything, she waved me over and pointedly turned the screen for me to see. On it hovered an email from Hayseed, with the simple message Let’s talk, all four of us, video, noon. Most important. This was highly unusual for him, or any other members of our thin community, but without any discussion I told her, “I’ll go get Wally up and alert. I’ve got ninety minutes, which gives me one to spare.” With that, I went to wake the beast and Gyro, who was doubtless sharing her bed in all his furry glory.

  We assembled in the kitchen, just as we had the first time we spoke to Cazimir. Wally understood the gravity of the call, so she was ready, reasonably dressed, and had made some attempt at grooming. It was a start. I decided that now was as good as any to drop the bombshell that Suma was a turncoat who was feeding information to the Baron.

  “Before Hayseed comes on, since we’re here, I found out who is working for the Baron,” I started, grabbing the girls’ undivided attention.

  “Who?” they blurted in unison. “How do you know?” Risa continued, while Wally’s wheels began to turn, processing this information.

  “Well, it’s Suma,” I said, expecting the worst. I was right.

  “Bullshit. Seriously? How—what—but she’s family!” Wally spat, incensed.

  Risa glowered, already looking for angles. “How?” she asked.

  I gathered myself, looking quickly at the clock. We had three minutes. Not my best application of Army logistics, but what the hell.

  “Senya. Remember her?” I asked. When the girls motioned they did, I continued, “The night I met her. At the beach, we were in the alcove of that hotel next to Vince’s-- that’s where I offed her. Before we were in holding each other, I heard a woman’s footsteps following us, then dropping her keys and swearing in French, but it wasn’t some tourist who spoke the language naturally, it was accented. At the time, I didn’t know how, but as of this morning, I do. It’s a Thai accent, and the voice was Suma.”

  Before there were questions, I pressed on. “I handed her an orange and she dropped it. She cursed in French. Her grandfather was from Marseilles, and he taught her the language. It was her tha
t night. I know it. Same tone, same accent, same everything.”

  Risa asked, “Does she know you know?”

  I shook my head. “No, I looked down, away, whatever I had to. I know I was shocked as shit, but I hid it. She suspects nothing. The questions are . . . well, why? To what end? How the hell did the Baron find her?”

  “Does she know Elizabeth? That’s what I want to know. Because if she leads that woman to her own family, then she is compromised beyond saving.” Risa assessed Suma’s level of depravity in sad tones.

  Before we could continue, the laptop pinged and it was time for our chat with Hayseed.

  “I hope he isn’t full of shit. I don’t know if I can take any more lying and still be anything close to reasonable,” I groused, voicing what we all felt.

  The man who appeared on the screen looked like anything but a liar. He was in his late fifties and had the bearing of a steady Midwesterner. He had cheerful green eyes over a long nose with salt and pepper hair cut short, but not quite military regulation. He smiled easily at us and dipped his head in acknowledgement of our image.

  “I’ll never feel like I kept up with technology. Just when I think I’m current, something becomes commonplace from the science fiction I read as a kid. I’m Lyle Caldwell. Hayseed, by another name.” He introduced himself to us with a nod and waited politely for a reply.

  I made our introductions. “I’m Ring Hardigan, this is Risa Wexler”—she smiled and said hello—“and Waleska Schmidt, or Wally, which really fits her once you see how she eats.”

  Wally punched my arm and smiled brilliantly at the screen. Lyle was captivated even across the miles, which was not lost on Risa, who smirked.

  “I handle most of our actual up close and personal interaction with the immortals. Risa and Wally take care of anything that requires human persuasion, information, logistics, and things like that. And we live together, too, so feel free to say whatever you want. We have no secrets, although we will keep whatever information you discuss today completely private,” I said.