by Ari Marmell
Finished the milk, finished the paper—two more murders in the last three days, that they knew about—and was about to head back out, when…
Yep. The phone. Again.
When had I become so damn popular, and how could I stop it?
“Mick? It’s… it’s Bianca.”
“Oh! Hey.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t figured on hearing from the Ottatis for some time yet, and while it wasn’t a bad thing, she sure coulda picked a more convenient time for whatever kinda heart to heart she had in mind.
Plus, as always, the blower… Not the best way for a drawn-out chinwag with me.
“It’s swell to hear from you,” I started, “but—”
“Mick, Fino’s missing.”
Between my own distraction and the buzzing in my noggin from the cursed dingus, it took a second to sink in. “He what?”
“He’s just gone!” Now I was payin’ full attention, I heard the panic beneath the surface. “He never came home, and we haven’t been able to find him anywhere! I thought he just needed a few hours to work it through in his head, but it’s been days!”
Days? Never came home? “You don’t mean he’s been gone since I was there!”
“Yes! Yes, that’s what I mean! He never came back after storming out, after you… Oh, God…”
Shit. Shit, this wasn’t good.
“All right, sister, calm down. You haven’t been out lookin’ by yourself, have you?”
I heard her pacing, heard the rosary, even over the line. “Of course not! Archie’s had the boys all over Chicago, even called in some other Syndicate men to help search! Until…”
Yeah, that wasn’t a word I wanted to hear. “Until what, Bianca?”
“We got hit today.” She was on the verge of tears, one foot over the edge. “Some of Fino’s people, I mean. We don’t know by who. Archie… Well, Archie’s in charge, with Fino missing. He had to look into it, no matter how much he’d rather be trying to find…”
Made sense. But while the gangs always had little territorial disputes, personal beefs, misunderstandings, things between ’em had been more or less quiet of late. No way I was buying this as a coincidence.
“He there now?” I asked.
She didn’t answer for a second; at a guess, she’d nodded, forgettin’ I couldn’t see. Then, “Yes. He only got the call an hour or so ago. I didn’t know who else to—”
“I’ll get into it. Where are they?”
She gave me an address that, after some heavy thinkin’, I recognized as a narrow street runnin’ behind a row of shops. One of ’em, at least, was Fino’s: a hock shop that doubled as a low-rent fence and bookmaking operation.
I made some assurances to Bianca we both knew were empty, strapped on everything I needed to carry under my coat, and dashed out the door.
The clouds were hangin’ real low, barely pushed away by the Chicago skyline, but it wasn’t raining again yet. Might still be some halfway decent evidence, if Archie and his palookas hadn’t trampled all over it.
Couple big lugs with obvious bulges in their cheap coats moved to block my way as I turned the corner behind the shops, but Archie spotted me and called ’em off with a “He’s okay.”
The “street” was basically an alley with pretentions and smelled of old garbage—and new blood. Couple fresh stiffs lay sprawled around the three steps to a metal door, and even from here I could sense, and sniff, that there were more inside. I stepped over, makin’ sure not to drag my plates through any of the blood or the spent casings.
“Archie.”
“Mick. Bianca call you?”
“Yep.”
“She tell you what’s happening other’n this mess? ’Bout the boss?”
“Yep.” I crouched down to get a better slant on the dead guys. Ugly. Not vampire-ugly and I’d sure seen plenty worse, but ugly.
“So whaddaya think?” I asked while giving it all the up’n-down.
“What do I think? Ain’t that why you’re here?”
“Humor me, Archie.”
“Humor you. Yeah.” He actually sighed. “I think I got no idea who hit us, but we better figure it out before they do it again. I think we can’t afford a war, but maybe we can’t afford not to have one after this. Especially if whoever did this is behind Mr. Ottati disappearin’, too.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t fret too much about war, Archie. This wasn’t a hit—not the way you mean it.” I stood up, checked to make sure I hadn’t dipped the hem of my flogger in anything wouldn’t easily wash out. “This was staged.”
“Staged? What’re you talkin’ about?”
I pointed, first to the roscoes the stiffs on the concrete held loose in their hands, then, after trompin’ up the steps, to the ones that’d hit the floor near the bodies inside. I knew Archie wouldn’t be able to smell what I had—or hadn’t—so I said, “Check the clips. Not a single one of these heaters have been fired. You think every person here had exactly enough time to pull a gat but not squirt metal?
“And look here. Your boys are all facing away from the door, whether they’re inside or out. Regardless of which way the shooters approached from, even if they didn’t seem a threat, your people woulda at least turned to ’em, right?”
“Coulda been multiple shooters,” Archie protested.
“Don’t figure. Each person here was shot from a single angle. Measure the wounds if you don’t believe me. Gotta figure, multiple shooters, some of the targets would be hit from more’n one direction. Plus, look at the walls. Only a few impacts, and those match up to the spatter. Not a single missed shot.”
I dropped my voice low, so only Archie could possibly hear. “No, someone put your people exactly where they wanted ’em. And then the boys stood and waited their turn to get shot.”
“Waited their turn to… Why the fuck would—? Oh.” The snarl thrashin’ around behind his mug woulda scared off a rabid Doberman. “So this was someone from your side of the tracks, not ours.”
“’Fraid that’s how it looks, yeah.”
“Why?”
“Now that’s a real fine question, Archie.” I paced a few steps away to stare absently down the street. He moved to stand beside me but kept quiet.
I thought about the vampires who’d been gunning for my friends, but chucked the notion. Yeah, technically a vampire could mesmerize someone into standing around to get shot, but there was no call for it here. They hadn’t been shy about attacking Franky or the L King. Most of ’em weren’t even capable of this sorta subtlety, and I couldn’t come up with any reason why they would.
Besides, Fino was my pal—maybe Archie, if you stretched the definition—but I didn’t know these guys from nobody. No reason to target ’em to get at me.
Not me…
“Archie?”
“Yeah?”
“If Fino wasn’t missing, what would he be doin’ right now?”
“What would he be doin’? Same thing I’m doin’. Lookin’ over his people and trying to figure who’d done this to ’em.”
“Even though he’s supposed to be lyin’ low?”
Archie scoffed. “You know the boss better’n that.”
“Yeah, I do. I think that was the point. I think this whole mess was meant to lure him out.”
Which coulda meant, in a strange way, it was a good thing I’d made him pull a Jack Griffin. Somehow, though, I didn’t expect that logic to go over real well with the rest of the Ottatis, so maybe I’d keep the notion to myself.
“Why?” he asked.
“Dunno yet, but it’s part of what I’m digging into.”
Archie didn’t look too satisfied with that answer. I couldn’t blame him. “You think we gotta worry about more of this?”
“I hope not. Especially since nobody has the foggiest idea where he or his family are.” I’d raised my voice for that last bit. Archie gave me a curious look, but the extra volume hadn’t been meant for him.
If this had been a lure, someone m
ight still be watching. I wanted to make it clear this wasn’t a winning play.
“I’m not sure what you’re gonna tell your people,” I said, “but you need to wrap this up and dust.”
“And what about you?”
“Me, I got a notion where to look next.”
* * *
Said notion being the Ottatis’ place.
No, not the apartment where they were layin’ dormy, I mean the house. Ain’t as though I didn’t already know of at least one bunch who’d been all too interested in keeping eyes on the place. Whether they were the same ones tryin’ to draw him out… well, I’d just hafta ask real politely.
They were still usin’ the milk-wagon. Maybe they couldn’t lay their mitts on another non-motorized vehicle that wouldn’t stand out, or maybe they just didn’t take me serious as they should. Still, for redcaps, they’d made an effort to be subtle: the contraption was parked two blocks away, insteada right across the street. Took me an extra, oh, almost five whole minutes to find ’em.
Driver’s bench was empty this time, which seemed hinky. Even if most of them were over by the Ottatis’—I hadn’t poked around too hard over there, wanted to find their bucket first— they’d want somebody playin’ lookout, wouldn’t they?
I moved toward the wagon, alert for hidden sentries, felt like I was bein’ ranked the whole way. But nobody took a shot, jumped up outta hiding, or so much as said “Boo!” Far as I could tell, only one who saw me comin’ was the horse, and he really didn’t give a damn.
When I got within a pace or two, I started to get an inkling why.
The stench was hidden—somebody’d tossed an olfactory glamour over it, to avoid drawing attention and maybe to keep from panicking the horse—but this close, I could sniff through it. This wagon held a lot more’n milk, and the new cargo was goin’ sour a lot quicker.
Hand on the butt of the wand, I opened the door just enough for a quick gander.
Redcaps. Dead redcaps. Five of ’em. Couldn’t swear on the megaliths of Stonehenge whether the one I’d bumped into earlier was one of ’em, but I was willing to make the assumption.
Every one had been chilled with a single cut, neat as you please. Throat slit here, stabbed through the pump there. No signs of fight, but a few of ’em still wore their last living expressions, like death masks.
They’d died in fear. No, fear ain’t the right word. Absolute mortal terror, the kind that paralyzes you, kills you before you’re dead.
Right.
“Okay, Áebinn. C’mon out and chat.”
Nothin’. Branches scraped each other with dead leaves in the wind, flivvers rumbled by in the distance, faint and grainy tunes leaked from radios and through poorly sealed windows up’n down the block.
“Look, we ain’t either of us got all day. I dunno if you followed me from the shop or if you were already here, but I know you are here. I know you croaked those redcaps—and Fino’s boys, too, which was not called for and I ain’t happy about—and I know you’re hopin’ if you keep your trap shut, I’ll lead you to Fino. It ain’t happening. I don’t even know where he is.”
For another moment, still nothin’. I was certain the bean sidhe was responsible for the bloodshed, but I was startin’ to wonder if I was wrong about her still lurking around, when…
“I’m beginning to doubt you even want this matter resolved, Oberon.”
She was standin’ right beside me, and she smelled of blood. Not just redcap blood, either. Mixed in with that lovely bouquet, I caught a whiff of human, too, and even a tiny trace of some kinda animal I couldn’t immediately identify. Where the hell had her investigation been taking her?
I barely deigned to turn my head. “How many people you murdered today? Do you even know?”
“People?” she scoffed. “Unseelie. Redcaps.”
“And Fino’s men!”
“Mortals. Are we even counting those?”
I needed to keep my cool here, much as I was yearnin’ to do otherwise. “This ain’t like you, Áebinn.” Sure, she’d never thought real highly of humans, but casual slaughter? To say nothing of the possible political ramifications with the Unseelie…
“You don’t understand. You say you do—you all say you do—but nobody does. Nobody but me has felt it! The redcaps were a threat to my mission! You can’t comprehend the danger we—”
Yeah, she was windin’ up for a good ol’-fashioned maddened rant, and I wasn’t in the mood. “What do you want here?”
I swear she almost hissed at the interruption. “The Ottatis.”
“Well, yeah, I’d actually tumbled to that much. I meant why?” I already knew the redcaps were interested in Adalina, had recognized her as somethin’ outta the ordinary. If Áebinn had tumbled to that, too, I wasn’t sure what I was gonna—
“Because they are your… friends.” She spat that last word out on the sidewalk like it was a rotten spot in a ripe plum.
My exasperation at that was actually a good thing; it helped me hide my relief. “We back to that again? You got no leads better’n ‘Mick’s been touched by this death whatsis so I’m gonna put the screws to all his pals like they were shelving’? Find a new tune, sister. This record ain’t sellin’.”
“The Ottatis, Oberon. Take me to them.”
“I told you, I got no idea where Fino is.”
“The others, then.”
“Don’t know that, either,” I lied. “And even if I did, I’d sooner pitch woo to a carburetor.”
“Are you trying to make an enemy of me, Oberon?”
And now, finally, I did turn completely to face her. “No, doll, you’re doin’ a fine job of that on your own. I’m still lookin’ into this mess, and if you wanna know what I’ve dug up and maybe work together on stoppin’ the undead, we can work somethin’ out. But you’re gonna leave my people outta this until we have real evidence one of ’em’s actually involved.”
I hadn’t actually verbalized the threat, but it was hardly subtle.
“Or else what?” she asked, soundin’ more curious than angry or worried.
She really shoulda been both. So I spelled it out.
“Or else I’m gonna arrange for you to ‘sense death’ a whole lot more personally, and if there’s consequences for that with the Court, I’ll deal with ’em.”
Her not-eyes went wide; I ain’t sure if she’d ever been threatened that overtly. “I could arrest you for merely saying that to me!”
“Try it, sister. See how far it gets either of us.”
She did nothing, said nothing, just glared like she wished I would up and fall into one of those gaping pits in her mug. I nodded and walked away.
I also took a few extra and unnecessary turns on my way back to the L, just in case.
Did she just have emotional blinders on, that she couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t involve the people I was close to? Was her vision that I’d been “touched” by this deathly power—whatever that even meant!—really her only damn clue? And if so, was it because she really couldn’t find others, or was her narrow-mindedness part of the obsession Queen Laurelline had warned me about?
Her killin’ those goons and the redcaps, and still gunnin’ for my friends, had convinced me of one thing, though. I definitely couldn’t afford to keep goin’ at this alone.
* * *
“Not a visit or a letter for months, and then two visits in one week? A suspicious gal might question your intentions.”
We were standin’ on the walkway of Dan Baskin’s lawn again. If we kept meetin’ here for our chinwags, I was gonna hafta ask them to put in a table and some chairs.
“Good thing you ain’t at all suspicious, isn’t it?”
She took a long pull off a snipe, tapped the ash off to fall in the rain-damp grass. “What do you want this time?”
No way to get there but straight through, I figured. “I need your help, Ramona.”
“I already told you that—”
“No, this ain’t about Baski
n. I mean I need your help. You’n me, together. Like last year.”
She froze in the middle of another drag; the thin trail of smoke actually stuttered, almost like Morse code. If she were mortal, I think we’d have seen one hell of a choking fit.
“And why the hell would I want to do that?”
“Look, if I’d brought my hat, it’d be in my hands. You want me to beg? I’ll—”
“You lied to me! Used me as bait!”
“Well, fuckin’ fiddle-de-dee! And how’s that any different than the fakeloo you were runnin’ on me when we first met?”
“That was before we really knew each other!” It was a weak excuse, and she knew I knew it.
“And it worked, didn’t it? Got a rival demon off your trail, for good!”
“I can’t trust you, Mick!”
And I couldn’t trust her, either. Never could. That’s where this argument was leadin’ us, where it’d taken us a half-dozen times before we’d mostly stopped speaking. Round and round and round we go.
Except this time, that’s not what came outta my trap.
“So what? You never did!”
You’da thought I’d slapped her. She honest-to-God fell back a step. The butt tumbled from her fingers to land with a spray of sparks on the wet lawn.
And immediately after, her peepers lit up, as if a bulb had clicked on in her head.
“You really believe that.” She didn’t sound angry, anymore. It was a tone of wonder, of genuine revelation.
She’d known I didn’t trust her. Hell, for her, once anyone knew what she was, that was pretty well assumed. But I guess it never even crossed her mind I might figure the reverse. Thing about succubi; I guess they’re such experts at lies, they ain’t always so good with truths.
I wanted to follow that up, more’n anything. But I’d come for a reason. “It won’t just be me you’re helpin’, sweetheart. If this works out, we’ll be given a whole nest of murdering vampires the bum’s rush from your boss’s jurisdiction, too.”
Did that last argument sway her? Would she have given me the brush-off otherwise? Or was it her excuse to say the “yes” she’d already wanted to say?
