by Rob Cornell
Cohen stood. He had a good six inches on Dolan, but Dolan didn’t flinch. He had something better than height on Cohen.
“You don’t have a choice. Sit down.”
“I’ll stand.”
“You’ll sit like a good dog or I’ll make sure you never see your pups again.”
The rumble at the back of Cohen’s throat managed to tweak Dolan’s own hackles to a standing position. So he took a step forward. One could never show fear to the likes of Cohen.
“Sit.”
Cohen sucked a deep breath through his nose and sat.
“Good boy.” Dolan returned to his seat and propped his feet on the desk. “Explain to me how Lockman was in the house with you and you let him get away.”
“Short of breaking my cover and tackling him right there, I had no options.”
“You could have contacted us before he left instead of after.”
“I didn’t have a chance. He was only there for a few minutes.”
Dolan chewed the inside of his cheek. “He doesn’t hold still for long, does he? Son of a bitch—no offense—hasn’t changed much after all this time.”
“Why is he worth all this trouble?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t need to worry about.”
“You take my family. Take three years of my life, making me pretend to care for something that repulses me. I deserve to know what is at stake.”
“The only thing you deserve is a rolled newspaper to your nose.”
“You didn’t get the girl, did you?”
If there was anything that annoyed Dolan more than most, it was insolent supernaturals that acted as if they had more brains than the animals they were. “I’ve been patient with you. Maybe too much.”
“And where are the vampires?”
“They didn’t work out.”
“Things are falling apart. You’re losing control of your operation.”
“I still have you.”
“You are one mortal. You think you can keep juggling our kind without one of us breaking free?”
“The only leash you need worry about is your own. You’ve already lost one of your pack.”
Cohen’s eyes smoldered. The stubble on his face grew darker right before Dolan’s eyes. “Who?”
“It’s hard to tell. All you pups look the same to me, but I believe it was a brother of yours. We lost him in Nevada. He didn’t wait for back up and suffered for it.”
Cohen’s nostrils quivered as his breath hissed in and out. “I’ll rip your entrails from your belly.”
Dolan dropped his feet from the desk and leaned his elbows on the edge. “Not today. Today you go back to playing house with the woman. You get her to lure Lockman back to where we can capture him.”
“Then you will let my brood free.”
“I’ll do better than that. I will send you all home.”
The rage fell from Cohen’s expression like a pulled drape and left him slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “That’s possible?”
“You get me Lockman and a lot more than that will be possible.”
“I don’t understand. How? What does he know that no one in mortal history ever has?”
Dolan felt the smile stretch across his face despite all the recent complications. “It isn’t what he knows now. It’s what he used to know that will change mortal destiny forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re certain you don’t want to wait in the car?”
Jessie contorted her face in condescending teen fashion. “Parked in the middle of downtown Detroit at three in the morning? Yeah, that would be safer.”
Lockman pointed at the red apartment door, the tarnished metal 66 at the center followed by an additional 6 in black marker. “The person who lives here could be upsetting.”
“Upsetting how? Like he’s a perv or something?”
“He is not human.”
“Oh.” Her brow furled. “Wait. I thought you said all those things were evil.”
“I said they don’t belong. They’re unnatural. They’re bad.”
“They’re evil.”
“This guy is different.”
“Different how?”
“He’s neutered.”
She opened her mouth and made a gagging noise. “Now I’m disturbed.”
“It’s a figure of speech. Basically, the Agency fixed him so he isn’t dangerous anymore. At least not in the supernatural sense.”
“They did this why?”
“To keep him as a source of information.”
“And he still lives in Detroit, in this apartment, after fifteen years?”
Lockman looked at the door. “I hope so.” He knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Lockman felt Jessie start beside him and the aura of tension surrounding her. He hoped he hadn’t scared her too much, but he wanted her to be ready.
Only the woman who answered the door was not who Lockman expected. Not even close. She stood barely taller than four foot. Blonde hair cut in a page-boy style. Her hips were nearly as wide as she was tall. Her eyes bulged behind large glasses. Between the height and her odd appearance, it was impossible to guess her age. But she was definitely human, despite her gnomish features.
“I was wondering if you’d actually knock. I heard you two yapping out here.”
“I apologize.” Lockman’s insides crumbled. “We must have the wrong place.”
“No you don’t, hon.”
“I don’t?”
“You’re looking for Marty, right?”
“Does he still live here?”
“I don’t appreciate the way you described him to the young lady.”
“She’s...new to the supernatural. I wanted to make sure she was prepared.”
The short woman appraised Jessie. “You his kid?”
Jessie cleared her throat. “Yeah.”
“He take you to nice places like this often?”
“So far? It’s the only kind of place we’ve been together.”
The gnomish woman turned back to Lockman. “You know Marty back from his Agency days, huh?”
“I’m surprised he shared that with you.”
“We share everything. It’s what married folks do.”
No chance Lockman could have kept from showing the shock all over his face.
The woman smirked. “That’s right, bucko. Seven years now.”
“Congratulations,” was all he could think to say. “Can I talk to him? It’s important.”
“He always said one of you would end up back here. It’s why he refused to move to the burbs like I wanted. Maybe we get this over with, I can finally get him to upgrade. Start a family.”
Lockman offered no input on that score. He wasn’t even sure a human and a supernatural could start a family, let alone if it was a good idea. But the fact that Marty had expected a visit from someone in the Agency intrigued him.
Marty’s wife waved a hand. “Come in. Shoes off at the door. I got nice carpet in here.”
They kicked their shoes off and entered the main living area. The inside of the apartment betrayed every expectation based on the outside. Plush furniture. A spotless and thick carpet. Shining entertainment center with all manner of electronic gadgets hooked into the widescreen plasma in its center. Prints of Monet and Picasso and Munch hung on the walls.
Off to the left, the kitchen glistened with brand new appliances. A hall led off to the right. Marty emerged from that hall.
Jessie shrieked.
The ogre pushed seven-feet tall. His dark green skin looked rougher, scalier than Lockman remembered. Maybe the effects of age. A red stubble peppered Marty’s head. He wore a Detroit Red Wings jersey that would normally hang like a dress even on Lockman’s build, but fit tightly to Marty’s muscled torso.
“Craig fucking Lockman,” Marty said, his voice stuffy and deep.
“Marty.”
“You’re still ugly as sin.”
“You’re pretty as ever.”<
br />
“Fuck you, bitch. You know you want to suck my big green dick.”
“Hey, Marty. This is my daughter. She’s thirteen.”
A hint of red tinged his green cheeks. “Excuse my mouth, hon. I didn’t see you standing there.” He ducked under the hall archway and came into the great room. His gaze remained locked on Jessie. “Daughter? Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”
“What makes sense, Marty?”
The ogre frowned. “Eliza, could you get us some drinks. Beer for Craig here. A soda for the young lady?”
Jessie had not moved or made a sound since her initial shriek at the sight of Marty. Her chin dipped almost imperceptibly, might have been a nod. “’Kay.”
“Never seen a Gulogich before, huh?”
Jessie stared.
“We call them ogres here,” Lockman said. “Marty is more culturally proud than most supernaturals.”
“And I fuck...er...flipping hate that term. Supernaturals. Like we’re out of a comic book or something. We’re living beings like everybody else, and we don’t all come from the same place. I mean, do I looking like a goblin to you? Do I look like I could even come from the same plane of existence?”
Jessie gaped silently.
“You’re asking the wrong person, Marty.”
Marty ducked his large head. “Fair enough. Have a seat guys.”
Eliza, the ogre’s wife, set three cans on the coffee table while Marty, Jessie, and Lockman sat down. The beers were Pabst. The soda was orange. Jessie stared at the can in front of her but didn’t touch it.
Lockman snapped open his beer and chugged deep. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the trip to Nevada. Adrenaline had fed him so far. It wouldn’t be long before he shut down. After he got what he needed from Marty, they would have to find a place to hole up.
Marty sipped his beer, his pinky finger, thicker than Lockman’s thumb, sticking out like a Brit at tea time. “I knew I’d see you again.”
“Me specifically?”
Marty nodded. “It was foretold.”
Lockman rolled his eyes. Ever since the Agency had implanted a microchip in Marty’s brain that prevented him from performing violent acts, the ogre had taken to religion—though not any recognizable mortal religion.
“All you’ve seen, yet you still have no faith.”
“The only thing I know for sure is you and your kind don’t belong here. You know it, too.”
“Who is to say? Maybe the Lords have made our worlds cross for a reason.”
“I don’t need a preacher, Mart. I need a source.”
The ogre leaned back in his chair. The leather upholstery groaned under his weight. “That’s all I am to you?”
“Let’s level. If you didn’t have that chip in your head, you would have ripped my head off the second you saw me.”
“Not true.”
“And you sure as hell wouldn’t have married a mortal.”
Marty’s red eyebrows rose. He looked over Lockman’s shoulder to where his wife stood. “You want to hit him, you can.”
“Not worth it,” she said. “I’m going to go out. Try not to make this visit too long.”
No one spoke while Eliza gathered her coat and left the apartment. Then Marty set his beer can on the coffee table and sighed. “You have a lot of nerve talking to me like that in my own home.”
What could an ogre expect? That he would be accepted here? But hadn’t Eliza accepted him? Which only meant there had to be some screw loose there.
“I didn’t come here to insult you.”
“You came here for weapons.”
“You still deal?”
“What other kind of work could a six-eleven ogre get on this plane?” He pulled a pen and small moleskin notebook out of his pants pocket. “Tell me what you’re hoping for. I’ll have to check the storage shed.”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to know what I’m up against.”
“You think I can tell you that?”
“What does your prophecy say?”
Something smacked the side of his leg.
Jessie said, “Stop being a dick.”
Marty grinned, yellow teeth and all. “I like her.”
“She’s still under the delusion there’s good mojo out there.”
“There isn’t?”
Lockman slammed his beer can onto the coffee table. “You know there isn’t.”
Marty shrugged. “You can’t prove a negative. Just because it hasn’t been witnessed, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Fine, you two can talk philosophy after I get my info and my guns.”
Jessie picked up her soda can and opened it. “He doesn’t seem evil to me.”
“That’s because you didn’t see him kill half a dozen good men with his bare hands.”
Marty closed his eyes and grimaced.
Jessie froze with her soda can halfway to her lips.
“That was before the chip, of course.”
Marty opened his eyes. They looked moist. “That was before a lot of things.”
“I want to make sure my daughter has a full picture of both sides. Now can we cut the shit and get on with this?”
“What do you need?”
“I’ve tried to reconnect with the Agency, but my channel was cut off.”
“That’s because there is no Agency anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Priorities change. Even ultra-covert operations require funding, and Washington isn’t interested in threats it doesn’t necessarily believe in.”
Lockman raked a hand through his hair. “Then what’s your story? Why are you still here?”
“Because I was waiting for you. You don’t have to believe in my religion. But I know things. Things told to me in dreams and the patterns of the world around me. The Agency calmed my natural rage with this chip.” He tapped a thick finger to his temple. “But my Gulogich nature remains. It manifested in a new way. My people used to be shamans before they grew to hunger for battle. I’m going back to those roots.”
“Clairvoyance is documented among some supernaturals and even a few mortals.”
“It’s not clairvoyance. It’s more than that.”
“Then tell me why I’m here?”
His eyes lit as his gaze turned to Jessie. “As a test, or because you really don’t know?”
“I think I liked you better when you spoke in grunts and crushed skulls.”
Jessie spat air. “You’re being a dick again.”
Lockman ignored her for the moment. If vampires, a shape shifter, and a ghost couldn’t convince her of the danger of the supernatural, nothing he said ever would.
“I’m here because Dolan found me, Marty. And he’s coming at me with all sorts of crazy supernatural shit. On top of trying to take me alive, he’s nearly had my daughter killed and he’s taken her mother. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I’m not in the mood for any mojo bullshit.”
Marty leaned his elbows on his knees. The sleeves on his hockey jersey slid up to reveal the red curls on his wrists. “Otto Dolan.”
“The one and only.”
“The Agency hid you away, so if he found you, someone from the Agency must have helped.”
“Not just somebody. Victor Creed.”
“No effing way.”
“I was hoping you could hook up a meeting with him, but if the Agency was liquidated...”
“Yeah, I don’t have any more ties there. That doesn’t mean I can’t find Creed.”
“How?”
Jessie groaned as if she thought Lockman was so dense. “You haven’t listened to him at all, have you?”
Lockman looked back and forth between his daughter and the ogre. He wasn’t sure at the moment which was more fantastical. He had accepted the reality of ogres long before the idea of being a father.
“You’re talking about mojo.”
Marty smirked and rubbed his chin. “I always wondered why you guys in the Agency called it
mojo instead of magic. After all, you refer to those of us from other plains by the common names of your literature.”
“Is that a question?”
“Sort of. Though I think I know the answer. It’s one thing to accept a being that’s far different from you. It’s a whole other deal to embrace the power that so defies your physics.”
“That’s insightful, Marty. And beside the point. I don’t care how you do it, if you can tell me how to find Creed, I’m in.”
“Then I’ll need to brew some tea. While the water’s boiling we can go over the weaponry you think you’ll need.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said. “Maybe we can do better than a little cross this time.”
Marty bellowed with laughter. “A crucifix, Lockman? Really?” He pointed at Jessie. “You better watch out for this one.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“That was fun,” Jessie said as Lockman pulled out of the self storage facility where Marty had loaded the trunk with their arsenal.
He waited to reply, trying to pick his words carefully. Dawn tainted the sky with pale light. Lockman had to keep blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
“Are ogres nocturnal?” Jessie asked.
“No.”
“Then what was he doing up at three in the morning as if it was the middle of the day?”
“Ogres do not sleep.”
“So than his wife must be the nocturnal one.”
The right words did not surface, so he went with the first words. “This is not a game. It isn’t fun. The dangers are real.”
“Hello? I was there when the vampires shot up your house. It was my boyfriend possessed by some glowy spirit thing. And it’s my mom and stepdad who were kidnapped.”
“And yet you sit across from an ogre as if he’s the dad of one of your friend’s from school.”
“He was perfectly nice. I’d even say charming.”
“And you’d say that based on a couple hours with him. Like I said, he wasn’t always so...charming. He killed people, people I knew well.”
“People in the Agency?”
“Yes.”
Lockman picked up the map Marty had printed from the internet with his directions scribbled over it. How the ogre had come up with the location he couldn’t begin to guess. It turned out the tea wasn’t for reading leaves, but for him to sip while gazing at a computer screen, scrolling through a popular satellite map site. Seemingly at random, Marty would zoom in on the map, or scroll along, until eventually he had honed in on a specific address.
