Hostile Takeover (Vale Investigation Book 1)

by Cristelle Comby

  “I thought I’d been clear on the subject, Zianyon,” Hermes muttered, the use of his son’s full name universal parental code for “You’re in deep shit right now.”

  “Even my patience has its limits and you’re getting far too old to behave like a brat.”

  Zian bowed his head further. “Yes, Father.”

  “Wasn’t I clear when I told you that this …”—Hermes waved a hand as if he was searching for the right word, lips pursed—“… friendship was to be terminated at once? I don’t take kindly to my son ‘hanging out’ with a PI with a rap sheet a mile long, methods I loathe, and an utter disregard for the quintessential beauty of gardenias.”

  That got my attention. How could he know this story already? The man really was the information center of the universe.

  “If you know so much about me, then you know who I work for,” I said, deciding to place my chips on her.

  Hermes transferred his attention to me with a bemused expression. “Of course I do, Mr. Vale. But the real question is … do you?”

  I gulped. Something in the set of his eyes told me he wasn’t joking. He knew more about my situation than even I did. But as tempted as I was to press the matter, time was running out on why I’d come here in the first place.

  “What do you know of the creature I’m after?” I asked him.

  “Everything,” he said in that same tone.

  “Care to share?” I asked as I attempted to offer him a ghost of my usual Cheshire Cat grin.

  Hermes’ smile grew as if my gall amused him. I couldn’t shake the image of a cat toying with a mouse before going in for the kill.

  “Unlike my son, I abide by the rules, Mr. Vale,” he said. “Mankind’s destiny is set on its own course and I dare not interfere. Need I remind you how those rules were set in stone long before you came into the picture?”

  I took a step closer to the screen. “People will die if you tell me nothing—good people.”

  “I’m afraid that is what people do,” Hermes said in a flat voice.

  I thumbed quickly through Zian’s printouts and almost at once saw what I was looking for. “William Mallory had a wife and a son. Ethan Nicholls had two girls and three grandchildren. All of them are going to miss the men who got killed over the last two days—and that’s just the kills by this thing that I know about right now.” I pointed a finger at the screen. “Something from your world did this. That makes it your problem. The least you could do is give me a nudge in the right direction.”

  Fury passed through Hermes’ eyes for an instant. It had probably been a long time—centuries, maybe—since someone had dared speak to the messenger of the gods like that. I half expected to be disintegrated where I stood at a snap of his fingers for mouthing off.

  But the moment passed and Hermes just sighed instead. “I wish I could do more for you, mortal … I swear to the Styx. But these are the rules that were set down by your people. That old fart Aurelian was very clear on the subject. As for your ‘nudge,’ as you put it, I believe it has already been given.”

  I frowned at that. “What?”

  The annoying know-it-all smile returned to Hermes’ lips. “Who do you think gave you this assignment, mortal? Think. Whose brand is it that you carry?”

  My hand came up to scratch at my shoulder, an almost unconscious gesture. A long time ago, I had found out the meaning of the symbol on my back. A quick search on the Internet had revealed it to be the Greek symbol of Hades, king of the Underworld and guardian of the wealth of the Earth.

  But I’d always thought that symbol was … well, symbolic. Something she had chosen because of what the concept of Hades represented—death and judgment—not a brand. Death couldn’t be ruled by him or by any of the other Underworld crowd these days. They’d all been banished with the rest, so he couldn’t still have ties to our world … right?

  Hermes took notice of my growing understanding. “And to think you call yourself a private investigator. Yes, I did mean my dearest Uncle Hades. It is his daughter whom you serve.”

  Hermes’ smile grew with my uneasiness. “He’s the funny uncle, did you know?”

  I gulped as the realization hit home. I was working for the daughter of the god of the dead, destroyer of Titans and proud owner of Cerberus. My heart missed a beat or two. I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around the implications of that statement. But I did put this much together—just because he wasn’t on Earth anymore didn’t mean that he didn’t have agents doing his bidding … and, lucky me, I was one of them. Hells, no wonder my death kept getting canceled until further notice.

  “There is a lot you do not understand yet, Bellamy Vale,” Hermes went on. “Your path treads across a tapestry that was woven centuries ago and many events are yet to unfold.” Then he shrugged. “But it is not my place to tell you more at this time … perhaps when next we meet. For now, I shall only tell you this: the information you seek is already at your disposal in the archives Zianyon has bequeathed you. You only need to look for it.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that, but I nodded anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, considering what he could have done instead of being civil.

  My phone started to vibrate in my pocket. I fought against the reflex to get it, forcing myself to remain immobile so that my attention could stay fixed on the god standing before me.

  “You should get that,” Hermes told me. “It is urgent news.”

  With those words said, he turned back to his son, as though dismissing me from his awareness. He addressed my friend in another language that hadn’t been spoken since the Parthenon was still in one piece. Though I didn’t speak a word of ancient Greek or whatever the hells it was, I could tell Hermes was tearing Zian a new one.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pressed the answer button without looking at the display. “Hold on one second,” I said into the receiver before taking a step forward so as to place myself between Zian and the wall of screens.

  Hermes broke off his harangue so that I could speak.

  “Will you be okay?” I asked my friend.

  He nodded, the gesture a little too nervous for my liking. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. See you around sometime, yeah?”

  I returned his nod and stepped out of the room to the sound of the lecture continuing. Once outside, I raised the phone to my ear. “This is Vale.”

  A woman’s voice with a Latino accent greeted me on the other end of the line. “It’s me,” said Ramirez. “I’ve got a tip for you.”

  I smiled to myself as I made my way back upstairs. “I’m listening.”

  “Go to 6 Plymouth Road,” she said, speaking low and quickly. “Crime in progress … and you didn’t get that from me.”

  “I never do,” I said, ending the call as I stepped back into the main part of the Indigo.

  Chapter seven

  Night of the beast

  I all but ran out of the Indigo, making it to my car in record time. The sleek, dark-gray Stingray looked black in the dim light. I unlocked it at a distance, threw myself inside, and floored the gas pedal the second the key had started the engine. I had no idea what I’d find at the address Ramirez had just given me, but it was essential that I beat the cops there.

  Luckily, I had two advantages over them. First, the CCPD precinct was in the lower east part of the city, near the coast. My starting point was near the far west coast, much closer to Plymouth Road. I’d been down that way before. It ran through a small residential area north of the city, right at the foot of the mountains. It being towards the western end of Cold City meant that, unlike my friends in blue, I wouldn’t have to cross through the entire city to get there.

  My second advantage? Well, I was sitting in it: a Corvette Stingray with a V8 engine that could go from zero to sixty in four seconds.

  The Michelin tires left rubber marks behind me as I sped out
of the parking lot and onto Eighth Avenue. It was the quickest way north, a long, linear stretch of deserted asphalt that might as well have been a racetrack. The Stingray was loud in the quiet night, its four-hundred-plus horses roaring underneath the bonnet.

  It took me less than ten minutes to get to number 6, a small, cottage-like house at the end of a private drive. Light was pouring out of the ground-floor windows and I ran for the entrance door as soon as the car’s engine flicked off. I unholstered my pistol, a SIG-Sauer P226, when I found the front door had been busted open.

  Gun in hand, I crossed the threshold and entered the living room. It was cozy, with a neatness that made it look like a page taken out of an interior design catalog. The only false notes were the shards of a broken table lamp in one corner and an upturned armchair. I tightened my grip on the pistol and continued forward. Pictures on the coffee table gave me more information about the house’s residents—a family with two kids, a boy and a girl … four potential victims by my death math.

  A scream ripped through the air and I quickened my pace in its direction. That led me to the kitchen, which was just as empty as the living room had been. There was a faint smell of curry in the air. There was also a back door, half open. The scream had to have come from out there.

  Unsure of what I’d find, I stepped outside. There was a small garden behind the house, with high bushes on all sides and a small garden shed to the left. I spared no mind to the flower arrangements, however, but focused instead on the furry beast that was circling the shed. Looks like I’ve found my monster, I thought.

  I paused and tightened my grip on the pistol while adjusting my aim. The creature’s bulk made it impossible to miss, even in the low light. It was standing on its back legs, a good six and a half feet tall and covered in dark fur.

  Whimpers came from inside the shed and it wasn’t hard to guess where the family had gone to hide. If the claw marks on the door were any indication, the creature knew it too. Even as I watched, it threw itself at the door and the whole shed shook under the impact. The rusty old hinges weren’t going to last long.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  The beast’s head swiveled towards me. I found myself staring at a skeletal cranium, its white bone reflecting the glow of a nearby streetlamp. I wasn’t sure but it looked like it had belonged to a bear. I took two steps closer, my weapon aimed at the creature’s bulky torso.

  With a low, guttural growl the creature turned its whole body in my direction. It stood tall, menacing, a nightmare silhouette against the backdrop of sodium light.

  “I don’t know how you got to this world, but it’s over,” I said, trying to project courage I didn’t feel. “The killings end … tonight.”

  “Die,” the creature grated in a voice that was the audial equivalent of a stinky breath. “Human!”

  My finger pressed hard on the trigger, all by itself. The gun fired but instead of a loud wail and the sound of flesh being torn apart, I heard only a metallic clang as the nine mil round ricocheted off the creature. I swore as I realized the thing was wearing some kind of body armor that I hadn’t made out in the dim light.

  It made no sense. What kind of beast wore armor? And spoke?

  But there wasn’t time to consider that now. The creature took a heavy step towards me, snarling. I shot at it again, three bullets in rapid succession this time. One round ricocheted off its bicep, another one off its leg. The third one grazed its elbow, drawing blood.

  Never mind what it is, I thought, as I took aim once more. If it bleeds, you can kill it. It wasn’t wearing full body armor, that was clear. More like protective plates tied to selected parts. All I had to do to kill it was to be careful with my remaining shots.

  The beast took another heavy step towards me, then another. It took me one second too many to realize it was launching into a charge. A good three hundred pounds of mean muscle was heading my way and I had my back to the house.

  I fired again but the bullet didn’t even slow it down. I had to dodge before it crushed me like a freight train. I waited until the last second and threw myself to one side, rolling on the grass.

  The beast crashed into the house. Somehow the wall survived the impact, though wooden boards were sent flying everywhere. I fired again, aiming for the base of the neck. It was too bad that I missed, especially since the beast proceeded to throw itself at me once more.

  I escaped the bulk of it, but I wasn’t quick enough to get out of range of its long, lacerating claws. They etched burning lines deep in my side and I cried out in pain.

  I fought to keep my grip on the pistol as I got back to my feet. The creature snorted with contempt and threw a massive punch at me. My ribs took the full brunt of the impact and I went soaring, landing a good two feet away from where I’d been standing. The Sig, however, was still in my hand.

  When the beast came at me again, I fired two wild shots as I fought to get back to my feet. What with the wind that had been knocked out of me and the droplets of sweat in my eyes, it was wasted ammo.

  This time, I had the streetlamp at my back and I could see the creature facing me more clearly. It had no fur on its front, and now I saw it was a hairy pelt it was wearing on its back, like a cape. The claws were fastened to leather arm bracers and the rough callused features of a man poked out from underneath the animal skull.

  Old stories from Norse mythology came back to me, in particular tales of an elite troop of warriors thought to be undefeatable. Comprising furious, bloodthirsty men who were more animals than humans, they were thought to be immune to pain from edged weapons.

  “Berserker,” I addressed the creature, forcing a calm I was barely hanging onto, “you’re not welcome here. Go back to your own realm.”

  Since I was almost out of bullets anyway, I dropped my pistol and reached for the blade I always kept at my ankle. Immunity to edged weapons or not, this fight would have to be won at close quarters.

  Feet planted on the ground, I waited for the Berserker to come at me again. He didn’t disappoint and I rolled to the ground at the last second to avoid the impact. But the man-beast had been expecting me to do that. He stopped dead in his tracks the instant he missed me, adjusted his course, and charged my way again.

  With one knee on the ground, I had only a fraction of a second to get him with my knife. I stabbed the creature behind the knee, where I hoped the blade might find a small expense of vulnerable flesh. My knife had just enough time to draw blood before the beast knocked me down again.

  I saw stars as I started to get up again. The Berserker was already turning back for another charge. He was quicker than I’d guessed. Worse, the wound I’d just inflicted on him wasn’t doing anything to slow him down.

  I braced myself for the impact as best I could. I used one arm to deflect the claws while I stabbed at the Berserker with the other. I put all of my strength into that attack, but it still wasn’t enough for the blade to penetrate.

  The man-beast head-butted me out of the way. I felt my cheek split open as it connected with one of the sharper edges of the bear’s skull. I reeled backward with a scream.

  Blood was streaming down my arm, making it difficult to keep a good grip on the blade. I was in bad shape and getting worse with each round—and I’d barely managed to do more than scratch the bastard.

  The creature stood tall and readied for another charge. He took a step forward and I braced myself for what was likely going to be my last stand. But just as quickly as the man-beast started, he stopped, head cocked as though he heard something in the distance.

  I waited, thanking whatever had caught his attention for the small reprieve. I took in a deep breath and passed an arm over my face to clear it a little of blood, sweat, and dirt.

  Then I heard what the Berserker had heard, the familiar wail of sirens in the distance. Faint, but growing louder with each passing second.

  There was prob
ably one patrol car in front, with Ramirez right behind it and Morgan in tow. That was four people, maybe six if they’d sent two units. It wouldn’t be close to a fair fight when they got here. The cops wouldn’t be taking any of the chances I had. And it looked like the Berserker was coming up with the same death math that I was.

  Even so, he stood frozen in the half-light, his breath coming out in ragged puffs. He looked at the shed, then at me, then back at the shed one more time.

  “Not over,” he hissed, taking a step backward. “Human!”

  With a growl, he jumped over the bushes and out of the garden. Once the rustling had stopped, I let out a deep sigh of relief, thanking my lucky stars that the Berserker’s orders had been to be discreet. I put my blade back where it belonged and went to look for my gun.

  ***

  I didn’t have much time before the cavalry’s arrival by the time I found my Sig. I rushed over to the shed and knocked on the door.

  “Hey, it’s safe,” I called, panting. “You can come out. That thing’s gone.” I didn’t get a reply so I knocked again. “The police are on the way,” I said, confident that they could hear the sirens too. “My name’s Vale. I’m a PI. I’m working with the cops on this case.”

  Sure, I was stretching the truth. But the last thing I wanted was for the would-be victims or the cops to get the wrong idea about me on this.

  I heard the door unlock. It pushed open just a fraction. I stepped back. I had no doubt I looked like I’d just been trying to juggle chainsaws and I didn’t want to scare whoever was on the other side of that door … well, worse than they already were.

  “Is it gone?” a woman’s voice stammered.

  “Yeah, it’s gone. You’re safe.”

  The door opened a little wider and I recognized the woman from the photo in the house. She was in her nightdress and her short brown hair was a real mess around her dark ebony face. The light from the streetlamp was just enough for me to make out the fear that stretched her eyes. She was just a couple of degrees short of petrified.