The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5)

by Richard Raley

  Pocket shook his head over Jesus’ theory. “I saw him come back to the school with one of the Asylum buses; you know the ones they use to bring in people on the first day of school? He must have stolen it from the parking garage. What I’ve never been able to figure out is how he ordered and found the money to pay twenty strippers. At first I thought maybe Jethro Smith was involved, but I asked him afterwards and he was only there for some other deal they made.”

  T-Bone gave me a look. “I see what you mean.”

  “Next they’ll be telling you about how I burned down the Mound.”

  T-Bone frowned. “Didn’t you?”

  [CLICK]

  I dreamed of Val.

  We were inside of a volcano, I think. Whole world burned around us, but neither of us were dying from it. We were just trapped. Trapped but apart. Hurt, in pain, unable to reach the other, each tied to a stake in the ground.

  I kept trying to pull the stake up.

  Val kept trying to burn the rope.

  We kept calling to each other, saying we were coming to help.

  But we couldn’t get free.

  .

  .

  .

  This kind of shit is why I should really drink myself stupid before I fall asleep.

  [CLICK]

  T-Bone was chomping down some Frosted Flakes in our suite’s living room when I finally woke up. He’d rigged his laptop up to the TV, watching game replays from the same event we’d attended the day before. Fuck if I could tell what went on in all the flashes of color, but he seemed to be enjoying it, so I decided against turning the TV to ESPN or CNN or something more normal than a succubus killing a giant golem while an ice princess ran away into the woods.

  “You . . . uh . . . okay?” he asked me between bites of cereal. “You didn’t talk much last night.”

  “I’m fine,” I grunted, feeling anything but fine.

  “I think you were sober too . . . and you seem sober now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  The succubus chased down the ice princess. Much to my disappointment there was only death and not lesbian sex at the end of the hunt. “Given the precarious situation that your and Pocket’s failure at properly scouting out our outing has put us in, given that my slimy brother-in-law could jump around the corner at any moment, given that the Mancy alone knows what could go on at this supernatural exhibition Jesus has gotten himself into . . . I have decided to forgo da booze.”

  “That’s . . . very good. Are you moving on then? Should I expect a sock on the door—”

  “Nope. Haven’t moved on at all. Feel like shit. Wish I’d moved to London. I’m in a city that’s about nothing but experiencing carnal pleasures but if I drink the booze I’ll die. So, yeah . . . fuck life, ya know?”

  We watched the game replay in silence for a bit.

  It was awkward.

  It was mostly my fault.

  I glanced around the room, at light fixtures and electronics, especially at the TV’s camera lens . . . ya know, just in case you want to Skype, nothing to worry about, we ain’t peeking in at you eating your cereal with your black friend. “Have you checked this place for bugs?”

  “Like . . . bed bugs? It’s brand new, isn’t it?”

  Taking the box of cereal away from him, I crunched down on a handful. “Electronic bugs. Listening devices. In our free hotel suite.”

  Another silence.

  This one was pensive.

  “There’s still gambling and women, you know,” T-Bone pointed out. “Plus the Day of Speed starts around 3PM. It goes on until ten. Both Pocket and I will be around to keep you company and Jesus seemed nice too . . . bit too much like you, but not all bad—”

  “You think I’m paranoid?”

  “What?”

  “Electronic bugs?”

  “What about them?”

  I slapped him over the head with the box of cereal. “Why are you playing dumb?”

  “ . . . no reason.”

  “I’m not some . . . I’m not . . .” I paused, thinking over the last week of my life. “I don’t connect well, right? You know that. When I do trust enough to connect with a person . . . well, I kind of don’t take the connection breaking very well. I know you never saw it before and if I really did throw shit at you . . . I’m sorry about it. Sorry I’ve been drunk. Sorry I’ve been ignoring the shop and everything too.”

  T-Bone nodded like he accepted the apology even though it was pretty rough as far as apologies go, since I’m not good at giving them. “It’s not just Valentine. You’ve been strange since you returned from London.”

  “Well, that connection broke too, didn’t it?” I barely forced out of my mouth without throwing the cereal box across the room.

  “Were you this bad when Valentine broke up with you at school?”

  “Kind of . . . got shitfaced during the Jobs Fair. Think I offered to have sex with Hope Hunting . . . not my brightest moment. But nah, not really this bad. This has been the worst. It’s just . . . it was real this time. It was me and Val, graduated, spending weekends together, spending time with her family, and . . .”

  “And?” T-Bone prompted.

  And I love her.

  But I didn’t say it. Still. “I’m not over it, but I’m not some psycho you need to treat like he might go streaking through the Bellagio fountains naked at any moment,” I accused, trying to take the heat off my near revelation of how deep my feelings for Val ran. “Second we stepped through the Ouroboros doors we were in the Crazy again. Just like LA. Just less people sucking on each other and more supernatural politics.

  “We can’t leave. We took the room. There’s a price to pay for it. Maybe he tries to kill me. Maybe he tries to get me to do something for him while we’re here. We’ll see. Also got to keep an eye out for Pocket and especially Jesus, anything could happen during his event. Shit, anything could happen during any of the events. Whole thing is a bomb waiting to go off. Coyotes piss off the Wolfs, Jaguars piss off the Rejuvenation Society, mundanes could slip in.

  “Fuck this whole situation, man!”

  T-Bone looked at me like I’d faceshifted right before him.

  “What?” I growled.

  “Just . . . good to have you back. Even if you’re still not telling me everything.”

  Right.

  I should do that.

  Later.

  “Is that dragon a guy or a girl?” I asked of a pudgy little blue thing prancing across the television that looked FABULOUS.

  Better than talking about the other dragon I knew.

  “I think . . . neither?”

  We ate some more cereal.

  “I swept for bugs the first hour we were in the room,” T-Bone eventually admitted. “You don’t remember because you were . . . still not yourself.”

  “How many?”

  “I deactivated them with some electro-anima. They’re in a drawer in the kitchen.”

  “A whole drawer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think they were all for Vega?”

  T-Bone shook his head. “Too many different models. Plus I recognized some that ESLED uses.”

  “So this ain’t a casino so much as spy central?”

  “Seems that way. You, uh . . . think we’ll see your ex-girlfriend?”

  He meant Eva, who T-Bone had been a little in awe of after she broke into the Los Angeles Vampire Embassy. I looked at him sideways. “You got a thing for tiny, muscular Jewish girls or something?”

  T-Bone cleared his throat, trying not to let the guilt show. “Can’t say I approve of spying, despite what we did in LA. The universe did punish us by showing us the Nine-Headed Spitting Dragon though.”

  “Yup, Fate’s the Bitch-Queen.” I put down the cereal box and stood up from the couch. “Well, I think I’ll go off by myself today if you don’t mind. Meet up with you at the arena when they open the doors. 3PM?”

  “2PM for the doors, but . . .”

  “I’m fine!”

  “Oka
y, okay. I’m just wondering, um, what will you be doing today during that alone time?”

  I went over to the kitchen table, finally breaking open the gift basket that had been left for us. The card said, ‘Stay out of trouble, my friend. It would be unfortunate for business if something happened to you, King Vega.’ Get fucked, Horatio . . . and not with my sister’s vagina. I pulled out an Ouroboros card and flashed it to T-Bone. “I’m going to gamble away ten-thousand dollars of Horatio Vega’s money.”

  [CLICK]

  I left the Ouroboros hotel and headed for the Ouroboros casino floor.

  Had my customary thirty-minute-pool of geo-anima, ready and waiting to snap shotguns in half or break swords or dish out thirty iron fists worth of punishment. After that they wouldn’t be a person so much as a puddle of flesh and broken bones.

  Had my artifacts with me too.

  I’d have known about this place I would’ve brought the Shaky Stick just to level it to the ground.

  It’s a good thing I hadn’t. Vega might want to kill me, but he would kill me if I broke his new cash-cow.

  Was it his though?

  Don’t get me wrong, I’d never doubt the money that running drugs and guns can bring in, but we’re talking billions to build this gigantic monstrosity of supernatural opulence. Spectro-crystals ain’t exactly comparable to Slush or artifacts, but they’re still quality anima created product.

  Of course those ‘peace’ floro-seeders you’ve been making for him are probably producing cocaine or opium by the ton, all inside of California, no reason to worry about smuggling the product through the border. Shows how fucked up the world is. Cause two earthquakes and I don’t kill no one but some shitty vampires, make some floro-seeders for ‘peace’ and I’ve created thousands if not tens of thousands of drug addicts.

  Still . . . even with that cash inflow, even assuming it was all up and running for long enough to help with the bills building this place . . . the Ouroboros had to be in the works for years. Tammy at the entrance made a comment about a corporate board, remember that much through the drunken haze.

  Wonder who’s on it besides Vega?

  Who did I know who could get the information for me?

  No one I’m currently on speaking terms with.

  Maybe Estefan knew. Could call him. Apologize for the whole trying-to-get-his-wife-away-from-the-Asylum’s-weird-contraception-field-with-cruise-tickets blackmail thing. Estefan with kids . . . heh. I could see Debra with kids. She teaches as is and she’s always been that perfect mix of forcefulness and compassion that I imagine you’d need to raise a child without messing them up too bad. No examples of what it takes in my own life, just got to guess at it. But pretty boy Estefan?

  Why does it smell?

  What is that coming out of its mouth?

  It doesn’t have my thick, beautiful hair yet, will it always be bald? When will it not be bald?

  He’d love posing for pictures though.

  Estefan always loved smiling at a camera.

  Plenty of them at the Ouroboros Casino, I thought, glancing around me as I entered the huge arch that led from the hotel into the adult play-zone. The arch wasn’t predictably following the snake motif, but had thirteen golden stars on each side, studded with thirteen different colors of spectro-light.

  I gave a nod at the brown star.

  Yes, I realize this could be a euphemism for my asshole.

  My opinion on Geomancy is generally about the same as my opinion on my asshole. It stinks, but life would be far less fun without it. Not that I’m saying . . . just . . . to shit with. I like shitting. It was one fucking college girl that got way too explorative . . . just . . . know what? Let’s forget I mentioned all this . . .

  [CLICK]

  Estefan always loved smiling at a camera.

  Plenty of them at the Ouroboros Casino, I thought, ignoring the star-studded arch, especially the brown one.

  Beyond that arch . . .

  Was Mancerland.

  The very second you walk into the casino there’s this bright neon spectro-poster map of the casino layout. Three concentric circles, at the center a rest and relaxation zone filled with massage therapists, pedicures, daycare, and plenty of booze and treats to keep you fueled for the gambling. The next circle was ‘normal’ gambling, with slot machines, craps tables, blackjack, poker, horse race feeds, all the usual vices Vegas mastered sixty years ago. The outer circle though . . . was broken up into thirteen zones of mancer specific games of chance.

  Rock Zone.

  Rain Zone.

  Jungle Zone.

  Etcetera.

  You gotta be kidding me.

  With that layout there was little doubt you could get lost in that maze for hours. No single thoroughfare to speed a straight line to either the hotel or the arena entrance on the other side. You’d have to cut through zones, into one layer and out of another. Signs and women and chance and booze flashing at you the whole way.

  People who can throw lightning bolts or ice-lances or shadow-knives getting drunk and losing their fortune, what could go wrong?

  Seriously . . . who comes up with this shit?

  I didn’t even feel her at my back before she started speaking, “You aren’t suppose to be here, Lover Boy. Who was stupid enough to let you come?”

  Damn near made me piss myself. All alone and then suddenly another person standing beside me. “You promised you’d stop doing that in Hex!” I complained loudly.

  Eva had on jeans, tennis shoes, and a black hoodie, the hood up and barely hiding her pleased, smiling lips. She was as small as always, non-threatening, especially with the clothing. No one would pay any attention to her, especially since she could become practically invisible given the right manipulation of shadows and scio-anima.

  If you reached out to touch her you’d find she wasn’t quite so insubstantial and pixie as she seemed, but instead had sculpted muscles along her shoulders and neck, plus thighs that could snap a guy in two.

  What’s the matter? Can’t you get me off of you? I heard an echo of memory, also from Hex. Guess I’ll just have to sit here all night, use your cute butt as a pillow.

  This was the second time in the last few months she’d been where I hadn’t expected her. But then . . . perhaps I should have expected her here. Spy central alright, I thought.

  “Heard about what happened between you and Boomworm,” she explained. “Thought I’d give my sympathies when I saw you standing here all alone and bored and hungover.”

  It was weird seeing her in those clothes. Threw me off quite a bit. My mind wanted to see her three ways and wearing street clothes wasn’t one of them. In her sciomancer colors of gray with green trim, in her little black dress she always wore to the Winter Ball, and . . . very naked.

  I thought about that. Prince Henry perked up for the first time in a week. “Just your sympathies?”

  She smirked up at me, one of the few women in my life who I had a good half a foot of height on. “I’m here on business, Lover Boy; sorry I can’t be the rebound girl this time around.”

  “You were never a rebound girl,” I pointed out.

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  I thought about this as well. Well . . . fuck. “Did you just logic me out of sex?”

  “An accomplishment I’m most proud of! Good thing I came over to give my sympathies, isn’t it?” she teased me.

  A few people walked by us, hardly glancing at the spectro-map that had my attention. Eva gave them each a quick assessment, much in the same way I usually did. Only her gaze seemed casual and curious, where mine was memorable—begging for an opportunity to fight.

  “Yup, everyone’s sorry for me.”

  Again that smirk and that teasing tone. “That’s one way to think about it. The other is that we’re sorry Boomworm stopped taking the bullet for the rest of the world and now we’re trying to figure out who has to take her place to keep you from doing something stupid.”

  “I seem to remember you us
ually being the one pushing me to do something stupid.”

  She nodded in the same way as before. “Exactly.”

  “We’re not having sex, I get it. Stop making me slap myself in the face.”

  “It’s so much fun though!” she practically giggled.

  “Want to go get a drink at least? Soda sadly, I’m off the liquor until I survive the next few days,” I explained.

  Eva arched a black eyebrow. “So . . . you didn’t know Vega runs this place?”

  “It is his?”

  “I said he runs it, not owns it. Lots of parties own it, mostly Were Nations. I don’t need to remind you about all those economic lessons Mrs. Ambrose gave us about corporations and shareholders, do I?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Good. And no, I can’t get a drink with you. The reason I’m talking to you here is that there’s a blind spot in the camera network thanks to the glare from the monstrosity in front of us.” Eva scowled at the spectro-map. “Disgustingly garish, isn’t it?”

  Sciomancers ain’t big fans of colors. “Bit much. Spectromancers among the shareholders? That why you’re here? Find out all the people who are nodding to the Learning Council’s face and double dealing behind their back?”

  Eva looked insulted by the idea. “That’s for ESLED’s paper clerks, not me. I can email Tyson a list if you’re that interested in the parties involved, but it will be dry reading.”

  “He’d like that.”

  She paused. “What?”

  “He’d like it if you emailed him. I think he has a crush on you.”

  “I’d show him a crush . . .” she whispered, but not without a thin smile.

  “Right, won’t have sex with me because you’re on some mysterious job, but you’ll corrupt my poor, innocent, nerdy friend with your wild, manic, pixie dream-girl ways.”

  Another group passed by us, these Eva lingered on. They were mostly Mexican men in suits, though a couple of the guys had women with them that screamed escort. “Werejaguars,” Eva whispered. “Bit more impressive than your average Coyote, but not as impressive as some of the Were Nations present for the games.”

  “That why you’re here then? To compete?” I kept questioning her. She enjoyed holding the information away from me even more than Pocket and T-Bone.