Full Metal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Anthology

by J. A. Cipriano

  Taking two silver dollars out of his breast pocket, Kubo rubbed them together. “Pretty sure? Ernie, I'm not paying you for pretty sure.”

  The ghost laughed a hiccoughing laugh. “Nah, nah, I'm sure it was that one, 1134. That was the number near the door. Real run-down on the outside, but you can tell they been takin' care of it on the inside. Even got a workin' TV in there, where they was watchin' the Tigers game. Say, they having a good season this year? I don't get to follow up with sports a whole lot these days.”

  Kubo dropped the two silver coins into Ernie's invisible palm. “I wouldn't know,” was his terse response. “Joe, Lucy, get up. We're heading in. And Ernie, stay close. There's a third coin in store for you if you come along.”

  In a library somewhere there's probably a book explaining why it's impossible for something incorporeal like a ghost to pocket a few silver coins, but that's what Ernie did, tittering to himself at the prospect of earning still more. “Sure thing!”

  Joe and I exited the SUV and took in the sight of Hard Row. Ernie had zeroed in on the particular building we were looking for, could probably take us in through the best possible entrance, however this mission was still fraught with risk. I was beginning to wonder why we couldn't just have Kubo's bosses call in an air strike.

  OK, maybe there would have been some collateral, but it would have been a lot safer than skulking around this part of town for Joe and Kubo. The three—er, four of us started across the street. Kubo had given his orders to the Veiled Order grunts, advising them to stay back. They could theoretically bum rush the building if things went south, but the Chief seemed hopeful for a more delicate operation than that.

  Ernie's ghostly form was traced in a subtle, ethereal blue. He led the way, whistling a tune and occasionally chatting with us about the things he saw on his nightly walks. None of us were listening too closely, though, too deep in our thoughts, so that when he said, “This is the place,” we nearly walked past him.

  Joe approached the squat, brick building and appraised the rusted numbers on its exterior. 1134. “So, what, do we just knock?” he asked in a whisper. Despite the night's warmth, he kept pulling up the collar of his leather jacket, like he was trying to fight off a constant chill.

  Kubo shook his head. “Not quite. Ernie's going in first.”

  I didn't like the look of the place, most of its windows busted and covered by black garbage bags. There was a smell in the air, like motor oil left to stew in standing water, and every time the wind blew I seemed to get a face-full of it. If I listened real hard, I could hear what I thought was the sound of a television from inside. The building was two stories, and was connected on one side to an even taller structure. The place next door had been a pharmacy or something at one time, judging by the faded sign hanging from the weathered bricks.

  “Not too welcoming,” I said, standing behind Ernie. My gaze traveled along the street to our backs, and I half-expected to see a surly street gang like something out of The Warriors strolling by. No one did, though. From one of the adjacent buildings, I heard the sound of shattering glass, of forceful voices. Across the street, huddled in an alley petting a stray cat, was a homeless man who was missing three of the fingers on his right hand and humming contentedly. Somewhere in the distance, a car backfired.

  Ernie pushed open the door. It wasn't locked. That seemed awfully strange, considering we were entering Human Trafficker Headquarters and all. Peering into the dark room ahead of us, I searched for signs of movement, of any presence, but there were none. The room was an empty shell, packed only with dust and shadow. We stepped inside.

  Canvassing the room, Kubo held his gun at his side. “Close the door, Joe.”

  Joe did as he was told, the flimsy wooden thing closing with a soft click.

  The air here was still, like no one had walked through the room in centuries. The only window, to our right, was still intact, but it'd been covered over with newspaper to keep out prying eyes. I gritted my teeth as we slowly advanced towards a dark hallway. What kinds of things happened in this building? Was this where they brought the abducted kids and prepped them for delivery to the Beyond?

  At the thought, I tried to gulp down a knot of nerves, but my throat wouldn't cooperate. “Prep” was quite the euphemism for what was happening to the kids who got picked up by these bastards. It's not like they were being kidnapped and sent to space camp or some shit.

  “How much further, Ernie?” asked Kubo, raising his gun and stepping into the hallway.

  Ernie's bluish hand massaged the back of his neck. “Eh, not far now. Pretty sure they were in the room just around this corner.”

  The sound of a television became clearer with every step we took. The crack of a baseball bat, the roar of an enthusiastic crowd. The werewolves were watching the game.

  And then the sound was suddenly cut off.

  The four of us stopped in our tracks.

  Next, a door opened. From around the corner at the other end of the hall came a tall black man in a pair of tight jeans and a wife beater. There was a massive gun tucked into his waistband, but he didn't reach for it. Instead, for whatever reason, he offered us a big smile. “Welcome. The Kaminsky brothers will see you now. Right this way.” Despite the imposing figure he cut, the guy's voice was syrupy and effeminate. Come to think of it, he looked more than a little like RuPaul sans drag.

  Kubo tensed, gun leveled upon this newcomer. “So, you've been expecting us? Stand aside.”

  Tugging at the ends of his wife beater, the man did as he was told. From around the corner, in a deep voice that still retained something of a Russian color, came a reply. “We have indeed been expecting you. We were placing bets, in fact, on whether we'd manage to get out of here before you showed up.”

  We walked to the end of the hallway and found ourselves standing at the threshold to a surprisingly chic office. It was clean and neat, unlike virtually everything else we'd encountered. New floors, freshly-painted walls, a muted flatscreen. There were two desks within, behind which were seated two beastly-looking men. I don't say that on account of what I knew them to be. They really were animalistic in appearance, from the dense hair that sprouted along their thick forearms, to the canine sharpness of their teeth and the curious yellow glint of their eyes. Even their ears were unnaturally shaped, a little longer. Like a dog's.

  These were the Kaminsky brothers, the monsters we'd been seeking all night.

  Finding the two of them had proven surprisingly easy.

  A little too easy, in fact.

  “How did you know we were coming?” asked Kubo, one eye on the RuPaul lookalike to our rear, the other on the sneering brothers, who now stood from their seats to a full height of more than six feet.

  Their names had been Gennady and Mikhail, if I remembered correctly. I wasn't sure just which one of them replied, but he had thick, black hair and a dense five-o'-clock shadow. “Enrique, of course,” he said, stepping out from behind his desk and cracking his knotted knuckles. He was wearing a fitted dress shirt and designer jeans. Apparently Enrique hadn't been kidding; human trafficking paid pretty well. “We kept an eye on him at all times.” He pointed to the ceiling. “From above.”

  Kubo grunted. “Oh, the gargoyles? We handled them.”

  The other brother chuckled, hands in his pockets. “You handled three of them. There was another, of course. Once we knew you were on our trail, we had him watch you from afar.” The guy turned his sharp eyes to me and gave a little bow. “That was a very impressive display of power, by the way.”

  I tried real hard not to feel flattered, but it isn't every day that someone comments on your gargoyle-thrashing skills, you know? I looked away.

  The other brother picked up from there, looking over his thick, manicured fingernails and showing little interest in Kubo's gun. “The minute Enrique was taken, we arranged to leave Detroit. We just didn't anticipate your finding us so easily. The gargoyles, you see, missed your ghost. We thought we had more time, but
the spirit led you right to us.” He sighed, like our visit was just a major pain in his ass. “Our arrangements still stand; we have a plane waiting to take us out of the country and any second now our driver will be by for us.”

  “A shame you went and paid for that ticket, eh?” replied Kubo.

  The brother on the right shrugged. “Well, that's up to you now, isn't it?”

  Joe looked between the brothers, then back at the bodyguard, who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a smile on his glossy lips. “What, do you think we're going to let you walk out of here?”

  Sticking his pinky into his ear, the bearded brother cocked his head to the side. “I'm just saying it would be in your best interest to let us out of here, yes. We could spare ourselves the fighting, the violence, and just drop the whole thing.”

  Before Kubo could respond, the other brother chimed in. “We're ready to make a deal, if you are. Will you hear our terms?”

  “We know you've got a small army outside,” began the bearded brother, who introduced himself as Mikhail. “We have one of our own. We could certainly let the two sides face off against one another, except it would be rather messy, don't you think? On the other hand, if you allow the two of us to leave here, we will agree to abstain from further hostilities and give you what you're looking for.”

  Kubo stared him down. “Oh, yeah? And just what is it I'm looking for?”

  Gennady leaned forward, replying, “You came to shut us down, did you not?”

  “We have...” Mikhail took a few moments to count on his fingers for theatrical effect. “We have perhaps a dozen children ready for delivery. They're being held nearby. Let us leave and we'll release them. We'll also close up shop, never do business of this kind in Detroit again.”

  Kubo mulled this over a minute. The call wasn't mine to make, but I still had plenty to say on the matter. “You two don't deserve to live. There's no way in hell I'm going to stand by and watch you two hop into a limo or something.”

  Kubo nodded. “Kid's right. That's not going to fly.”

  Frowning, Gennady put his hands on his hips. “Even if it means saving those children? Even if it means sparing the men under your command from a vicious firefight with ours? We practically own this part of town and every illicit business that's run out of it. Each building here is crawling with men who will do what we ask of them. If I should just pick up this phone and ask one of our guys to...” He motioned to the cell phone on his desk. “To execute those children, for instance? What would you say to that?”

  “You've got shit for brains if you think I'd even let you pick your phone up,” snarled Kubo.

  “Sure, but even if you killed us both now, you still wouldn't know where those kids are being kept. By the time you find them, it'll be too late. They'll get shipped off, sold before you can hope to rescue them,” said Mikhail, massaging his stubbled jaw. “Think this through. It's a great opportunity. No fuss, we just go our separate ways.”

  In utilizing Ernie, we'd thrown these guys for a loop. They'd been on top of us the entire time, confident that they'd be able to stage an escape before we figured out where they were based. Unfortunately for them, we'd caught up. Now they wanted to try and strike a deal, get out town before things got ugly. They must have known ahead of time that we wouldn't take that bait, though. Their utter calm told me that much. They were biding their time, had something else in store.

  Joe flipped open his Zippo and glanced at the Chief. “Well, Chief?”

  “I'm afraid we didn't come here to negotiate. Hands behind your head. If you want to live, that is.” Kubo took aim, ready to blast Mikhail in the heart. “The bullets are silver, of course.”

  The brothers chuckled to themselves. “Quaint,” said Gennady.

  The door to the building thumped open behind us, and deep footfalls resounded.

  I knew what was coming our way before it even lumbered into view.

  “Chief,” I said. “It's a gargoyle.”

  An inhuman shriek rattled us as the creature started down the hall.

  Mikhail knocked on his desk like an old mob boss, and from a door in the corner there came a number of men with guns. They were filthy-looking types, their clothes ill-fitting and reeking of spilt booze, and the guns in their hands were definitely not legal. They lined up behind their bosses, ten or twelve of them, and took aim.

  Already the Kaminsky brothers were beginning to change. The fragile facade of humanity they'd put up until that moment fell away in layers, steadily revealing the bloodthirsty Lycans beneath. “The hard way, then,” growled Mikhail.

  Two werewolves, a gargoyle and a bunch of dudes with guns. In a small room, no less.

  Ernie summed up my feelings pretty well just before the first shots rang out. “Nah, fuck this. This shit's too hot for TV.”

  Lon Cheney's stellar performance in The Wolfman probably marked the first time in my life I'd ever seen a werewolf.

  The second time? It wasn't quite so enjoyable.

  The Kaminskys set their sights on me as the entire room fell into chaos. Even with a demon inside of me, I felt completely unprepared when all hell broke loose. Automatic gunfire drowned out all of the noise and made my head spin. And then the werewolf twins were upon me, knocking me out of the room and onto my back.

  Ernie was hightailing it out of there. Not that he had anything to worry about. Kubo and Joe, though, were going to have a harder time. Bullets whipped past their heads as they hit the deck, taking shelter behind desks and scrambling with their own weapons. I heard the hiss of a bourgeoning flame, smelled the burst of butane as Joe got to work with his lighter. He threw up sheets of fire that combed each wave of bullets out of the air, made them pop like popcorn kernels, while Kubo took the odd shot here and there and rifled through his stack of paper seals.

  There was one thing they'd neglected to consider, however.

  The gargoyle.

  The stony creature lashed out with a series of wild blows, crunching furniture beneath its fists. I think they managed to get out of the way before getting hacked apart by its stony hands, but I couldn't be sure.

  I had problems of my own.

  The Kaminskys were savage, and they took turns kicking my ass. It turned out they weren't merely strong, but that they were talented brawlers as well. Their style was a practiced grappling, and once they had me on the ground they coordinated their strikes to both keep me pinned and keep me hurting. One of them bound my legs while the other stomped on my chest and face. The air was kicked out of my lungs and blood rushed in. I managed to block a couple blows, but the constant beatdown was getting to be too much and I could barely see straight by the time they took a break.

  The two beasts were panting, their bodies coated in wiry, dark fur and their fangs bared in full. They had such perfect, sharp teeth, just like something out of a cartoon. A pair of Wile E. Coyotes in the flesh.

  I needed to get away from these pricks, to give Kubo some cover. Maybe he'd be able to whip up a powerful spell that would level the playing field, or else he could call in the cavalry. The Veiled Order commandos were almost certainly close enough to hear all of this gunfire. I expected them to kick in the door and help us out at any moment, however in the heat of battle every second felt like an hour and there was no sign of them as Mikhail Kaminsky peeled me off of the ground and buried his fangs in my throat.

  The werewolf pulled away, dragging out the inner components of my neck like a dog ripping stuffing from a chew toy. The pain was incredible, made my body spasm. And then I felt myself sailing back towards the ground, hitting the dirty floors with a thud.

  Mikhail's fangs were dripping crimson, and the beast looked down at me with a smile. “Not so tough now, are you?” he barked.

  They were ready to leave me for dead, the two of them, when I suddenly sprang up. The muscles in my legs grew rigid. Then my abdomen. And before they could react, I was rising off of the ground in a series of jerks and twitches. My clothes were now completely
drenched in blood, but the gaping wound beneath my chin was quickly healing and the sight had returned to my eyes.

  When a dog gets scared, it whimpers, right?

  Turns out werewolves do the same thing.

  The Kaminsky brothers took a step back as I returned from the brink. Gadreel emerged from the shadows and took over.

  “What are you?” demanded Gennady.

  As my throat was repaired, I finally managed an answer. “I'm the city dogcatcher, don't you know? And I've come to put the two of you down.”

  From the other room came a series of sounds in quick succession. There was the room-shaking impact of the gargoyle's fists against the floors and walls, the rat-a-tat-tat of several automatic weapons peppering the room in holes and something else that wasn't clear to me until the werewolves turned around to look.

  Kubo had thrown down a paper seal, the black script on it burning a molten orange as the spell on it was activated. The Chief's voice was nothing but a whisper as he delivered the necessary incantations; the final ingredient in a finicky recipe. I watched as the gunmen lowered their weapons, hands thrust to their ears as the spell commenced.

  What followed was an ear-shattering pop, followed shortly by a sudden remodeling of the room. One of the walls was thrust aside like cardboard, and the street outside was strewn in bricks and drywall. The gunmen couldn't even stay on their feet, were sent spiraling through the air.

  A burst of hot air struck me from the doorway, knocking the werewolves off of their balance. The gargoyle, who'd been ready to slam Joe's brains in only moments ago, was laying on the floor in pieces, its terrible visage now cracked and still.

  Kubo stood up, running a hand through his black mop and looking out into the street where the surviving gunmen now pawed around in a daze. “That's one way to clear a room.” He raised his gun and, without warning, fired off three quick shots into Mikhail.