His father had grabbed the whip from Haki’s young, numb fingers and immediately struck out at him. The first strike bit through his jeans on his thigh. The second wound around his wrist where it had dug into the skin, sunk down to the bone. Whatever he’d done, he hadn’t been able to unwrap the end fast enough before his father snaked the rest of the whip around his neck.
It was lucky that his sister had found a brick and had the forethought to swing it on top of his father’s thick skull. It brought him precious moments to untangle himself. He’d grabbed his sister’s hand and they’d both stumbled from the shed into the blinding sunshine outside. The day had been perfect. So sunny. So warm. Such at odds with the terror that had happened inside the shed.
He’d run into the house, showed his mother his arm and leg, shown the bruises on his sister’s back. His mother had been too spaced out to stand up, let alone anything else. She’d offer no protection to them when his father regained consciousness.
He and his sister packed a few items and they’d left home then. Too young. Too old and hating the world. Until now he didn’t know how wrong he’d got it.
There were always options to be decided, and even though he’d had a rough childhood, it was no reason to keep making the wrong choices. Make someone else pay for the weakness of his parents. In hindsight, it was pathetic of him to think that it was acceptable.
He owed it to the angel to change. He owed it to himself. He was the only person who could make that change. No one else would care enough, but then again, he’d not done anything to enable someone to care.
He could just walk away and start a new life. But there was only one way you left the Lepski family. And it wasn’t by choice. Plus, there was his sister to consider. Vincent’s motto was revenge, and that was usually taken out on innocent people. He’d seen Quade suffer and he didn’t want to be in the same position.
He’d have to play his cards right and hope Vincent didn’t see the hand he held. Bide his time, watch and learn.
Haki cleared his throat and hoped Vincent wouldn’t read his thoughts through his voice.
“Boss.”
Vincent sat at his desk, typing on his computer. The taping of the keys sounded like rapid-fire. Haki let the door click shut behind him, waiting patiently by the door.
Without looking up, Vincent said, “Come closer, Haki. Have a seat.”
He didn’t want to venture so far into the room, but he didn’t have a choice. He squeezed his large frame into the high-backed chair on this side of Vincent’s desk facing him and sat waiting with crushed shoulders, elbows pinned to his sides between the narrow arm-rests.
Eventually Vincent looked up from the screen. He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk top to the side of the computer. He leaned back in his chair, his black eyes glinted. There was no way Vincent could read his mind. He kept his gaze level, fighting the urge to flinch. Vincent steepled his fingers, then said. “I hope you have some news for me?”
Haki nodded. “It’s about the angel.” Words faded. He couldn’t bear to tell Vincent about something so wonderful, so good. He knew Vincent would only tarnish it.
Vincent pursed his lips. “I’m not waiting for Christmas, Haki. Tell me what you know.”
There was no room for error here. The truth had to be told. Vincent would know if he lied. He needed to be kept in Vincent’s plans. Keep himself in a position where he might be able to help the angel, give him a chance for redemption. Haki shifted in the uncomfortable chair. Vincent was a man of facts, and this tale sounded like a fairy-tale. “I…died. And she brought me back to life.”
“Are you fucking serious? You know I don’t like fables—or lies.”
Haki held his palms up. “It’s the truth, boss. A car hit me. Look at my clothes.” He showed Vincent his torn, mud-racked clothes, dirty from the road and the front of the car. “She—the angel—saw me die and she helped me get back into my body. I swear it’s the truth.”
Vincent started at him long and hard enough for Haki to start squirming. His gaze was hard and penetrating, as if the man could read his soul. Haki was helpless but to sit there and let him do it.
Eventually Vincent leaned back in the chair. “Interesting.”
Haki let out a mental breath. “What’s the plan, boss?”
“Handing souls back into bodies. It gives me an idea.” Vincent rose from his chair and walked to the picture of his father and himself on a fishing trip. His father held up a large fish they’d caught from the ocean, a giant cigar clenched between his teeth. The boy Vincent was looking at his father, smiling brightly.
Vincent touched the edge of the frame. “We could have had many more days like these,” he said. “But that murdering bastard Quade stole all that from me. I haven’t been able to get at him since his wife died, but now I might have a chance to right two wrongs.”
Vincent faced Haki. His eyes blazed with desperate yearning. “I want her. Get her for me. Don’t come back unless you have her with you this time.”
“But I don’t know where she is, boss.”
Vincent’s eyes glinted. Haki snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to anger his boss. “Track her down, you useless fool. Ask that priest friend of Quade’s. He always knows his whereabouts. For some reason he has a soft spot for the man.” Vincent turned back to the photograph of his father. “If he doesn’t tell you, make sure you leave an invitation that Quade will want to come and seek me. Personally.”
***
The door opened on squeaking hinges. It made no difference. They weren’t here for a friendly visit. This was business and the transaction would be fast. Haki would make sure that the outcome would be the best it could. He had an afterlife riding on his every action.
The priest was at the altar at the far end of the church, preparing for the Eucharist. He didn’t hear them. Haki let his footsteps fall heavily and they echoed through the inside of the church. The priest whirled around. A huge book was opened in front of him. He’d been reading it, and had been so absorbed that the men were half way up the aisle before the priest noticed them.
At the sight of them, the priest withdrew to the mantle behind the altar, taking the book with him.
Haki’s heart pumped so strongly he felt his blood ticking at the base of his neck and he started to perspire beneath his arms. The taste of bile rose in his throat. He didn’t want to be here, and he didn’t want a man like Ben with him. He would have gone back to Vincent with a story about the priest going missing, but before he’d left, Vincent had called Ben into his office and sent them away together. Ben was an unknown factor who relished his job. It didn’t bode well for the priest. Or for Haki’s inevitable future.
“That stupid priest, thinking we didn’t see what he was doing. I’ll teach him a lesson about hiding things from me,” Ben sniggered. He jogged up the few shallow steps to the altar, pulled the gun from his shoulder holster and aimed it at the priest who crouched on the floor at the base of the mantle. Haki followed, watching for the best placement so he might protect the priest as much as he could, but Ben had positioned himself in front.
The priest stood, staggering backward until he hit the tiled wall. Haki swallowed hard as his eyes stuck on the large granite stature of Christ on the cross hanging above the priest. “Why are you doing this? This is a house of God. If I had money, I’d give it to you.”
“We’re not after your money, priest. We want to know where Quade is.”
Haki lagged behind Ben. If he had to do anything, he’d do it to his back. The priest narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, but it wasn’t missed.
Ben straightened his arm. The point of the gun nearly touched the priest’s nose. “No sense in lying. Cough it up, priest. Tell us where Quade is.”
The priest shook his head. “He has nothing to do with you.”
“He has everything to do with us and we want to know where he is.”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t t
ell me his daily whereabouts.”
Ben whacked the back of his fist into the priest’s cheek. There was the unmistakable sound of a jaw cracking and the priest fell to the ground, clutching his cheek, groaning in agony. Droplets of blood leaked between his fingers and splattered on the tiles.
Haki’s guts lurched. He stepped toward the priest, not knowing to do, sure in the knowledge that the evil red things watched every move he made. Ben glared at Haki, a question in his eyes. Haki needed to keep his cover, so he cowered back and away from the priest, hating that he was so weak. Ben sneered, baring his teeth, eyes lit with a malevolent gleam. He paced around the priest like a lion in a cage, watching, calculating his next move to destroy his prey.
Watching Ben was similar to watching the red things as they had circled Haki. He knew that feeling of being the prey. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to summon some courage. “Bro, don’t hurt the priest any more. If you break his jaw, he won’t be able to tell us where the cop is,” Haki said.
Ben glowered at him, brows drawn together. “Where’d that come from? You’re usually the first to throw a punch.”
Perspiration now prickled his upper lip. “I mean, Vincent won’t be happy if we go back with nothing.”
“Sure, Haki. We won’t go back with nothing. This priest’ll talk soon. It’s only a matter of time. Priests. They’re soft, you know.” Ben landed a solid kick to the priest’s stomach. He curled up, balled around the pain.
“I don’t know where he is,” the priest gasped.
“You’d better start thinking quick. Not even a phone number?”
The priest didn’t answer. Ben landed a fist into the priest’s other cheek. His eyes lolled back in his head, his mouth dribbled blood and saliva. Ben kicked the barely conscious priest onto his back. His arms flopped outwards and his head lolled to the side.
“There’s no way he’s going to give us anything now, bro,” Haki said.
Ben kicked the priest’s side and stepped back, disgusted when the priest merely groaned. “I hate priests,” he said, spitting on the priest’s robes.
Haki grabbed Ben’s upper arm. “Let’s go. Find where the cop lives,” Haki said, looking toward the door. He just wanted to get Ben away from the priest. Maybe on the way he could phone the ambulance to come to the church. That should count as some type of penance.
“Where’d he put that book he was reading?” Ben crouched in front of the mantle. One of the mosaics didn’t seem to be flat against the frame. Ben folded his fingers around the edge and the mosaic opened, showing the cavity behind. “Well, well. What have we here?”
Haki’s heart sank as Ben withdrew the old book the priest had no doubt quickly shoved in an attempt to hide it from them. He flicked open the pages, running the pads of his fingers over the pictures of angels and people. “This will be more help than the priest.”
“Let’s get going. We’ve been here too long,” Haki urged.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed.
Relieved, Haki nodded and stepped down the altar steps to the aisle, wanting to get out of here as soon as he possibly could. He’d saved the priest and now had something to take back to Vincent. It was but a small step in his long path toward redemption. But it was a start.
A gunshot had him spinning on the balls of his feet in time to see Ben holding his smoking gun aimed at the priest.
“What’d you do that for?” Haki gasped, mouth falling open, dread replacing the relief of moments before.
Ben shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster and resettled his jacket on his shoulders watching the priest with heavy-hooded eyes. He slung a smug gaze at Haki as he jogged down the steps, brushing his shoulder against Haki as he walked past.
“I told you I hate priests.”
Chapter Twelve
“Okay. Do you want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
Daman sighed, pushing the Chinese food carton away from him to join the jumble of empty boxes in the middle of the table. It was talk time.
After Angel had eaten, he’d run a bath for her, gave her a pile of fresh clothes he found in the drawers in the bedroom and told her to take a long soak. There were some measures of comfort to be found in a safe house. Pete had taken them to one of the better ones and for that he was grateful.
He took another chug of ice-cold beer they’d bought with the Chinese, savoring the taste of it in his mouth. “You’re going to have to promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”
“Does she involve anything illegal?” Pete asked, as he quirked a bushy brow. It arched high into his ruddy forehead. Between his strawberry-red hair and hardy complexion, he was the epitome of his Scottish heritage. Something that his surname of “Waterman” hid well.
“The complete opposite, Pete.”
Pete leaned back in his chair and took another pull of his beer. “With an angel like her, I’m glad to hear it.”
Daman choked, setting his beer on the table. “You know?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m starting to be more worried than I already am about you. So cough it up and tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into now.”
Daman settled into the hard wooden chair as best he could, feeling the uncomfortable bars dig into his back. Knowing how crazy it all sounded, knowing he would come across like he’d lost his marbles, he took a steeling breath and began. He went into police mode, detailing the events in a concise, precise manner. When he’d finished, Pete hooked him a sharp gaze. “I don’t mean this to sound how it will, but are you seeing the police psych?”
“I’m not making any of this up.”
Pete’s keen eyes narrowed. “Taken any drugs lately?”
Daman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Pete knew how he felt about drugs. He’d spent most of his adult life fighting them on the streets. “Yeah, chose some LSD over breakfast this morning. Come on, Pete. When have you ever known me to fabricate anything?”
Pete shook his head, breathed out a heavy sigh. “You’ve not been the same since Michelle…”
“She died three years ago. People change in three years,” Daman said.
“You took it, are still taking it, pretty hard. Stress like that… Wanting to make sense of it all… Look, all I’m saying is grief works in funny ways.”
“It’s real. All of it. You should be looking for a new partner by now. I shouldn’t be here talking to you. I should be enjoying the sweet afterlife, not here trying to justify the state of my mind.”
Pete shook his head. “Cool down. You have to understand, it sounds like something from the X-Files.”
“Look, a day ago, I’d be saying the same things you are sitting in your seat. I know how crazy it sounds. Like I’ve jumped off the deep end, turning up with a beautiful woman claiming she’s an angel, for God’s sake. But a day is a long time. Things happen and not all of it is logical.”
“Just saying this is true, and I’m not saying I believe you, what are you planning to do?”
Daman sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m on borrowed time. What I do now will be the last thing I do. I’m taking Vincent down and the whole Lepski network.”
“Glad to see you’re aiming small.” Pete sat forward. “We don’t have any hard evidence.”
“I’ve been keeping tabs on them. Been my personal hobby lately. I’ve got photos, names, addresses, a detailed diary of their movements. Everything I need to bring them down.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Pete said, his voice sharp.
“I didn’t tell you. This is an out-of-office deal. Let’s just say the way I got this evidence is less than above board. But it’ll stand up in court. And it’s all yours. You’ll be the person known for bringing down the Lepski gang.”
Pete sighed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The department is keeping too close an eye on me since Michelle’s death. They’d have retired me if they knew what I was doing
. Neurotic obsession is what they’d call it. I had to have a functioning badge. I’ve had nothing else to live for except the force. If I didn’t have to get up and go to work every day…” He let his breath carry what he couldn’t say out loud.
“Yeah, I know.”
“I was going to let you know when I had more information. Everything I’d need. But I have it now. Last night, I got the last piece.” He pulled out a note from his inside jacket pocket. “The address of Vincent Lepski himself. Cost me my last thousand. And my life.” He slid the piece of paper across the table to Pete. “It’s yours.”
Pete took the paper and unfolded it. One edge was stained with Daman’s blood. He sent Daman a direct look.
“Luckily, Haki didn’t have a chance to search me.’
Pete read the address. “Smith Street. Hidden in plain sight. We suspected, but never got the proof.”
“Now we have. Everything’s there. The mills, the stampers, all his equipment. And a month’s stock of drugs in the warehouse. I had someone wait around the clock to get that.”
“Who?”
“A low-life. He needed the extra cash and he had the time to sit and wait. I’ve got photos and a concise month’s list of comings and goings from his house. Easy to coincide with Lepski’s dealings on the street.”
“Where’s your evidence?”
“Hidden in my apartment.”
“Lepski’s bound to have someone watching it.”
Daman nodded. “Agreed. It’ll take the both of us to get it.” He paused, then asked, “Are you in?”
Pete pursed his lips. “We’re partners. I’m with you.”
“We’ll need to work out a plan, but it has to be tomorrow.”
“We’ll be expected.”
“We still have an element of surprise. They won’t know when, or how. We’ll create a diversion.”
“Sounds complicated,” Pete said.
Angel appeared in the doorway, freshly washed and in the clean clothes he’d given her. The smell of fresh rain and powdery lavender hit him between the eyes, knocking his gut all the way to his toes. He picked up his beer and slammed the last mouthful down his throat. He set the empty bottle back onto the table with a clatter. “At least we have God on our side.”
Daman's Angel Page 9
