Uncanny Collateral

by Brian McClellan

  Now, that was interesting. I’d never actually had carte blanche before. “Is that right? If I actually have to kill people over this, will you keep OtherOps off my back? Because the last thing I need is to do a job for you and then get swarmed by the cops.”

  “I’ll make sure they don’t interfere.”

  He didn’t answer your question, Maggie pointed out. I repeated the thought aloud.

  Ferryman cracked the slightest smile. “All right. I’ll make sure that whatever you have to do in my employ has no consequences.”

  “Then I think we can work together.”

  “I’m relieved,” Ferryman said with a wan smile. “I already paid Ada a deposit.”

  “I’ll get started immediately. If I have to contact you with questions…?”

  Ferryman rotated his wrist, producing a card like some cheap street magician. It was black with red lettering that said, in a heavy-metal-style font, the word Death. Awfully subtle, that. There was a phone number beneath it. The card was thick and heavy, and on the back was a mirror.

  “Stepping mirror?” I asked.

  “The phone number goes to an answering service. The mirror goes directly to my realm in case you need to speak with me personally. If that’s all, I should be going.”

  “That’s all,” I confirmed.

  The lights flickered, and Ferryman was gone in the space of a blink, leaving behind the strong smell of cigarettes and the fading, uneasy feeling of his presence. I eyed the empty chair for a few moments, repeating the conversation in my head as I tried to think of somewhere to start this investigation.

  I may not be able to read him like I can a human, Maggie said to me, but I can tell he’s pissed and hiding it well.

  You think that means something? I asked.

  I don’t think Death normally cares much for emotion. The fact this has made him genuinely angry means it’s serious.

  “Well, shit,” I said aloud. I took out my phone and punched Ada’s number. She picked up after a single ring, and I could imagine her sitting in her Parisian hotel room, long nails drumming on the desk while she waited for my call.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “How’s the business trip going?”

  “Splendidly. How is Death?”

  “I just finished my meeting.”

  “And?”

  “And I have the details. I’ll get started now. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess he’s paying you a shitload for this side job.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is that I should probably work this job twenty-four seven.”

  “Yes,” she responded. “I’ll have Nadine put all your other jobs on hold for the time being.”

  “My other point is that I want the weekend of the eighteenth off of work.”

  Silence. I could hear her irritation in the cadence of her breathing. I wasn’t really in a position to negotiate, but I was doing it anyway. Whether that would annoy her or amuse her was a coin toss. “Finish this job quickly,” she said, “and we’ll talk.” She hung up.

  I eyed my phone for a moment. You hear that? I asked Maggie.

  Yeah. She will genuinely consider your request if you polish this thing off. I could hear it in her voice. Maggie let out a little whoop. Fuck, yeah! Let’s find this thieving asshole, and then, beaches, here we come.

  I grinned and hid my reservations from Maggie. Ada wasn’t shy about sending me on the most dangerous jobs—it’s why she bought a troll-blooded child two decades ago, after all. The fact that Death had involved himself personally meant that this could get hairy—really hairy—and I couldn’t help but wonder how many details he was hiding from me.

  It was time to get to work and find out.

  Chapter 3

  My first move was to find myself a better lead. “Someone in the Great Lakes area is stealing souls” wasn’t going to be very useful. I considered putting a few of our company skip tracers on the job, but I didn’t even have a name to start them off on. And since Ferryman had stressed discretion, that meant I was on my own. Anyone I told about this thing had to be trustworthy.

  I stopped by an ATM before hitting the hour-long drive to southern Akron, where I found a busy, pothole-pitted street and parked in front of a corner pawnshop with a sign above it declaring Zeke’s Pawn and Charity. A green neon lotto sign in the window blinked on and off.

  A bell rang as I stepped into the shop’s cool darkness. The establishment was devoid of customers and overwhelmed by piles of junk on every available surface. Some items had handwritten price tags, while others were stacked on shelves labeled Best Offer. The place smelled of dust and salami, and I fought back a sneeze as I looked over a glass case full of jewelry and wondered how much of it was stolen.

  I don’t know why you always come here first, Maggie said. Zeke is a weirdo.

  I rolled my eyes. I come here because Zeke finds out everything going on around town faster than just about anyone else I know.

  So? Shouldn’t you boycott his services? I thought that’s what decent people do.

  Just because you don’t like him?

  Yes, she answered without a trace of irony.

  Zeke gets me results. Results get you to the beach next week.

  Point taken.

  I suppressed a smile, then went to the glass case of knickknacks at the very end of the room and banged on the top. “Zeke, you have a customer! Stop watching soaps and get out here!”

  “Hold on, hold on,” a voice answered from the back. There was a crash followed by a litany of swear words, and then a short, balding man with tufts of black hair sticking out from the sides of his head emerged from the back room. He wore a dirty X-men T-shirt and carried a coffee mug that reeked of bourbon from six paces away. I frowned and squinted.

  That’s new, Maggie said.

  “Zeke?” I asked.

  “Heya, Alek! How are you doing this fine day?” he answered cheerfully, slamming the coffee cup on the counter top so hard that I was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. “I was just about to give you a call.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, and gave him a long, hard look. “Zeke, why do you look like Danny DeVito?”

  He stared at me like I was an idiot for a moment before smacking his head. “You haven’t seen me since I changed last, have you?”

  “The last time I saw you, you were taller than me. And Indian.”

  Zeke is a retired angel. A cherubim, to be exact. He claims he stood guard outside the Garden of Eden and all that jazz, but even with Maggie in my ring, I don’t trust his stories. I knew that he changed looks every few decades so that the locals didn’t get suspicious, but I’d never actually seen him do it.

  “Right,” he responded, leaning across the table and whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Look, if anyone comes in here looking for Zeke, just call me Fred. I had to change a little early this time because I got in deep with some loan sharks in Canton.” He straightened and grinned. “So ‘Fred’ bought out Zeke’s Pawn and Charity.”

  “And Zeke fled the country?” I guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  I told you he’s fucking weirdo, Maggie whispered.

  “Why Danny DeVito?” I asked.

  Zeke cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s Danny DeVito?”

  Oh, lord, Maggie said. He’s not kidding around. He has no idea who Danny DeVito is.

  I sighed. “You picked this look by accident?

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Ever heard of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “How about Taxi?”

  Zeke’s eyes lit up. “I think I’ve got that on VHS somewhere around here!”

  “Give it a watch. Now, what is it you were gonna call me about?”

  Zeke looked at me askance an
d waved a finger. “No, no. You tell me what you came in here for first. Let’s get business out of the way.”

  I didn’t have patience to play games with him, so I took a brown envelope out of my pocket and tossed it on the counter between us. It landed with the weight of a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills. I like to talk a lot about how cheap Ada is, but she never skimps on a bribe.

  Zeke let out a low whistle, using one finger to open the end of the envelope and peek inside. “Who are you after this time? Bloodbag? Bone donor? Faust? I’ve got a lead on a guy in Columbus who supposedly owes Baron Samedi over thirty grand in Cuban cigars.”

  “Nah,” I responded. “It’s something a little different.” I paused, looking up at the security camera blinking at me from one corner of the shop. “Turn that off.”

  “Eh? That’s for my own personal safety, you know.”

  I laid one hand over the envelope of money. “Cameras off.”

  “Hold on, hold on.” Zeke shuffled into the back room. The light on the camera went dead, and he returned a moment later carrying a salami sandwich. He took a bite and sat on a stool opposite me. “Lay it on thick, brother.”

  “I need discretion,” I said.

  “You know I’m the very model of discreet,” Zeke replied, looking hurt.

  “Real discretion,” I repeated. I pulled another envelope out of my pocket and tossed it on top of the first. For a moment, I thought Zeke’s eyes would pop out of his head.

  “Frickin’ A, Alek. You have my discretion,” he said.

  “Good. There’s a rumor that a couple hundred souls have gone missing. I need to know if you’ve got a line on anything like that.”

  Zeke’s eyes didn’t leave the envelopes of money. He rubbed his chin. “Souls, huh? I’ve never heard of the Lords of Hell misplacing any of their gains. I didn’t even know it could happen.”

  “So you haven’t heard anything?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, raising an eyebrow and flicking his eyes between my face and the money.

  He’s lying, Maggie told me. He knows something, but I get the sense it’s not that much.

  I shook my head at Zeke. “I’m not adding a penny to that pile unless you give me something really damn good.”

  Zeke’s lips pursed stubbornly. “Whatever happened to some good, old-fashioned haggling?”

  “I’m on a deadline,” I told him.

  For a fraction of a moment, I thought I saw the air around Zeke shimmer, and the vision of a tall, multiheaded, golden-skinned alien creature wafted behind him like a mirage. It was gone when I blinked, but I knew I had him. His disguise always wavered when he was about to relent.

  “Okay,” Zeke said, “I may have heard a thing or two. Nothing concrete, though. Just a tiny bit of hearsay.”

  “What kind of hearsay?” I asked.

  Zeke said, “Supposedly there’s this executive downtown who sold her soul for fame and power and all that. She paid her debt up front and has been living the high life ever since.”

  Paid her debt up front meant that she handed over her soul upon signature. Most people put off that part—they think if they keep their soul for twenty years then maybe the Devil will forget they exist or they’ll be able to buy it back or something stupid. It’s an easy negotiating point for my clients, so they let the sucker hold on to that soul and then don’t pay nearly as much for it.

  “What does this have to do with missing souls?” I asked.

  “I’m getting there. Supposedly, she started to have her doubts about the whole heaven and hell thing last year, and get this…” Zeke paused dramatically. When I narrowed my eyes at his theatrics, he sighed and continued, “She bought herself a secondhand soul.”

  Now, that is very interesting, Maggie commented.

  A little tickle went up my spine. “Secondhand souls aren’t a thing,” I said flatly.

  Zeke shrugged. “That’s what I thought. But when you mentioned missing souls, it popped into my head.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “Can’t help you there.”

  “Where did you hear this rumor?”

  “Friend of a friend,” Zeke said defensively. “You know I don’t give up my sources.”

  He’s told us all he knows, Maggie informed me.

  I locked eyes with Zeke and took one of the envelopes back. I counted out two hundred dollars, threw the cash on the table, and put the envelope in my pocket.

  “Hey, hey,” Zeke said. “Come on!”

  “You get to keep the envelope that shuts your mouth,” I told him, “but that bit of info doesn’t do much for me. You get me more info, and you might see the rest.” I paused. “Unless you have something more to add. What was it you were going to call me about?

  Zeke’s frown passed, and he seemed uncertain. “It might be nothing.”

  “What kind of nothing?”

  “There was this guy in here the other day asking after someone of your description.”

  “I’m a white guy with tattoos,” I responded.

  “Yeah, but he described your ring perfectly.” He pointed at Maggie’s ring.

  Inside the back of my head, I felt Maggie become deathly still. I became suddenly self-conscious and resisted the urge to cover the ring with my hand. I’d never told a soul about the contents of the ring, and the only person who’d ever asked about it was Zeke. “What did he look like?” I asked.

  “About five foot ten, black hair, black clothes. Emo type. I pegged him for an amateur necromancer. He smelled like black magic.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?” I asked.

  “Nothing you can’t handle.” Zeke chewed on his bottom lip. “But he’s not the kind of guy I want to get the drop on you.” I reached into my pocket, but Zeke held up both hands. “No charge for this one, buddy. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “I appreciate it.” My mind was turning now, thinking over all the various debtors I’d dealt with the last couple years. The description didn’t ring a bell, but that didn’t mean some sour kid couldn’t dye his hair and start dabbling in necromancy. It was the bit about Maggie’s ring that worried me. “Did he ask after the ring itself, or just use it as part of the description he gave you?”

  “Just the description.”

  Does this ring a bell? I asked Maggie.

  No. Should it?

  Any old enemies from before we met—or, hell, before you were trapped in there? Some of the Other live a damned long time.

  Any enemies that still knew I was alive died centuries ago. I don’t think I have any new enemies. It’s kind of hard to piss people off from in here. She didn’t sound all that worried, so I decided not to let it bother me.

  “It’s probably an old debtor,” I told Zeke. “A lot of these assholes get mad when we take what they owe our clients. Instead of going after our clients, they go after us. Give me a call if he comes in here again, would you?”

  “No problem.”

  He’s not telling us everything, Maggie said.

  Are you saying that because it’s true, or because you don’t like him?

  Because it’s true.

  I eyed Zeke for a moment. He was as mercenary as they come, but I’d always been able to trust him as long as Ada kept paying for the information he gave us. We practically funded his gambling habit, after all. It was smart of him to keep us happy.

  And I knew him well enough to see that he had told all he was going to tell.

  “Thanks,” I said again, turning toward the door.

  “Hey,” he asked, “this thing with the souls—who’s the client on this, anyway? Lucy? If you see her, give her a peck on the cheek for me.”

  “Doesn’t she still have a restraining order on you?”

  “That’s a misunderstanding,” he replied with a pained look. “So who’s the cl
ient?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I said, heading toward the door.

  “Oh, come on,” Zeke said. “I’m already sworn to secrecy. Settle my curiosity.” He searched the counter for a moment, and his face suddenly brightened up. “Hey, you tell me who the client is, and I’ll hook you up with the next espresso machine that comes through here. Not one of those junk ones, either—a good one!”

  I heard Maggie laugh in the back of my head. Little bastard knows you too well.

  I considered for a moment. I had already bought his silence. “The client is Ferryman,” I said, pushing open the door.

  “Well, shiz,” I heard him say as I left. “You weren’t kidding. I really didn’t want to know.”

  Chapter 4

  A woman buying a secondhand soul might not sound like much to most people, but Zeke had given me enough information to get a serious start on this thing. First, I knew that she was a businesswoman working out of Cleveland. Second, I knew that she’d sold her soul at some point in the last two decades. If that was the case, I could track her down.

  I called the office as I left Akron, waiting patiently until a woman’s voice answered.

  “Valkyrie Collections, this is Nadine. How may I help you?”

  “Nadine, it’s Alek.”

  “Oh, hey, hun! I saw you were here already this morning. I tell you, Alek, you don’t have to make that shitty coffee. I’ll bring you something good when I come in.”

  “I needed an early pick-me-up,” I told her. Nadine is the reaper secretary. She’s a heavyset black woman in her early fifties who hasn’t missed a day of work for thirty years—other than the two weeks she takes off every December to go to the Caribbean. She prefers her nails long, her hair dyed, her designer clothes discounted, her shoes expensive, and her men confident. She’s also the only person at Valkyrie who knows my true relationship with Ada, so she goes out of her way to make my life a little less miserable. She is, needless to say, one of my favorite people in the world.