The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  He didn’t answer right away—probably because he knew he couldn’t say anything comforting that would sound halfway convincing. They both knew it was true. “You think she’s still alive?” he asked at last.

  “She was when we found the hand. The aura wouldn’t have still been there that strong. But man…even if she gets help, she’s not gonna be able to work anymore. Who wants a one-handed stripper? And she’s got a kid, too.” She sighed loudly. “This sucks, Jase. Let’s find these bastards and deal with ’em before they hurt anybody else, okay?”

  He glanced at her again. “You know we’re not supposed to do that, right? As a PI, my job’s to track down what happened and then turn it over to the proper authorities to deal with. And report back to whoever hired me, of course.”

  Something in his tone made her think he wasn’t being entirely upfront. “Are you saying that’s what you plan to do?”

  “I guess that depends on what we find.”

  “You don’t want to get in trouble before you even have your license.”

  “No, I don’t. But if you’re right and whatever’s going on is connected to your side of the world—how am I gonna turn that over to the cops? Especially the Vegas cops, who are mostly all corrupt anyway? Hell, they’ll probably just file it somewhere nobody will ever see it again, and ask the guys who did it for tips.”

  It was odd hearing that kind of cynicism in her brother’s voice—usually she was the cynic in the family, which was why she got along so well with Stone. Jason was the optimist, the Boy Scout, the tireless defender of the downtrodden. “I guess we’ll just have to see what happens,” she said, watching the neon-lit scenery go by out the window. “We can check in at the Obsidian later. Let’s go see if we can find any of the Forgotten. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us something about the guy who found the body, or at least the area in general.”

  “I hope so. Because otherwise, unless Nakamura or Roper come up with anything, I’m fresh out of ideas that don’t involve beating somebody up.”

  They left the Mustang in a paid parking lot just off Fremont Street and headed for the area with the largest concentration of casinos, figuring the panhandling prospects would be better there. Jason refused to leave his gun in the car this time, so he put it in a holster and strapped it to his belt. They might have trouble if they entered any of the casinos and somebody complained, but outside it was completely legal. In any case, the Forgotten they’d seen didn’t usually spend time inside casinos where they were likely to get chucked out.

  At close to eleven p.m., Fremont Street seemed to be just getting started for the night. Bright kinetic lightshows projected onto the canopy above the street, herds of tourists clutching oversized drinks moved up and down the sidewalks and clogged the blocked-off street, and flashing lights and clattering sounds beckoned gamblers into the dozens of small casinos and souvenir shops lining both sides.

  Jason and Verity ignored most of this, at least as much as they could. What they were looking for existed around the edges of the exuberant, tipsy crowd, huddled against the sides of buildings or just off the main street at the edges of alleys.

  It was surprising how many of them there were, if you took the time to notice them. Most of the tourists and gamblers didn’t, flowing past them like a river around rocks or chunks of garbage. For their part, the huddled figures mostly didn’t do much to draw attention to themselves; they sat on blankets, small camp stools, or the cold street, halfheartedly sticking out a hand, a cup, or a bowl and muttering something that got lost amid all the other competing sounds.

  Verity started by ducking into one of the casinos and exchanging her roulette winnings, along with ten more dollars from Jason, for a stack of one-dollar chips. They didn’t have a lot of money to throw around, so they couldn’t use Stone’s go-to strategy of bribing people until he found one who could give him what he was looking for, but at least they could drop a few bucks in the panhandlers’ cups for the privilege of asking them a couple of questions.

  The first guy they found was seated against the wall off to the side of one of the sleazier-looking casinos. He wore a grimy army jacket and wool stocking cap, and one leg of his dirty jeans was tied off at the knee.

  “Hey, man,” Jason said as he dropped one of the chips into his bowl. “How’s it going?”

  “Thank you, sir,” the man mumbled without looking at them.

  “Welcome. Hey, we’re looking for some homeless guys that call themselves the Forgotten. You know ’em? Or a homeless guy named Ned?”

  The man shook his head. “Nah, man. They a gang or somethin’?”

  Verity watched the man’s aura as he spoke. Almost as stained and muddy as his clothes, it nonetheless didn’t waver. She shook her head at Jason.

  “No, it’s okay,” he told the guy. “Thanks, buddy. Have a good one.”

  They repeated this performance six more times, each time giving a chip and asking their questions. Time after time, the person—all but two of them men—said they’d never heard of anyone called “the Forgotten.” Even when Jason sketched the Forgotten’s “good place” symbol in his notebook and showed around, they came up empty. Likewise, nobody seemed to know of—or at least be willing to talk about—Ned.

  By the time they paused in front of a souvenir shop to take stock, Verity was growing discouraged. “You think they’re gone?” she asked. “Left town or something?”

  “Why would they do that?” Jason leaned back against the wall. “Remember last time we talked to them, when we were here before? They don’t have anywhere to go, or they’d have left a long time ago.”

  Verity had to agree he was right about that. She hadn’t told him about what she and Stone had done in the Underground last time they were here, though—maybe something else had threatened their home and they’d been forced to leave, or the Evil had stepped up their hunt and driven them off the streets in fear for their safety. It was starting to look like they’d have to go to the Underground tomorrow after all and try to find them where they lived. She glanced at her watch; it was now almost twelve-thirty, and they’d been trudging up and down the same few blocks on for nearly an hour and a half.

  “Maybe we should head back to the Obsidian,” she said, frustrated. “This is looking like a bust. I just hope somebody didn’t kill Ned to keep him from talking to anybody else.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe Nakamura’s got something for us.”

  They started back toward where they’d left the car, walking down the middle of the street and scanning the sidewalks on either side as best they could through the crowds, in case anybody new had shown up, but even some of the guys who’d been there before had disappeared. Verity checked in with magical sight every minute or so, sweeping back and forth, but it felt like she was doing it by rote. She hoped they’d have better luck at the Underground tomorrow.

  She glanced back toward the right side of the street and almost moved on when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small figure slinking along behind them. Immediately, she marked his position and continued her scan as if she hadn’t seen anything. “I think I got something,” she murmured. “Stay cool.”

  Jason continued to amble along as if she hadn’t spoken. “Where?”

  “Behind us, on the right. Guy moving along the sides of the building. I think he’s following us.”

  “Can you tell if he’s hostile?”

  “No, I just got a glimpse, but his aura looked okay.”

  “Okay. Let’s head to the right, toward the gift shop there—see it? Pretend you noticed something you want to buy.”

  Verity slowed, gripped Jason’s arm, and pointed toward the shop. “Hey, look! Cheap kitschy crap!” she said under her breath with great enthusiasm. “I must have it, dear brother!”

  “I can’t take you anywhere,” Jason muttered, but allo
wed himself to be dragged in that direction.

  Verity kept magical sight up, keeping an eye on the guy. He was definitely interested in them—as they approached the gift shop, he slunk forward and ducked just inside the alley next to it, peering at them around the corner. He was good at hiding—if she hadn’t been watching his aura, she’d never have spotted him. “I’m gonna duck out of sight for a second, then go invisible and see if I can get behind him. You go outside like you’re waiting for me to finish buying crap. Yeah?”

  “Yeah, okay. Be careful.”

  “Hurry up, though—even with the bracelet, I can only hold the spell for a minute or so.” She slipped into the store and immediately moved to look at a selection of tacky Las Vegas T-shirts displayed along the same wall that their follower was on the other side of. As soon as she was out of sight, she bent as if to tie her boot and faded to invisibility. Even if overhead cameras were watching her, that shouldn’t matter, since she hadn’t learned the version of the spell that fooled electronic devices yet.

  Now the clock was ticking. She hurried out of the store and back the direction they’d come, keeping close to the wall to avoid most of the tourists. It was hard moving in crowds when you were invisible!

  The guy was still there. He’d inched a little farther out of the alley to get a look inside the store, and was now watching something inside—most likely Jason as he sauntered back out looking bored. Verity got a better look at him now: he was a small, skinny dude, Mexican or Native American from the look of him, wearing a denim jacket, jeans, and a blue ball cap. She’d never seen him before, but he didn’t look buff enough or white enough to be one of the Hard Eights. That was one good thing, anyway.

  She only had a few more seconds before she had to drop the spell; even drawing power from the bracelet Stone had given her, she was already feeling the fatigue from maintaining it. She slipped quickly past the guy, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  Apparently she was better at being invisible than she was at being stealthy. The guy tensed as she moved by, his aura flaring a nervous red. “Uh?” he muttered, looking around for threats.

  At that point, Jason reached the alley. He made as if to move past, then paused a moment directly in front of the guy.

  Verity dropped the spell, shimmering back to visibility. “Hi,” she said.

  The little man jumped and yelped. He spun to face her but then, apparently remembering the big dude she’d been with was on the other side, spun back and pressed his back against the wall. “I—I don’t want any trouble,” he said quickly.

  “Us neither,” Verity said. “But you were following us. Why?”

  “I—uh—” He glanced back and forth again; clearly this guy’s resting state was “nervous.” He looked like the human personification of a sewer rat: wary, sly, and scared.

  “Come on,” Jason said. “We’re not gonna hurt you. Why were you following us?”

  The man didn’t address him, though. He turned back to Verity. “You’re the magic chick, aren’t you?”

  She stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Heard you were lookin’ for Forgotten.” Another nervous glance. “Can we move back a little? Don’t want anybody to see us talkin’.”

  “Uh…sure.” She backed up a few feet into the shadowy alley, scanned the area behind her for lurking auras, then leaned back against the wall next to the guy so she could keep an eye on both ends. After a moment Jason, looking dubious, did the same. She noticed his hand never strayed far from the gun on his hip, though he made no threatening moves toward it.

  “So what’s up?” Verity said. “Are you from the Forgotten? I don’t remember you.” That didn’t surprise her, though—even when she’d spent some time in the Underground when she was here with Stone, she hadn’t gotten to know all the Forgotten. They tended to come and go, depending on their current fortunes or lack thereof.

  “Yeah…what’s left of ’em.” The guy’s gaze was never still, which made it hard to talk to him.

  “What do you mean? Are they okay? Did something happen to them?”

  He shrugged. “Ain’t many left these days. Just happens, y’know? People move on.”

  “Is Malcolm still there? Or Zenna?” Those had been the group’s leaders after Luke, their previous leader, had been killed.

  “Malcolm’s dead. Cops got ’im few months back.”

  Verity’s stomach clenched. She’d liked Malcolm—he was one of the easier of the Underground Forgotten to work with. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged again. “Happens.”

  “Was it the Evil?” Jason asked. “The cops, I mean.”

  “Who knows? Prob’ly. We gotta be more careful now.”

  “Why?” Verity scanned each end of the alley again; still no sign of anyone approaching. “Are there more Evil than before?” It made sense: Vegas was probably the largest remaining hotbed of leftover Evil in the country, so it was conceivable that others from other towns might relocate and try to create some kind of nasty little headquarters for themselves.

  “Nah, don’t think so. Same old Evil. But there’s less of us, and our powers are fadin’ out.” He glanced in both directions when he said that, almost as if he wished he hadn’t.

  Their powers were fading? That wasn’t good, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Malcolm had mentioned it when they’d been there—since the portal to the Evil’s home dimension had been closed, the weird energy that gave the Forgotten their odd abilities had slowly waned as well. And that had been two years ago, so probably only the strongest of the group still had them.

  “Hey, you hungry?” Verity asked. “We could get something to eat at one of the coffee shops if you want—”

  He shook his head, looking even more nervous. “Gotta go soon. Stayed too long anyway. You said you got questions? Make ’em quick, yeah?”

  “We’re looking for some information about a guy who was murdered and dumped behind a strip club,” Jason said. He pulled out the photo of Gary Woods and showed it to him. “That’s the dead guy. The club is the Pussycat Club, just off Fremont. We heard a homeless guy named Ned found him. Do you know Ned?”

  The little man studied the photo, pondered a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know Ned a little. He ain’t Forgotten, but sometimes we help each other out. Ain’t seen him in a few days, though. Heard he was spooked about somethin’, hidin’.”

  “We need to talk to him, if we can,” Verity said. “Do you think you could see if he’d do that?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “We could make it worth your while,” Jason said. He handed over the remainder of the chips they hadn’t already given out. “We can get more. Not a lot more, but—”

  The man took the chips and stowed them inside his jacket. “Thanks, man. It’s appreciated. I dunno if I can find him—he was pretty spooked. Guess I’d be too if I found a stiff in a dumpster and had to talk to the cops about it.” Another glance back and forth. “Tell ya what—come back tomorrow night. Right here. If I can find Ned and he’s willin’ to talk, I’ll either bring ’im with me if he’ll come, or tell ya where t’ meet ’im otherwise. Okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s great. Thanks,” Verity said. “Please let him know we aren’t after him for anything—we just want a few answers so we can help out the dead guy’s family.”

  “Listen,” the guy said, “You wanna stay away from the Pussycat Club. Ain’t a nice place. Not surprised they’re dumpin’ dead guys there.”

  “You think they killed him?” Jason asked.

  “Who knows? That whole area’s fucked up. Not just the Pussycat.”

  He was definitely showing signs of wanting to bolt any second—they probably only had a short time left to talk unless they wanted to restrain him, and that would be a bad idea. “Evil?” Verity asked qu
ickly. “Hey, do you know anything about a gang called the Hard Eights? They jumped us over there earlier today.”

  The man shuddered. “Oh, fuck. Do not get messed up with those bastards.” This time, his scan was less nervous and more fearful, as if he expected the gang had tracked them to the alley.

  “Please,” Verity said. “Just tell us what you know, okay? Are they Evil?”

  “Nah. Not everything bad in this town’s Evil.”

  “What, then?” Jason asked. The little Forgotten’s anxiety seemed to be rubbing off on him, and he began pacing back and forth along the wall.

  “Look, I gotta go,” the man said. “If you guys are mixed up with the Hard Eights, I ain’t stayin’. They’re bad news—muscle and enforcers for a group that don’t even have a name. Rumor is their bosses run some secret places where you can do whatever the hell you want if you’ve got enough money.”

  Verity stared. “Whatever you want?”

  “Anything,” the guy said. “And another rumor is that some of ’em are like you.”

  Holy shit… “Like me? Mages, you mean?”

  “You didn’t hear that from me. I don’t know nothin’ else. I don’t wanna know nothin’ else. Listen, I gotta go.” He pushed off the wall. “That’s it. No more.”

  “You’ll still talk to Ned for us, right?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. But ain’t meetin’ here anymore. Maybe got seen, y’know?” He pointed across the street. “See the Treasure Trove over there? Come by there tomorrow night. Look for a chick with one eye and one o’ them Indian blankets, sittin’ out front. I find anything, I’ll tell her and she can pass it on. That’s it. Now I’m out.”

  “Thanks,” Verity said, but he was already moving, scuttling toward the back of the alley without looking behind him. In only a few seconds he’d disappeared into the shadows, and a few seconds after that even his aura was gone.