by Jason Winn
“Right away, ma’am.”
The line went dead. Contessa took out a cigarette, lit it and punched a button on the intercom system for the house. The connection went straight to the head butler, Frederic.
“Frederic, when will the ball organizers be here?”
“This afternoon, ma’am.”
“Goody gumdrops.” She killed the line.
The costume ball was only a week away and everyone in the magical society, or what was left of it, would be there. What a perfect time to reveal that she had brokered a deal to supply them with yummy Rose Widow Moonmilk forever. Her place at the top would be secured. Madison Mosby would be out of the way and maybe, just maybe she could get her hands on the reminder of the East Coast. Then those idiots across the rest of the country could come and kiss her ring for once.
But plans needed contingencies. Madison could not be counted on to just come to her magnificent ball. What if the child smelled a trap and declined the offer? If that were to happen, Contessa would not have an opportunity to pry Nancy’s Moonmilk secrets from her, before sending her off to the next world.
No, that won’t do.
Madison may need an additional layer of coaxing to come to Philadelphia. Contessa considered this for a moment and then the perfect bait for the young Rose Widow popped into her head. She blew a cloud of smoke. It turned it into fish. She blew a second cloud a smoke. This one turned into a shark that swallowed the little fish.
The phone rang. She answered. “Hello. Clipper?”
“Yes, ma’am. It would appear that the Bulldogs had one of their special interrogation sites attacked a few days ago. Two men killed, one in critical condition in the burn unit.”
“Oh, my. That’s terrible.”
What a coup, she thought. Instead of sending a hit squad down to DC to take Madison out and god knows what bodyguards, she could let her friendly neighborhood cops do the work. And the Bulldogs were so very good at this sort of thing. The old school ring of mob-connected cops were always up for some quick cash to help a senator get rid of a dead hooker, or escort some drug dealer buying favors, or lose the evidence when a drunken lobbyist ran over a mother pushing her baby across the street. They were expensive too. The best part of all of this was considering the situation, they would no doubt get rid of Madison quietly.
“Anything else, ma’am?”
“Yes, send over that young man you were telling me about. The one who said he used to hunt sorcerers. What was his name?”
“Caymen Darrow.”
“Excellent. I want to meet him. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind tackling some of our problems. That will be all.”
She hung up on Clipper. The pieces were aligning perfectly. The police would protect and serve the future Moonmilk queen. And this Mr. Darrow would be put to good use.
Chapter 38
After scanning and following Sean’s instructions for encrypting and e-mailing the client notepad’s contents, Madison and Sarah sat at the kitchen counter eating Chinese food. It was a ritual they’d started when they first talked about brewing Moonmilk together, and it helped them think. Jay Z’s “99 Problems” played from Madison’s phone on the counter.
“I think you need to take this slow, Maddy,” said Sarah. “Daddy told me about when he used these pirates one time, and they tried to take all his cargo and hold it for ransom.”
“Yeah, but we’re selling Moonmilk, not missiles.” For a moment Madison thought to ask what happened to the greedy pirates, but it was safe to assume they were promptly turned into crab food.
“You’re right, but I’m just afraid that you’re going to end up trusting a lot to people you don’t know. I mean the people you’re talking about are criminals. Right?”
“Outlaws is probably a better way to put it. Like us. Unless your dad has any people we can borrow.”
Sarah put her fork down and looked away. “I checked. All his people are overseas.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Sarah took a deep breath and turned back to Madison. “Why don’t you ask the Outfit what they think?”
“I did. They told me to forget about it, unless we can find a soul diver. Any legit or even shady protection service isn’t going to be willing to open fire in public, on US soil. They’d only do it on foreign soil, like Iraq.”
“What’s a soul diver?” Sarah asked.
“They can make people do what we want. That’s probably how Trask had all those thugs working for him.”
“My lord. That’s crazy.” Sarah through for a moment as she forked a piece of sweet and sour chicken. “Wait, what about the customer, Mr. Kessler and his protection company? He might be willing to do it for trade.”
“That guy’s an asshole. Plus, he costs a fortune, even if we did offer Moonmilk instead of cash. I talked to him about running orders once and he got this look on his face, like he was scared shitless. I guess he’s scared of other sorcerers.”
This was something Madison had seen a few times and heard about from Langston. The old-school sorcerers got real uncomfortable around each other, not knowing what spells the other knew. Most of the time they just wanted to do their thing in private, given that so many had gone missing over the years.
“Can’t say I blame him,” said Sarah. “Plus, if any one of these outlaws you want to hire figures out you’re swimming in untraceable cash, they might just decide to tie you up and beat you until you tell them where the money cave is. Once they start pulling off your fingernails, all that money isn’t so important.”
Sarah had that look of “I’ve seen a few things before, things I don’t want to go into.” It always made Madison feel sorry for her, that she missed out on being a normal kid and had to carry all that baggage around with her.
“We’re out of pieces on the board,” said Madison, “and I’m not taking any more chances.” Going back to the days of selling to the client directly was out of the question. Too many couriers were dead. “Besides, I think we can pull a few tricks to ensure their loyalty. If we can’t get them to respect me, then perhaps a little fear will work.”
Sarah was right. Money was only part of the scenario. The two of them would need insurance, should they enter into an agreement with outside “contractors.” The bikers were coming over in a few days. And she knew exactly how to make sure they understood she was not some helpless little girl.
Once Madison had her security in place, then she would go meet Contessa.
Chapter 39
Madison hovered over Sean’s shoulder as they both stared at the huge computer screen. Sarah sat on Sean’s couch watching the news.
Sean pulled up a browser window with rows of faces.
“Okay, so here’s the info on your bakery attackers.” He pointed to the first one, a middle-aged man with stubble for hair and bucket head. “That’s Corey Dawson, ex-Baltimore cop, living in Gaithersburg, Maryland.” The next one was an old man with scruffy white hair and a dimpled nose that looked like a piece of cauliflower. “That’s Joe Torino, owns a pawn shop in South East DC.” The last person was lean and young, with a face that belonged on a magazine. “And Mr. GQ here is Santino Bersani. He’s definitely mob connected.”
Madison stared at the men who’d ground her business to a halt, feeling the anger well up in her. “I’m sorry, you said one of them was mob connected?”
Sean took a swig of his white Monster can. “Yup, Santino’s uncle Luca was a cappo for the Provenzano crime family. See?” He pointed to a photo of a mafia family chart. The kind you see in courtroom dramas with the don on top and his underlings forming a pyramid beneath him.
“Is he still in the mob?”
“Probably not. There was a big mob war in Philly years ago, and they found Luca in the trunk of a car at Veterans Stadium. A bunch of other guys were killed too. Papers say it was the bloodiest war in the city’s history.” Sean clicked through a series of gory pictures of dead mobsters.
An image of Madison’s
dead couriers flashed through her head, forcing her to look away.
Sarah spoke up, not bothering to turn away from the television. “So was this mob related? Why would the mob care about what we’re doing?”
“Jane doesn’t think this is mob related,” said Sean. “The other two guys, Dawson and Torino, aren’t connected. They just look like street muscle.”
“So, what’s next?” asked Madison. It was great Sean had found out about the attackers, but who was paying them? “Can you find out where these assholes are now? Do we go in and interrogate them?”
“Torture doesn’t work too well,” said Sarah, “at least that’s what Daddy told me once.”
Madison didn’t want to think about if that was practical or theoretical knowledge.
“I’ll run a full social media scan and see where that takes us. It could reveal who contracted these guys. Everyone’s so much more connected these days, you know.”
That sounded fine to Madison. She’d felt completely blind, up until about ten minutes ago. Sean was proving well worth his salary.
***
“That was helpful,” said Sarah in the car ride back to Madison’s place. “Are you going to go meet with that lady who knew your grandmother? What was her name?”
“Contessa.” The name sounded Italian. Madison wondered if she was connected somehow to the attack on the kitchen. And Cedric was killed by a mysterious new customer. The same people had probably hit him as well.
Thinking about a meeting with this Contessa now made Madison uneasy. But she looked like a frail old woman from the totem conversations.
Looks could be deceiving.
What if this was a trap? It was obvious the two incidents could be related, but there hadn’t been any way of tracking who hit Cedric. Madison had no idea where he was when he was killed. And pretty soon the regular customers would start asking questions. The last thought brought up the matter of Moonmilk production.
“We’ve got to get cooking again,” said Madison. “Fast.”
The regulars might start doing more than just sending her angry texts.
Chapter 40
Contessa’s men stood in a semicircle around her, hands resting on their pistols. Jitsuko, dressed in the O-washi spirit suit with a pair of katana swords hanging from her hip, stood to Contessa’s left.
Caymen Darrow stood facing them. His hair was long, down to his shoulders. He wore a loose linen shirt and cargo shorts. He looked more like a wealthy West Coast beach bum than a remorseless sorcerer killer.
“What kind of man was Colonel Trask, Mr. Darrow?” Contessa asked Caymen.
“Weak.”
“Odd thing to say about a colonel. He must have at least been capable.”
Caymen didn’t respond.
“And what about this Patricia Churchill you mentioned? Was she weak as well? Is that what got them all blown up?”
“No.”
Hmm, you’re a man of few words, Contessa thought. She took a sip from a steaming tea cup, before placing it back on the small table next to her.
“And why have you come to me?” It was more of a rhetorical question. She knew exactly why the brute was standing there. He wanted a job. Her first inclination was to have him run off, but he’d had the resourcefulness to find her through Clipper, so perhaps he knew how to find other things.
“A job.”
“But I already have lots of big men to keep me safe. What do you offer?” She blew a big plume of smoke. It formed a small version of a thunderhead above the two of them. Little streaks of lightning shimmered in it.
Caymen produced a white cup from his cargo shorts. It looked like a coffee mug with a screw top. He twisted off the top and dumped a red-hot ball into Contessa’s tea cup. The tea began boiling.
Contessa didn’t budge, just watched the tea churn and bubble.
“Hmm, an Eagle’s Eye,” she said. “I’m impressed.” Contessa removed the ball with her bare hand, pinching it between her fingers. The color changed to a pale blue. She tossed it back to Caymen.
“I know about the Preens and the Rose Widow.”
“Do you? So do I. Ours is a small world.”
“I know who replaced her.”
“And who might that be?”
“Patricia paid me twenty a month.”
“Did she?” Contessa marveled at Caymen’s calm in the face of her coyness. He remained a statue. “And have you graced the people in New York with your offer?”
“No.”
“Really? Lucky me. Tell me, have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Jessica Golga? I believe she worked with your Patricia. Too bad she couldn’t save her after her unfortunate little accident. Shame, really—I do wish I could have met her. She sounds interesting.”
That got him.
Caymen’s eye twitched at the mention of Jessica, the Beltway Witch. Come on, say it—you don’t like her very much, do you? Let me hear it.
“I’ve heard of her.”
“What is your honest appraisal of her?”
Caymen’s lips pursed and his hands clinched into fists for a moment before relaxing. “Met her once. I didn’t care for her.”
“Hmm.” Contessa took an extra-long pull off her cigarette and held the comforting smoke in. She finally released it in two long streams through her nostrils. These transformed into two intertwining snakes and slithered around on the floor. “I’m afraid you two may have to work together, if you came to work for me. You see, she’s in my fold now. Does that upset you?”
Caymen took a deep breath and clinched his jaw. “I suppose not.”
“Good. You’re hired. We’ll discuss the money later, in private.” She didn’t want the street thugs behind her getting pissed at the amount of money it was going to cost to hire Caymen. He was damn expensive but, she needed him. Inside information on whatever Trask was up to was far more valuable than thirty or forty grand a month. She could make that up by gouging the longshoremen’s union next month. She had been taking it easy on them lately. “Corrado!”
A few of the men behind Contessa jumped at her shout. A moment later Corrado appeared. She noticed, he couldn’t take his eyes off the giant talking to his mother. “Good god, he’s just a new friend. Be a good boy and fetch me the box under the painting of your father in my study. And do not open it. Can you do that?”
Corrado nodded and made for the door leading out into the hallways. A prince who will never be king. She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and the goon squad, along with Jitsuko, turned and exited the same door Corrado had scurried through.
Alone, Contessa wanted to get to the heart of the issue. She was done toying with Caymen. Finding him was the coup of coups. He could have gone to New York or Baltimore and given up the goods, but somehow, he found her first.
“How did you find out about me?” she asked.
“Patricia had files on everyone. I went through them after the explosion. You were in them.”
Contessa considered this. “Where were these files, if everything was destroyed in an explosion?”
“They had other locations. Camp Peterson was just one part.”
“I see. Where are those files now?” Contessa thought for a moment.
“I have them.”
“May I see them?”
“For a price.”
Damn this man was greedy. He was going to break the bank before she could fill it up. “We can discuss that later. Did she share them with anyone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who held her strings?”
Caymen didn’t say anything.
“Who was her boss?”
“A German, I think. I only ever heard her talk to them once.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know. I don’t speak German.”
“Tell me, Mr. Darrow, how did Colonel Trask acquire his men? That operation must have been very expensive, and to what end? They never sold any products. Jessica gave me some of the details, but not
all of them. Men don’t kill for you unless they either have money or a cause to fight for.”
“Trask had a soul diver. A man named Alec Graves. He just programmed them to work for Trask.”
Contessa dropped her cigarette. She left it to burn on the tile floor. “No.”
She’d never seen, let alone been fortunate enough to be in a position to hire one of those. With Graves on her side, she’d be able to force the other cartels to just give up their entire operations and then kill themselves. There would be nothing to stop her.
“Yes,” said Caymen. “He was the most expensive part of the organization.”
“How much were they paying him?”
“Millions.”
“Is he still alive?”
“He wasn’t at Camp Peterson when it blew up, so I would assume, yes.”
Contessa didn’t have millions in petty cash lying around. Raising that kind of money would require selling of assets, buildings, or taking out loans at prohibitively high interest rates. And the danger of being around a soul diver is that they can just tell you to give them all your money and you couldn’t say no. They were contemptuous scoundrels. Rumors had circulated for years that soul divers always burned the mental spells, once they had committed them to memory, in order to prevent others from learning and outwitting them.
She couldn’t pay Graves that kind of money and she couldn’t risk Madison, or the other cartels, hiring him. In that instant, she decided that getting rid of Graves needed to be a priority. Contessa couldn’t have a wild card like that running around.
“Can you find Graves with that?” She pointed to the Eagle Eye in Caymen’s hand.
“Yes.”
“One problem at a time. If you’re going to work for me, I need to know you are loyal. Thus, I need you to go inaugurate a little war between some rivals up in New York and Washington.”
Corrado appeared through the door, panting and carrying a box. His black and white hair was matted to his skin. He handed it to Contessa, before kneeling down to pick up the smoldering cigarette butt and placing it in the ashtray.
