Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set: Montague & Strong Detective Novels Books, 1 through 3 (Montague & Strong Case Files)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “You’ll take the what?” I asked with a smile. Monty usually slipped into his ‘English’ mode when stressed.

  “I’ll take the lor—truck, happy?” he said, exasperated. “Get her out of here.”

  “Where’s your car? We need to leave before more of your friends come visit.”

  “They aren’t my friends,” she said with a trace of anger. “My car is up the ramp, but who are you? You aren’t vampires.”

  “Right now we’re the only reason you’re still alive,” I replied, looking around at the dead hit squad members. “You have a lot of enemies, even for a shunned vampire.” I noticed she startled when I mentioned the shunning. No one outside a clan would know about it. “This many in a hit squad is angry with an extra dose of hate. Who did you piss off?”

  “They’re from my clan.”

  “Well, your clan sucks,” I said closing my pack.

  Monty jumped into the truck and started the engine. I ran up the ramp and saw a sleek blue Porsche Boxster S about halfway up. The license plate read GWB and I figured this was our ride. I gave her points for having the presence of mind to back it in. I stuck out my hand and she just stared at it.

  “Keys,” I said.

  “To what?”

  “Keys to the car so I can get us out of here. Before more unfriendliness arrives.”

  “You’re not driving my car,” she said as she walked to the driver’s side. “Tell me where we’re going.”

  She got in and revved the engine. I jumped in the passenger side, still in mild shock. “The Moscow on 14th and—”

  “11th Avenue. I know it. Buckle up,” she said, fastening her seatbelt.

  I put my hand on the wheel and turned off the car.

  “Let Monty get their attention or they’ll follow us home. When you get out, don’t drive like a maniac either.”

  Monty passed us in the truck and made a hard left at the entrance. Several hit squad members scrambled back to their waiting SUVs and gave chase. I counted three of the large black vehicles intent on stopping Monty. I almost felt sorry for them.

  I took my hand off the wheel and she turned on the car again. It rumbled and purred to life. She was about to put it in gear when someone stepped into the middle of the ramp, blocking our path. She froze and gripped the wheel tightly enough to show the whites of her knuckles.

  “Who—what is that?” she said, her voice trembling and her eyes locked on the figure in front of us.

  “Turn off the car and stay inside,” I whispered and moved slowly. “Whatever you see or hear, don’t get out of the car. Understand?”

  She nodded mutely as I stepped out. The car sputtered off and I gave her a brief nod of assurance. I made sure I had access to my mark and the Ebonsoul as I walked up the ramp.

  Near the top of the ramp stood the Dark Council’s version of a final response. It was Ken, Michiko’s younger brother. He was impeccably dressed as usual, in what I liked to call ‘sinister casual.’ Sharing the same gene pool as Michiko meant he was lethally handsome, a trait he exploited with devastating resourcefulness. No one expects an assassin to be good-looking, and this one looked like a model.

  “Hello, Ken,” I said, letting my hand rest lightly on the sheath holding the Ebonsoul. My other hand rested lightly on my mark.

  “Konbanwa, Simon,” he said and gave me a short bow as he looked me over and smiled. “What’s this look? Barbecue nouveau?”

  “Monty is my fashion consultant, and I see you’re still doing funeral festive. Are you on this hit squad?”

  He wore a black trench coat over black jeans topped by a black turtleneck sweater. I was seeing the trend. His long hair hung to his shoulders. The smile on his face never reached the dead eyes that looked through me. I shifted my hand to allow easier access to the Ebonsoul.

  His eyes followed my hand movement and he laughed, which only made me more wary. He wore a katana across his back. It was rumored to be the sword, kokutan no ken, the pair to the Ebonsoul. I’d never seen it and didn’t want to.

  “Black is classic,” he said with a smile that did nothing to ease the flip-flopping of my stomach. “If I were on this hit squad, we would be testing the limits of your so-called immortality right now.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding since the car stopped and took my hand off the hilt of the Ebonsoul.

  “Why are you here, if it’s not to remove body parts—not that I’m complaining.”

  “Onee-san, Michiko, requested my presence here, to observe and assist if needed.”

  “She what?” I said, surprised.

  “I’m impressed. You didn’t let the Ebonsoul consume you. Maybe she’s right about you after all.”

  “This was a setup,” I said, looking down the ramp at the carnage of the hit squad. “I just need to figure out who did the setting. Why are they after her?”

  “Looks like her clan wants her dead.”

  “Yeah, I got that from the mob of angry vampires trying to end my life. Why do they want her dead? Isn’t shunning enough?”

  I looked back to the car and saw a petrified Georgianna staring back at me, still strangling the steering wheel. I gave her a small smile and tried to let her know everything was okay.

  “You need to ask the young lady that. I suggest you keep her safe, Simon,” he said and adjusted the sword on his back.

  “I’m working on it. It would help if they weren’t trying to cut her to pieces.”

  “She’s been shunned. Means it’s a death sentence. What did you think would happen? They were going to have a talk?”

  “Chi told me she would be here alone. This is the opposite of alone.”

  “I can’t believe she still lets you call her that,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Incredible. She can sometimes be vague on details, but she trusted you to handle this and it seems everything is in order.”

  “In order?” My voice rose a bit, as did his eyebrow. He cocked his head to one side and looked at me, amused. “Nothing is in order. I have this half-crazed vampire being attacked by a hit squad from a clan I’ve never heard of and now I’m transporting stolen blood. Does that sound in order?”

  “Michiko would be displeased if something were to happen to her,” he said and looked around. “You should leave now. More are coming. I’ll be close and watching.”

  “Doesn’t that make me feel all warm and tingly,” I shot back, but he was moving fast.

  He turned the corner and disappeared. I ran back to the car and jumped in. The engine purred to life.

  “Who was that?” she asked as I sat in the passenger side. “I couldn’t move.”

  “Yeah, he has that effect on people. Listen, we can talk on the way. More of that hit squad is on the way and I don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

  “I’m not half-crazed,” she said, still choking the wheel in a death-grip.

  “Who said you were?” I answered, looking behind us. “Can we get moving?”

  “You did, when you were speaking to that creature. You called me half-crazed. Do I look half-crazed to you?”

  I forgot about vampires and their heightened senses. I took a second to admire the tableau. She was gripping the wheel in a stranglehold. Her chin, neck, and the front of her shirt were covered in the blood she had gulped down earlier. It looked like she left “crazy” long ago, had rounded the corner, passed deranged and was heading into full-blown psycho any second.

  “That creature is a vampire, just like you. I apologize for calling you half-crazed. What I meant to say was that staying here arguing about what I said while a hit squad is on its way is completely crazy.”

  “I’m not half-crazed, I was hungry,” she whispered and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “And he’s nothing like any vampire I know.”

  “Fine, you were starving, not crazed. He’s not like any vampire you’ll ever meet, trust me. Can we go now?”

  “Buckle up,” she said with a tight smile.

  Something in her tone made me
check the seatbelt was secure. I clicked it into place and she gave me a sidelong glance.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Remember what I said about driving like a—”

  She stepped on the gas and screeched up the ramp.

  I wasn’t ready.

  She set her jaw and shifted the gears. The next moment, my seat had been converted into a black hole, trying to suck me in as she sped out of the garage. All thoughts of conversation vanished as we hurtled onto Park Avenue. She headed up to 57th Street and then across town to the Westside Highway. Once on the highway, she raced downtown. I tried to look back several times to make sure we weren’t being followed.

  Considering our speed, I didn’t think anything short of a Formula One racecar could keep up. I glanced over at the speedometer and saw the needle hovering near the red the whole time. I expected the flashing lights of the NYTF to appear any second. But if she was scared, it didn’t show in her driving.

  We pulled up to the Moscow and she stopped in front of the entrance.

  “Never getting into a car with you, ever again,” I said as I stumbled out the door.

  Andrei didn’t give me a second glance, but he took a few moments on Georgianna before opening the door. It’s possible it had something to do with the fact that Georgianna looked like she had bathed in a vat of blood.

  The valet slid silently into the car and took it to the underground parking garage as we entered the lobby. I lingered a moment and searched the inside pocket of my jacket.

  “You in fire?” Andrei asked as he looked me up and down, sniffing the air around me.

  I felt the rumble of his bass voice in my chest. It sounded closer to an angry growl than an actual voice, especially with the accent.

  “Something like that,” I mumbled as I patted my pockets, found what I was looking for, and handed him the envelope of cash. “Tell Olga this month and next month.”

  “Spasibo,” he said and put the envelope in a pocket.

  Ramirez and the NYTF had come through sooner than usual, which meant I could breathe a little easier regarding Olga and the rent.

  I never had an issue trusting Andrei—no one cheated Olga.

  We headed upstairs and I noticed the door right away. It was slightly open and a light was on. I never left a light on. I pulled out my gun and motioned for Georgianna to wait behind me. She stood to one side as I approached the door. I pushed it open and found the office area empty.

  “Stay here,” I said as I poked my head back outside. “Let me check the back.”

  She leaned up against the wall, crossed her arms, and nodded. I headed to the living quarters and found Michiko standing in front of the large sofa in the center of the floor. Behind her, dwarfing the sofa, stood a giant.

  “Really, Simon-kun, why don’t you have your mage place some runic defenses on the property?” she said using an honorific meaning I was her junior. This was an official Dark Council visit or she was flexing her position for the giant’s benefit. “The security system you currently possess, if you could call it that, is inadequate. This is why I brought Yama. Please come in, Georgianna.”

  I holstered the gun as Georgianna walked in behind me. If Andrei was a mountain, Yama was a mountain range. I couldn’t imagine the vampire insane enough to try to turn him. So I figured he was human. A large human. Large enough to have his own gravitational field.

  “Michiko-sama,” I replied, using the honorific and bowing slightly. It didn’t make sense to push it, especially in front of what she considered inferiors. If I called her Chi, she would probably rip off one of my arms just to make a point. “Why is there a rogue planet in my living room? And Tristan is not ‘my mage,’ he’s my partner and friend.”

  She returned the bow and sat on the sofa. She wore black pants and a sleeveless black top. A red dragon imprint started at her left shoulder and wrapped itself around her, ending at her right hip. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, giving her the stern librarian look.

  “Yama is here to make sure your charge is safe. We have a—complication.”

  I took a breath and kept my anger in check. Pissing her off would only get most of us hurt, dead, or both.

  “You said it was only for one night,” I answered, doing my best to keep my voice level. “You also said she was going to be alone. She wasn’t.”

  “Ken tells me you resisted your weapon,” she said with the hint of a smile. “I commend your spirit.”

  “My spirit, along with the rest of me, was nearly shredded tonight by a hit squad.”

  “Yet here you stand, intact. Well done,” she said with a short nod.

  She was blowing smoke up my ass, which meant things were bad—as in catastrophic.

  “Arigatou gozaimasu,” I said, returning the nod, and never being one to rest on formality added, “So how screwed are we?”

  Yama grunted and shifted forward, surprisingly fast for someone large enough to tilt the earth off its axis. I raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. He scowled back and narrowed his eyes. We were going to be best friends, I could just tell.

  Michiko raised a hand and Yama froze in place. He said something in rapid Japanese and she answered just as fast. He bowed and moved back behind the sofa. My Japanese was rudimentary at best, but I caught something about him stomping on my head.

  “He seems upset,” I said, smiling at him.

  “Yama believes you should be killed for your impudence. I informed him that aside from it being an impossible task, I forbid it.”

  That was when it happened. She showed up.

  SEVEN

  MOST PEOPLE CONSIDER karma to be an abstract concept. I knew her to be the mistress of bad-timing. The mark on my hand exploded with light and everything froze in place.

  “Now? Really?” I looked around at everyone frozen in time. “This is not a good time.”

  A burning sensation gripped my left hand. I looked down at the endless knot inscribed into my skin and saw the golden light run across its length. The smell of lotus flowers filled the room. It was a citrusy green and spicy aroma followed by the sweet smell of wet earth.

  “Hello, Simon,” she said from behind me. Her melodious voice filled the room and embraced me in warmth and comfort.

  I hesitated to turn because she loved startling me with variations of her personifications in an attempt to give me a heart attack.

  “I didn’t use the mark. Why are you here?” I said, still not looking at her.

  “Turn around, we need to talk. This is serious.”

  “You’ve said that before and then sprung the death’s head on me. We can talk like this, really.”

  “Simon, turn around.”

  I sighed and turned, ready for the worst. There was no way I could out-wait her; she was karma and would win eventually. She appeared to be a young woman dressed in casual clothing—blue jeans, comfortable boots and a sweater. Her black hair was short and the smile across her lips reached her hazel eyes. She looked old enough to be a typical college student.

  “You look…normal,” I said, hesitant that she would morph into some nightmarish entity. “Why are you here?”

  “Normal?” she said, looking down at herself. “No such thing. Reality is out of balance.”

  “Excuse me? That sounds way out of my league. I don’t deal in Reality with a capital R. I prefer to stick to lowercase reality.”

  “The Ferryman is missing. I need you to find him.”

  The look on my face must have expressed the level of confusion I felt. She never felt explanation was an important part of conversation. I just rolled with the punches and dived in.

  “Which Ferryman?”

  “The Ferryman—Charon,” she said.

  “The whole River Styx and escorting dead Ferryman?”

  “Do you know of another?”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you are immortal and so unaffected by the upcoming chain of events.”

  “Well, shit,” I said. “Did he just quit?”

&nb
sp; “Indeed, copious amounts of it. With Charon not doing his job, souls are being rerouted somehow and it’s creating a ripple effect. I don’t think he can quit. Being the Ferryman is pretty much his raison d’etre.”

  “Still not seeing how I’m part of this. You need to speak to some of the heavy hitters. Have you tried the gods? Hades, maybe?”

  “Don’t be dense, Simon,” she said as her voice dropped several octaves and she transformed into the Grim Reaper, scythe and all. Her flaming eyes fixed me in place as the bleached white skull drew close to my face and caused my heart to try to exit through my chest. “I’m the heaviest hitter of all. I need you to do this. The gods wouldn’t know where to start.”

  She morphed back into the college student and smiled at me. My hands shook slightly, which was exactly the effect she was looking for.

  “I hate it when you do that.” I sat down on the sofa, careful not to move Chi while she was in a karmic stasis.

  “I know,” she said and laughed. “You’re the only one who reacts that way.”

  “No. I refuse or decline, or whatever it is, to take this assignment. Find someone else.”

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “No—you have the wrong person.”

  It was her turn to look surprised.

  “Excuse me?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I never get the wrong person. In fact in all of history I’ve never gotten the wrong person.”

  “Bullshit. You aren’t infallible. I’ve seen plenty of your mistakes. Even fought a few that tried to kill me.”

  She remained silent for a few heartbeats and I held my breath. Pissing off near omnipotent beings is never a good policy. She took a deep breath, smiled, and remained in college-student form. Thankfully.

  “Gods are not immortal, Simon,” she whispered as she stepped close. “They thrive on belief. History is rife with the countless deities who have perished or languish in the periphery of the collective consciousness. You, however, are different. You now walk outside of time, independent of belief. This is why I believe you wear my mark.”

  I subconsciously traced my finger over its subtle contours.