Contents
Title
Quotation
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
AUTHOR NOTES
TOMBYARDS & BUTTERFLIES
Thank you for reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
The Date
By
Orlando A. Sanchez
A Montague & Strong Detective Agency Short
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil Angel but Love.-Shakespeare
ONE
“NO MAGIC, NO monsters, and no mayhem.” I adjusted my jacket in the mirror. “I just want a quiet night out. A good meal and better company.”
Monty sipped his tea and stared at me. “As far as your ideas go—this one is horrendous.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips. “You should cancel.”
My suit, Armani soft wool, two buttons in black, was one of the lower-end suits in the collection gifted to me by Piero, the owner of Roselli’s. Underneath it, I wore a gray Valentino shirt with no tie. I finished the ensemble with a pair of black Berlutis.
“How do I look?” I turned in the mirror giving my best profile and a two-Eastwood glare. Modestly speaking, I looked fantastic. “Be honest.”
Monty placed his cup down on the counter. “What’s the word I’m searching for”—he snapped his fingers—“oh, yes: victim. That’s what you look like—the victim of an angry vampire attack.”
“I was thinking more debonair,” I said smoothing out my hair.
“Agreed.” Monty picked up his cup and took another sip. “This way I won’t have to pick out a suit to bury you in—you’re properly outfitted for your funeral. Piero would be proud.”
“Hilarious.” I looked at my watch and pulled out my phone. I dialed the number for SuNaTran.
Supernatural Transportation, or SuNaTran for short, provided a car service for the supernatural population. Because being covered in blood and viscera and hailing a cab, even one in New York City—the capital of the bizarre—will get you cuffed and sitting in a NYTF cell.
SuNaTran provided discreet service any time of day or night to any of the five boroughs and beyond—for a price. The transportation they provided—and I use the term loosely since each Rolls Royce Phantom was a tank disguised as a car—was the height in security.
“SuNaTran,” said the voice in a crisp English accent. “How can we meet your transportation needs?”
“Hi, Alice,” I said, adjusting my jacket again. “How long?”
“Hello, Mr. Strong. Ten minutes?” she replied.
“Perfect,” I said and hung up.
“At least change the time,” Monty said, picking up another biscuit. “I hear breakfast is a wonderful meal.”
“Masa doesn’t do breakfast.” I glared at him. “I made these reservations a week ago and Katja is expecting the Masa experience.”
“Of course she is,” Monty said with a nod and pointed at my back. “Is that why you’re taking your gun? Are you planning to shoot the sushi in the restaurant? I’m sure the chef will appreciate your assistance.”
“I’m taking the gun in case things go magey,” I answered, fixing the modified rear holster. “Better to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Monty took another sip. “Masa is a neutral location. No one would dare attack you there. That, at least, was a wise choice.”
“Since when do supernatural creatures respect the terms of neutrality when it comes to us—and by us, I mean you?” I said, giving him the ‘are you serious?’ look. “At least there I’ll see it coming.”
“That is a valid concern,” Monty said, finishing his tea. “One can never be too careful. Does Miss Katja know what you do for a living—and I use the term living loosely?”
“She knows I’m a detective—I detect.” I waggled my eyebrows and checked my watch. “She’s normal, the way this evening is going to be. She doesn’t need to know about things like werewolves, magic, or mages.”
“Or angry, possessive, vampires for that matter.” Monty grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Well, I wish you a pleasant, uneventful, and normal evening.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you were staying in?”
“I’ve reconsidered,” Monty said. “I know you think this is a night out for you, but actually it’s a night off for me. I’m going to have a quiet dinner at Roselli’s, with an emphasis on quiet.”
I considered leaving Ebonsoul for a split-second, and then realized having it and not needing it was a better scenario than needing it and remembering it was sitting at home. I attached an ankle sheath as I thought about the odds of running into Michiko—or Chi, as I called her.
Chi and I had a complicated understanding. To be fair, she was a vampire and I wasn’t. She belonged to one of the most ancient vampire clans on the planet. When feudal lords were fighting over parcels of land, her family owned entire islands. Her family also helped form the Dark Council, the ruling body of supernatural beings that governed all supernatural activity in the city. She was its current leader.
Tiny, she barely topped five feet and, with her long black hair, looked more like an anime character than the force of lethality I knew her to be. In the distant past, she was known as Karitori-fu—the reaping wind. Tales of her exploits became legend. I was sure they still used stories of her in Japan to make children behave. She was also the one who gave me Ebonsoul.
Like I said, it was complicated. The chances of us working out were zero to nil. Besides, I had seen her out with escorts plenty of times, so it was only fair I enjoyed a night with someone else.
My phone rang to let me know the car had arrived, snapping me out of my reverie. I headed downstairs. The valet held the door open for me as I walked outside to my ride for the evening.
“Where’s Andrei?” I asked the valet as I stepped outside.
“He’s off tonight, sir.” The valet gave a long whistle. “That is one sweet ride, sir.”
I turned to admire the midnight blue Lamborghini Aventador in front of the building. I was expecting a Rolls Royce Phantom, complete with driver. Monty must have let Cecil—the owner of SuNaTran—know this wasn’t business. I slid in behind the wheel and the car wrapped itself around me as the scissor door descended, enclosing me in Italian automotive luxury. I read the note on the steering wheel.
Enjoy your evening, Mr. Strong.-Cecil.
I placed my hand on the dashboard panel, allowing it to read my identity. SuNaTran used innovative tech on most of its vehicles. The car started with a rumble and settled into a controlled purr. I gave Monty silent thanks and roared away from the building, headed uptown to meet Katja.
TWO
KATJA NOVAKOVA WAS staying at the Waldorf on Park Avenue and 49th Street. She was only in town for a few days for a finance conference. In another life she had been a model; now, she ran her father’s international financial conglomerate—Novakorp Holdings—with an iron fist. Katja was the total package. Intelligent, beautiful, dangerous, and normal. Her father, on the other hand, was a different story.
Novakorp Holdings was based in the mountains of Georgia—the country, not the state. According to my digging, it was getting involved in handling the finances of several rival supernatural entities. In addition to dinner, I was meeting Katja to let her know this was a bad idea. S
ome of her new clients wouldn’t think twice of retiring her early if they felt slighted or it meant access to a rival’s assets. Once the information was obtained, that retirement would be sudden—and violent.
I pulled up to the front of the hotel and waited. Katja didn’t like to be escorted. She made her bodyguards’ lives hell by escaping them on a regular basis. The roar of an engine startled me. I looked over to see a red McLaren 12C Spider sidle dangerously close to me.
I was about to give the driver my best New York City greeting, complete with one-finger salute, when I noticed who was behind the wheel. It was Katja. She flashed me a wicked smile and pulled her blond mane into a ponytail as she revved the engine.
“Good evening, Simon.” She looked over at the Lamborghini with a nod. “I’m impressed. Loser buys dinner. Masa, yes?”
I nodded and she took off.
Park Avenue was crowded at all times of the day and night. I swerved around several taxis—or yellow kamikazes, as I called them—and tried to catch up to her. The McLaren was fast, and she was leaving me behind, but it takes more than just the car. Winning a race also depends on the skill of the driver and this was a SuNaTran car. I flipped a few switches on the dashboard and the Lamborghini hissed as it sank lower to the ground. I pressed a button and the engine went from low purr to low purr with a rumble of attitude as the supercharger kicked in—taking the car from fast to escape velocity in a matter of seconds.
I passed her as I made a left on 57th Street and floored the gas. Masa was located at 10 West Columbus Circle. It was a straight shot until 8th Avenue. She roared up next to me and forced me onto incoming traffic with a nudge and a smile. I swerved around some more cars and pulled the wheel hard to the right, almost sideswiping her. She took off and I saw the McLaren drift right onto 8th Avenue.
I cut into oncoming traffic on Broadway as I jumped a sidewalk. I nearly clipped the obelisk holding Christopher Columbus and drove between the pylons of his circle. I swerved around his statue and slid in front of the restaurant. The valet jumped back as I skidded to a stop.
I stepped out and locked the car with a squeeze of the door handle as Katja joined me a few seconds later. A huge smile crossed her lips as she stepped out of her car.
“You cheated.” She undid her ponytail, threw the keys to the valet, and shook out her hair. A slitted, black Chanel dress hugged her curves and revealed her long legs. She stopped to slip on a pair of strappy Jimmy Choos before she approached me. She was stunning and she knew it. Her blue eyes gleamed, full of mischief, as I shook my head. “Taking Broadway and cutting through the circle was clever and risky.”
“I didn’t realize there were rules.” I straightened my jacket and felt the comforting weight of Grim Whisper in the small of my back.
“There weren’t,” she whispered as she leaned in and placed a kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to see you again.”
I extended an arm and she lightly rested a hand on it as we entered Masa.
“Shall we?” she said as we walked in.
THREE
MASA WAS AN expression of shibui-refined beauty that wasn’t affected by time or social changes. The décor was simple and minimal. Subdued lighting highlighted the deep browns and rich reds of the tables and chairs. I noticed several of the faintly glowing runes that were etched into the walls. To the average customer, they would appear simply as Asian designs. I wondered what they would do if a magic-user tried to cast inside the restaurant.
Large plate-glass windows allowed us a view of Columbus Circle. I took off my jacket and made sure we were seated with my back to the wall. We faced the main floor and sat away from the windows. Old habits die hard. Katja gave me a knowing smile. Once seated, she handed the waiter a black credit card.
“Fair is fair.” She looked at me and smiled. “The evening is on me.”
“Evening?” I scanned the room for potential threats. Most looked like regular patrons, but I learned long ago not to judge every book by its cover. Monty taught me even normal-looking mages could be lethal. “Where are your bodyguards?”
Katja waved away my words. “Tonight, it’s just the two of us.”
“For dinner.” I noticed movement on my right, but I remained focused on her eyes, which were so blue it reminded me of those deep pools, the ones that triggered that primal fear but tempted you to dive in at the same time.
“Dinner and whatever follows.” She touched my hand lightly. “We have the entire evening.”
The movement was slight, but I noticed it was matched on my left as well. We were being flanked.
“Katja,” I said, keeping my voice low, “how’s your father these days?”
“He’s well and sends his regards,” she answered with a smile. “He wants to know when you are going to visit.”
“Did you tell anyone about our dinner tonight?” I asked, noticing the shifting of energy in the restaurant. Someone or something was gathering power.
“I answer to no one,” she said with a sniff. “My plans are my own.”
“These new clients of yours—the special ones, do they know you’re here?”
“They’re harmless, Simon.” She was annoyed now as I pushed the point. “They’re bored old men with too much money and not enough to spend it on.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say harmless.” I saw the approaching land mass and kept calm. “And you’re sure no one knows you’re here?”
“I told you, Simon, no one—” she started.
“Good evening, Miss Novakova,” said the wall of muscle who stood next to our table, blocking the view of half the restaurant. To her credit, Katja didn’t jump. She glanced up and I saw her hand slide under the table. “Mr. Strong, what an unpleasant surprise. Is your mage friend nearby?”
He was easily eight feet tall and half as wide. Any larger and he would’ve had his own gravitational field. I leaned back to get the complete image and it wasn’t pretty.
“He’s in the bathroom.” I scanned the room and noticed two men step to the side. That made three including Tall, Dark, and Menacing. “He’ll be right back.”
“That’s a poor lie,” the human wall said. “Your mage is currently sitting at Roselli’s, enjoying dinner.” He pulled out a chair and joined us at the table. I heard the chair scream in protest as he sat.
He knew Monty’s location. This led to a few conclusions: It was more than just the three in Masa. They were following Katja, Monty, and me. The chances of this night ending peacefully were close to zero.
“Who are you?” Katja asked, her voice a steel blade. “Who sent you?”
“I think the better question is—what are you?” I felt the waves of energy coming off him. Human was not at the top of the list.
He smiled at me. It was a gruesome thing of sharpened teeth and fangs. In that moment, I knew. He didn’t intend to let us leave the restaurant—not alive, anyway. I pulled Katja to my side of the table.
“My name is Gren.” He flashed his nightmare of a smile again. “I’m here to escort you back to the hotel, Miss Novakova.”
“Now whose nose is growing?” I said. “She doesn’t like to be escorted by large, creepy—whatever you are. Really, what are you?”
He glared at me. It was barely a one on the Eastwood scale, but the teeth added to the effect, making it a solid two on the glare-o-meter. “If you interfere, Mr. Strong, I will have to kill you.”
“You’re going to find that I don’t do dead easily.” I returned his glare and added some extra of my own to compensate for the lack of shark teeth. He didn’t seem impressed.
“Miss Novakova will be coming with me.” Gren pushed his chair back. “Why don’t you go join your little wizard friend, Mr. Strong?”
I was about to answer, when the restaurant host, Roth, walked over. He was a tall, wiry man dressed in his usual black suit. As the host, Roth made sure everything went smoothly in the restaurant. As part of the Dark Council, he made sure the neutrality of Masa was preserved.
“Good
evening, Roth.” I gave him a quick glance and a nod. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Mr. Strong.” Roth looked at the tableau before him, gave us a short nod, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Will Ms. Nakatomi be honoring us with her presence tonight?”
“Not tonight, Roth.” I shifted in my chair to give me better access to Grim Whisper. “I’m sure she’s busy with Council matters.”
Roth raised an eyebrow and nodded. “I see,” he said, glancing over at Katja. “Since you are feeling daring this evening, might I suggest the Fugu sashi? It is exquisite.”
“The lady won’t be staying,” Gren said abruptly. “She has business elsewhere. Why don’t you go annoy another table?”
“That is a pity.” Roth stepped closer to the table. “The Masa experience is quite extraordinary. I do wish you would reconsider, miss.”
I sat back and crossed my legs, placing Ebonsoul within easy reach.
“I told you—fuck off,” Gren said, staring at Roth and clenching a fist.
“This establishment is a designated Dark Council neutral zone, and violence of any sort is prohib—” Roth started.
Gren wrapped one enormous hand around Roth’s neck, plucking him off the ground and cutting off his sentence.
“There’s no violence happening here,” Gren whispered as he stood, still holding Roth by the neck. “We’re having a friendly conversation and you are interrupting.”
Roth may have looked weak and defenseless, but I knew better. The Dark Council ensured that those who oversaw neutral zones could enforce the rules—with deadly force if necessary. Gren had just plucked himself a handful of angry vampire. The two men with Gren pulled out automatic weapons.
It was a smart move inside a neutral zone. Not using magic meant the defenses wouldn’t activate, and my guess was that Gren the Monstrous wasn’t overly concerned about damage from bullets.
“I would strongly suggest against this course of action,” Roth said as he dangled a few feet off the floor. I saw him make a subtle gesture with his hand, and the restaurant began to empty. “If you leave the premises now, this incident will be forgotten. If not—”
The Date A Montague & Strong Detective Story: Montague & Strong Case Files Page 1
