Danse Macabre

by Kory M. Shrum

  “If I’m trying to figure out how I feel about someone, I kiss them,” Piper said with a shrug. Wiping at her eyes, she reached for her drink. “And no offense, but I can tell you’re way too much for me.”

  “From a kiss?”

  “Oh yeah. They are very informative.”

  “And mine said—”

  “To forget about it. And you know what, I think I’m right. I need it basic at the moment. Nice and calm. I’ll get a dog. Maybe some hummus. You know what I’m saying?”

  Lou looked for any part of the conversation to grab onto. But her mind was still running the kiss on replay. The look in Piper’s eyes when she’d pulled back, red cheeked and beaming.

  “Lucy made good hummus,” Lou said.

  “Do not tell me that you, Lady of Darkness, can make fresh hummus. I will lose my shit.”

  “No,” Lou said and found herself smiling. “But I like it.”

  Piper grinned, too. “Well, first time I make some fresh hummus in my new place—wherever the hell that turns out to be—you have to come over and eat it. Promise? And wow, that sounded way dirtier than I meant it to.”

  But Lou was smiling.

  “Listen,” Piper said, scratching the back of her neck. “I don’t want to be too forward here.”

  “More forward than a kiss?” Lou asked, eyebrow arched.

  Piper snorted. “Right. Uh, I’m trying to say thanks for listening to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Ah, no, don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “That perfunctory, I’ve said thanks, you say you’re welcome and then we just push it aside to never see the light of day again. You were a good listener, and you were there when I needed you. So if you ever need the same—an ear or a shoulder or any other body part you might be thinking of right now—then let me know. I’ve got them. All the parts.”

  “Why?” Lou asked, a strange, creeping chill nuzzling the back of her neck.

  “Why?” Piper snorted. “Because we’re friends. And I promise to be your actual friend. This isn’t some slutty trick to sleep with you in case you’re wondering.”

  Lou must’ve looked as dumbfounded as she felt. The Cherry Coke halfway to her mouth was returned to the bartop undrunk.

  Piper laughed. “What’s wrong with your face? Haven’t you had a friend before?”

  Lou took too long to answer.

  “Holy shit!” Piper said, sitting up on her barstool excitedly. “Louie Thorne, I’m going to be your first friend? This is amazing. Oh my god, this is almost as good as sleeping with you. Uh, no it’s not. What am I saying? Shhhh, Piper, shhhh…”

  Lou pushed the remainder of the drink out of Piper’s reach. “I don’t need friends.”

  “Everyone needs friends,” Piper mused. “Who can we count on to have our backs should sexy journalists or freaking Russians try to probe our butts?”

  “You’re thinking of aliens.”

  Piper didn’t seem to hear. “We need people we can count on to protect us.”

  “We have to protect ourselves.” Lou was thinking of the man she shot.

  “We can’t always protect ourselves.”

  Piper stretched for the last of her hurricane, and Lou inched it farther away.

  “See,” Piper said, regaining her balance on the stool. “You’re already a good friend. I have had too much to drink. And I’m gonna be your friend, too. You wait and see. One day, you’re gonna need this.”

  Piper gestured to her whole body with a swipe of her hand.

  “And I’m gonna be there to give it to you.” She threw down enough cash to cover their drinks. “Okay, I’m done crying. Let’s handle this shit.”

  Lou had to admit, she liked this one. She wore her vulnerability on her sleeve, which made Lou uneasy, but beneath that, Lou saw the steel. She saw how Piper drew it like a blade, when she was ready.

  “I hate to test our friendship so soon, but can I ask for one more favor?” Piper bit her lip, giving Lou a sheepish smile. “Can you do your sneaky sneaky thing one more time for me? I need to get the last of my crap from my mom’s house to my friend Henry’s. After that, you can leave me there. He doesn’t live that far from the shop.”

  Lou offered her hand, and the girl took it before she pulled her into the dark.

  22

  Dani leaned against the handlebar to balance herself on the shifting streetcar. Checking the map again, she confirmed she had two more stops before reaching her apartment. It didn’t matter she’d been here for years. There was something comforting about looking at the map and finding reassurance that she hadn’t missed her stop.

  The same was true of messages. She checked her email messages on her phone for the third time and found nothing. No news, no updates. It was strange to not hear from Clyde at least once a day. Her boss was the ultimate micromanager, and he’d been worse on this story than any other. So she was more than a little concerned by the lack of reply.

  The only time he offered radio silence like this was when he himself was deep in a story. Considering how lazy he was, she could remember only twice that this had happened in her years at The Herald.

  He’d better not be scooping hers. That’s all she had to say about it. She should’ve realized the age progression photo would’ve crossed his desk first, but no matter. He didn’t know half of what she knew.

  But she needed his approval to draft this interview teaser. Dani was certain that the teaser was all she needed to secure talks with both Robert King and the elusive Louie Thorne. Once they saw the photo of them together, Dani would have the chance to suggest she knew far more than she did. Hopefully they would fill in the gaps, as often happened in these interviews.

  The angle of her article emphasized their working relationship. A father’s mentor and hero’s daughter unite in his honor. She even had possible titles: Honoring Jack Thorne – How His Only Child Keeps His Memory Alive. Or maybe When Bad Cops Are To Blame: Louie Thorne’s Story. She didn’t love the second title, but it could work with the right image. And it would be a perfect jumping off point for Jack’s murder and subsequent slander. Everyone loved a story about destroyed faith rekindled only by a renewed purpose, and that was the story Dani wanted to tell.

  Plus, with the rise of anti-cop brutality on the news these days, this would expand on an already viable market. Not to mention the novelty of an exclusive interview with lots of clickbait to be had.

  She could get clickbait with the other part of the story too, of course. But Dani wanted this story in Time Magazine or The New York Times. If she wanted to work for the tabloids, she would try to sell that nonsense peddled by the Tristan Jones. No, thanks. She knew her story and how to sell it.

  Dani just needed Clyde to return her damned calls and get this ball rolling…

  And to think he was the one who’d doubted her.

  Of course, she resented this assessment. She didn’t believe a woman had to be an asshole to chase a story. Direct, yes. Persistent, absolutely. But no one needed to be as slimy and underhanded as Clyde Baker himself.

  She hoped this was her chance to prove she could do the job and do it well. That of all the journalists he could’ve sent out—her by far the youngest—that he’d made the right choice.

  If she wrote the article well enough and slapped her pretty name on it, that would be vindication enough. Her work would speak for itself.

  Hell, maybe she’d even win a Pulitzer for this story. Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl.

  But a Pulitzer before 25 would be pretty cool.

  She called Clyde one more time, and again it went straight to his voicemail. Come on, man. You want this story or not?

  The streetcar chimed, and Dani leapt down onto her street, the convenience of living right off the stop not lost to her. It was cheaper to leave her car in its free space than to park it in the Quarter every day.

  Rent was ridiculous this close to the Quarter, but she liked her little place, nestled betwee
n the grand mansions of Saint Charles Avenue and the Garden District, and a stone’s throw from the Quarter.

  Maybe she could run the article without Clyde’s approval. When the article turned out to be a major success, he couldn’t possibly fire her. Or if he did, his loss. What news agency wouldn’t want the rising young star who’d managed to snag the interview of a lifetime?

  Then maybe her parents would get off her back about going into business.

  Of course, one danger weighed on her mind.

  She couldn’t decide whether or not to tell Piper about the article before its publication.

  If she didn’t tell Piper beforehand, it would no doubt destroy the spark between them. If she did, Piper might warn Lou or King and try to prevent her from getting the story in the first place.

  She liked Piper. A lot. But she wasn’t about to let the chance of a lifetime be trashed by anyone. No matter how good they kissed.

  Of course, that was easier said than done. On one hand, she had her financial freedom, career ambitions, and so much more to consider. But she also believed in serendipity. She knew people came into her life for a reason. From the moment she saw Piper walk into the shop, that adorable pep in her step and bright, easygoing smile, Dani knew there was more there. She’d felt it.

  She wasn’t a romantic. But she did believe in an order to the universe, and she trusted her gut. Her gut said she had some business left with Piper. She only hoped that business had a happy ending.

  Dani fished her apartment keys out of her pocket, flipping the keys along the ring until she found the red one that unlocked the front door to her building.

  She turned the lock and stepped into the narrow lobby lined with mailboxes. She checked her mail with the second of four keys. Nothing but some Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons and an ad for the local animal shelter soliciting donations. Last, a BOGO offer for a large one-topping pizza. This she kept and tossed the rest into the recycle bin.

  She took the stairs two at a time, dreaming of a hot shower and a fresh cup of coffee. Her apartment was on the second floor.

  Using the third of four keys—the fourth for The Herald’s front door—she entered her apartment.

  She expected to find Octavia at the door, begging to be fed. She might be the cutest cat in the world, but she was quite the drama queen.

  But Octavia didn’t come running and meowing per usual. In fact, her entire apartment was quiet and dark. She tried to flip the switch, but nothing happened. A dead click click click as she turned the switch on and off and on again.

  Dani saw a shadow in the corner of her living room and turned at the same moment a hand slammed into her throat. Her neck spasmed, and all sound died.

  Then she was lifted into the air and slammed so hard onto the floor of her apartment, all the remaining air left her. Red and white stars sparked in her vision where her head bounced against the floor. She clawed at the massive hand, which felt as large as her head. But it didn’t relent.

  Get a good look. Get a good look at the them! Her brain screamed.

  Some confident, rational part of her was thinking ahead. It was focused on surviving this. That part of her considered the assault trial that would follow and how best to deliver the retribution she deserved.

  She pried her eyes open. Something hissed, a long, terrible wheezing, followed by a suffocating burn. Cold liquid hit her eyes and nose. Her lips. Her tongue swiped at the corner and tasted the pepper.

  She wanted to be angry, infuriated, that someone would dare to pepper spray her in her own apartment. But the acrid smell stuffed her nose with thick cotton. Her eyes swelled shut and would not open. She couldn’t draw a breath.

  Her lungs burned as they failed to draw the air they desperately needed. She kicked out, hoping to strike the attacker somewhere vital. But no matter how hard she kicked, her legs connected without effect. Darkness pressed in harder until darkness was all that was left.

  * * *

  Dani woke. Her throat hurt so badly that every time she swallowed it spasmed.

  She tried to move her aching body and couldn’t. Her wrists were tied behind her, latched to the wooden chair that creaked under her weight. A large strap of some kind pinned her back to the chair. Not only could she not move her torso, arms or hands, but her legs also resisted her commands. Every time she tried to lift a leg, something bit into the skin of her ankles.

  She tried to open her eyes, but the sting hadn’t left her.

  Cold water slammed into her face and chest. She gasped in surprise, and found she could breathe at last. The creak of a bucket handle was her only warning before a second splash slammed into her body. A rough towel scraped across her eyes, feeling like sandpaper on an open wound.

  She jerked away.

  “Good morning,” a voice said. It had a thick accent that Dani didn’t recognize. European maybe. Not British or Australian, both of which she knew, and definitely not Spanish or Italian, both of which she spoke.

  She pried her eyes open slowly and tried to focus. It was her worst nightmare.

  A dark, nondescript room. Herself in the center, tied to a chair, spotlighted as if for spectators. Large hulking forms hid in the darkness. Men had abducted her and taken her to an unknown location.

  God, this is bad.

  A man stepped into the light, giving Dani a good look. He was tall, muscular and ghostly pale with bright blue eyes. He was bald, the barest hint of gray bristles prickled his scalp. He smiled, which wrinkled the corners of his eyes. But it was a cold stare. One that struck terror in Dani’s core.

  “Good morning,” she said, almost compulsively. As if this was the start of a perfectly civil conversation.

  “My name is Dmitri. And you are Daniella Allendale?”

  “That depends.” Her throat ached with every word. No doubt whoever had choked her unconscious had bruised her vocal chords. “Do you want to hurt Daniella Allendale?”

  “That depends,” he said with another cold smile.

  If they knew her name, then they wanted something specific from her. Rape? Murder? Ransom? She needed more information if she hoped to navigate this and get out alive.

  But it was hard to think when her heart skittered in her chest and her eyes were so puffy she couldn’t open them more than the barest slit. “Listen, I don’t know what this is about, but I haven’t taken money from anyone, or done anything that warrants being kidnapped and tied to a chair.”

  “Bad things happen to good people,” Dmitri said, plainly.

  “They don’t have to,” Dani said. “If everyone plays nice.”

  Another wicked smile that poured cold water through her bones.

  “Will you play nice with me?” Dmitri asked.

  She hoped this wasn’t going in some sexual direction. She already knew these men were violent, and probably had no problem killing her and dumping her lifeless body in the canal, but she hoped she wasn’t going to be raped and beaten until her heart stopped.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You seem like a smart girl. You answer my questions and perhaps we can reach an understanding.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Where is your boss?”

  Dani hesitated. “Clyde?”

  “Yes. Mr. Clyde Baker.”

  Fucking Clyde. “I don’t know. He texted me a few days ago and asked about the story I’m working on, but since then, he hasn’t responded to my calls or texts.”

  Dmitri turned and peered over his right shoulder. Dani saw the second man for the first time.

  A man as wide as he was tall—quite tall—and solid muscle held her phone in his hand. She recognized the Rage Against the Machine cell phone cover and the Jolly Roger flag charm.

  She knew better than to complain that they’d taken her new phone and were simply riffling through it. One must limit their requests when strapped to a chair.

  After scrolling for several seconds, Mr. Thick Neck nodded.

  “You’re an honest girl. Good,�
�� Dmitri said, smiling at her. “So tell me, is it true you were investigating a young woman?”

  “Yes. Louie Thorne.”

  “Louie Thorne,” he repeated. “She wears a leather jacket and sunglasses. She spends time with a detective.”

  “Yes, that’s her,” Dani insisted. If it was Louie Thorne they wanted, then it was Louie Thorne they’d have. After all, she would be far more capable of surviving this shitshow than Dani herself.

  “Louie Thorne,” he said again, as if he’d never heard the name before. “Why does the name sound familiar to me?”

  “Her father was murdered by Angelo Martinelli. Turns out he was only following the orders of Chaz Brasso. And the man who owned him was Senator Greg Ryanson. It was big in the news.”

  “Martinelli,” Dmitri said. He turned and smiled at the men behind him. “Martinelli.”

  The murmurs grew. With horror, Dani realized at least five or six men were back there, hiding in the darkness. These numbers didn’t bode well for her.

  “Yes, yes. I see now.” Dmitri was nodding to himself. “But that makes Konstantine even more interesting, does it not? Why not put him in the grave with the others?”

  Dani recognized the name. Wasn’t a man named Konstantine in the news a few months ago? He turned out to be a poor Italian farmer falsely accused of beheading US agents.

  “Who’s Konstantine?” she asked. The stupid words were out of her mouth before she caught herself. Showing curiosity of any kind was a recipe for a bullet between the eyes and a shallow grave.

  Dmitri’s patronizing smile said as much. “Paolo Konstantine is the bastard son of Fernando Martinelli. Do you know him?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, you wouldn’t. That’s a story for another time. What else did you learn about Louie Thorne?”

  Dani wracked her mind for anything non-public. Anything that would be useful to these goons.

  “When her parents were killed, she was adopted by her aunt Lucy Thorne.”

  Dmitri’s eyebrows arched hopefully. “Is the aunt still alive?”