by Martha Carr
“No problem. Hey, if you happen to see those dealers here on the corner, we’d appreciate anything else you might be able to tell us. You know, if our paths ever cross again.”
“We’re here every day,” Bill said. “And we cross paths with more people than you might believe.”
“Not many of them are as decent as you two. Or have such beautiful dogs with them,” Mack added. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
“’Preciate it, fellas. Enjoy the sunshine, huh?” Johnny turned to step across the street toward the park square. “I heard it don’t stick ʼround here all that much.”
“Summer days, right?” Bill lifted a hand in farewell. “Take care, Johnny.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Lisa smiled at the men as they turned their attention to the trail mix, then followed Johnny and the hounds across the street. “I thought you never let anyone feed your dogs.”
“It’s all about the intention, darlin’. A coupla fellas down on their luck wanna share the little they have with my hounds? There ain’t nothin’ but kindness in that.”
Luther sniffed at the same tree as they passed. “I bet they would’ve shared more if you let ʼem, Johnny.”
“But we’re not complaining,” Rex added. “Maybe next time, you can buy them a steak, Johnny.”
“Ooh, yeah. We love to share steak.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“So no dealer on the corner selling drugs stamped with the red boar.” Lisa paused briefly to stare at the same rabbit-mask-lady mural when they passed it again en route to the center of downtown. “I’d say Mikey and Janice were lying to us if Mack and Bill hadn’t confirmed that someone does usually deal at that corner.”
“Uh-huh.” Johnny frowned up the street at the rising clamor of music and shouted chants that approached. “The question now is why ain’t that dealer in his regular location?”
“Do you think he was tipped off?”
“I ain’t sure what to think, darlin’. Especially ʼbout all that damn noise. What the hell is that?” He gestured up the street at a group of people who waved flags and banners. Someone in the front played a banjo as he walked, followed by other musicians in a row behind him.
“It looks like a parade to me.” Lisa shrugged.
“I don’t like the looks of it.”
They continued to walk and the words on the banners became easier to read.
“Oh.” Lisa grinned. “I’ve heard about this. It’s the Portland Blues Festival this weekend.”
He pointed at the banners and raised an eyebrow at her. “The one at Waterfront Park?”
“Yeah! How did you know?”
“It says it right there on the banner, darlin’. I can read too.”
She shook her head. “That could be something fun to do tomorrow while we’re waiting for that five o’clock tour.”
He snorted. “If you wanna go listen to all that clangin’ and bangin’, be my guest.”
“Johnny, it’s blues, not folk music.”
“Same difference. If it ain’t metal, I ain’t goin’.”
“Isn’t blues very big down in the South?”
“Not in my neck o’ the woods.” The dwarf trudged down the sidewalk and shook his head vigorously. The parade celebrating the start of the Blues Festival took up most of the street before they turned at the next intersection.
“Hey, Johnny.” Luther stepped off the sidewalk after the group but immediately turned when he realized his master wasn’t moving. “Do we know any magicals who play music at home?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rex added. “Well, there’s Ronnie. Doesn’t he do something with spoons?”
“You mean like eat with them?”
“No, as an instrument.”
Johnny glanced at his hounds. What are they goin’ on about now?
“Look at all the magicals in that parade, Johnny.” Luther sniffed the air. “Couple dwarves in there. And a…at least two witches.”
“Three,” Rex corrected. “Weird to see ʼem marching around like that, don’t you think? Johnny?”
The bounty hunter turned toward Lisa. “Did you notice any magicals in that little display?”
“A few.” She shrugged. “The dwarves are easy enough to identify—no offense.”
“Why would I find that offensive?”
She shook her head and looked down the cross-street at the last of the parade. “No reason. Why are you asking about magicals?”
Johnny shrugged as if he thought the answer was obvious. “Well, there ain’t no shortage of ʼem in Portland. It’s a shame they ain’t done nothin’ to fix the city up the way it oughta be.”
“Like that deli?”
“Like the whole damn place.”
Stifling a laugh, she scanned the downtown streets that grew busier as the day wound down and the nightlife geared up. “So what’s your point?”
“This demon-lady whoever has eight victims under her belt, all human. How come we don’t have any reports of magicals with the same thing?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you think humans are being targeted specifically?”
“They might be. I wanna know why.”
“They’re more susceptible to magic, depending on what it is. At least as targets. Yes, they all know it’s there, but how many humans run around looking for magicals or try to get involved?”
“Exactly. What d’ya think the ratio is of magicals to humans runnin’ ʼround in those tunnels oohin’ and ahin’ over whatever they find down there?”
“I have no idea, Johnny. But when we’re down there tomorrow, we’ll get our answers.”
“Yeah, I guess we will. If we do it right, we’ll get every last damn one.” He sniffed and pointed at the intersection with 3rd Avenue. “It’s time for a drink.”
“Are you sure?”
He darted her an exasperated glance.
“Okay, yeah. You haven’t had your drink today and it’s after five o’clock.”
“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I’ll choose the bar this time, darlin’. If they ain’t got what I’m drinkin’, there’s still the bottle at the hotel.” He strode across the street, followed closely by the hounds.
“Music sounds good, though, Johnny.”
“Yeah, I bet all those people dancing and bluesing drop a lot of snacks.”
“No festivals.” He shook his head and stepped onto the sidewalk before another cyclist raced down the street without slowing. Not in this city.
They wandered down 3rd Avenue in the general direction of their hotel. Johnny scowled at all the open doorways filled with schmoozing Portlanders, their drinks in hand as they mingled outside. It seemed every other bar had some kind of live musical performance either inside or out on the patio, and the sound of it all at the same time made his scowl deepen.
“For a city tryin’ to be some kinda progressive haven, you’d think they’d learn how to progress without the noise. How are folks supposed to choose where to go when they can’t hear themselves think?”
Lisa shook her head and strolled casually beside him. “Hey, there’s a saloon.”
“Do I look like a cowboy?”
“Okay, that’s a no. Look at this one—whisky distillery. It has your name on it, right?”
“Unless it has my actual name on the label, darlin’, I ain’t buyin’.”
She sighed heavily and approached the front door, where the distillery posted a list of their different barrels available to sample and buy on the premises. “You don’t even want to try—”
“Nope.” He didn’t stop walking.
“It shouldn’t be this hard to find somewhere to buy a drink,” Lisa muttered as she jogged to catch up with him. “Have you ever tried anything else?”
“Liquor?”
“Yeah.”
“Nope.”
“I get it. You’re set in your ways.” She gestured ahead of them in the direction of their hotel only a few more blocks down. “I feel like you’ll simply be disappoint
ed again. Why don’t we go to the hotel and look over the file again? Now that we have this connection with the tunnels, I think it might be a good idea to look for—”
The bounty hunter had stopped listening almost as soon as she’d started to talk. He now stared at a bar entrance in the alley beside him—The Death Trap—with grungy neon signs and heavy metal pumping from the huge speakers, and the shredded guitar and wild drumming reverberated in his chest. Now this is what I wanted to see.
The hounds sniffed the entrance to the alley. “Whoa, this place stinks.”
“Smells like blood and sweat, Johnny. And booze.”
“Exactly. Y’all go stay with Lisa.” With a broad grin, he stepped into the alley.
“Wait, what?”
“Go on.”
The dogs stared after their master for a moment, then turned and trotted to catch up with the agent. “Does he want us to tell her where he went?”
“She can’t hear us, bro.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Johnny cocked his head and listened to the pounding music spilling into the alley. A man in black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a silver-studded black band around his wrist and a five-inch mohawk stood in front of the door, smoking a cigarette. He pulled the last of it away from his lips, blew out a thick plume of smoke in the waning daylight, and jerked his chin at Johnny. The dwarf returned the gesture before his gaze settled on the tattoo on the man’s wrist that peeked out from beneath the black band.
A red boar.
The man crushed the cigarette butt beneath his thick black boot, turned swiftly, and disappeared inside The Death Trap.
The bounty hunter quickened his pace and jerked his head away from the last whiff of cigarette smoke as he stepped inside. Two birds with one damn stone. It might be my lucky night.
The bar was packed with metalheads, even those who didn’t traditionally look the part. Three women in their late twenties with their hair and makeup all done up for a night on the town and wearing weather-appropriate short skirts and shorter shorts stood in a huddle inside the front door. They nodded their heads to the music and studied him with coy smiles. The blonde in the middle raised her drink toward him and her gaze roved over him slowly.
Johnny jerked his chin at her and moved through the bar, keeping an eye on the man in black with the boar tattoo. The idiot ain’t makin’ it easy to blend in with that hair. Perfect.
He glanced at the bar as he passed it. The customers paid for their drinks and moved on without congregating and taking up all the space. They are slingin’ simple drinks. Folks move on to make room and everyone’s feelin’ the vibe. It sure as shit is my kinda place.
As he moved through the crowd of half-dancing, half-drinking people with his gaze on the mohawk, a woman with four different dog collars dangling around her neck stepped in front of him and cut him off. “Nice knife.”
“Sure is.” He nodded and peered around her as the mohawk returned to a table with two other guys and threw back two shots in a row.
“Do you know how to use it?” she asked and tossed her black-dyed hair over her shoulder as she gave him a long, slow look of appraisal.
“’Course I do, but now ain’t the time, darlin’. ’Scuse me.”
The woman smirked as he stepped around her and turned to watch him stalk toward his target and his pals. They’d chosen the table closest to the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom and the back door. The man with the tattoo caught sight of Johnny coming toward him and nodded again.
“Yeah, hey. How’s it goin’?” The bounty hunter extended his hand for a shake.
“What’s up?” The man grunted and grasped his hand, willing to placate someone who looked like he belonged there too.
As soon as their hands met, he crushed the guy’s fingers in an iron grasp and twisted his wrist to expose the red boar tattoo.
“Fuck! What are you—”
“Nice ink, shitface.” He yanked him from his seat and thrust him against the wall forcefully enough to drive the breath out of him. “We gotta have us a little talk.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you, man? Dude, I don’t even know you—”
“It don’t matter. Let’s go.” He jerked him away from the wall and shoved him down the hall. After a couple of steps, he leaned back to look at the man’s buddies, who watched him with wide eyes. “Yeah, y’all got the right idea. You sit tight. He’ll be back in a few.”
“What’s this about, man?” His quarry spread his arms in the narrow hallway and regarded him with a trace of panic. “You wanna tell me—”
Johnny drew his utility knife and flicked it open.
“Whoa, whoa. Hey. You don’t have to—”
“No, you’re the one who’s gonna tell me what I wanna know. Back door, and don’t try anythin’ unless you’re sure you can outrun a thrown blade.”
“Fuck. Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender and stepped backward down the hall.
The dwarf stalked after him. “Keep movin’.”
The door to the ladies’ restroom opened and a tall woman in a black leather jumper and four-inch platform shoes stood in the doorway to watch. “I honestly didn’t expect the night to start like this.”
“It ain’t over yet, darlin’. Go enjoy yourself.” Johnny nodded toward the bar and practically shoved the other man into the back door before it opened and let them out into a medium-sized lot behind the building, complete with a dumpster and fire escape ladders along the other buildings.
“Okay, man. What’s—”
He caught the man by the back of his black t-shirt and shoved him forward against the brick wall. “I’m askin’ the questions here.”
“You haven’t asked me anything!”
After spinning him again, he pushed him against the wall and pointed the knife at his gut. “If I’m bein’ honest—which is one of those things I value very highly—you’re only the bottom of the barrel, pal.” He nodded at the guy’s wrist. “But I saw that tattoo.”
“What?”
“Who do you work for?”
“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about!”
The back door burst open beside them and two women poked their heads out, laughing.
“Not now, ladies.” Johnny wiggled the blade tip at them. “Go on back inside.”
The woman with her hair cut in a short bob leaned her head farther out and stared at the apparent victim.
“Vanessa!” her friend whispered harshly, followed by another giggle. “Christ, it’s like you go around looking for trouble.” She dragged her drunk friend inside and pulled the door closed behind them.
Scowling, the bounty hunter turned toward the other man, who’d bent quickly to remove a knife from the inside of his boot. The sucker realized immediately, though, that he’d lost his planned element of surprise and straightened, wide-eyed, before he tried to rush his interrogator.
With a low growl of annoyance, Johnny ducked the poorly aimed swipe and came up on the other side of his opponent. With his knife still in one hand, he slipped the other between the man’s arms and pounded his wrist with both fists, each moving in opposite directions.
“Aw, shit!” His adversary clutched his wrist and stumbled against the wall as his tiny blade skittered across the cracked asphalt. “You broke my fucking wrist!”
Johnny sniffed and nodded unsympathetically. “It might be fractured. Come on. I told you not to try anything.”
“What the hell do you want?”
The dwarf shoved him against the wall again and held the point of his blade under his chin. “I told you what I want. Who the fuck do you work for?”
“The…t-the Portland Nursery. Out near Centennial!”
“Wrong answer.” He smacked the man across the face with his left hand, grasped a fistful of his black t-shirt, and swept the knife in his other hand to the guy’s ribcage. “Your fucking ink gave you away, dumbass. You marked yourself with the red boar and I wanna know where the f
uck that shit comes from before it lands in your grubby little hands.”
“What?” His captive tried to look at his wrist but there was too much bounty hunter in the way. “That’s it? It’s only a tattoo, man. You’re crazy.”
“Okay, we can do this on a three-strike system.” Johnny hauled him away from the wall, turned, and threw him against the dumpster. He made impact with a loud clang and a pained grunt. “You pulled a knife on me and you’re still lyin’. Who do you work for?”
The man huddled against the dumpster and raised both hands in surrender. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I swear. I’m a regular guy.”
“Then why did you get that tattoo?”
“Because it’s fucking cool. Why else?”
“Is this strike three?” He waved his blade in the air and stalked toward his quarry, feeling far more optimistic with the heavy metal music rising in a muffled beat from the other side of The Death Trap’s back door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Johnny!” Lisa shouted and spun on the sidewalk. Her gaze settled on every person walking through downtown Portland wearing all black, but none of them were Johnny. Jesus. How many people wear black in the middle of the summer?
Gritting her teeth, she pulled her phone out and dialed his number. “You have some serious explaining to do, Johnny Walker.”
She looked at Rex and Luther, who sniffed the sidewalk at her feet. “We told you where he went, lady.”
“Yeah, if you’d only listen.” Luther looked at her and chuffed. “Great. You’re on the phone.”
“Dammit.” She pocketed her phone again and studied the street. “Fine. I’ll retrace my steps and—”
Rex yipped. “You hear that?”
Luther’s ears flopped against his head when he turned toward his brother. “Johnny found something.”
“Come on, lady. Come on!” Rex darted down the sidewalk, then stopped and turned. “Shit. Luther. How do we get a lady two-legs’ attention?”
“I don’t know. Sniff up her skirt?”
“She’s not wearing a skirt.”
“Damn.”
