Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2) Page 11

Tas smiled wickedly. “I think I can take the heat off for a day or two. Depends on how quick they catch on.”

  “That’s all we need,” I said.

  Tas hacked into the undercity’s police network and called off the APB on us. That was enough to grant us freedom of movement, so long as we avoided coming face to face with Malone. Then he shooed us out, saying he needed silence in order to concentrate. Butch and I left feeling a little better knowing that the pressure was off for a few hours, even though we were still facing a dead end. We were wanted men now, and we had no way to prove our innocence short of beating the truth out of Malone. As tempting as that may have sounded, confessions under extreme physical duress just don’t hold up well in court.

  I sat in the Blazer for a minute, engine idling, pondering my next move. Butch tapped his hands nervously on his knees. Sitting there in the passenger seat, he looked like a chubby teenager with a fake beard. He could barely see over the dash.

  “I still say we beat ‘im,” Butch said.

  “That won’t prove anything.”

  He shrugged. “Who cares? We’ll feel better.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I shoved the Blazer into drive and started down the hill. “I wonder where the gun came from,” I said, musing aloud.

  “It came from Malone,” Butch said, twisting up his face. “Der.”

  I chuckled. “Right, but where did he get it? Obviously it wasn’t a service pistol.”

  “He probably stole it from somebody he’s busted in the past.”

  “Right. Or maybe from somebody he killed.”

  Butch raised his eyebrows. “Wait a minute! You’re thinking he took O’Rourke’s gun? You think Malone killed Castle with his own gun? Now that’s cold.”

  “If it was O’Rourkes, one thing’s for sure: it wouldn’t have been registered. But it might have his prints or his DNA on it.”

  “Fat chance of findin’ that,” said Butch. “Malone’s got the gun in evidence, and the way things’ve been disappearing….”

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “I completely expect it to disappear. Malone knows it’s flimsy evidence at best, and if the lab tested it and found Castle’s prints all over it, that’d be the end of Inspector Malone.”

  “That means he can’t use it against you in trial,” Butch said. “He’s got no case.”

  “I don’t think he was planning to put me away for good, he just wanted to keep me out of the way. Only now I’m an escaped convict. We both are. He can put us away for that.”

  “Only if he catches us,” Butch said glibly. “So now what?”

  “Now we go get a witness.”

  Butch narrowed his eyebrows. “How you gonna do that? Flick was killed alone on the beach and Malone wouldn’t have let anyone see him killing O’Rourke. There aren’t any witness.”

  “Well, you’re right about Malone,” I agreed. “He wouldn’t have let anybody see him pull the trigger, he’s to smart for that. But that doesn’t mean no one saw him.”

  Butch and I drove back to Curly’s, avoiding the highway and the main roads whenever possible. Even though Tas had cleared the APB on my Blazer, I still had to be careful. Malone and his goons were looking for us and there was no telling where they might be. Technically, their jurisdiction began and ended with the undercity, but that didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t come gunning for us topside.

  Butch and I did have a couple things working in our favor. San Francisco is a huge place full of strange-looking humans (to fae creatures like Malone), and full-blooded fae creatures like Malone can’t pass among humans undetected like the half-breed kindred can. It takes a conscious effort for a fae creature to walk and talk like a human, and in some cases they also use spells to enhance the effect. That can be a lot of work, especially for a creature like a satyr. I was hoping that was enough to dissuade Malone from pursuing us through the human world.

  I parked two blocks away from Curly’s and Butch and I started walking. I was extremely cautious, considering what had happened the last time I went there. Butch and I circled the block twice, keeping an eye out for Malone and the other cops, or anything else that looked suspicious.

  “Watch your back,” I warned Butch as we finally approached the front door. “The first time I was here, someone broke a baseball bat over my head.”

  “Ouch,” Butch said, peering warily into the darkened windows. “You go first.”

  I snorted and turned the handle. The door wasn’t half-open before a big, dark green fist came at me out of the darkness. I was quick, and I caught it. I thrust my left hand out, nabbing my attacker by the wrist, and yanked him forward. As he stumbled toward me I plowed his head into the edge of the door frame. The burly hobgoblin dropped to the floor, moaning. I shoved the door forward, slamming it against his head. He sighed and went off to lala-land for a nap.

  I stepped cautiously over his body, remembering that there had been two guards there before. Sure enough, the second was lurking in the shadows behind the door. It wasn’t the one I remembered, though. This was another hobgoblin. He tackled me as I turned to face him. We crashed through a table, destroying it on our way to the ground. I ended up on the floor with him sitting on my chest. I reached up to throw him off me, but his loose-fitting shirt tore in my grip. His fist hammered into my face. It was a powerful punch, not enough to knock me out, but my head snapped back and crashed onto the hardwood floor. I saw stars.

  The hobgoblin didn’t give me a chance to recover. He straddled my chest and rained blows down on my head. I threw my arms out defensively, reaching out, searching for a few inches of exposed flesh to grab. One second in my grip, and I could drain the fight right out of him. No such luck. He was wise to my tactics.

  “No you don’t,” he said in a gravely voice, batting my hands away. He threw a solid right punch right at the middle of the forehead. It felt like a Peterbilt truck crashing into me. My vision went dark and my eyes rolled back in my head.

  I felt consciousness slipping away, but I didn’t have much fight left. Everything faded away for a second. Then I heard a crash. The weight on my chest vanished. I sucked in a huge breath of air and sat upright, blinking. Slowly, the shadows came to life around me. I saw Butch standing a few feet away wielding a heavy length of wood. It was a leg from the table I’d broken when I fell. The hobgoblin’s body was lying limp next to me. I reached out and put my hand on his exposed throat.

  “Don’t do that,” a voice said behind me. I heard the unmistakable click of a shotgun shell entering the chamber. I turned slowly, still sitting on the ground. I saw the bartender standing in the corner behind the bar. He had a bandage over his nose and I recognized him as the human I’d beaten up the first time I was there. Obviously, he wasn’t a pure blood. He was a kindred of some sort. He leveled a twelve-gauge in my direction.

  “Curly?” I said. I raised my hands slowly in the air.

  He smirked. “You just busted up my bar for the last time, freak.”

  I watched his index finger tapping the trigger guard. Despite his big talk, he wasn’t one to easily pull the trigger. “Think about what you’re doing, friend.”

  “I ain’t your friend,” Curly said. He motioned for me to get up. “Back against the wall. Let’s make this easy to clean up.”

  I shot Butch a worried look. “Curly, you can’t do that. I’m the law. You know what’ll happen if you kill the Steward?”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “They won’t ever find your bodies.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why do you want to kill us? What do you have to do with this? Are you on Malone’s payroll, too?”

  “Hardly. It all started with you. Everything was fine ‘till you showed up. Now Castle’s dead and Malone’s breathing down my neck. There’s only one way to clean all this up, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He put the butt stock up against his shoulder and slid his finger inside the trigger guard.

  “Wait!” I said. “You saw it didn’t you? You saw Malone kill Castle.
”

  He shrugged. “Don’t matter, does it? Castle’s dead and so are you. The way I see, it’s you or me.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “Do you really think Malone will let you live, knowing you saw him kill someone? You’re fooling yourself, Curly. You’re just as dead as Castle. If you kill me now, you’ll be floating in the bay by morning.”

  That gave him pause. I could see him turning it over in his mind. “You’re wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “He’ll let me go ‘cause I killed you. He’ll know I won’t talk.”

  I laughed. “Curly, you’re just making his job easier. He’ll say he tried to arrest you after you killed us, and he had to kill you. He’ll say you tried to escape. Don’t you see?”

  “I’m afraid he’s right, Curly,” said a voice in the back hall. Our heads all swerved around as Malone stepped into the light, waving his pistol in the air. “I am going to have to kill you. But don’t let that stop you. Go ahead and finish them off.”

  A confused look swept over Curly’s face and he glanced back and forth between us.

  “Well, go on,” said Malone. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t have all day. I’ve got a fundraiser dinner with the mayor tonight.”

  “Of course you do,” I said. “Tell me, what’s your take in the deal? Once he’s elected, will he make you chief of police?”

  “As a matter of fact he will,” Malone said snidely. “Not to mention the business contracts I’ll get for my security business. See, once the mayor’s in office he can award those contracts to anyone he likes, and it just so happens that I’m about to launch a new business.”

  “You’ve had all of this worked out for a while, haven’t you?” I said. “Did you come up with this plan three years ago, when you started laundering money for the mayor? Or did it all just come to you in time?”

  Malone didn’t like that. He set his jaw. “You’re clever, Steward. I don’t know how you found that out, but I can tell you one thing for sure: you’re taking that knowledge with you to the grave.”

  I glared at him, sizing him up. I was pretty sure the pistol he was packing was a nine-millimeter. I’ve been shot with a nine millimeter before and I came out okay. I have the scars to prove it. In that instance, the bullet penetrated the skin but stopped there. It burned like hell, but it didn’t cause any major damage because my ogre flesh is thicker than human skin. I’m as tough as old leather.

  The problem is that not all bullets are created equal. Some pack a heavier load of powder to increase their velocity. Some have explosive tips or hollow points to shatter on impact. Others are coated in a hard jacket made of copper. That was what I had to worry about. If Malone was packing bullets that had the right combination of velocity and hardness to penetrate my skin, I could be in real danger, even from a small caliber. A one hundred and eighty grain full metal jacketed round could theoretically be enough to reach my heart. Ironically, that’s about the cheapest kind of bullet out there.

  I found myself desperately trying to calculate how cheap Malone was. Judging by his suit, I may have been in trouble.

  While I was thinking, Butch got stupid and made a move.

  Butch took us all by surprise as he hauled back the section of table he’d been carrying and threw it at Malone. In the same motion, he leapt forward as if to tackle the detective. Malone twisted deftly aside, avoiding the piece of wood, and fired a round right at Butch. Time ran in slow motion as Butch let out a cry and dropped to the ground. I watched helplessly as my courageous deputy took a bullet. He hit the ground hard and then lay still, not a sign of movement. In my mind, I instantly imagined the worst.

  “Butch!” I shouted. I took a step forward, but Malone jumped in front of me and leveled his pistol at my chest.

  “Back off,” he said coolly. He nudged Butch with his foot. Butch rolled over, revealing a bullet wound in his left leg. It was bleeding badly. He moaned, his eyes rolling skyward. He was in shock.

  “Well, what now?” Malone mused as he backed toward the hall. “Now I’ve gone and shot your deputy, Hank. Curly was supposed to do that for me.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” I said between clenched teeth. “You can’t kill all of us and just walk away from it. You might as well give up right now.”

  He laughed. “Tempting, but I’ve got another idea.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. Then he motioned towards one of the chairs. “Have a seat, Steward. Curly, put the shotgun down on the bar and join us over here.”

  Curly thought about it for a second and made the smart choice. He could have shot Malone, but that sawed-off twelve-gauge probably wouldn’t have killed Malone from all the way across the room. And there was a good chance it would have hurt me just as much as it hurt Malone. On the other hand, Malone was a veteran cop. He may not have been a sharpshooter but it doesn’t take much skill to shoot fish in a barrel, and that’s what we were.

  If Curly had tried to take the shot, Malone would have ended his life right then and there. Instead, Curly set the weapon on the bar as he had been instructed, and joined us at the center of the room. I glared at Malone, trying to calculate what was going through his villainous mind as I settled awkwardly into the chair. It was a standard chair, the cheap metal-framed kind you see in restaurants and bars all the time. It was a bit small for me and I felt like I was perched uncomfortably on the edge, even though my rear-end was taking up the whole seat.

  “Can I sit in the booth instead?” I said. “I’ll tip you extra.”

  “Shutup,” Malone snapped.

  I shot Curly a look. “The service here sucks,” I said. “No wonder you can’t afford decent chairs.”

  “Always joking,” Malone said. “I’m not gonna miss you, Steward.” He gestured at Curly with the barrel of his pistol. “Come on over,” he said. “You sit behind him, back to back.”

  It took a moment to get organized the way Malone wanted us. He put us both in chairs, back to back with our wrists behind us. Then he cuffed our hands together through the backs of our chairs. I felt a cold chill as the metal touched me and I knew the cuffs were enchanted. They were the special ones, the ones that can hold fae creatures. That didn’t bother me much because I’m magically challenged anyway, but I felt a shiver run through Curly’s body.

  Malone stepped away, satisfied. He holstered his pistol and then bent over to deal with Butch. He pulled a pair of zip-ties out of his pocket and cuffed Butch’s hands behind his back. I glared at him, and then at the pool of blood forming under Butch’s leg. “You can’t leave him like that,” I said. “He’ll bleed to death.”

  “Oh, no need to worry,” Malone said coldly. “Butch won’t have time to bleed out.” He went to the front door to make sure it was locked, and then shoved a pool cue through the handle in such a way that it couldn’t be pulled open from the outside. Then he walked over to the bar and lifted the shotgun. He leveled it at the shelves of booze and fired twice. Liquor sprayed across the room. It poured down off the shelves, covering the wall and the bar, even splashing up across the ceiling.

  Malone smiled grimly as he stepped back and pulled out his lighter. “Well, I guess this is it boys.”

  “You’re nuts,” I grumbled. “You’ll never get away with this.” Behind me, Curly was begging Malone to spare him.

  “I never did nothin’!” he exclaimed. “I’m on your side, Malone. I never told anybody what happened to Castle. See?”

  Malone chuckled. “Yeah, I see. I’m sure glad I decided to kill you, Curly. Well, so long boys. See ya in the next world!”

  With that, he flicked the lighter open, snapped the flame to life, and threw it at the wall. A fireball erupted with a whooshing sound that took my breath away. Malone put the shotgun back on the bar and casually walked towards the back hall. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m going out the back way,” he said. “I wouldn’t want any of my friends to see me coming out of this dive.”

  And then we were alone.

  Chapter
8

  I looked over at the two unconscious hobgoblins on the floor, and suddenly wished I hadn’t done such a good job of knocking them out. I glanced down at Butch and saw the glazed look in his eyes. “You all right?” I said.

  Butch blinked and nodded slowly. “There’s something I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya, Boss,” he said in a weak voice. “I suppose this is as good a time as any.”

  I frowned, looking down at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He smiled weakly. “I’m retirin’.”

  “Retiring?” I said. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you want to do that?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “But I also don’t want Talia to be on the SWAT team anymore. We made a deal.”

  I grimaced. “You made a deal. You’re quitting? For real?”

  “Sorry, Boss. A man’s gotta choose his priorities. After this is all over, I’m a family man.”

  I contemplated that. “So… what are your plans? You gonna get a regular job?” I tried not to laugh as I said it. Between Butch’s drinking, carousing, and his general lack of ambition I couldn’t think of a single real-life job he could hold down.

  “I’m not workin’,” he said. “Talia’s transferring to a desk job and she’s gonna support us. I’m gonna be a kept man.”

  I laughed. Now that I could picture Butch doing just fine. “Well good for you,” I said. “I’m gonna miss you, though.”

  “Forget him!” Curly shouted. “What are you, nuts? A few more minutes and we’re all gonna be toast!”

  I snorted derisively, but then I felt the heat of the flames washing over us and realized he was right. It was uncomfortably hot, and the flames were licking closer by the second. Thick gray smoke curled up along the roof, filling the room. The dizzying scent of burning alcohol filled my nostrils, along with the sickly-sweet smell of all the flavorings and sweeteners. It made me nauseous.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I can break these cuffs,” I said, sighing.

  “You can?” Curly said. “Well do it then!”