16412--In Warm Blood (Ch. 14)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

A Knowledge of Heather is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 14

It was still a dark and stormy night, but things were looking better. That was, of course, from my point of view: not only had I not become part of the evening’s rising body count, I was hunting people who thought that I had become a part of the evening’s rising body count.

After a quick trip back to Pietro Ferrari’s building, I made a phone call to police headquarters from the lobby to let Cross know where to find the “legitimate businessman” I was after. I hadn’t actually been at his arraignment, but I was pretty sure that he’d been violating the conditions of his bail over the last few days. I had the elevator take me to the floor below Ferrari’s penthouse, then crept up the stairs to the luxurious top floor.

Poking my head from the stairwell doorway, I couldn’t see anyone around. Of course, it was after three in the morning, so I didn’t expect there to be too many people standing around. Still, I wanted to act quietly. That didn’t seem like it would be too hard. I guess, since he seemed to control the whole top floor, he felt confident about security. Both the elevator and the stairs opened into an entry hallway and there was no doorway to stop me from walking right into the apartment. I figured he usually kept at least one guard on duty, but whoever was supposed to be guarding probably ended up as a stain at the train station. So I ended up with no door to kick in and nobody to beat up or blow holes in. Ferrari was trying to bore me to death. Still, I was supposed to be dead, so I tried not to take it personally.

As I walked past the kitchen, I heard a toilet flush and turned to see the missing guard step out of the little guests’ room. So they had at least had sense enough to replace the night guard with a small-bladdered substitute. He didn’t notice me as he was zipping up, so I cleared my throat.

“You!” he said.

“Right on the first guess,” I said, grabbing his tie and dragging him out into the entrance hall. After a couple of punches to the gut and a broken jaw, he fell to the floor and stopped trying to get back to his feet. With a satisfied smile, I sauntered back to that kitchen I had spotted. There was a goon with his back to me, staring into the open refrigerator.

“Hey, Johnny,” the guy said, not looking up, “you back? I was startin’ to think maybe you fell in.”

“No need to worry about me,” I said.

“You!” he exclaimed, spinning toward me with that same deer-in-the-headlights look as the first guy.

“Right again,” I said, grabbing his tie and pulling him toward me. “What gave me away? Was it the hat? The coat?” I didn’t get an answer, though. He was about as fragile as Johnny. Ferrari‘s tough guys must‘ve jumped ship when the indictments started coming in. Some bad guys had no stomach for pressure.

I took a bottle of cooking oil with me from the kitchen and found my way through a few of the other rooms. There were only a few lights on through the whole place, but enough to keep me from bumping into most of the furniture. I ended up in a game room. I could see light from under a door and people moving around. I couldn‘t tell how many, but one of the muffled voices sounded like Ferrari. It would have to do.

I dumped the bottle of oil onto the pool table. I grabbed a couple of bottles of rum from the bar and, using the fresh book of matches I’d taken from Aeaea, set the pool table on fire. Hungry flames leapt up and black smoke began to billow. I moved to the wall near the office door and waited. After less than a minute, the smoke alarms started blaring. As expected, the office door opened and one of Ferrari’s men came out.

“Holy--! Hey, boss! We’re on fire!”

He started to run past me, but didn’t notice me so I tripped him. He fell behind the bar. I jumped on his back and broke a bottle of something expensive over his head. I caught a glimpse of the fire extinguisher he must’ve been after and picked it up. Ferrari came out next and stood stunned in the doorway.

“Johnny!” he shouted, dropping his cigar. “Mitch!”

“Catch,” I said, tossing him the extinguisher. He caught it and fumbled with it in a panic for a few seconds. Once he finally got the pin pulled, he emptied the canister putting out the blazing pool table. I flicked on a light switch, saying, “Nicely done, Pete. Now drop the can.” One look at the .44 and he complied. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I was kind of hoping.”

“Well, you can put a stop to that,” I said. “We’re the only ones left. Your boys all dozed off--headaches or internal injuries or some such. You really should try to create a safer work environment. Maybe you’ll do better in the prison laundry.”

“We can still deal, Stone,” Ferrari said. “This doesn’t have to be ugly.”

“It does if you’re involved,” I said, waving him toward the office door. “Come on. Let’s get out of the smoke.”

“I knew you could be reasonable.”

“Shut up and show me what you’ve got,” I told him.

He walked over to ridiculously huge wall mirror and began tapping it with the rod. As before, the mirror‘s surface became like rippling water. Changing up the process a bit, Ferrari turned back to me and touched one of the symbols near the center of the rod‘s length. The black rod began to glow and then the end pointed at me flared with a bright light and unleashed a ball of fire rocketing my way. I was just able to dive and roll, leaving it to blast into the wall. “I thought you’d had enough fire for one night, you ass!“

“The rod has so many uses, though,” he said, “it seems a shame to waste them.”

I fired off two rounds, hitting him in the left arm and leg. Blood splashed out of him as he fell through the mirror, howling in pain. I scrambled back to my feet and ran through after him. Ferrari was whimpering, but still trying to grab the rod he’d dropped when he hit the floor. I kicked his hand away.

“He-Heal me,” Ferrari pleaded, whimpering. “I’m begging ya…please. The rod…”

I felt confused for a couple of seconds, then stupid for taking so long to realize, “The rod heals, too? Of course, like you said, it has lots of uses. What’d you call it? Wayfarer? It’s full of…useful tricks for travellers.”

“I’m dyin’ here, Stone,” Ferrari moaned again. “Just…”

“Quit your moaning,” I told him. “Bleed-out with some semblance of dignity.”

“Hey, come on,” he pleaded. “I thought we was gonna make a deal.”

“I thought I was gonna kick you in the balls,” I said, starting to open storage boxes. “You blew any chance of a happy ending when you started shooting.”

“You mean, you really…would’ve let me go?”

“No, but I wasn’t going to shoot you. Now, what am I looking at?” I asked. There were ledger books and notebooks and photos of…“Is this a sheep? And…wow…three girls and none of them old enough to be mistaken for his wife.”

“I got dirt on a lotta guys,” he chuckled, but with strain. “Other bosses. Businessmen. Cops.”

“I told you you’d need the luck.” I kicked a box on the floor and heard a jingle. The long, wooden box felt heavy and solid. I flipped open the lid and found thousands of gold sovereigns and stacks of shiny metal bars. “Are these silver or platinum in here?”

Ferrari moaned.

“Hey, don’t be a sore loser,” I told him, “just answer.”

“Both,” he sighed.

Nice. Ferrari had just handed over records from his activities and incriminating evidence against who knew how many other people. He had just handed me a box of gold sovereigns and other precious metals. “Wow, between all this and being shot,“ I told him, “you’re having a crap week. Hey, what’s in this metal box?” I asked, opening a small money box.

He sighed again and said, “Safe deposit box keys.”

“Don’t like all your eggs in one basket, eh?” I said, scooping a few handfuls of sovereigns into the money box to carry along with me. “Well, it looks like I’m going to be busy for a while.”

I was starting to reach for the magic rod when I saw the smith at the door to the mirror office. His stern gaze was on me, hammer in his right hand and red-hot tongs in his left. “Teng, right?” I asked.

“You struggle for the Wayfarer’s Arcanum,” he said.

I kept the magnum’s barrel on him as my left hand grasped the rod. “Sort of,” I replied. “Struggling part’s kind of done, unless you’ve got something to add.”

“I do not contest,” the elf told me. “I am a craftsman.”

“You don’t say,” I said, standing back up. “I’m a detective. I don’t want to bother your work. I need this loser and his boxes of evidence.” The smith watched me quietly for a few seconds, then put his hammer and tongs on the floor and walked into the office. I put away my gun as he approached me and held out his hand. I watched him for a few seconds, then handed him the rod. He didn‘t seem the handshaking sort.

“The Wayfarer’s Arcanum is a traveller’s convenience,” he said, touching a symbol that made the thing glow, “possessing a score of capabilities.” The elf touched the rod to each of the boxes of evidence, making them glow and then vanish.

“Hey, I said I needed those!”

“When you return through the glass,” Teng began, “touch this rune, fehu, and your boxes will be released.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said. I had neither the tongue for magic nor the desire to develop one. I just nodded and trusted my memory to get me through for a few minutes.

“It’s not a common practice since it drains a lot of power,” Teng said, “but if you want this one healed, touch this rune, uruz, to create a healing aura.”

“This is probably as close as he’ll get to penance,” I said. “Why spoil it?”

“When you return through the glass,” he said again, this time handing me back the rod, “touch this rune again and hold the Wayfarer’s Arcanum to the mirror. Repeat the process when you wish to place the mirror and use it again.”

“Riiight…You say you’re a craftsman,” I said to him. “You make bullets?”

“Bullets?” he echoed.

“Bullets,” I said, handing him a bullet from my pocket. “I’m thinking electrum in this size.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, looking over the .357 caliber bullet. “Should be simple. Any special targets? Undead?”

“Effectiveness against anything generally magical,” I said. “I don’t want to pump a magnum load into a rabid grand shroud hag or a slathering shadow beast and have it laugh at me. When I pull the trigger, there need to be tangible results.”

“Reasonable challenge,” he said. “I’ll probably need to add some sigils. Check back with me.”

“Cool,” I said as he walked out of the mirror office and closed the door, returning to his forge. “Ferrari, you breathing?”

“Owww.”

“Wussy,” I taunted.

“Screw you, Stone,” he said, continuing to bleed on his red velvet carpet.

“That’s the spirit,” I said, heading back to the big mirror. “Let’s get you back where the cops can take care of you.”

Reopening the mirror portal, I grabbed Ferrari by the legs and dragged his sorry ass back into his smoky office. Following Teng’s instructions, the boxes of Ferrari’s incriminating insurance/evidence materialized in his office beside him. Then, walking back to the master mirror, I touched the rune again and held the rod against the surface of the glass. There was a glow and the ornate mirror faded away. The sound of approaching footsteps meant it was time for me to get out of the way and let the cops earn their pay. It was way past my bedtime and I still had to find a place to sleep. I tucked the metal box under my arm and the Wayfarer’s Arcanum into the pocket of my private eye trench coat (standard issue) just as Cross came in with a bunch of uniforms and paramedics trailing him.

“Stone! You alright?” Cross asked.

“Just peachy,” I said. “Impeccable timing, as always, Chief O’Hara.”

“What the Hell happened here?” he asked.

“It was like this when I got here,” I told him.

“Brick…”

“Oooh…scary dad voice. Look, if it’s illegal, he’s probably done it,” I said. “The D.A.‘ll probably have some extra charges to file Monday. Ferrari needs medical attention and those boxes next to him have some really sick sorts of evidence inside. His henchmen are…around.”

“Yeah, I saw. What happened to them?” he asked.

“They fell down,” I said, pulling down on my hat brim. “A lot. No extra charge.”

“You feel up to making an actual statement?”

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” I said. “Now, I need to go find a bed.”

“I assume that means you’re done leaving bodies on the sidewalk for tonight,” Cross said.

“If at all possible.”

“Great. Call me after you wake up.”

“Don’t be clingy, Cross,” I said. I headed for the elevator. Digging up dirt was one thing, but cleaning up I left to others.

Outside, the storm was down to a drizzle. I had more than enough for cab fare and Ferrari was paying for a decent hotel. I wasn’t ready to start trying to scrape my worldly possessions off my walls just yet. I really hated cleaning. Police and medics were shoving in and out of the building. I was fighting to find my way past their barricades, but almost knocked a long-haired beauty over as I moved through the crowd.

“Hey, Brick, good to see you’re alright,” Overknight said, suddenly catching me in a one-armed hug. “I was actually a little worried about you.”

“Hey, Jen, what’re you doing here? Docs cut you loose with your wing in a sling?”

“Yeah, it was a through and through,” she said. “It looked worse than it was.”

“You slacker,” I said. “You let me take you to the hospital and make a fuss over you for a scratch?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to feel useful,” she told me. “Thanks for the save.”

“Just good teamwork,“ I told her. “I almost didn’t recognize you. What happened to your ponytail?”

“I’m off-duty,” she said, shaking her hair to show off the bounce of her long, black locks, “so I let it down.”

“Looks good,” I told her. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you, anyway. Got in a little tanning time while you were slacking off?”

“Well, you look exhausted,” she said, walking with me out of the police perimeter. “After they let me out of the hospital, I was going home, but Cross said you called so I figured I‘d come down here and rescue you.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re alright,” I told her, “but you should go home and rest.”

“And you should come with me,” she said. “As I recall, your place needs a few hundred coats of paint.”

“You want me to stay at your place, Overknight?”

“Maybe even longer,” she said. “You’re still a witness, after all. Even if Ferrari is out of action, till word gets out, more hired guns can still come after your ass. Remember the Bogies?”

“Yeah, so hanging around me even with an imagined price on my head isn’t safe,” I told her. “Your insurance premiums up-to-date?”

“Well, yeah…I think so.”

“I’d probably better just find a hotel,” I said. “You’re trying to hug an icy heart, kid. Be smart and head home.”

“I’ll go,” she said, “but you are coming with me. I think we need to practice keeping each other alive a bit longer.”

I was too tired to argue for a change. Overknight slid her good arm back around my waist and we worked through the crowd. Against my better judgment, I could feel myself starting to relax. Being alive together would do for the night. Tomorrow would wait for tomorrow…or maybe even the day after.

16405--In Warm Blood (Ch. 13)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 13

It was still a dark and stormy night. The portal had opened into an alley across the street. No sooner had we stepped to the sidewalk than we were accosted by a hustler. The rain couldn’t wash everything off the streets.

“Come on, man,” he pleaded, following us as we crossed the street to get to the train station. “Two sovereigns! Just two! You won’t get a fresher batch of magic beans anywhere in town for that price. Two sovereigns!” he insisted, grabbing the coat sleeve of one of my escorting gangsters who promptly threw the overly forward hustler to the ground, beans and all.

“Hey, give me my gun back,” I said, as we started up the steps to the station entrance, “and I’ll shoot him myself.”

“Quiet, Stone,” Muttonchops said. “Get inside.”

I shook some of the extra water off my private eye trench coat (standard issue) as we stepped out of the rain and into the South Riverside Train Station. By the big clock up on the wall, it was way past my bedtime. It must‘ve been past bedtime for a lot of people, since the station looked to be pretty much deserted. All things considered, though, I was feeling good. I was feeling focused and determined. I figured I probably had about ten minutes left to figure out how to use that to my advantage. Otherwise, I was just going to be very alert when a train came to park on my head. “Why does it take four of you guys to handle one of me?” I asked.

“You been tough to kill,” the one with my gun said, apparently the leader since he had my gun. “Boss wants to make sure it gets done right this time.”

“He don’t look so tough t’me,” Muttonchops said.

That one probably thought he should be the field trip leader instead. I could work with that. “Are we there yet?”

“Shut up, smart guy,” Muttonchops ordered. “He’s drivin’ me friggin’ nuts. See how funny he is when we get to the express track.”

“Calm down,” New Suit said. “We’ll be down there in a minute.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” I said. “I’ve gotta pee like a racehorse.”

“Nobody cares, Stone!” Muttonchops barked. “Shut up already!”

“Now, that’s just mean,” I said. “We’re all guys here. How can you just not care?”

“Watch me.”

“Man, at least your boss was polite about all this,” I said. “You could really stand to learn some better manners from him and your buddies here.”

“I don’t care what nobody else says,” Muttonchops replied. “You’re goin’ down, tough guy! You wanna piss? Piss on yourself!”

“See? That’s just rude,” I pointed out to the other uglies. “It shouldn’t be too big a surprise, I guess. If he doesn’t even care about how the boss does things, he’s not gonna care about what I have to say.”

“Damn right,” he said.

“I’d watch this guy,” I said to the head goon. “He’ll probably come after you next, then Ferrari. Or maybe he‘s gonna do it the other way around and make you--”

“Shut up, you!” Muttonchops barked as we reached the train platform.

He took a swing at my head, but I was watching for it and ducked his punch. “Uh-oh, looks like I touched a nerve. It’s like they say: watch out for the threats from inside.” I had no idea who said things like that, but I figured it sounded ominous enough to worry them.

“I’ve had enough of you, Stone!” Muttonchops shouted as he charged. “I’ll shut your mouth for you!”

“Hey, calm down!” Comb-over said, wrestling with Muttonchops to hold him back. “You’re gonna get us pinched.”

“What’s the matter, Donny?” New Suit asked him. “Did he say something he shouldn’t have? You making some big plans to go with the big talk you’re always spoutin’ off?”

“What?” Muttonchops asked. “You ain’t actually gonna listen to this punk are you?”

“I don’t know. Should I? You’re the one always sayin’ how you got better ideas for how to do things,” he said, grabbing at the other guy‘s coat. “Maybe you’re thinking this trial coming up is your big shot.”

Or maybe it was mine. Three of them were tied up fighting with each other and the fourth one was paying more attention to them than to me. I was pretty sure I was the only one who had noticed the sound of the approaching train. I knew I had to act fast, so I grabbed Slouchy by the collar and smashed my elbow into his face. With him stunned, I grabbed his pistol from its shoulder holster and shoved him into the other three. The stooges fell, stumbling and shouting. New Suit was trying to keep his balance, but his head was at just the right height to present an irresistible target for my foot. He went down hard, as Muttonchops was getting up and trying to charge at me. Him I grabbed by the arm and collar as I side-stepped. With a little helpful steering, his own power carried him face-first into the side of the passing express train. “Oooh! That looked so very painful,” I said with a wince as the dumbass was tossed away from the speeding train and collapsed like a rag doll onto the station platform.

Suddenly, I heard a roar and a scream behind me. I spun toward the sounds with the feel of an electric current shooting up my spine. I was wrestling the pistol from my pocket as I watched the hulking figure kneeling between the other two goons. It was wearing some kind of a red silk robe, which I supposed was convenient considering all the splattered blood. The giant was…some kind of tiger-man. Its right hand…paw was buried in the neck of one guy. The left paw had torn the other one’s head off completely. The blood pouring from the bodies was making a spreading pool around the three of them.

“Relax, Mr. Stone,” the gravel-voiced hulk said, looking up at me. “These four will be more than enough to feed upon and the gun wouldn’t have helped you had I come for you, anyway.”

“Figures,” I said, shoving it back into my pocket. “Don’t know why they even make damn .38s in the first place.”

“You’ll want your weapon back from…that fellow,” he said, “if you’re going to attend to your other business.”

“I knew you were rooting for me,” I said, shaking a finger at him as I moved over to New Suit to get my magnum back.

“I thought you might require assistance, but it seems you are indeed quite formidable despite my potent venom.”

“Yeah, strong as a bull and eager for action.” Retrieving my gun, I also found enough cash for cab fare that he wouldn‘t be needing anymore as I asked, “You have a name?”

“My kind do not share our names,” the response came.

“Your kind?”

“Rakshasa.”

“Right…never heard of you. Live and learn,” I said, making sure the .44 was loaded before I slipped it back into its holster. “What’s your interest in me, Tony?”

“You’re a virtuous man who’s being watched,” he said. “Ferrari, on the other hand, is a fool.”

“This is about the box, isn’t it?”

“Did I say anything about a box?”

“Yeah,” I said, “back outside the hospital.” Something he was apparently hoping I’d forgotten.

“You’ll want to use your element of surprise for the short window of time that it still exists,” he recommended, redirecting the conversation.

“Right,” I said, turning to leave the way I came in. “Hey, as long as you’re being so helpful, do you know what ‘SOC’ means?”

“When is murder not homicide?”

“When people annoy me. I’ve heard this one already.”

“Then you should go.”

“I don’t suppose anyone’s going to find any trace of this…mess.”

“That would be unlikely,” Tony said.

“Well, thoughtful of you to tidy up, I suppose.”

“Tosh, old chap. No bother at all.”

“Good that you…enjoy your work.”

“Well, you can’t have a slaughter without laughter.”

“Right,” I said. “OK, I’m out of here.”

In the distance, on the stairs, I saw a woman in a private eye trench coat (standard issue) and a private eye hat (also, standard issue). I caught a glimpse of long, black hair and a semi-automatic pistol as she turned and ran up the stairs. I couldn’t blame her. She did what anyone in a right frame of mind should’ve done. I was still carrying a lot of anger and I didn’t want to keep Ferrari waiting too long. It was time to go make a mess in his penthouse. Meanwhile, I would be being watched. That would have to keep till another day.

16398--In Warm Blood (Ch. 12)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.
In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 12

I was awake. My brain felt like a plate of scrambled eggs, but I was awake. It was gonna be one of those nights. That was the last time I trusted a smart blonde. Of course, the odds of my ever running into a second one were pretty slim.

I started to blink the blur from my eyes, but the view didn’t get any better. The line-up went from bad to worse. I saw a few of the goons from my burning apartment building, some kind of giant hanging back in the shadows and my host, Pietro Ferrari. I struggled to my feet, asking, “Is this the Liebowitz bar mitzvah?”

“Forever clever, Mr. Stone,” Ferrari responded. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. Take a chair.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I misplaced my apartment recently, so decorating’s really not a major priority right now.”

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.

I felt like I had everything except my .44 and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep standing, anyway, so I decided not to fight about it. “Where’s the blonde?”

“Guilty,” the shadowy hulk said in a deep, rumble of a voice. I could make out a large hand on the end of a really long arm reaching up to take a pipe out of his mouth as he spoke. “I suppose there might’ve been easier ways to get you here, but none that shared such a balance of relative painlessness and efficiency.”

“Right,” I said, still clearing my head. “Well, you do what you have to do. And you did get me to Ferrari.”

“Graciously understanding of you,” the giant said. “Good form, old man.”

“So, with a group like this,” I said, “somebody must be in trouble, huh?”

“We could look at the situation that way, Stone,” Ferrari said. “Or we could consider that we two are in a position to help each other into more beneficial stations.”

“After all the effort you’ve put into having people try to kill me?” I asked him. “I’d hate to see you throw all that away.”

“For you? Fuhgeddaboutit. It wasn’t no effort at all.”

“And now we’re here,” I said. “Something really interesting must’ve happened during my nap to make you decide that I didn’t have to be dead for you to be happy.”

“Your persuasive…friend,” Ferrari said, gesturing toward the pipe-puffing giant, “suggested that you might have other uses above ground.”

“Such flattery,” I said with a sneer, “I don’t know where to even begin. What sort of a deal did you have in that dark little mind? And I ask that knowing that your favorite hobbies include tossing coins off the roof and torturing small animals, so I‘m really on the edge of my seat over here.” I was pretty sure the handbook recommended keeping the bad guys talking. So many of them loved talking about themselves and their clever plans. Nothing was ever enough for these egomaniacs.

“Nothing unreasonable, I assure you,” Ferrari said with a smile and a disturbing chuckle. “Drink? Smoke?”

“Pass.” The handbook was extra-wordy about getting something for nothing and not making deals with bad guys.

“Very well then,” he went on, leaning forward to his desk and his bourbon. “What sort of needs do you have?”

“Swimming pools, friendly women and a laundry detergent that’ll get out blood stains,” I told him. I heard a few chuckles around the room, Ferrari’s men taking their cues from him. “That’s just for starters, of course. I assume you’ll be wanting me to skip court next week.”

“That’s a given, yes,” Ferrari replied. “Hey, I can’t blame you for taking advantage of opportunities. My man left a briefcase behind in a cab--”

“Toilet.”

“Alright, then, he’s already dead, either way,” Ferrari said. “Anyway, you learned what you learned. Sure, I’d have blown your car up, but my mechanic was deported.”

“You had me wondering.”

“Well, setbacks aside,” he continued, “there’s no reason we shouldn’t be sensible.”

“Sensible? You’ve got an office like this and you want to talk about sensible?” I asked him. “This place is huge. You must have a ridiculous decorating budget.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I don’t like to brag.”

“Why bother? You got these guys for that,” I told him. He laughed even harder. “And that mirror…Wow.”

“Ah, yes,” Ferrari said, seemingly proud that I’d noticed the huge item that took up so much of the wall. “Eight feet tall and eight feet wide, made from hand-blown glass with a gold and bronze frame. Look at the detailed work on the frame. It’s a work of art all its own, nearly three hundred years old.”

Yeah, no ego problems there. Some people had a wall of books in their office. Ferrari had a wall of Look at me! to keep him company. As if the blood red velvet carpet wasn’t distracting enough.

“Come on, Stone. I can see you have a taste for finer things,” Ferrari said, holding out a welcoming hand to me. “Be smart. We can deal, no?”

“Let’s see…wealth, power, Bermuda…Oh, right! I’ll need you to start restoring life to the people you’ve killed, well-being to the people you’ve hurt, freedom to the ones you’ve kidnapped and enslaved--”

“Shut him up!” Ferrari shouted, shattering his glass against his heavy oak desk. “You just said good-bye to oxygen! You’re dead, Stone! You’re dead!”

“Well, at least you stopped being so damned polite about all this,” I said, standing up as the goons moved in to flank me. “I was about to start feeling bad about putting you to all the trouble of rubbing me out.”

“And I was starting to think you had a brain under that hat,” Ferrari said. “You’re pissing away everything. In a half-hour, you’re gonna be under a train.”

“You’re gonna fry out at Wardenclyffe, so I‘d say it‘s a good enough trade. In fact, I heard that Tesla and his mad science buddies are trying to find a way to run enough electricity through your evil butt so even they can‘t bring you back anymore.” At that point, I was pretty sure I heard him growl.

“Such a shame,” the giant said, moving from beside Ferrari and heading toward the door of the crime lord’s sprawling office…den…lair…whatever. “I thought you might’ve had a future. Good luck,” he said, still puffing smoke as he left.

“Hey, thanks for all the help,” I said. “Drive safely.”

“He was talking to me,” Ferrari said.

“Oh, no doubt,” I told him. “You’re gonna need the luck.” Then, I was sure I heard him growl.

“You,” he said to the goon on my left, holding out my beloved .44 to the clumsy mouth-breather in the new suit, “take this and put it on the body after he’s dead.”

“Sure thing, boss,” New Suit assured him. “You want us to use the portal?” he asked, gesturing toward the fancy mirror.

Ferrari pulled open a desk drawer and brought out the magic rod I’d played with back in the alley. He held it up and looked it over for a few seconds before announcing, “Yeah, the sooner he‘s gone the better.”

“Right, the chaos magic. I hadn’t pegged you for a regular user,” I said. “Or are you just that prone to extremes?”

“You kiddin’ me, Stone?” Ferrari laughed. “This is the Wayfarer’s Arcanum.”

“Oooh, big words for you, Ferrari,” I said, “but it doesn’t ring any bells.”

“You got a lot to learn, Stone, but sadly little time left.”

Ferrari buttoned his suit jacket as he stood and then walked around the desk with his black magic stick. As he approached the mirror, he ran a hand over his dark hair and adjusted his tie. “Not that I don’t appreciate the attention to detail, but can you really not resist preening?” I asked him. He just looked at me with a grim sneer and tapped one end of the rod to the mirror three times.

The surface of the mirror rippled like a pond and Ferrari started to walk forward into it as he commanded, “Let’s go, boys.” With two goons in front of me and two more giving me a shove from behind, five of us followed Pietro Ferrari through the looking glass and into…surprise-surprise, a mirror version of Ferrari’s office that didn’t smell of smoke. It looked like he was using it largely for storage and there was something distinctly different about the air.

“Air’s flat,” I said. “You might want to get a few plants in here.”

“Shut it, Stone,” New Suit said.

“Bring him,” Ferrari said, walking straight out the office door and into a blackness beyond.

As we all gathered in the blackness, I noticed a line of mirrors like the one in Ferrari’s office. They were arranged as though suspended on an invisible wall, one beside another stretching off…I couldn’t tell how far. The dark lacked reference points. Such was life.

To what I perceived to be my left, the featureless black gave way to stony floor and the light of a blazing fire. The fire burned in an open-topped blacksmith’s forge that stood about three feet tall. Not far from the forge, a slender man, his skin sweaty and gray, stood diligently working over a sturdy, cluttered table. His head was wrapped up like a pirate‘s, but I could see pointy ears amidst strands of white hair that spilled out from under the head rag.

“Smith!” Ferrari called out, the dark elf standing straight and tall in response.

“Who’s the smith?” I asked New Suit.

“Teng Rovo…something,” New Suit whispered back.

“Passing through again,” the tall elf said as he walked toward Ferrari. He looked to be nearly seven feet tall as he passed the crime boss and proceeded on to the line of mirrors. Teng took the rod from Ferrari, asking, “How am I supposed to work like this?”

“Get me where I‘m going and we‘re out of your way,” Ferrari told him. “South Riverside Train Station.”

“I’m a craftsman,” Teng said, walking to another mirror and touching select runes as he moved. “Why do I let you bother me with such trivialities?”

“I pay you,” Ferrari said, following closely, “and supply your experiments.”

“You’re worse than the last one,” Teng told him. “What was his name?”

“Frost,” Ferrari said. “He was weak and now he’s dead.”

Frost. That was a name I knew. I was feeling enlightened as to how these thugs had built their empires so elusively.

The mirror, distinguished from the others only by the fact that it was in front of the drow elf, lit up and began to ripple as moving images appeared within. Teng very deliberately reversed the rod, turning it to put the opposite end from the one he’d been holding into Ferrari’s hand. “Go,” he said, returning to his work.

“You heard him,” Ferrari said. “Go!”

“Ain’t we taking the rod, boss?” New Suit asked. “We gotta get back.”

“Take a cab,” Ferrari said, turning to head back to his mirror office door.

I started to laugh as the muscle ushered me to the door.

“What’s so funny, Stone? Your mind finally snap on you?” Ferrari asked.

“You make me laugh, boss man,” I told him. “If this is the best you can do, you’re more desperate than even you realize. Look at all the trouble you’ve had with just me, one guy. You should seriously consider another line of work. I’m not sure you’re cut out for this. If you really knew how to use that thing, you‘d have made yourself disappear by now.”

“Out!”

“Don’t worry,” I told him, “after I ditch these guys, I’ll be back and we can finish up…just you and me. Don‘t go anywhere.”

“Move it, Stone,” one of the goons said, shoving me through the shadow portal.

　

16391--In Warm Blood (Ch. 11)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 11

After a few hours in the hospital, Overknight was declared stable despite the impressive amount of blood she’d left in my car. They told me she’d probably be sleeping till morning. I convinced a couple of cops to guard her until her boss could get there. I also left a message for him that I’d gone out to play in traffic and that he should do the same.

I would’ve liked to keep an eye on Overknight myself and I was sure Cross and Peace would’ve preferred I’d stayed put, too, if I’d given them any say in it. Unfortunately, my rugged manliness was distracting too many of the ladies on-staff. Plus, my staying could’ve ended up drawing more heat where it didn’t need to be. Instead, I’d decided to test my theory that shooting galleries would be less popular if the targets shot back. I was very interested in getting Ferrari’s feedback on the subject.

It was starting to rain again. I flipped my collar up and decided to seek out a bartender I knew who usually seemed to be well-informed. It was a short drive from the hospital and there was a parking garage where I could get the Charger out of sight.

Then, as I walked toward the car, I saw a figure shuffling from a shadow. My hand moved for my .44 even as my eyes tried to focus on what seemed to be a hulking form, but then I realized was…about five-six and curvy. The lightning and the meager street lights revealed “Lana?” Some trick of the dark and the rain, I thought.

“Hi, Brick,” she said in her usual velvet tone as she approached.

It was Lana du Free, one of the smarter blondes I knew. I wasn’t usually a fan of odd coincidences. “Funny, I was just thinking I should come to see you. Funnier still, for a second I thought you were seven feet tall.”

“That is weird,” she said. “I’ve never been mistaken for more than six-five. Did you need a drink or info?”

“Both, gorgeous, but what’re you doing out here, especially on a night like this?”

“Well, I was looking for you, of course,” she smiled, continuing to walk with me toward my car. “That can wait, though. What did you need to ask me about, Brick?”

“Somewhere out there, Pietro Ferrari is violating bail, offending decency and making his mother cry. I need to find out where he’s hiding.”

“Well, of course you do, Brick,” Lana said. “With a guy like that gunning for you, who could expect you to do anything different? Certainly, you can’t let him keep you from finding the Unknown Box.”

“Yeah, he…The what? The box? How do you know about the box?” She laughed and did that hair-tossy thing I had seen her do a hundred times before.

“Silly, that’s nothing to worry about right now. Let me see what I can do to get you together with Ferrari.” She reached out a comforting hand, saying, “Then, that’ll be one less thing you have to take care of.”

“Thanks, Lana, I…I…” Ow! Felt some kind of sting…or…

“What’s wrong, Brick?”

“Feel…dizzy…hot…” My head was pounding. “…weak…” What was happening? What had she done? I couldn’t even reach for my gun again. I probably couldn’t have held it if I…I felt the ground hit me in the head.

“Oh, poor tough guy,” I heard her laugh, but it sounded deep and distorted.

My blurry vision was going dark as I felt her lift me from the ground and hoist me over her shoulder. She was stronger than I’d thought. Well, if she was going to hold a grudge over a few hundred “dumb blonde” jokes, she had definitely blown her next tip.

16384--In Warm Blood (Ch. 10)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

 

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 10
 

I didn’t expect Heliopolis would be easy to penetrate. Her killer deserved as much of a chance as he’d given to Whitney: to not see me coming at him. I needed time to plan how I was going after White. Home seemed like the best place for that, even with the kiddie cops. Despite his name, Homer got lost three times on the drive. We stopped for some take-out and I drove us back to my building. I parked in the underground garage.

“Why are we parking down here, Brick?” Homer asked.

“I don’t like being bothered with getting in and out of here usually, but this way we have a better chance of not being seen.”

“Increased odds of making it to sunrise sounds good to me,” Overknight offered. “Homer, if you go on ahead and make sure it’s clear, we’ll follow with the pizzas.”

“I’ll send the elevator back down,” Homer said.

“You getting cautious in your old age?” I asked.

“DeBrave goes by-the-book. If you want to reach old age,” she said, “just let us do our job, Brick.”

“I’m not stopping you,” I said. “Ferrari signed on with the forces of evil a long time ago. Bombs and mayhem are the man’s style. They’re what he knows. On the up side, it makes him predictable.”

“Yeah, but he’s known for car bombs, Brick,” Overknight said. “He’s got a guy who specializes in it.”

“How nice that must be for him. Some people just drift, never knowing where their true talents lie.” The elevator didn’t take long to come back down, so we started the ride up to meet Homer. About halfway up to my floor, there was a thunderous rumble. The elevator shuddered and the lights flickered. Overknight and I looked at each other. I reached for my gun.

“We’ve got to stop the elevator, Brick!” she shouted, dropping the pizzas and lunging for the control panel. “I’ve got to get you out of here!”

“No way,” I told her, blocking the panel of buttons. “We can’t just leave Homer behind, especially not when we‘re already on the way up.”

“Our job is to protect you,” she demanded. “He knew the job was dangerous when he took it, remember? You’re supposed to be cooperating, remember?”

“Not with the bad guys,” I told her. “If you want to protect me, get your gun out and clear your head because I’m going to check on your partner.”

“Brick--”

“Don’t try talking me out of it,” I said. “Dinner’s already a bust. Now I’ve got an appetite for action.”

“Fine,” she said, staring coldly at the doors as she pulled her pistol. “Just don’t be a wuss and die on me.”

The look in her eyes, on her face, said that she was ready to kill. We were about to hit my floor when I asked, “You sure you’re ready to rumble?”

“Fine time to ask,” she said. “Yeah, I‘m ready, Brick. Let‘s bring the pain.”

“Anytime.“ The doors slid open. Sprinklers were pouring their icy rain down into the smoky hallway. Emergency lights and flickering flames were our only help as we kept low and approached my apartment. Alarm bells rang in the distance as I told her, “Stay low and sharp.”

“I know my job!” she snapped back. “You’re not my first dance partner, Brick.”

We reached the flaming hole that used to be my new door. We also saw what was left of Homer amongst the charred rubble.

“Bastards! Alright,” Overknight said, grabbing my coat sleeve, “Homer’s beyond help and we need to get out of here. You have any neighbors we need to help get out?”

“My neighbors? No, they’ve learned to keep their heads down when the loud noises start.”

“Which way are the stairs?” she asked.

Ironically, the stairwell door opened just then and a goon squad started pouring into the hall with guns blazing. “Down!” I told Overknight, knocking her to the floor as I returned fire. She started shooting back along with me, but it was pretty clear that we were outgunned.

“Give it up, Stone! Make it easy on yourselves!”

I couldn‘t fault their strong negotiating position, just their logic. “Forget it, punk!” I snapped back at him. “Cowardice sickens me and I don’t even know how to surrender. Brick Stone is not French!”

“You’re going down!” someone else shouted, opening fire from the opposite end of the hallway.

Through the smoke, I saw one of the walls rippling like water as men with guns charged through it and into the hall. We had been outflanked with another shadow portal, just like in the alley. Then Overknight took a bullet in the shoulder and dropped her gun. As she picked up the gun with her left hand, I hit her with a tackle that sent us tumbling to the floor just inside my apartment. Another second and the weakened floor collapsed, dropping us into the apartment below what was left of mine. Whoever’s it was, it looked like they had just become as homeless as I had. Above us, the sounds of shooting continued.

“Ow,” Overknight moaned. “Not sure what hurt worse: getting shot, tackled or the fall. Is the building collapsing?”

“Just a little. Some fun, huh?” I asked her. “I don’t think they’ve realized they’re shooting at their own guys yet.”

“What’s your next brilliant move?” she asked me.

“Well, salvaging my security deposit’s a lost cause, so I get you to the hospital,” I told her, helping her to her feet. “Hold your hand over that hole and try not to go into shock.” She was losing a lot of blood. We had to move fast.

“Somebody has to watch your back,” she said as we staggered to the elevator. “Ferrari’s obviously gotten desperate.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I told her. “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s leaking. People who hang around me have a nasty habit of having bad things happen to them.”

“Yeah, me, too, but we knew the job was dangerous--”

“No, I’m going to go share the misfortune with Ferrari,” I said. “After I take care of you, I’m going to go find him and watch bad things happen to him.”

“What?” she asked as we started back down to the garage in the elevator.

“Oh, no, your hearing’s going. I said--”

“No, Brick,” she insisted. “You were right: you can‘t just go after Ferrari! It’s suicide!”

“Overknight…Jen, what happened to all that fire and spunk? I can take care of myself…and Ferrari, too.”

“Let Cross handle it, Brick,” she said weakly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“One little scratch and you start sounding all wussy,” I told her. “I’d watch that if I were you. You’ll make people start to wonder if you’re just all talk.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “You mean, they might confuse me for you?”

“You should be so lucky.” She hadn’t lost her sense of humor, but that wasn’t keeping her from getting as pale as Whitney. By the time I got her to my car, she was barely conscious. The Charger’s tires screamed and the engine roared as we sped back out into the city streets.

16377--In Warm Blood (Ch. 9)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 9

Down on the south side, the security on the front door of The Griffin was diligent and made the entry line long and slow. Rather than bother with the mass of lemmings that dragged themselves out to drink and dance the night away, we entered through the stage door at the rear of the building. Blending in with some of the people going in the back was simple. Once we mixed in, acting like we belonged backstage got us to where we needed to be. We had to push through lots of people that seemed to be oblivious to getting in anyone else’s way. There were young and old, pretty and tough-looking, colorful and grungy, which I think were the ones responsible for the stronger smells, but we did get there: the dressing room of a band called “Once Upon a Time.” “OUT is in” their fans liked to chant.

Homer got to the door first and chose to knock then enter, rather than kick the door in or let me kick the door in. Once again, my teachings went unlearned. It saddened me a little and I sighed as Overknight and I followed him in. We walked into an odd mix of new smells. Looking around, I could see it was the smoke from different incenses and cigarettes that made my nostrils sting, but it seemed to counter the smells from outside the room.

There were a couple of assistants, working on whatever their tasks were, while the other two guys and three girls seemed to be more relaxed as they looked at themselves in mirrors or checked their guitars or tapped drumsticks or talked about their upcoming show. I couldn’t tell who was ready to go onstage and who wasn’t. Obviously, the three of us stood out from them as much as they looked different from us. After all, they were supposed to be “The Realm’s Most Dangerous Band” according to all their posters.

“Hey, who called for an order of cops?” the guy with the drumsticks asked as I shut the door behind us.

“I ordered Chinese, man,” one of the guitarists said.

“Good evening,” Homer said, flashing his badge. “We just have a few questions that should only take a few minutes and we can get out of your way again.”

“Be quick, man. We’re on in fifteen.”

“Fifteen? That’s barely enough time to finish these off,” one of the guitar players proclaimed, holding up a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Grab some glasses, officers. Help us out.”

“It wasn’t me, chief. I got an alibi.”

“She said she was seventeen, I swear!” another guitarist said, letting the first refill his glass.

Funny bunch. “Robin Diana Wilson,” I said with a little more volume and authority.

“Oooooh,” a few of them chanted.

“Sounds like trouble for the girl wonder,” one of the band’s girls taunted the one beside her.

“I guess that would make you her,” I said to the brunette sitting in the barber chair with her back to the mirror.

“No need for all that,” she said, downing the rest of her drink and handing the glass to her hair stylist. “You don’t look nuthin’ like my daddy. He was th’only one in the habit of usin’ all three, and then only when he was riled.”

“But it is your name,” Homer confirmed.

“Robin Elektra now,” she said.

“They must not be fans, Robin.”

“You came into The City on a work visa as a musician, what, five years ago?” Homer continued to probe.

“Yeah, from north Texas,” she responded. “What of it? You came here to take surveys at the mall and look at you now: asking big boy questions. Your parents must be so proud.”

“Alright, look,” I stepped in, “we don’t have five years for Homer to catch up to current events and get to the point of this.”

“Awww and I was just starting to have fun,” Elektra said, pushing out her full lower lip in a mock pout as she finished.

“I’m sure you were,” I said, “that’s rock and roll, but one of my ass pains is that I need to find Stark White. One of yours is me until you get me heading in the right direction.”

She laughed and said, “I agree, he is an ass pain. He must’ve stolen something really pricey this time. Let me guess: something rare and magical.”

“Yeah, a woman’s life,” I said, shoving Whitney‘s amethyst pendant into her hand. “He ambushed her with a sniper rifle and a magic bullet and shot her down in the street.”

“Holy shit,” Elektra whispered as the room got even quieter. She stared down at the Monarch’s Hope, sparkling in her supple hands. “I..I guess he’s finally lost it. He’s been a selfish piece of crap for years…but I never thought…I never thought he’d go that far.” Elektra was getting more agitated, sitting there shaking her head in disbelief as she stared into the purple light. Her deep red lips trembled. “Hell, I even thought he might straighten out and become a decent guy one day, but…”

“It looks like this is news has become upsetting for you,“ I said. I had learned that sometimes it could be helpful in an interrogation to act sympathetic. “It’d probably help you feel better if you just start spewing info…and then we can bounce and you can go do your little show.”

“Hang on,” she said, holding out a hand to one of the young men on the far side of the large dressing room. “Covenant, can you hit me with the Divinity?”

“Sure, Rob,” he said, opening his hand to let an oddly shaped liquor bottle levitate across the room to her.

“Divinity?” Homer asked. “Draught of the Divinity--”

“Turn your head, stiff,” Elektra said firmly, “or wait outside. You want my help or not?”

“Let this one go, Homer, OK?” Overknight asked her grumbling partner. “Murder investigation. We‘re prioritizing.”

“I-I knew he…was getting worse…,” she said, taking a swig of the blue intoxicant with one hand and wiping hot tears from her cheek with the other. “Back when he first showed up around dad’s saloon, he just seemed like another guy that wanted to make a buck and get into my pants.”

“And you fell in love and--”

“Y’know, I never did,” Elektra told us. “Dad and I loved music. It’s got a magic all its own. It touches hearts and souls,“ she said, crying some more as she handed the Monarch’s Hope back to me. “Dad tried to explain that to him, but the fool could never feel that. Still, he got obsessed with the idea of chasing down magic and using it to make his life better. He took off to squeeze whatever he could out of the world. After dad died, it was just me. I finally let the saloon go and let my love for music bring me here. Lucky me, the last guy I ever wanted to see again had already beat me here.”

One of her friends handed her a tissue.

“Last time he got pinched, though, he called you,” Homer said. “He called a lot. What’s he to you?”

“He’s no friend of mine,” Elektra said firmly.

“Obviously,” Overknight said, “they used to date.”

“Hey, she’s good,” Elektra said. “It was only two dates, oh, no…one. He dropped in on me while I was at lunch once, ate half my food and said he owed me dinner, so we went out once. You guys should let her talk more. She‘s sharp.”

“We have to pay her by the word,” I said. “Keep going.”

“Yeah, well, my would-be boyfriend’s real name is Matt Stark and he called me way too much,” Elektra confirmed. “Fortunately, I realized years ago that he was a greedy SOB with

zero soul. All he ever cared about people was what he could get out of them for himself. I never knew him as more than a conniving weasel. He’d lie and steal to get whatever caught his eye, but if he’s started killing people…wow…Anyway, I finally went downtown to tell them to put him someplace with no phones…or lights. That’s when I found out about the new name and the newfound ambition. He cooled his heels for a while, but he did a favor for somebody connected while he was in, so--”

“He exploited it to become a bigger bad guy when he got out,” I said. “He probably started working for one of the rising bosses. He‘s definitely fast-tracked way beyond petty theft.”

“Yeah, the next time I saw him,” Elektra said, “he’d ditched the Harley, the boots, the denim and had started doing dirtier deeds to build bigger piles of money. He was trying to show-off with a gold limo, cash, shinies and a suit worth more than his narrow ass. He still turned my stomach, though, so I took that as a strong sign to send him on his way again.”

“Any idea where he went when you sent him off?” I asked.

“Or maybe he mentioned whose organization he’d joined?” Homer asked.

“No on the who,” Elektra said. “As for where, he bragged about a great view. He offered a phone number…He offered a lot of things, but I didn‘t want anything more to do with him. He was still obsessed with magic. He still wanted my dad‘s old harmonica,” she said, holding up a polished brass and chrome harmonica, “but neither of us would ever let him have it.”

“I see,” I said.

“Brick, doesn’t Heliopolis use gold limos?” Overknight asked me.

“Heliopolis…Yeah,” I said, “that’d fit. It’s one of the tallest luxury hotel casinos in town. That‘d account for the great view worth bragging about.”

“A crooked casino with housing for organized criminals,” Homer said.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” I told him. “I’m sure you’d have lost money in an honest casino, too, Homey.”

“Hey, I’ve got a system!” Homer protested.

“Anyway, that sounds like a good place to look for him next. Thanks for the time and the help. Have a good show.”

“You want to show your gratitude?” Elektra asked, her voice turning grim. “Find a way to put that dog down before he hurts anyone else and we‘ll call it even.”

“I promise you, White’s high on my priority list,” I said. “His time’s been running out since he put a hole in somebody close to me.”

“Oh,” Elektra said softly, sympathy in her eyes, “I’m sorry I hadn‘t realized. The girl he shot…you two were close?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “She was standing right next to me. Now, come on, you two. We’ve got a busy night ahead.”

16370--In Warm Blood (Ch. 8)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 8

I was almost starting to enjoy having been saddled with an entourage, probably because my escorts had become distinctively useful. Without them I would’ve had to bribe my way into the morgue or wait till Monday to check on Heather Morgan’s body. On top of that, I wouldn’t have to jump through hoops to get access to the medical examiner’s report and, if that ended up being inconclusive, any of the findings of the supplemental examinations that were determined to be warranted. How hard it would be to get the supplemental reports could depend on a lot of factors, from the weather to the time of the month or what kind of mood any of the examiners (psychic, alchemist, wizard) happened to be in that day. I probably wouldn’t even have to bribe the night morgue attendant, who I was pretty sure was one of the undead vampire minions of the medical examiner. It was almost refreshing to have the kiddie cops removing obstacles rather than being obstacles.

“Well, Heaven?” Overknight probed of the very pale, vaguely Asian woman. “Anything to report?”

“Please, we’ve just met,” the morgue attendant said, coldness in her voice and her dark eyes.

I didn’t usually find the pretense of such formality lurking under pink-striped hair. People in clerical positions using customer needs to squeeze extra respect out of a situation, though, that I found a lot. She wasn’t picking up a bribe for doing her job, so I figured it was no big deal to give in on the formality thing.

“Our apologies, Miss Lee,” I said. “We’re really trying to put some pieces of a case together.”

“I understand,” the morgue attendant said from behind her clipboard. “It’s really a simple concept: you have your job and I have mine. At this point, mine is to say that I can‘t help you.”

“We really need to view that body,” Overknight insisted.

“And I can’t help you with that,” Lee firmly told us again.

“What’s the problem?” I asked her. ’Is there some form we need to fill out or--?”

“I can’t show you the body because it’s not here,” she explained. “It never was. I have a Jack Morgan, but no Heather. I’m even out of Jane Does.”

“You’re sure she’s dead?” Lee asked. “Lotsa folks in this town aren’t as dead as some folks think they are.”

“True,” I conceded, “the body counts do get a little tricky from time to time, but I put this one down myself. She wasn’t moving again under her own power.”

“Anyone else you might want to see that you think could help?” Lee asked.

“You got a weasel-looking guy named Grayson?” I asked Miss Lee.

“Yeah, he’s full of holes,” Lee said.

“That’s the one,” I confirmed. “We don’t need to see him. Glad he’s here, though.”

“But not as glad as if we could see the other,” Overknight said.

“Well, they should’ve all come in together,” I explained.

“So you’re maintaining that her absence means either someone carried her off or magicked her off?” Overknight asked.

“Pretty much, yeah.,” I replied. “I do know how to put holes in people.”

“Great,” morgue girl said, “are we done playing cher chez la femme here?”

“Here, yes,” I answered. “Thanks for your time, Miss Lee.”

“You may call me ‘Heaven’,” she said, sliding a business card into my shirt pocket. “I saw you in the newspapers. It looked like you’re into some wild stuff. You should call me.”

I sighed.   It was like being haunted by myself.

“I might have a lead,” Homer said, coming into the morgue’s examining room.

“Do tell,” Overknight said.

“I just got off the phone with a friend over at Central Records,” Homer said. “We were having an informative chat about…the other lead…your sniper.”

“Stark White. Great,” I said. “We should talk about that in the car.”

16366--The Countdown Has Begun

The clock is ticking.  Brick Stone doesn't take a lot of things in Life too seriously.  One thing he does hold dear is his .44 Magnum, so in its honor I've put 44 hours on the big countdown clock.

What're we counting down to?  This time, we're counting down to winning a prize.  To enter yourself to win: leave a comment in answer to the question "What sort of a hero is Brick Stone, anyway?"

Sounds like a contest to me.  Make sure to leave your email address with your comment because the prize is an ebook.

Chosen from among the commenters, some clever soul is going to receive a copy of "The Official Private Eye Handbook".  The countdown ends at midnight on Monday, August 1, so don't dawdle.

16363--In Warm Blood (Ch. 7)

Happy Thursday. To help keep my own feet to the fire, I'm using Thursday as my public accountability day. That means, posting a bit of coherently creative output for you to read and feedback on every week. If I perform according to my own intent, what I put here will be available as a whole elsewhere at the same time or shortly after appearing here.

In Warm Blood is currently available as a part of The Official Private Eye Handbook, first book in the CITY OF MAGICK series.  Please, feel free to take a look here, though, and at subsequent chapters. Let me know how you feel about it.  For those of you finding your way here relatively late, no problem. The start of the story is just a click away.

IN WARM BLOOD

Chapter 7

Circe ran a stylish nightclub called Aeaea, just a few blocks off midtown. There were lots of Greek columns and the furniture was made of marble and wood with throw pillows and tapestries. Red, green and gold colors dominated the sprawling room and the customers were definitely from the dressier set. A night’s entertainment in Aeaea was unquestionably out of my usual price range, but I was having a good week.

With the kiddie cops, flanking me, I had to grease the doorman with two full sovereigns. Once we were inside, the ambiance of the place hit me like a slap in the face from an angry dame. The air was a heady mix of scents--wines, perfumes, sweat--with a soft jazz band backing up a sultry songbird on the stage. Most of the customers were taking in the show with the only ones making competitive noise huddled in shrouded booths. The tables in a couple of booths were hosting card games. Tarot readings were going on in another. The booth beyond that sounded like someone was running a spirited dice game.

“Hey, big man,” an inebriated young woman greeted me as she grabbed onto my arm, “you look like you need to loosen up a little.” She giggled as she pulled me toward a curtained doorway, “Come on! We’ve got what you’re looking for right in here. A little Draught of the Divinity? Quaff of the Kraken? Journeyman’s Potion? Yeah, that‘s the one. It‘ll send you tripping hard.”

“Stone?” Overknight asked after me, pulling on my other arm. “What’re you doing?”

“What I came here for,” I said.

“She just offered you three illegal substances,” Homer said. “Are they serving mind-altering drinks in that room?”

“Keep on counting, boy scout,” I told him. “I imagine they have at least a few more rules they’re breaking.” As we stepped through the translucent silk curtain, I saw a trio gathered around a silver-trimmed, glass hookah. I tapped the nearest man on the shoulder and asked, “What’s burning tonight?”

“Unspeakable Serenity,” he laughed as he waited for his turn to smoke again.

“Is that legal?” Homer asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Easy, Homer,” Overknight said. “Breathe.”

“Not in here,” Homer said sternly.

“Look over there, man,“ I pointed out a few others giggling a few feet away. “Is that Monstrous Nothing?”

“I think it’s Frost and Burning Desire,” Overknight said.

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but I think I saw Homer’s forehead veins start to throb intensely. I walked towards a semi-circular couch with a group of men and girls seated around a low stone table. Some of the revelers were seated or slumped on the couch, a couple on the floor, none of them fully dressed and all of them looking exceedingly dazed.

“Stone, what’re you--?”

“What have we here?” I asked the dizzy couch potatoes.

“Oh, this?” one of the men said, looking to the table and gesturing toward the iridescent purple crystal balls resting on a serving tray. “Just…doin’ a little orb, officer.” The group giggled uncontrollably.

“Yeah,” one of the women said dreamily, holding another of the glowing spheres in her lap, “just…just…orb. Yay.”

“No, that’s doing a little orb,” Overknight said, pointing at the purple sphere. “That,” she said, pointing to an iridescent gold sphere in the lap of one of the girls on the floor, “is a Golden Orb of Temptations.”

That caught Homer’s attention.

“What?“ Homer asked fiercely, suddenly at my other shoulder. “Golden orb is banned across the entire plane and these two blissed out little honeys look like they’d still be underage even if I added their ages together.”

“Let’s see some ID, girls,” Overknight commanded.

“I’d be surprised if they can move,” I said.

“I bet my bra’s older than either one of them,” Overknight said. “Excuse me, Brick. You and you, move over to that side of the couch. You--”

“OK, you two amuse yourselves here,” I said, turning to head back to the club’s main room. “I still need to talk with the boss, so try to give me about twenty minutes before you shut the place down.”

I went scouting on my own, getting a little distance from my escorts. Aeaea had a reputation as a place that had to be on any list of places to check if you were looking for a missing person. You couldn’t honestly say you’d made a thorough search until you’d checked at Aeaea. The person I was looking for hadn’t been reported missing, though. In fact, she liked to make sure people knew where she could be found.

“Circe,” I said, approaching the spicy Mediterranean dish. She was doing her usual bit: floating just a few inches off the floor in a few yards of sheer white silk that looked like it was trying to float off her body as much as it was avoiding gravity. Her clothes swirled around her like she was a nymph dancing underwater with hypnotic grace. Like the sea, Circe’s ancient talents for toying with and destroying any man fool enough to disrespect her mysteries and powers were not to be forgotten. “How can so much fabric cover so little flesh? I mean, that must be some powerful spell.”

If nothing else, no one could say Circe didn‘t keep an interesting staff. The first one that came at me was Arlo. He was a cross between a man and I didn‘t know what, but it did still have hair. He had lots of hair. She wouldn‘t tell, but I’d always thought that maybe Circe had found a way to make a guard from hair. “Bad career move, Arlo.“ I caught him by the wrist and hand he had grabbed me with. He was heavy and slower than he needed to be. It didn’t take much effort to send his mass flying across a couple of tables with crashing and clattering furniture and dishes. The upscale crowd didn’t seem to miss a moment of enjoying their evening. They were accustomed to ignoring the help. The second guard looked kind of scaly.

“Virgil! Heel!” Circe commanded sharply.

Virgil hissed at me but obeyed his mistress. “That’ll buff right out,” I said, nodding at Arlo and his mess.

“Brick Stone,” she said in a sultry, voice that I’d seen melt men before. “What’re you doing in here, besides disturbing the peace of my oasis of entertainment?”

I had her attention, anyway, I knew, watching her turn in the air like a ballet dancer, abandoning her routine circuit of flirting her way through the customers without even an “Excuse me.” Well, if nothing else, she wrote the book on being a doxy with moxie, so she knew they‘d put up with her and come back for more. That was part of the allure of her power. “You met with Jack Morgan a few days ago.”

“It never ends. Why do people like you always come to me in search of the lost?” she asked, the icy stare from her pale eyes trying to pierce the armor of my private eye trench coat (standard issue).

“You mean, besides your vast wisdom?” I asked. “You draw men like ice cream trucks draw eight-year-olds, sweetness.”

“Why, Mr. Stone,” Circe said, taking my hand and leading me to her private booth, “I do believe you’ve added flattery to the amalgamation of your charms.”

Someone had obviously invested in a word-a-day calendar. A single candle flickered at the center of the round table, pushing back some of the shadow that shrouded us. “It would’ve been ungentlemanly of me to lead off the conversation by talking about your reputation.”

“Indeed,“ she said, her tone momentarily colder. “People do come here just to have a good time, you know.”

“It’s the ones who don’t leave that become a concern. There‘s a rumor going around that you have sirens up on the stage to lure men in here.”

“My darling, men are far from complicated. Merely having women here would be enough to bring men here,” she explained as she waved a hand at somebody and set in motion a flurry of servers. Our tabletop was suddenly covered with an assortment of dishes, sporting bread, cheeses, oil, honey, wine and meat. “If not that, then alcohol and moderate quality food. Aeaea offers all three.”

“Well, there’s a marketing campaign if I ever heard one,” I said. “I wasn‘t staying for dinner.”

“This is just an appetizer, darling,” Circe explained, dipping some bread in both oil and honey. “Be my guest.”

“I had a late lunch with friends, actually, but thanks.”

She paused slightly and forced a smile. “You still won’t break bread with me after all these years? I’m crushed.”

She was lying. No matter how many years all her magics let her pass without showing or whatever else was within her powers, lying was one thing I figured I could always count on her to use. “I’m just a private gumshoe, Circe. You know your prices are way out of my league.” It’d be a cold day in Hell when I’d go to Circe for food or drink. “So who’s up on the stage singing the blues?”

“Those two? Didn’t you read the marquee?”

“Of course not, doll,” I told her. “You know I came here to see you and nobody else.”

She gave a coy giggle and stroked my cheek. “Those are The Nightingales, Philomela and Procne, sisters mired in tragedy. The betrayal of a lying king found them in a gruesome love triangle. Their plot of bloody revenge was thwarted when the powers of Olympus saw fit to change them to songbirds.”

“Sounds like a real tearjerker,” I told her. “They’re working for you now?”

“I know what it’s like to need a chance for a fresh start. We managed a deal: work visas and restoration of their human forms in exchange for three nights a week and a few sovereigns to feather their nest.”

“And here I thought they’d work for chicken feed.”

“Nothing comes for so low a price here, darling man,” Circe said, reaching out to stroke my hand.

“What could you possibly want from so simple a man as I?” I asked my seductive hostess.

“Let’s see what you’ve got to offer,” she said coyly.

“Just this,” I said, holding up a little blue matchbook that I’d pulled from my pocket. “One like a thousand others in here.”

“Except that Aeaea’s matchbooks are black,” she said, dumping a platter of bread onto the table. “That one I gave to Jack. It‘s blue because I enchanted it.”

“Of course,” I said. “I should’ve known.” If I was going to come all the way to Circe’s club, I should’ve expected that I’d have to deal with magic.

“There’s something else that seems different about you, dear man,” Circe said, still eyeing me oddly as she tried to probe my unseen depths. “I can’t quite put my finger on it…”

“You know I’m not that easy,” I teased her. “Now, about this matchbook…”

“You got this from Jack yet you don’t know where he is?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him since--”

“I never said he was lost,” I told her. “I’m not looking for Jack. He’s dead. His wife killed him.”

“Well, that makes much more sense,” Circe said.

“Glad I could help,” I said dryly, as if I‘d come to answer mysteries for her. “So…magic matchbook does what?”

“Burn it.”

“I’ve been outside. It’s wet,” I pointed out.

“So?” she asked me. “Light the matches and drop the book onto the platter.”

“Alright,” I said, tearing a match from the book and setting the cardboard aflame. We both watched as the damp matchbook burned. The fire spread across it quickly and changed color from blue to green, blossoming like a flaming bouquet. In a few seconds, the platter surface was nearly covered with a dancing fire. “So…It’s a nice centerpiece. It’s almost hypnotic, in fact.”

“Reach in,” she said.

“Excuse you? Have you been drinking your own absinthe?”

“Do you want your clues or not, detective?” she asked with a sly smile.

“Clues?” I echoed, looking into the fire. “What sort of clues?”

“You lit it,” Circe explained, taking me by the wrist and guiding my hand toward the fire, “so you have to reach in and find out.”

“One day,” I said, pushing up my sleeve, “we’re going to have a long talk about how much I hate magic.” Circe chuckled at me. The fact that I amused her would be of great comfort to me in the burn ward. I took a deep breath and thrust my hand into the flame. I was prepared to pull back from the heat, but it was only warm and didn’t burn. Then, I felt it…velvet. My fingers grabbed the fabric and pulled a dark blue pouch from the flames. “Feels like it’s about a pound,” I said, dropping the small bag on the table in front of me.

“Oooh, this is delicious,” the smiling sorceress said, her eyes lighting up ecstatically even as the fire I’d started died out. “Open it! Open it!”

“Keep your toga on,” I told her. “I’m getting it. Sweet mama…”

“Well?”

“It’s a bag of diamonds,” I said, looking at the gems sparkling like ice on fire even in the club‘s dim light. “A pound of diamonds.”

“That’s it? That can’t be it,” Circe protested.

“Well, admittedly, it’s not much of a clue, but it‘s a nice retirement package,” I said, reaching into the bag. “Ah…how about this?” I pulled a folded…postcard from the bag. “Eat at Joe’s.” There was a picture of Joe’s Diner on the front of the card. On the back, someone had scribbled, “Good place to eat.” Looked like it must’ve been a clue. Hmmm…There was a black business card, heavy stock, pricey. “SOC” embossed in gold. Clues that brought more questions. Those were always my favorite. I liked those as much as I did magic.

“Give me that,” Circe said, making a simple hand gesture that caused the bag to slide across the table to her. “You’re going too slowly. I’m doing a set in a few minutes and I’d hate to keep the crowd waiting.”

She dug into the bag with her slender fingers, pushing around through the diamonds, and suddenly smiled. She smiled like a kid with a cereal box toy as she pulled her hand out. A silver chain followed her hand. At the other end of the chain, dangling below her hand, her eyes hungrily studied a shimmering white opal.

“Mine,” she said with a big toothy grin.

“Well, OK, I guess,” I said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Good guess,” she said, shoving the bag of diamonds back at me. “Be a gentleman, won’t you?”

She turned her back to me, holding the chain out to me with one hand and her long, silky hair with the other.

“Sure,” I said, taking the chain and hanging the pendant from her long, perfect neck. “Something special for the lady who conjures everything?”

“There’s only one way that you could make me any happier tonight, Brick,” Circe said, turning back to face me as she adjusted her new bauble. She sighed, then said, “I know that’s not happening tonight, though. Run off with your playmates. I know you have a lot to do.”

“How do you…?”

“I know a great many things,” she said, leaning back in the booth with a suspicious smile, “now even what lurks in the minds of men, though I can’t believe you’re not staying to hear me sing toni…You have the Monarch‘s Hope! That‘s what‘s different. You have it.”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling the glowing amethyst heart from my jacket pocket. “What do you know about it?”

“Oh, it’s still as beautiful as ever,” she admired. “It’s so old and marvelous, full of potential and destiny. Treat it with care and respect.”

“What’s it do?” I asked her. “What’s it for?”

“I’m sure it will reveal all that it needs you to know in due time, dear detective.”

I sighed again. “You know I’m always straight with you, Circe. Don’t take this personally, but I hate magic.”

She smiled and laughed at me as she said, “I know, dear boy, and I never fail to appreciate the deep irony of your unique situation because of that.”

I also hated the cryptic answers that came my way because of magic. “What does ‘SOC’ mean?” I asked her.

“When is a murder not a homicide?” she asked in return.

“When it doesn’t get to court,” I answered. “This is a business card. Who else was Jack Morgan working for, Circe?”

“Perhaps you should ask the deadly widow.”

“Too late,” I told her. “I put a hole in her chest.”

“Maybe not so late as you think…or maybe later still. You be careful out there, heartbreaker,” she chuckled.

“What?”

“Good night, Brick,” she said, dismissing me. “Always a pleasure.”

“Thanks for your hospitality,” I said, pocketing my new acquisitions and getting up from the table. “Your company is always a test of my resolve.”

“I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure. Just don‘t keep me waiting too long.”