Dark Heart (26 page)

A shaft of light tore across the room again, and a cool voice came from the doorway. “It will be difficult to rip apart your victims with only one arm.”

Tina melted with relief. Omar turned to face Dr. Shiang. The small Chinese woman stood quietly in the doorway, outlined by the glow of light from the hallway. Her long, black hair was unbound. She looked as if she had hurried here. Tina had never seen Dr. Shiang look hurried before.

“That will be a problem for you,” Dr. Shiang continued, stepping into the room between Tina and Omar.

“Who the hell are you?”

Dr. Shiang answered his question with a question. Her voice was a warm breeze in the cold room. “If they have already taken your arm, the rest will not be far behind, don’t you think?”

Omar responded by backhanding her sharply across the face. Dr. Shiang stumbled across the room, but did not fall. She righted herself and stood calmly once more, waiting for the next attack. She did not once look at Tina, but Tina could almost hear Dr. Shiang’s voice inside her head.

Run fast! Now!

Scrambling to her feet, Tina went for the door.

She reached the hallway at a dead run and heard Omar yell. Over the pounding of her own heart, she heard his footsteps crashing after her.

At the end of the hallway was the physical therapy room. Tina fumbled with the handle and threw the door wide open, rushed inside even as she slammed it in Omar’s face. Weight-lifting equipment in all shapes and sizes filled the room. Six-foot-tall mirrors covered every wall.

The mirror!
Dr. Shiang’s voice whispered in her head.
Into the mirror!

Tina’s rational mind couldn’t quite see the point of that, but her rational mind seemed distant and small in these circumstances. She had seen things in the past few days that defied explanation. Tina had only one certainty right now. She trusted Dr. Shiang with her life.

That was the only certainty she needed.

She leapt at the mirror. It rippled as she passed through it.

Omar’s fingernails scraped Tina’s nightgown as she plunged into the mirror. Her actions caught him off guard, and he missed her. He leapt after her, reaching for her disappearing leg. He caught hold of it just as his senses were overwhelmed by the mirror world. Keeping his grip firm, he thought of Kalzar’s mansion as his mind was forced into sleep.

When Omar’s consciousness returned to him, he knew something was wrong. The surface of the mirror at Kalzar’s house parted for him like water, and he stumbled onto the marble floor. The bright sun blinded him for a moment.

Omar looked at his hand. In it was a girl’s slipper. Tina Danforth was nowhere to be found.

With his mouth agape, Omar stared up at Kalzar, who had noticed his arrival. Kalzar rose from where he had been lounging on some cushions. His eyes narrowed.

“Where is she, Omar?” Kalzar asked in a quiet voice.

Omar shook his head. “I don’t know. I had her…I know I had her…I will return at once and—”

“So you have failed me again,” Kalzar said. “I don’t think returning to fetch her will be necessary.”

“But, Kalzar, it wasn’t my fault. The dragons from Beyond—”

“Yes, yes…” Kalzar nodded. “I know.”

Omar watched in terror as Kalzar’s face elongated. Teeth cracked and grew large in his jaws. Wings burst from his back, ripping through his shirt and spraying blood.

Omar screamed and leapt for the mirror.

His hand broke the surface just as Kalzar’s claw closed on his ankle…

But Kalzar captured more than a shoe.

Kalzar threw the bloody rug at the base of the steps. It fell open, revealing what was left of Omar. Already, the lesser disciple’s parts were trying to fit back together. Eventually he would reform, but there was a trick Kalzar had learned long ago when one of his protégés had disappointed him, and he had used it many times since.

I’d better hurry,
he thought,
before he assembles himself enough to start moaning again.

Kalzar crouched before one of the stone walls of the cellar and hit a hidden lever. A section of the wall moved and he reached within and pulled out a large, iron-bound trunk. Setting it aside, he pulled out a second, identical container.

A thump broke his quiet contemplation, and Kalzar turned. No shadow marred the light spilling from the stairway. The thump sounded again, and Kalzar looked down at the trunks. A slow smile curved his lips and he laughed.

Softly at first, then with growing strength, a voice came from inside the other trunk. Kalzar produced an ornate key and opened it.

Half of a man struggled within. His body ended roughly at the base of the rib cage. His wild eyes rolled and squinted at the light. “Please!” he cried, “I’ll do anything! Please!”

“Hassan,” Kalzar said pleasantly. “Do you know that I had completely forgotten where you were? You’re looking much better than when I put you there. Would you like some company? I’m sure you and Omar will become the best of friends.”

Kalzar scooped up roughly half of Omar from the rug and tossed it on top of Hassan’s upper body. It didn’t really matter what went in, as long as the spine was roughly in two pieces, and those two pieces weren’t allowed to touch. A lesser disciple would grow back any extremity in time, but if the spine was halved, the disciple would remain in two pieces. Kalzar wasn’t sure if that was the case with the Elders—he’d never had a chance to experiment—but he’d always been curious about it. Perhaps he’d have a chance to find out soon.

“Oh, dear God, no!” Hassan screamed.

Kalzar opened the second trunk and threw the rest of Omar on top of Hassan’s legs, which were kicking. He closed and locked the container, then turned back to the original trunk. Hassan had managed to push himself on top of Omar’s remains, and he was clawing at the sides, trying to drag himself out. He grappled with the edges of the trunk, but Kalzar patiently removed his hands and pushed him back.

“Hassan,” Kalzar began, “Do you think, after all this time, you have learned your lesson?”

“Yes, master. Oh, yes, master.”

“I don’t.”

Kalzar slammed the lid shut and locked it. The horrified scream from within afforded him a great deal of pleasure. He couldn’t even remember what Hassan had done to invoke his displeasure.

Perhaps Justin was right about one thing, Kalzar thought as he shoved the trunks—one moaning, one reverberating from desperate kicks—back into the alcove and closed the wall. Omar had turned out to be a bitter failure. Kalzar decided that he must be much more careful about the allies he chose in the future. Or perhaps he should do away with allies altogether, start tying up the loose ends himself?

Yes, that would suit him. The general would take the field again. Why should the lackeys have all the fun?

T
he clacking of keyboards and the buzz of voices in the precinct made a comfortable, familiar sound as Sandra breezed into the Eighteenth District the next morning.

The station felt like home, and it was good to be home, even as difficult as it had been to leave Justin. The memory of the night she’d spent with him brought a smile to her face. But then, just about everything was bringing a smile to her face today. The rain had let up and the sky was robin’s egg blue with a few white puffy clouds—a very nice change from the unending storms of recent days. She’d even heard a bird singing just outside the garage as she turned off West Chicago.

She had wanted to linger beside Justin all morning, or do something stupid like make pancakes and fresh-squeezed orange juice and have breakfast with him in bed. After hours of lovemaking, each time sweeter and slower than the last, they had finally collapsed in exhaustion. The miracle wasn’t that she was late. It was that she’d come in at all.

If she’d been juggling her usual caseload, if it had been any other day, she would have been tempted to stay in Justin’s arms. But things were coming to a boil. And the monster was still out there.

She walked into the detective squad room to the familiar sight of Mac talking to his wife on the phone. Linda always called at the beginning of the day, about an hour after he got to work. Mac was nodding without really listening and saying, “Mmm hmm,” at random intervals, and nodding some more, until he saw Sandra.

“Honey? Yeah. She just walked in. I gotta go.” He paused. “Who? Sandra! Who do you think?” He shook his head. “Right. Okay. I’ve got to go. Bye.” He put the receiver down and regarded Sandra silently for a moment.

She gave Mac a sweet smile.

“Glad to see you could finally make it in,” he said.

“It’s good to be back.”

He looked at his watch, “Really? You wouldn’t know it by the time.”

“Relax, Mac. Nothing ever happens before ten o’clock.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s up with you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mac.” She shrugged and looked around. “Did they wash the windows or something in here? Seems brighter.”

“Little Miss Sweetness and Light…” Mac sat back in his chair and smiled a little. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You’ve got that barnyard egg look.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just laid,” he said, chuckling. Mac was his own biggest fan. “Ever heard that one before?”

She felt her face heat with embarrassment.

“And well laid, from the looks of it,” Mac continued.

“Not funny, Mac.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t get your hackles up, Bruce. But questions like ‘Gee, did they wash the windows?’ and that goofy smile you’re wearing are a dead giveaway.”

“Focus, Mac. Think
focus,
okay?”

Across the room Lewis was cussing at his computer again. O’Mara was trailing the captain to his office door, trying to convince him that she deserved this weekend off.

Mac chuckled. “Focus on what, Bruce?” He blinked with spurious innocence.

“Dragons, maybe. Dragon men.”

“Aw, jeez, Bruce. Not that weird shit. Please.”

“So what else have we got?”

“We picked up a redhead in a green trench coat.”

“Yeah? When was this?”

“This morning, before ten o’clock. Breaking and entering. I snagged him out of the general tank. He’s in the cage in interview one, just waiting for you.”

He handed across a sheaf of photocopies. “He’s got what you call your basic history, the usual hairbag crap. All of it pretty minor, junkie stuff. A real winner, our Maxie.”

Sandra skimmed through the pages—several drug-related arrests, some hot check charges, a couple of shoplifting arrests, but no convictions. The kid had been defended by some high-powered lawyers.

She raised her eyebrows. “He’s got a lot of clout for a punk. How come?”

Mac shrugged. “Not him, but his daddy. Rich guy, and up until recently, he was paying the tolls.”

“Oh.” Sandra nodded. “Nothing violent.”

“Hell, Bruce, he weighs about ninety pounds dripping wet. And he’s a junkie. He gets violent, your granny would crush him.”

“Well, let’s go talk to him.”

“Hold on, tiger. What happened in California? You look like you stuck your face in a meat grinder.”

Sandra described all the events that had happened since she’d last seen her partner. Mac listened thoughtfully, nodding here and there. When she finished, he said, “Omar. That Omar fuck. That’s the weird shit. First you run into him at the club, and then he tries to whack you out in sunny California. That ain’t no coincidence, babe.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” she told him. “And there’s more. The description we got from that girl, Tina. An Arab, she said. An Arab who tried to scrag her, but got stopped by some Chinese kid. Just like what happened with me.”

“Christ, Arabs? Now we got, what? Terrorists or some shit like that, to go along with monsters? Tibetan dragon men?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe it’s some guy in costume, or maybe an animal trainer using some sort of predator that’s been trained to kill on command. Some kind of huge lizard or something that could claw through a man’s chest.” Sandra shook her head. “Maybe this Omar asshole’s working with a partner in a dragon suit.”

“Oh, God, Bruce, that’s screwed up.”

“I know. Everything about this is screwed up. And getting screwier, right?”

He stared at her. “You don’t buy this lizard monster shit, do you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what I buy right now. But we do have one thing that’s real.” She flapped the papers. “We got Maxie.”

Mac grinned. “Yeah, we do, don’t we?”

She slid her rear off the edge of the desk. “So let’s go see just what it is we got.”

Sandra stood in front of the one-way glass. It was him, all right. The redheaded, pimply youth on the other side sat uneasily in his chair. He moved restlessly, fidgeting and shifting, never completely at rest. He picked at a zit every now and then. Sometimes he reached up reflexively to adjust his trench coat, but the officers had taken it from him when they arrested him. His hands would hang in the air over where the collar should’ve been, and then he’d notice what he was doing and put them back in his lap for all of two seconds before he began to tap the table, or twitch, or ruffle his short-cropped carroty hair.

“Nervous, isn’t he?” Sandra said.

“He’s pulling out of junkie heaven. He’ll be even uglier in a few hours or so.”

Sandra nodded, then opened the door into interrogation room one. The moment Sandra stepped into the room, the kid recognized her. He seemed caught between relief, fear, and the pain of his withdrawal.

“Hey, the cop lady,” he mumbled, his dark-ringed eyes a startling contrast to his pasty, freckled complexion. He hunched down into himself, never taking his haunted gaze off of her.

“Maxwell Bergot. Your parents must be worried sick about you.” Sandra said.

He snorted and looked away. “Fuck them,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re a real sweetie, aren’t you?”

She pulled up a chair opposite him, spun it around, and sat down. She leaned her chin against the back and stared at him.

“I got a question for you, Maxie.”

He shrugged, looked at the table, then back up into her eyes.

“Why’ve you been following me?” she asked.

“I told you.”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to give me some information, and then you ran. People who want to give me information usually stick around long enough to deliver. They’re a lot more likely to get paid that way.”

“Shit, you weren’t gonna pay. You tried to stiff me. I should’ve just left you alone. Should’ve learned from what happened to Madrone. Stupid. Now I’m dead.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah? Why are you dead? Little drug deal gone bad?”

“Cut the druggie shit, okay?” he snarled, “I was doin’ you a favor, and now I’m probably gonna die for it! Just like Madrone.”

“What do you mean, Maxie? What do you know about Madrone? Who killed him?”

He gave her a cynical smile. “You cops are so stupid. I swear I drew Madrone a white line straight to the guy, and even then, he fucked it up, got himself killed.”

“Madrone?”

“No. The Easter Bunny. Fuck it. Look, I told him where he could find the guy that done the lawyer guy.”

“Wheeler,” Sandra said.

Maxie nodded.

“Where?”

“I was in a bar for…,” he paused, looked up at the one-way mirror and frowned, “…for something, and I overheard these guys talkin’. They were talkin’ about that lawyer guy, and I heard one of ’em say he did it and how much he loved it and everything. Then he tries to say he didn’t do it, like it was a joke, but you can tell, you know? I mean, if you seen somebody who really killed somebody, you can tell them from someone who’s just talkin’ shit. This guy done it, even though he said afterward that he was only joking.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know. Something strange. Ozar or Okar or something. Omar, maybe. I think that was it. I can’t remember. It started with an O.”

“Omar?” She caught it right away, but a moment later, she caught something else. “So that was why you ran that night. The guy was standing right behind me!”

Maxie snorted. “Hooray for you. Pat yourself on the back and dig my grave.”

“Who was he talking to at the bar?”

“The bartender,” Maxie shifted again, and this time he broke eye contact and looked at the wall. “He’ll come after me, you know. If he could get to Madrone, he can sure as hell get to me.”

“We’ll protect you.” Sandra said.

“Like I got a helluva lot of choice now, right?” Maxie said.

“What’s the bartender’s name?”

“Nick,” Maxie said. “His name is Nick Seder.”

“Where does he work?”

“Gwendolyne’s Flight.”

Gwendolyne’s Flight? Justin’s bar—Sandra had just left there, just left his apartment above the bar.

“…told Madrone he should talk to Nick, he wanted to find this Omar asshole. Next day Madrone turns up dead.”

“Why’d you keep running away from me all the time?”

“’Cause you kept bein’ a bitch!” he exclaimed, “I risk my ass to help you, and you take my stuff, rip me off, then you wanna bust my ass!”

Sandra eyed him without emotion. “Yeah, life’s tough like that. Especially if you’re an asshole.”

Maxie squirmed and looked at the wall.

She nodded. “All right, Maxie. We’re going to keep you here for a while. You’ll be safe. You think good and hard about any details you might’ve missed. I’ll get back to you again.”

“You’re gonna lock me up, book me?” Maxie asked.

“You scratch our backs, we scratch yours. That’s how it works. For right now, protective custody. Your own private cell. I’ll tell ’em room service.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a twenty, handed it over. “Order a pizza if you want.”

He took the money. “You got something else of mine, too. Maybe you wanna give that back?”

“Sorry, Maxie. The only turkey you get here is cold turkey. Or I could just boot your ass back onto the street, see if Omar looks you up.”

It was obvious he was tempted. But then he subsided. “Naw. I think I’ll hang here for a while. Till you grab the guy. You are gonna grab him, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sandra said. “We’re gonna grab him.”

She rose to leave.

“You sure you can’t help with a taste?” Maxie said, the sick whine of need in his voice.

“Fresh coffee in the hall,” Sandra said, and went out to find Mac.

“Omar,” he said. “Again with this Omar guy.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s a lead. I say we drop by this Gwendolyne’s Flight joint, say hi to Nick Seder.”

She swallowed, hesitated. Fortunately Mac didn’t notice.

“Yeah,” she said.

“You know where it is? You’re the big bar hopper, after all.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been there before.” For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she’d
left
there only a couple of hours before.

Most likely the murderer was just a guy who came into the bar, got too drunk, and said too much. Most likely. The old stupidity factor. And maybe Justin just happened to know a hell of a lot about dragons. Or dragon men.

Maybe…

Cops, she thought, don’t much believe in coincidences, though.

As they left the building, they walked past the little cell where Maxie sat, fidgeting and staring uneasily at his reflection in a small shaving mirror affixed to the wall over the sink. Staring as if he saw something besides his own ugly, sweating mug there.

Something scary. Bad scary…