Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper (8 page)

From the shocked expression on Onyx’s face, that was news to him, but—nobly—he took the blame without protest. 

I looked at Onyx. “So, you’re officially taking responsibility?”

He shrugged.  “I guess so.”

“Then when you don’t expect it, expect it.”

“Go easy on him,” Grace said.  “He has a good heart,

mostly.”  She held out the bag with the Jägermeister and Red Bull in it.  Instantly, I felt a slight measure of forgiveness trying to be born, but squashed beneath a mental thumb.

Madison said, “I think you should force him to take us clubbing tonight.  That will teach him!”

By then, the last two chupacabras had finished their pork entrée and scampering off about their business.  I thought scampering off was a good idea.  I’d eat lunch, wash it down with a Jägerbomb, and then go see a man about some serial killings, and a stolen coffin.

EIGHT

“I’ve a hard and fast rule: don’t kill the

Informant before he’s done talking.”

                                   —Caine Deathwalker

Tinka-tinkka.
  The pool hall was dim, the lights being concentrated over the green-felt tables.  The place wasn’t particularly busy having only a pair of pool players on the premises and the man behind the counter who nursed a silvery can of half-and-half lemonade and tea.  A flat-screen TV on the wall displayed a car race where the vehicles roared at one another as they maneuvered for supremacy.  The door swung slowly shut behind Onyx and me, tinkling the bell once more.  We’d left the girl’s behind; this was a guy’s-only mission.  No way was I having Grace tell Cassie I dragged her to a pool hall.  I like my internal organs inside me.

We walked over to the register, paid for a game, and went to a wall display of parallel cue sticks. 

Onyx looked them over, his all-black jeans and tee soaking up all light that hit them.  “These weapons are poorly balanced.”

“Assaulting people is only their secondary function,” I said.

We watched a scrawny ponytailed brunette in a sleeveless, denim dress lean over a table, one hand knuckles up on the surface under a sawing cue stick.  The stick made a final slide.  There was a clack.  She straightened, watching the white ball crack off of a pair striped balls, sending them rebounding wildly.  Nothing went into a pocket.  She scowled at the results.  “I think there’s something wrong with this stick.”

With her, a grizzled, biker-looking dude grinned.  “Yeah, operator error.”

Onyx looked back at me.  “Some kind of game?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, first person to sink all of their type of balls, and then getting the black ball, wins.  Some people bet on their skill in this area.”

“And we’re going to play?”

“We’re killing time while I wait to be contacted by an information broker, who will indeed leave us broker, but better informed.”  Old Man Lauphram had called ahead of me, contacting the fire-demon clan that held this territory.  Being small and often neglected by the big players in the preternatural world, the local demons had fallen all over themselves to be helpful.  For the usual price, they’d reached out to one of their informants, setting up this meet. 

I chose my stick, looking down its length to check for warps.  Finding it adequate, I moved on to an empty table.  After a moment, Onyx joined me.  His gaze followed my every move as I pulled balls from the pockets, wracked them in a triangle, and put it away.  I looked across the table at him, as I placed the cue ball.  “I take it you’ve never played pool before.”

He shrugged his shoulders in a very liquid manner that suggested having bones was just an illusion.   “I’ve been a pool, but never played it.”

“So, looking human is your power, being shadow is your natural state?”

“If you use the term ‘natural’ very loosely, sure.”

I nodded, and took position for the break, sawing the stick on my knuckles.  “You probably don’t want to bet on the game then,” I said.

“Money?”

“A favor, payable on demand.”

Onyx slanted me a look packed with suspicion. “What kind of favor?”

“It will probably have something to do with keeping me alive at some point.”

“How will I know we’re at that point?”

“I will probably be screaming, ‘Onyx, do it fucking now!’”  I hit the white ball and watched it break up the triangular cluster.  Balls rolled everywhere, creating secondary impacts.  A striped ball and a colored ball went in.

“So, which type of ball do you get to play?” he asked.

“I’ll take solid.”  I moved for my next shot, rounding a corner.   Onyx stepped out of my way as I passed.  “If you sink both a solid and a stripe on break, you get your pick.”  I made a point of missing my next shot to sucker him in.  “Damn!”

He grinned at my annoyance and circled the table, looking for options.  “Fine,” he said.  “You’re on.”  He smacked the striped purple twelve ball into the striped yellow nine.  Both rebounded with high energy, stirring up the table.  My solid red, number three ball went into a side pocket.  He looked up at me.  “That doesn’t count, right?  You have to knock in your own balls.”  He spoke with confidence, trying to convince me.

“Yeah and a drunken unicorn’s going to do a horn-stand and puke me a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end.  My turn.”

Onyx backed away as I passed him.  “We did say best two outta three, right?”

“You wish.”  I took aim and sent the white ball smacking a bank, glancing off the black ball.  I dropped the solid orange five.  On a streak, I circled the table and was soon down to the eight ball.

The door opened and a man with a crinkled, red face came in.  His shirt was yellow-and-white plaid with pearl-snaps instead of buttons.  A red bandana was tied to his neck.  He stood six-four in cowboy boots, not counting the feather and turquoise laden hat he wore.  What little hair could be seen back of his ears was iron gray.  His glass-faced belt buckle bulged, a small scorpion encased inside.  The door closed behind him as he looked around.  His gaze dismissed the biker couple, slid over Onyx, came to me, and went back to Onyx as if the stranger knew he was seeing something not of this earth.

It pissed me off that my informant judged a mere shadow man to be more dangerous than a demon lord.  Of course, no one had mentioned I was part dragon as well.

The Indian in cowboy duds stopped beside me, still watching Onyx.  He turned his face toward me to ask a question, but his

eyes didn’t move.  “One of you is Deathwalker?”

“Me,” I answered.

He looked at me then.  “That a real name?”

“Sure, Kemosabe.  Picked it out myself because wherever I go, Death walks with me.”

“Death?”  The Indian stared at Onyx again.  “That him?”

Smiling, Onyx flattened himself into two dimensions, looming high, losing his human features.  It was only for a heartbeat, and he was back as he had been, smile and all.  “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m leaving.”  The big guy turned and started for the door. 

I sent out a thought and my semi-automatics filled my hands.  “One more step and you die.”

He turned back and shrugged.  “Well, if you put it that way.”

The proprietor hollered over at me.  “Hey, no guns.  This is a family place.” 

I picked up a striped green, number fourteen ball with my free hand, and—without looking—chucked it at the guy.

“Fuck!” he yelled.

I think I hit his chest.  The sound wasn’t hollow enough to be his head, besides, he was still alive. 

The biker dude stomped up behind me.  “That’s my brother-in-law, Clem.  Only I get to rough him up.”

I heard the whoosh of his swinging stick and ducked.  The pool stick went over my head.  From the corner of my eye, I located his left boot—and shot it.

“Gawd-luvva-duck!”  He dropped the pool stick.  It smacked the floor with a sound almost as loud as a gunshot.  Biker dude hopped on his good foot, getting away from me while he could.

Onyx called out.  “That was my ball you threw, so I’m counting it as going in a pocket.”

“Fine,” I said, “you
need
the handicap.  Hey, if you see anyone calling the police, stop them, and they don’t necessarily have to keep breathing.”

Onyx sighed.  “Whatever.”

That’s when the biker’s old lady leaped on my back, track-

marked arms circling my neck in a choke hold.  “You fornicating bastard!” she shrilled into my ear.

“Is that an offer?” I asked.

“Fuck you!” she said.

Apparently it was. 
“No thanks, I don’t fuck sub-human trash.” 
Though there was that one hot zombie stripper a few years back…

I spun so my back was toward the pool table, and jumped onto it backwards so she cushioned my fall.  Balls clacked around.  She groaned.  Her grip loosening at impact.  I rolled off her and, weapons extended, covered the whole room.  “Next idiot tries
anything
and I will continue to be irresponsible, only more so.”

The woman rolled the other way, falling onto the floor with a
whap
and an inarticulate curse.

Onyx scanned the table.  “I think we’re tied now.”

“Yeah, but it’s still my shot.  Far corner pocket.” I fired a Berretta at the white ball and nicked it, smacking it off the black ball which rolled into the pocket I’d called.  What was left of the white ball bounced and attempted to roll, but the big crater in it proved less than helpful.  I looked at Onyx.  “I win.”

Onyx looked from the table to me.  “It that legal?  You didn’t use a stick.”

The Indian said, “He’s holding two guns.  That’s legal enough for me.”

“You’re going to pay me for the damage!” the manager screamed.

I pointed a gun at his pie-hole.

“Or not,” he said.

I told him, “I don’t mind paying; it just needs to be my idea.”  I willed my guns away, and pulled out my wallet, flashing a handful of hundreds.  I dropped two of them on the table.  “That should cover it.”  Putting my wallet away, I walked over to the Indian.  “So, you have information for me?”

“Best money can buy.  Are we talking here?  Someone might have heard the shots and called the cops.”

“Better make it fast then.”  I didn’t look at him as I spoke.  I

would have had to crane my neck to look into his face.  Being short was bad enough.  I declined to emphasize my condition.

He nodded.  “You wanted information on a series of child-killings that happened here in Santa Fe back in ‘95 and ’96.”

“Right.  And anything you hear about a secret auction being planned in the next few days.”

“I’ll look into the auction.  About that other business, don’t get nervous; I’m just reaching for what you want.”  Slowly, his hand went to the back of his belt.  He brought forth a bulging, white business envelope.  “These old news clippings will give you most of the details.  There’s not much else.”

Taking the envelope, I tucked it in a jacket pocket.  “Tell me what’s not in there, what the preternatural community knows, or suspects.”

Onyx drew closer, listening in.  The others had enough sense to make themselves scarce.

The Indian watched Onyx carefully, but otherwise showed no tension, saying, “Rumor back then had it that there was a fey connection.  Some people thought the victims were captured or pacified by some fey relic.  At the time of the killings, some fey went around asking about a theft, offering a sizable reward for the guilty party to be revealed.”

Hmmm.  Interesting.
  “Did the fey ever recover the artifact?”

“No.  The reward is still standing.”

Great.  That will put a little more cash in my pocket, or maybe some kind of magical reward.
“Do you know anything more about this relic?”

The Indian held out his hand.

I pulled out my wallet and handed him a hundred.

He glared at me.  “I’m worth less than a cue ball?  You gave the manager two hundred.”

I added another hundred. 

He said nothing, hand still open, waiting.

I gave him another hundred and a hard stare.  “If that’s not enough, I can throw in a bullet. 

Which vital organ do you want it lodged in?”

He closed his hand on the cash and stuffed it in a pocket. 

“That will do just fine.”  He reached into a shirt pocket, pulled out a white linen business card, and extended it to me.  “Here’s the, uh,
man
you need to talk to.”

I took the card and read it: Santa Fe Silver Gallery.  There was an address in the downtown area, and a phone number.  “This business is a cover for the fey?”

The Indian nodded.  “They buy their turquoise from the local tribes, but the ultra-pure silver is imported from Fairy.”

I shot a glower at the informant.  “The fey are in competition with Native American craftsmen.  You wouldn’t be sending me in there to get a little payback against your rivals, would you?”

He huffed, some kind of a laugh I think.  “Just because I want them annoyed with your presence, doesn’t mean they don’t have things to tell you.”

Okay, not a wild javelina chase then.  “Fine.  I’ll go see the man.  Anything else?”

“Just this, the killings stopped as suddenly as they started.  You might want to look into the last victim.  Victims actually.  It was the only case where more than one victim was found, and one of them is still alive.  I can’t give you the name.  As a minor, his name was never released to the media, and somehow, it never turned up.”

“That is interesting.”

Red and blue flashes of light speared in through the front windows as a police car pulled up.  There’d been no sirens.  They’d rolled up silently to catch us by surprise.  Car doors were thrown open.