Giving Him Hell: A Saturn's Daughter Novel (Saturn's Daughters Book 3) (9 page)

“So you think she’s damning them to hell and Satan is rewarding her?” he asked incredulously. “And that’s how you got your hair? Not the Zone?”

“Theory,” I reminded him, belching a little beer. “Satan, Saturn, who knows? My mother and grandmother just keep telling me to use my Saturn justice wisely. Sarah’s mother said go forth and kill. I think she likes killing. I don’t know if she can simply damn them to hell like I can because she’s never tried.”

“The way that you damned Max,” he said warily.

I traced a seductive finger down his throat. “Like I can damn you,” I agreed.

“And Saturn’s daughters are born every twenty-eight years when Saturn comes around or something?” He didn’t loosen his grip or miss a step, but his head had obviously taken a leap I didn’t want to follow.

“So I’ve been told. I probably get really dangerous next year. Ain’t life grand?” I was too bombed on beer and hormones to care what I was saying, but I was feeling just a little bit sorry for myself.

“And if this daughter thing is genetic but only kicks in when the planet Saturn reaches some point near Earth on your birthday, that means you’d have to have a kid before your twenty-eighth birthday if you’re to pass on Saturn magic?”

I dug my fingernails into his earlobes to stop his dancing in the middle of the dance floor. Then I placed my hands on his chest to shove him away and glare at him. “You’ve jumped from sex to kids to bad genetics as my birthday gift? Do you have any idea how close I am to damning you right now?”

“But you’re Justine, my goddess of justice, and you won’t,” he said soothingly, pulling me back into the dance.

But it wasn’t the same. How good could birth control be when weird planets or gods were involved? And did I really want to find out?

I didn’t even dare express my dismay with a
damn.
Talk about your lust-busters, I didn’t even need a cold shower now.

***

The party began breaking up early. Evening gloom had settled in, and it was time to think of supper. I’d had enough of Chesty’s fare, so I rounded up Milo, and judged this a birthday well spent, if I didn’t count the morning’s disasters or my fight with Andre.

Schwartz followed me to the door. He lived in the same building, so his escort made sense, even if it was too early for the drunks to be out.

One of the utility workers who’d spent the afternoon at the bar instead of working turned and watched us go. The hair at my nape rose, but I figured that was just Ned’s warning raising old fears about his ex-friends.

Outside, the snow had turned into an unusual December blizzard—which
steamed
on the city street. Schwartz and I stopped to admire the effect.

“Maybe we’ve invented a new product for snow removal,” I murmured. “Figure out how it works and we can make a million.”

“Nah, the EPA is right, we’re sitting on hell. Maybe they can shovel out the chemicals.” Schwartz sounded resigned as he stuck his hands in his pockets and started up the street.

“You believe in hell?” I asked with interest, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged strides.

“Spend Friday night in the lock-up, and you’ll know hell exists right here on earth. What I want to believe in is a wrathful God and justice.” He gazed at the burned-out wiring still dangling from a lamp post. “Not happening.”

“If hell is here on earth, then so is justice,” I pointed out. “The good guys just don’t do as good a job as the baddies in making themselves known. Most people keep waiting for someone else to do something.” And there I went again, espousing vigilante justice. I had to stop that.

“So, what do we do about the creep who followed us out?” Schwartz asked, surprisingly. “He’s carrying concealed. Want me to arrest him?”

Shit crap. I had been hoping our tag-along was just a drunk on his way home. The plant had closed down at five and traffic had died to a crawl by now. I wandered out in the street to examine a steaming manhole and caught a glimpse of our unfriendly utility worker slipping into the shadows of an alley. Definitely not a sign of good intentions.

Milo leaped from the tote and stalked off to investigate the alley. A chill ran down my spine, but not from the cold.

We were standing in the middle of a blizzard, and I was warm enough to remove my jacket. The snow fell silently on a street simply waiting for me to do something.

“I’m going to find my cat,” I said.

“You’re a nutcase, Clancy, but you’re not stupid. The cat will find its own way back.” Schwartz hunched his shoulders and placed his big body between me and where we’d last seen the thug. “C’mon, let’s move on. He can’t gun us down in the middle of the street.”

“Well, yeah, he could, if so inclined. And I’m not leading him home or letting him shoot Milo. You go on up. I’ll be right after you.” I’m small and dark and good at vanishing into shadows. I hurried after Milo, concealing myself out of the neon-blue glow of the buildings.

Schwartz, however, wouldn’t leave my side. He was one of the good guys, and I really didn’t want him hurt. “Okay, big boy, have it your way,” I murmured, patting his arm.

Then I darted down the nearest dark alley, took a flying leap from a garbage can over a fence, and dropped into the harbor zone. I was out of sight before Schwartz could climb the can. Make size work for you, I say. His large frame was a disadvantage against my slightness.

I saw Milo’s tailless hind end running along the fence. I followed.

The homeless hovered by their fires near the water, ignoring me or too stoned to care what they saw. The snow was thicker on this side of the fence—where the pollution was supposed to be worse. Interesting. Schwartz could follow my footsteps in the snow, if he were so inclined. But if he was smart, he was heading back for the street—which was where the thug would have to go if he wanted to see where we were.

Milo vanished through a missing section of the chain link. Pushing the metal aside, I returned to the long harbor alley running parallel to the main commercial district. I couldn’t see Milo, but we think a lot alike sometimes. I found a pussy print in a patch of snow and turned in the same direction, walking past Chesty’s and toward Acme, north of where we’d last seen the utility guy.

Apparently the utility work had allowed us to keep our lights on for a while longer.

The blue neon coating the buildings glowed brighter on this end of town, presumably because it was closer to Acme and got hit with more of the chemical spills. Bill’s Bar was down this way, but Bill was as uptight about little ol’ me wandering loose in dark streets as Schwartz was. Really, I might not be large-boned, but I more than make up for it with attitude. I’d survived a lot of tough places, and besides my martial arts training, I had a secret weapon. I was stupidly confident that I didn’t need protection—just like Milo.

Maybe Milo was heading to Bill’s for a fish treat. I didn’t think so, though.

Following Milo’s tracks, I turned between two buildings and emerged on Edgewater. A block to the south, in the direction of Chesty’s and my home, the utility thug stalked toward the alley where I’d disappeared. I couldn’t see Milo, but I recognized the worker’s big, bulky build and nylon down jacket from the morning of the burning wreaths—the management guy who didn’t like cold. Intent on his search in the wrong direction, he didn’t see me.

Spotting Milo’s shadow darting into the street behind the armed utility guy, my insides clenched and I raced to rescue my idiot cat.

Milo was swelling into super-feline, prepared to leap on the thug’s back and take an ear off.

“Milo, don’t!” I yelled, panicking that my cat might not take bullets as well as he bit ears.

Utility Thug swung and fired—at me.

Ten

“Damna—” I bit off the dangerous curse that might jeopardize my eternal soul and dived for the gutter. I registered a stinging sensation in my arm and considered reinstating the epithet.

“Take that Saturn Daddy,” I muttered, proud that I’d learned to temper my fury and not kill anyone without knowing my enemy. “I’m not joining Gloria in hell for bigger boobs.” That was my main reason for fearing eternal damnation—the rewards I’d seen for sending souls to the devil had been mostly superficial. I wasn’t believing a righteous entity would hand out pretty teeth in exchange for a soul.

Of course, I’m a lawyer. I wasn’t really believing in hell and the devil either.

Holding my arm, I glanced up in time to see Milo leaping for the gunman again.

Before the jerkwad could take aim at my cat, I visualized the image of the garden gnome I’d conjured earlier in the day.
Villainous utility worker, you’re a gnome until I say otherwise
.

Fat Jacket fired at me again.

Crapshitfuck
, my secret weapon hadn’t worked! The slug hit wide, splattering asphalt.

Milo’s mighty leap caught the thug’s arm and forced it upward. The next bullet hit the sky and the utility worker howled in rage.

I huddled in the street in a state of fear and genuine shock. I couldn’t visualize anymore? What had happened? Frantically, I called up images of stone statues and frogs, then began imagining him in Antarctica. How long could Milo hang on? I didn’t want him shooting my cat! Or me.

Fat Jacket remained stolidly alive and functioning and trying to throttle Milo while aiming at me.

I nursed my injured arm and stared at the battle in horror. Did I risk my eternal soul by damning him to hell?

Would he go?

Lawyers aren’t the best people to react during a murderous attack.

Schwartz, bless his heart, dashed to the rescue. Coming up from behind the furious utility worker, he walloped Fat Jacket on the crown with his trusty truncheon. Not one to waste bullets was our Viking cop.

Milo leapt free and trotted back to me, mysteriously returning to normal cat size—although for him, that was still pretty large. I cuddled him against my chest. Swearing under my breath that a bullet had creased my beloved biker jacket, disgruntled at my spectacular failure, I crawled out of the gutter holding my cat, and shaking violently.

What the hell had just happened? A baddie had
shot
at me. I was allowed justice. I’d turned men into frogs for less than that. Well, not much less. Shivering in confusion, horror, and pain, I held my injured arm and my cat and trotted over to join Schwartz and the devil’s minion.

Schwartz was reciting the guy’s rights and handcuffing him. The gunshot apparently hadn’t registered inside the booming din of Chesty’s. Only a few drunks staggered out to their cars, paying us no mind.

“Are you hit?” Studly Do-Right asked, throwing me a look of mixed exasperation and concern.

“Grazed—he dinged my jacket! What is
wrong
with people?” Furious and terrified, I kicked the asshat’s shins when Schwartz hauled him around. Milo purred his approval. “What did I ever do to you?” I shouted when Fat Jacket winced. My kick couldn’t have hurt that much. I was only half his size.

Half his size
. Like I was half Ned’s. Recognition set in. How many huge hunks normally roamed the Zone’s streets? Bill and Schwartz, I knew. The only others I remembered had been out to stifle me one way or another—Ned’s ex friends.

I yanked off my assailant’s bulky muffler and recognized the square cleft jaw that Gloria favored in her guards.

Déjà vu all over again. Facing my old enemies took the wind out of my sails. Did Gloria control them from hell?

Schwartz dragged his prisoner out of my reach. “Go get your arm bandaged. I’ll do the questioning.”

“No, you won’t. He looks like one of Granny’s crazy gang, and you don’t even know where to start questioning with that lot. He’ll be out on the street again in the morning, still gunning for me, and I’ll never know why.” Just like the guy Sarah had murdered. Not knowing what they wanted frustrated the crap out of me.

I was already furious and beyond irritated at my spectacular failure. I wanted him to be a garden gnome like the others. Why wasn’t he? Had I worn out my visualization for the week? The year? Forever?

“Granny’s gang?” Schwartz asked warily.

“The ones who almost sent Andre up for killing Old Lady Vanderventer. Remember the guys following me last fall? Them.”

“The ones you blew the wheels out from under?” He’d been there to catch that particularly satisfying event.

“Yeah, them. But I’m still telling you, the Zone did that, not me.” That was probably a lie, but I didn’t need Schwartz to go twitchy around me.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Utility Guy finally muttered. “I thought I was being mugged.”

Even Studly Do-Right rolled his eyes at that bit of hokum. “She called her cat. You always shoot at people who shout?”

Stupid didn’t respond, just glared.

“If Ace Associates is on his resume,” I said, while using my aching arm to shove my self-satisfied cat back into his tote, “I want him locked away for assault and battery, attempted murder, illegal wire-tapping, and I’ll think of a few more things before the night is over. And I want his bond at a few million. Tell the prosecutor he might even be responsible for Mrs. Vanderventer’s death. Throw the book at him and keep him off the streets until we know what’s going down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Schwartz said with a chuckle. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“Shut up, Schwartz. I’ve never been shot before, and I don’t want it happening again. If he’s got a license for concealed carry, he needs it taken away.” I scowled at the evil perpetrator. “You don’t shoot cats or people down here for
any
reason, got it?”

“You’re all a nest of weirdoes, and you’re going down,” Stupid shouted. “I’m just getting my own back, that’s all.”

Until recently, no one but Granny’s henchman had noticed or cared that the Zone was a little off balance. We liked it that way. I had a feeling our peace had ended.

The goon tried to wrench from Schwartz’s hold, but that was a waste of time. Even with one hand around a phone, Schwartz had a powerful grip. He shoved jerkwad to his knees. Apparently the bad green particles had rotted this thug’s brain—or testicles. Nest of weirdoes—he was a fine one to talk.