The Keys of Solomon (9 page)

“There's nothing we can do for him now. In the chest pocket of his coveralls, there's a cell phone. Would—would you bring it to me?”

Sam did a double take. “Say what? You want me to loot a dead guy?”

Thomas started a reply, then bent forward and vomited on Sam's sneakers.

After the latest wave of nausea passed, he said, “Sorry, kid. If—if it makes you feel any better … the phone is mine. Just bring it to me, then we can get out of here.”

Sam looked from Thomas to his dead partner and back again. Then, shaking his head, he muttered, “Dead guys … cell phones … fucking talking mountains … This shit just ain't right.”

Potty mouth. I hoped you had outgrown your fascination with foul language.

Sam began a scathing retort, then choked it back. Joriel was right. She was always right, damn it. And she was back! Sam wanted to shout it out to the whole world, his best friend was back. Of course, she had some explaining to do. After all, he reasoned, you don't live in a guy's head for nineteen years, then disappear without so much as an “It's been fun. See ya later!” Now, with Joriel back where she belonged, Sam knew they could figure out a way to protect Kat. As for himself, Sam wanted no part of this fight, or any other. He had done his part. Uriel had said so. Joriel would know what to do. With her at his side, he could handle just about anything—including taking a phone off a dead guy.

Gingerly, he patted down the fallen man's waterlogged clothing until he located the phone in a pocket on the front of the coveralls. On the way back, he retrieved the gun. It was a nasty-looking piece of work with a bore the size of a manhole.
Of course,
thought Sam,
it didn't do Falco or his buddy much good
. When he handed the gun and phone to Thomas, he saw that the man was holding a plastic key card.

Thomas held out the card and said, “Think you can find this place?”

Sam looked at the address.
Upscale joint on East Camelback. This guy must be loaded.
“Once we get you to the car, we can be there in thirty to forty minutes.” Sam nodded toward Caseman. But what about your friend? We can't just leave him like that.”

“Nothing we can do for him now.” Falco flipped open the thin cell phone and hit the speed dial function. He listened for several seconds, then disconnected the call.

“My backup isn't answering and I'm pretty sure I know why. I think … I think the police will be along shortly, and we shouldn't be here when they arrive.”

CHAPTER 5

Phoenix, Arizona

Sam fell back onto the sofa, both mind and body exhausted, and the burns inflicted by Little Stevie's spittle stinging like hell. Slowed by his own wounds, it had taken Sam nearly half an hour to get the much-heavier Falco to the ground floor of the maintenance building. The mystery man had blacked out twice along the way, once atop the stairs, and again at the bottom. Upon reaching the ground floor, Sam left the man sitting inside the doorway, while he went after the car.

Driving time was prolonged by numerous flooded streets and assorted Street Department barricades. By the time they reached the hotel, Falco was fading in and out of consciousness. Several times Sam started to dial 911 and request an ambulance, afraid the man wouldn't survive the night without medical attention. And each time, he recalled Falco's insistence that Sam not involve a hospital or the police. Sam could relate to the man's concerns. There had been a time when the last person Sam wanted to see was a cop. Nothing against police officers, but they usually asked way too many questions when speed was of paramount importance. Needing some guidance, Sam
reached
for Joriel, but she had again retreated to some faraway place and refused or was unable to answer.

Now that Falco was back in his suite, Sam contemplated his next move. He didn't want any continued involvement with the man, and Joriel had said nothing about helping him beyond this point. Perhaps he should just walk out the door, get in his car, and make for Sun City. At the moment, nothing was as important as protecting his mom and little sister.
I'd better call them and give Kat a heads-up
, he decided.

He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and started to dial the number when he noticed a missed call. Sam punched in the retrieval code. A mechanical female impersonator answered with that familiar monotone delivery:

*You have … two … new messages. First unheard message*

Hey, Sam! I just wanted to let you know Mom is in Tucson, spending a few days with Aunt Jenna, and I'm staying with a friend until Mom gets back. We'll both be home on Wednesday. See you then. Oh … hmm … try not to worry. Things are about the same, if you catch my drift. No better, no worse. I'll call if I notice any new funny business. Love ya. *click*

Sam sighed and dropped the phone onto the sofa. “No better, no worse” wasn't especially good news. The phrase carried double meaning. On one hand, it meant Kat hadn't sensed any additional threats posed by the Enemy. On the other hand, the phrase told Sam his mother was still dwelling in the black funk of depression, a deteriorating condition that was rapidly approaching critical mass. Doctors and handfuls of prescription antidepressants and mood elevators had done nothing to bring her out of mourning. Sam tried not to think about the long-term consequences. He had more immediate problems, like tracking down his kid sister.

Who the hell is Kat staying with?
Sam tried to recall the names of Kat's closest friends, but it was no use. There were too many possibilities. Kat was popular with her classmates, and her friends' parents loved her.

Actually, maybe it's a good thing she isn't home.
Sam shuddered at the mental image of the leering monster Falco had called Little Stevie.
He said he had been following me. Said his master would be pleased. Jesus, what kind of master is looking for me who keeps pets like that? How many of them know about Mom and Kat?
Sam's stomach rolled at the thought.
God, what do we do now? Where do we go? Mark. I have to call Mark.
He started to dial the number, then glanced at his watch.
It's getting late. I'll call him from the road.

Sam cast a guilty glance toward the bedroom. He hated to leave Falco unattended, but there was little he could do for the guy. Maybe he should call for an ambulance despite the man's objections. After all, what good was it to stay one step ahead of the police if you died in the process?

Sam started for the front door, when he heard a weak voice calling out from the bedroom.
Crap! Why couldn't he stay unconscious for another two minutes?
Sam walked to the bedroom door and peered in. Falco was propped up on an elbow, and leaning over the side of the bed. He had been sick again.

“Look, man, I gotta be going. Are you sure you don't want a doctor?”

Falco looked up at Sam with a dull, glazed expression. “I—I know you. Sam Conner.”

The man's speech was slightly slurred, and his eyes were unfocused and vacant. It was a pitiful and disturbing sight.
Jesus Christ. Shades of Michael Collier.

“Uh, yeah. We met up on the roof. Remember?”

Falco blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision. “Yeah, I remember. I remember everything, but I didn't realize it was you. My—my eyes weren't working so well after I took that beating. Why … why the hell did you help me?”

Sam almost laughed aloud.
Why the hell, indeed? What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“I guess it just seemed like the thing to do at the moment. But I gotta be going now. I … I hope you feel better soon.”
At least until you die of a cerebral hemorrhage. And trust me, I know the symptoms when I see them. Oh God, I feel like an ass for leaving him like this, but Kat … Mom …
Sam turned and started for the front door again when the man called out.

“Sam … you can't go. Have to stay. Here.”

Sam answered over his shoulder, “I'm sorry, man, really. But I
have
to go.”

Sam opened the front door and started outside when Falco called out a final time. “If you go now, you and Katherine die tonight!”

Sam slammed the door and ran back into the bedroom. “What did you say? What do you know about my sister?”

Falco couldn't answer. He had lost consciousness.

South side of Phoenix

The storm had finally spent itself, leaving a city of flooded backstreets in its wake. Little Stevie, still clutching his throbbing chest, watched from the shadows of an empty storefront as an older-model station wagon parted fender-high waters before coming to a stop at the intersection traffic light.

With supernatural speed and agility that belied his size, Stevie rushed across the sidewalk and leaped across the flooded lane to the idling car. He yanked the heavy door from its hinges and tossed it aside as if it were made of cardboard. An elderly man sat frozen at the wheel with a yapping terrier at his side. Stevie took the old man by the head and pulled him from the front seat. He gave the head a violent twist before dropping the old man facedown in the brackish water. Little Stevie folded himself into the car, backhanded the dog into the back seat, and drove away as fast as the rising run-off would allow. There was no real hurry, Stevie told himself. He had waited this long to fulfill his master's wishes. Another couple of days wouldn't matter. He told himself that, again and again.

But inwardly, Little Stevie was nearly insane with anger. Not one Offspring, but two! He had had them both within arm's reach, a rare opportunity and not one to be squandered. Yet Stevie had not managed to kill even one. Worse still, the boy-bitch had hurt him with the blue fire. It was a good thing his master was away, he thought. Axthiel didn't abide failure gracefully.

As Little Stevie drove into the heart of South Phoenix, he plotted his next move. It galled him to admit it, but he would need help taking the boy. Axthiel's many thralls kept in contact, as much as circumstances allowed, and several had tried to warn him about Sam Conner. Word of events in Abbotsville had traveled quickly. While it was impossible for a thrall to ignore a directive from its master, many thralls, and no few demons, had deliberately avoided the boy. Instead, they sought out lesser prey. Not so with Little Stevie.

There was a distinct hierarchy among the thralls of the Brethren and Legion alike. In order to climb the ranks, one must possess some great combination of metaphysical or physical prowess, cunning, and treachery. Little Stevie had those attributes, as well as another: ambition.

He reveled in his new life, grateful for the gift of Taint bestowed upon him by Axthiel. He had served his master well for the past couple of years and had reaped the rewards. No carnal pleasure or act of debauchery was denied him. In Axthiel's absence, Little Stevie had acquired high status among his “siblings.” Killing Sam Conner would cement his position. And in the event Axthiel never returned … Little Stevie smiled. The glorious life of a god was well within his reach.

First he would recruit his allies. Then he would make good on his promises to Sam Conner.

CHAPTER 6

Phoenix, Arizona

It was after midnight when Sam returned to the hotel room. He dropped the plastic grocery sacks onto the kitchen bar, then peeked in on Falco. The man lay motionless beneath a light blanket. Sam couldn't tell if he was unconscious from his head injury or simply resting. At any rate, Sam figured his breathing seemed normal, and that offered some reassurance. He'd half expected to find the man cold and stiff upon his return.

Sam walked back into the kitchen and searched the cabinets until he found a sauce pan and cups. He filled the pan with water and set it on the stove to boil. Next, he rummaged through one of the grocery sacks until he located the box of Swiss Miss. While his conscience—and his need to hear what Falco knew about Kat—might demand he stay with the injured man for now, there was no reason he should deny his addiction to hot chocolate.

A few minutes later, Sam situated himself on the sofa with the double shot of hot chocolate. He checked his watch and started to try Mark's number again, then decided to wait until morning. There was nothing to be gained by dragging Mark out of bed at this hour. In fact, he wasn't at all sure what Mark might be able to do in the morning. No doubt, his old friend would be on the first available flight to Phoenix. Then what?

First I have to find Mom and Kat. Then I'll have to convince them both to go with Mark. That's going to be the tough part.
While Kat knew of and understood Sam's friendship with the ex-convict, Sam's mother was another matter. Sam had told her that he met Mark while traveling through Tennessee during a faux “I have to find myself” sojourn. The following year, she met Mark and Janet when the pair came out west to visit Sam. She seemed to like them well enough, but Sam knew she kept a subtle but suspicious eye trained on the pair at all times.

Sam's dad had somehow pieced together much of the connection but said little. Sam was certain the Offspring bloodline ran through his dad's side of the family, and he thought it possible that the middle-aged man had been coming into his own inheritance. At any rate, his dad seemed to understand things Sam never bothered to put into words. But his mom …
I'll worry about that when the time comes. For now, I need to decide what to do about Mr. Falco.

He drained the last of the hot chocolate and looked in on the injured man again. Falco was still asleep.
What's his story? He's gotta be an Offspring, but that doesn't account for him knowing me. One thing about it … Little Stevie was dead-set on killing him, and as the old saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I hope. So what do I do with him now?