A Devil in the Details (21 page)

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I thought I’d lost the connection. Finally, Ivan’s gravelly voice came again. “It could to be a coincidence. Archer declined a contract, so they were to be contacting Miguel instead.”

“It’s possible, yeah. And we don’t know just when Guy vanished. But it doesn’t look good.”

“Is Viljo to be having a name to go with this number?”

Shambling into the kitchen, I had my eyes on the prize—nice hot coffee, in the biggest mug I could find. No sugar, no cream, just as black as black gets—it was slap-you-in-the-face kinda coffee. The first sip touched my lips, and I almost disgraced myself by whimpering. “No. He’s working on it, but he says it may be a prepaid cell out of California somewhere. Could belong to anyone by now.”

“You Americans and your disposable society.” I could hear the growl in the old man’s voice, and my inner child flinched. I never wanted Ivan mad at me, at least not without a
really
good reason.

“Have faith in Viljo. If it’s there to be found, he’ll find it, and we can put a contract ban on whoever it is.” Rule number two: You only get one shot at redemption. If it fails, you’re done. No other champion will take up your cause. In the days before long-distance communications, it was easier for someone to try and pull a fast one. In these modern times, thanks to Ivan and the network he’d created, no one coughed without all the champions knowing—that is, usually.

“This number is to being from California. Who is this person you are to be aiding?”

“Nelson Kidd, baseball player. He’s always called me from the local hotel, though, so I don’t have his personal number to compare.” In the era of prepaid cellular phones, it certainly wasn’t impossible for someone in Arizona to have an out-of-state cell number. That thought made me frown as I savored my coffee. Was I being played? Had Guy and Miguel already tried to help Kidd out? No . . . Walter Brandt vouched for him, and he knew the rules. “I think he’s on the up-and-up.”

“He is what?”

“I think he is a legitimate client.”

“All the same, I will to be coming there next. I am preferring the contract be voided, if possible.”

My stomach knotted at the thought. True, contracts could be voided under certain circumstances, such as deception on the part of either party or violation of the terms. But it left me feeling clammy. When you start looking for loopholes, it’s too easy to hang yourself with one. That’s how most of the people who came to me wound up in a jam in the first place.

And on top of that . . . “I can’t back out, Ivan. I gave my word.” My honor was all I had, when you got down to the nitty-gritty. I couldn’t just go back on an oath.

Ivan cursed, using words and terms I didn’t want to understand. “You and this honor of yours. Sometimes, honor must be put aside!”

“And that’s usually when you need it the most.” Guess we were gonna find out what happened when Ivan’s unstoppable force met my immovable object. I always kinda wondered how that would turn out. Ivan’s gruff voice spat out a string of words that were definitely not complimentary. It was time to distract and evade. “Hey, Viljo had some other info, too.”

“Well, to being out with it,” he snapped, obviously not pleased with me.

I gave him the non- computer-genius version of events in cyberspace, concluding, “Viljo says he’s going to lock the system down, then see if he can’t catch this mysterious ghost.” Okay, so he didn’t say that, but I assumed that was what he’d do. It’s what I’d do.

“Then that will to being that, until Viljo has more information, I suppose.” He sighed, sounding weary. “I am liking this less and less, Dawson. Every day is to be bringing worse news and more questions than answers.”

I was inclined to agree with him, but at this exact moment, there was nothing I could do about it. I hated that feeling. “So, um . . . did you ever locate Miguel’s little brother?” Smoothly change the subject; that’s the ticket.

“No. The people at the village are to be saying that he took a bus into Mexico City some weeks ago.”

“How in the world do you misplace a seventeen-year-old for two weeks before someone questions it?” Maybe it would make sense after the caffeine kicked in; coffee, sweet nectar of the gods.

“This is not unusual for him, they are saying. He is to be going to the city often, without word.”

“Well, let’s hope he’s just off on one of those trips, and he hasn’t done something stupid.” I knew better, deep down. Somewhere, there was a seventeen-year-old kid wandering around with a machete or who knew what, trying to avenge his brother. I would have done the same for Cole at that age. Hell, I still would.

“We are to be praying to God for that.”

Laughter from the backyard drew me to the window, and I stood in the patch of bright sunlight on the kitchen floor, watching Mira and Anna play some approximation of baseball.

My daughter was not what one would call athletically inclined, and they were chasing the errant ball more than anything. The light gleamed through her red hair, making it look like spun copper. Her laugh was one of pure delight, that laugh that only young kids have.

The sun cast golden spirals through Mira’s chestnut curls, too. Maybe she felt me watching her. She looked up and smiled at me through the window, pointing me out to Anna. They mouthed, “Hi, Daddy!” and waved happily. I waved back, fingertips brushing the glass between us.

Mira’s color looked better than the day before. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, and only someone who knew her like I did would see that she was paler than usual.

“Dawson? Are you being all right?”

It looked so peaceful, out there; so tranquil in the early-morning sunlight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just watching Anna play.”

Ivan chuckled. “She is to being so precious. I will to be bringing her something special, when I visit.”

“You don’t have to do that.” What I meant was,
please
don’t do that. Ivan was worse than my dad about spoiling her. He’d show up with a pony or something equally labor intensive.

“I am to be putting Rosaline on the line now, to be speaking to Mira. You go. Hug your daughter for me.”

“I can do that.”

There was static on the line as Ivan’s phone was passed to Rosaline. “Jesse?” Her voice was high and clear, a girl’s voice with a lilting Mexican accent. At twenty, she could barely be called a woman. “How are you?”

“Doing all right, I suppose. Is Ivan behaving himself down there?” What do you say to a woman, when you know her husband is dead and his soul imprisoned by the forces of darkness?

“Oh
sí
. Señor Ivan has been very helpful.” The silence stretched out for long uncomfortable moments.

“I’ll get Mira for you.” I’m not good at this comfort thing. That’s why I have Mira.

“Wait, Jesse. I have something to ask of you.”

Obediently, I waited.

“If . . . if Señor Ivan can find who . . . can find the thing that . . . can find out what happened to Miguel, can you . . . can you send his soul on to Heaven?” I wasn’t sure she was going to finish her sentence, by the end. She was so choked up, near tears. It made me squirm uncomfortably. I can’t handle crying women.

“Rosaline, I . . .”

“
Por favor
, Jesse. If anyone can defeat this thing that has taken my Miguel, it is you. Miguel always said this.” That was rather high praise, but it made my stomach sink to somewhere around my ankles.

What could I say? That anything that could take out two experienced champions was probably out of my league? That the odds of getting it to offer Miguel’s soul up were about a million to one? That even
finding
one particular demon, in the entire underworld, without knowing its name was . . . impossible? “I will do everything I can. I promise.”
Sucker
. I hated myself for promising her even that much, knowing that I’d likely never fulfill it.

The sound of sniffling almost muffled the fervent “God bless you, Jesse.” What was it with everyone God-blessing me lately? I couldn’t help but think if God was going to bless me, it would have happened already.

Walking out onto the patio, I realized, if he existed, he’d already given me all the blessings I could ever want. My two girls glanced up at the sound of the door and treated me to identical smiles. Annabelle looked so much like her mother, except for her coloring, which came from my Scottish roots. They had the same cute nose, the same willowy build. Maybe Anna would have my height, but other than that, she was her mommy through and through. They were like a pair of angels alighting on the grass.

“Daddy!” Annabelle launched herself at my knees, and I bit back a wince. I was
not
limping, dammit. And if I said it enough times, it would come true. While I’m at it, I would like five million dollars, the new video game console, and a Harley.

Mira had that speculative look on her face as she watched me, so when she got within arm’s reach, I grabbed her around the waist to pull her close and kiss her soundly. “Jesse . . .” She chuckled softly as she pulled away, giving me a smile that promised “later.” She didn’t, however, ask me anything about my leg. Mission accomplished.

“Rosaline wants to talk to you.” I handed the phone off and snatched Anna up when she started her chant, “I wanna talk on the phone; I wanna talk on the phone!”

“Nope, button, you stay with me. Mommy wants to talk on the phone in peace.” Mira gave me a grateful look as she disappeared inside. “So, what were you and Mommy playing?”

“Baseball!” Annabelle wriggled to get down and was off like a shot the moment her sneakered feet touched the grass. “You throw the ball!”

With visions of funniest home video clips running through my head, I was relieved to find they were using a sponge ball and bat instead of something that could do actual damage.

I tossed it to Anna a few times, and she nearly spun herself dizzy trying to whack at it with the oversized bat. She didn’t care if she hit the ball. Chasing it when she missed was just as much fun. Her giggle floated in the air, bright as the sun as she romped around the yard in the cool spring dew.

This was what baseball was supposed to be, I thought; playing for the fun of it, for the thrill of the game. It shouldn’t be about the money, about the endorsement deals, and the multimillion-dollar contracts. Seeing the current state of the game I adored made me sad. I had to wonder, if Nelson Kidd had been in his prime sixty years ago, when baseball was played just because it was baseball, would he have sold his soul to gain a few more years of playtime?

“Daddy, chase me!” The redheaded little imp abandoned her baseball game with the fickleness of childhood, and I grudgingly gave chase, gratified to feel my sore muscles loosen up under the exercise. My right leg, though . . . I’d pulled something, or twisted the wrong thingy or . . . something. It hurt—a lot.

Finally, I flopped onto the warm bricks of the patio with a groan. “That’s it, button, you defeated Daddy.” Her little face fell. “Hey, why don’t you practice that kata I taught you? Let me see how well you remember it.”

She perked up immediately and took a few moments to find just the right place in the yard to perform. Her face solemn with concentration, she bowed from the waist and I returned the gesture.

At five, her movements lacked grace, and maybe she didn’t flow from stance to stance as I did, but darned if she didn’t get every movement just as I’d taught her. It was a dance to her, something fun she did with her daddy. I’d wait until she was older to show her how to use each movement to defend herself. What, you think any daughter of mine wouldn’t know how to knock a boy on his ass? Yeah right.

She ended the series with a punch and her sharp little “Kyai!” yell, then bowed to me again. I applauded loudly. “Well done, button! You looked real good out there!”

With a running leap, she landed with both knees in the middle of my stomach, and only my expecting it saved me from injury. “Oof! What’d I tell you about jumping on people?”

“You said it was funny when I did it to Uncle Will.”

Oops
. Speaking of which, I needed to call him and reserve his services for two weeks from now. “Here, lemme up, button. I need to call Uncle Will, now that you mention it.”

“Can I talk on the phone?” She followed me inside, jumping at my hip like a miniature kangaroo.

“Maybe in a minute, okay?” Mira’s voice was soft and muffled in the rear of the house, and I heard her shut the door to her little sanctuary. Mira had tried to explain to me once that being the wives of men in dangerous professions—policemen, soldiers, demon hunters—created a unique bond amongst women. I hoped whatever she was saying was some comfort to Rosaline.

Anna tugged on my pants. “Can I have a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast?” The innocence shining from my daughter’s tiny face was picturesque. And I guarantee you she wouldn’t have asked her mother. That’s my girl.

I thought for a moment (and it was a short moment), weighing the pros of indulging my daughter against the cons of getting scolded by my wife. Finally, I shrugged. “Yeah, why not.” It was always much easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

So, as I dialed the phone to call my best friend, I, Jesse Dawson, samurai, demon slayer, and champion of lost souls, made two of the world’s best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“D
ude! I was just about to call you! It’s like ESPN!”

“ESP, you dork. And, creepy.”

“Like, totally.”

I had to chuckle around my mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. Will always made me laugh. Despite having grown up in rural Missouri like the rest of us, he still managed to sound like a born-and-bred Californian surfer. You’d never guess he was a bespectacled gaming nut, and like me, part of the long-haired club. The man was also a trained EMT and brilliant in his own right. “So, what did you want?”