A Devil in the Details (24 page)

The thought chilled me to my very core. That thing had been in my yard. Hell, before Mira warded the entrances, he’d been in my house! He’d been around my family, my friends, my neighbors. What had he whispered to them, in weak moments? What seeds had he planted when I wasn’t looking?

You can’t save the entire world, Jesse.
No, dammit, but I could try to save my little part of it.

While my brain slowly worked itself into a short circuit pondering all the what-ifs and mighta-couldas, I was forced to admit that there were worse physical ways to spend an evening. The “cell” was really just a corner of one of the offices, isolated and quiet. There was a cot to lounge or sit on as I chose, and a convenient soda machine. I could hear the game on the radio in the security office, and every so often, one of the guards wandered by to check on me.

One of them even tossed me a book to read, some action adventure spy epic by some author I’d never heard of. It was full of explosive action scenes and heroes walking away from easily lethal injuries—complete and utter fiction. I guess people found it entertaining. It was a bit ridiculous, by my tastes.

I should have known my pseudo- incarceration was going too well. Normally, I operate on the assumption that at any given moment, someone is going to walk up and kick me in the nuts. When Travis Verelli walked through the door smiling, I knew I was right.

“Mr. Dawson, I can’t possibly tell you how good it is to see you.” The little weasel beamed at me as he set his briefcase on the desk to open it. I would almost call him giddy. He did own some casual clothes, apparently, having donned a pair of khakis and a preppy- looking sweater for the ball game. The loafers were still there, though. Guess he still hadn’t learned to tie his shoes.

“I’m glad I could make you happy.” I laid the book aside and stood up. This was an enemy. You don’t face an enemy lying down. That’s not
bushido
; that’s just common sense.

“I mean really, inciting a riot? Dispersing a toxic chemical? I couldn’t have planned this better myself.” He produced a form from the case and handed it to me. “I was going to surprise you with this, but since you’re here . . .”

Warily, I looked it over, then looked up at him in amazement. “A restraining order? Does Kidd know you’re doing this?”

“Well, technically, that’s just the paperwork requesting one. The judge is still reviewing it. But I expect he’ll finalize it tomorrow, especially in light of tonight’s little . . . incident.” He perched himself on the corner of the desk, looking like the cat that ate an entire flock of canaries. “And no, Mr. Kidd is unaware of my actions. The beauty of it is, he’ll never be asked to make a statement of his own. Famous people slide through the cracks that way.”

“You’re requesting it on what grounds? I haven’t
done
anything!”

He held up one finger. “Technically, you just haven’t done anything I can
prove
. We’ll call this a preemptive strike. I can attest that I am in fear for my client’s safety. Might even throw my own safety in there, too, given that you’re a violent man, and all.”

“I’ve never threatened you harm.” I wanted to, though. Oh how I wanted to.

He shrugged, picking some lint off his sweater. “That’s your word against mine. And I’m fairly certain when I show off the black eye I got in my altercation with you, the judge will be most obliging.”

I was floored. Yeah, Axel was evil, but he kinda couldn’t help it. This guy . . . He was in a class by himself. “You’re going to get someone to punch you, and claim that I did it.”

“A crude tactic, I agree, but most effective.” He stood up, snapping his briefcase shut. “You can keep that, by the way. I have another copy.”

I tore the paper into tiny bits just to be petty, letting them flutter to the cement floor. “You know what? I hate getting in trouble for something I didn’t do.”

He barely had time to blink before the punch landed, sprawling him on the ground in a tangle of gangly limbs and office chairs. He flailed about in total shock for a few moments, one hand clapped to his face.

I eyed my bruised knuckles with a grimace. “Oh, come on, I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“You broke my node, you don of a bitch!” His voice came out nasal, and blood trickled between his fingers. He fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“Did I? Damn. I was going for a black eye.” Yeah, it wasn’t my smartest moment. Not the best example of
bushido
, either. I should never have attacked a weaker man. There’s no honor in that.

Verelli finally clambered to his feet, red-spotted handkerchief clutched to his abused proboscis. “I’ll have you up on charges. I’ll—”

“Get a restraining order? Do that. Now you need one.” Later, I’d regret it. Later, I’d kick myself all over for being so impulsive. But just now, it felt really damn good. “And if you come anywhere near my friends and family again, a broken nose will be the least of your worries.”

The agent made a scurrying retreat, briefcase clutched to his chest, and I slumped on the cot.
Way to go, Jess.
I was so screwed. Verelli would most definitely bring assault charges against me, and not even Cole was going to be able to keep me out of jail this time. I banged my head against the wall a few times.

Somehow, the game ended without the police coming to clap me in irons. My friends—and I used the term loosely, at this point—came to get me somewhere around eight o’clock, and awarded me the Great Foam Finger Award for “sticking it to the man.” While security was willing to buy that my little toxic vapor incident was an accident, my buddies were not. They’d have just shit if they knew about my decking Verelli. I elected not to mention it, and I ushered them out of the stadium as quickly as possible.

“Dude, you made the news! There were camera crews all over the place for the rest of the game!” Will, in particular, seemed rather jubilant over events. “There were chicks fighting, and shirts ripped off and boobs everywhere. It was great!”

I cringed. “Mira’s going to kill me.”

Marty was perhaps a bit more sympathetic, being the other married man of the group. “They didn’t use your name, as far as I know. You should be in the clear.”

Oh, if only he knew. I might have been off the hook for the riot, but there was one very disgruntled sports agent out there with an ax to grind. And Mira was not going to be amused when the cops showed up at the house to arrest me. In fact, I’d probably be safer with them than with her. Being bashed in the skull with a cast-iron skillet is
not
a noble death. And I had at least a good hour to ponder my bleak fate as we sat in the parking lot, waiting to get out.

Marty, having been up for nearly twenty- four hours, crashed in the backseat and began snoring almost immediately. If you’ve ever seen the backseat of a PT Cruiser, you will appreciate it when I say that Marty is a musician. It means he can sleep anywhere.

Will and I sat in the front, illuminated by the green glow of his dash lights, listening to the sound track from some anime movie. The taillights of the car in front of us strobed red every time the line inched forward another few feet.

Finally—and I knew it had to be driving him nuts to wait even that long—Will asked, “So . . . you saw one, didn’t you? I mean, that’s why you went tearing up the stairs?”

I glanced back to be certain Marty was still sleeping. Yeah, Marty knew, but . . . I’m not sure he really believed. That was okay with me. At least one of us ought to sleep well at night. “Yeah, I saw one.”

“Aw, man!” Will pounded on the steering wheel once with his fist. “I wish I could see one.”

“No. You don’t.”

Will drove for me. He flew to all areas of the country with me. He patched me up with his EMT training, even going so far as to duct tape my insides to my insides once, to get me to the hospital. That was how I justified asking for his help. But I kept him at a distance, for the challenges. He didn’t need to have demon names flitting around inside his skull. He didn’t need to see the horrors that existed just outside human perception. It was the only way I could repay him, really.

“So did you do some of that kung fu shit and kick his ass?” Despite the injuries he’d helped repair, Will still had some grand Hollywood vision of what being a champion entailed. No doubt, he dreamed of epic battles across rooftops with me dodging bullets and flinging ninja stars.

“No. Just sprayed him with Mace. He left.” The line of cars in front of us seemed impossibly long. I suddenly didn’t want to be in the car, discussing my altercation with Axel. Would Will even know if he’d met Axel? Would he recognize the danger?

“Well, that’s kinda anticlimactic. I heard there was a big brawl and stuff.” The doofus actually looked disappointed.

“Other people were fighting. We were just talking.” Other people would have taken the “I don’t really wanna talk about it” hint. But not Will.

He gave me an odd look. “What do you talk to demons about?”

I shrugged. “Souls. Hell. Stuff like that.” Not entirely true. I don’t think Axel and I had ever talked about Hell. And we talked about way more than souls.

He’d been almost frantic—Axel, I mean, not Will—wanting to tell me something.
“What is it, Lassie? Timmy fell in the well?”
I doubt Axel would appreciate the similarity. What did he know that was so damn important? It had to be about Miguel and Guy. Axel knew what had happened to them, which meant it was more than just an unfortunate coincidence. And that, sadly, was what I had believed all along. Sometimes, I hate being right.

“Dude! You talk about Hell? What’s it like? Have you seen it?”

I blinked at him, then reached over and smacked him lightly upside the back of the head. “Are you nuts?”

“Ow.” He rubbed his head and glared at me, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I was just askin’. . . .”

To our right, horns blared and voices shouted. I wondered if it was some of the earlier combatants, meeting for round two. Axel may have nudged them over the edge, but he couldn’t create such rage out of nothing. At least, I didn’t think he could. I hadn’t thought he could assume human form, either, and we’d seen where that had gotten me. I hate being wrong, too.

“So . . . you need me to drive for you?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I didn’t think you sat around talking to demons for fun, dude.” He pointed to my tattooed right hand. “And that usually means you got work to do. And then, I got work to do.”

Will has always been strangely pragmatic about the oddities in my life. “Two weeks from now. Night of the full moon.”

He nodded and finally got the car pulled out onto the street, where a traffic cop waved us on through the red light. If Will noticed that I ducked down in the seat, he didn’t mention it. “That’ll give me time to stock up on supplies. You’re not expecting any burns this time, are you?”

“No, not this time.” In all fairness, the fire fight—in the most literal sense—had gone heavily in my favor. I barely got singed, that time. Well, and lost my eyebrows. And burned my knuckles. And lost maybe two inches of my hair. It was a good day!

“Just a normal hack ’n’ slash, hmm?” He nodded his head in time to the music as we pulled out onto the highway and headed north.

“Yeah. For whatever ‘normal’ is.”

“Truth, dude.”

We rode in silence for several miles before he spoke again. “So, can you beat him? The one you were talking to?”

Now that was an interesting thought. If it ever came down to it, could I beat Axel? I was never cocky enough to answer with a “Sure thing!” about any of my challenges. But once, I might have been more confident where Axel was concerned. Now . . . I wasn’t sure.

What I said was, “Yeah. I can beat him.” Explaining the difference between the demon following me around and the demon I was contracted to fight was more than I was willing to go through tonight.

“Cool.” Will fell silent. Maybe he finally figured out that I wasn’t really up for witty repartee.

I stared out at the city lights whizzing by, my own reflection glaring back at me from the dark window. Somewhere in this whole situation, I was getting screwed. I knew this as surely as I knew the sun would come up in the morning. Even worse, my options weren’t looking good. I was stuck between a very nasty demon and a very hot place.

On one hand, I could bargain with Axel. I could sacrifice something of mine or betray someone I cared about, in order to get some unknown information that may or may not have any practical value. For all I knew, I could give him what he wanted, and he could tell me the sky was blue and water was wet. Dealing with Axel was the same as dealing with the devil, and the first rule there is “Don’t.”

On the other hand, Miguel and Guy were dead, and I was sure someone had worked damn hard to make them so. Neither of them would go down peacefully. Given my recent road- rage incidents, I was fairly certain I was next. Maybe the bull’s-eye was on a champion I had never met. It didn’t matter. If Axel was willing to give up the murderer, was the exchange worth it? He wasn’t asking for a soul, only a name. I wasn’t even sure what he could do with that kind of information. Could I justify betraying a friend, if it saved a life and soul of someone I didn’t even know?

There was no way out that didn’t make my stomach pitch and roll, and the little voice in my head called me eighty kinds of a moron for not figuring something out. And to top it all off, I was pretty sure I was going to be in jail in the next few days.
Think, asshole! Think harder!
The highway signs whipped past with a rhythmic whooshing noise that sounded suspiciously like “Loser! Loser!”

The mocking silence stretched on, broken only by the music and Marty’s soft snores, until Will took the exit toward Liberty. “Hey, Jess?”

I turned back toward my best friend. “Yeah?”

“If you die, can I put the moves on your wife?”