City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood (18 page)

Haley nodded. “Seems to.”

“Then why do you look so stricken.”

Was it that obvious? “I’m scared for Orin. When Kin are accused of violent crimes, they don’t stand much of a chance. He’s a good Male. I know he’s a little strange, and he’s not real social at the parties, but has a very good heart. I just can’t see him hurting anyone. Not like that.”

The Jersey City Prince’s baby blues looked almost black under the halogen light leaking through the windshield. “We all have the potential to lose control.”

Haley nodded. “And if it was anyone else, I’d agree. But Orin? Come on, you’ve met him.”

The Prince made a face. “He’s different, I’ll give him that.”

Yeah, well, different was definitely a polite way of putting it. But then, that was Deshi.

He said, “You’re still frowning.”

Haley pushed her hair back. “Orin said Rehbek’ah killed the woman. Isn’t she Re’ka’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Why would Re’ka allow something like this to happen? Bad PR hurts all of us. This isn’t the kind of news coverage any Queen wants.” Truth be told, none of them could afford this kind of media attention. It stirred up the public and brought in Alchemists.

And the last thing any Queen wanted was another Houston. If there was ever a repeat of a Hive being stormed and burned out, Haley doubted any amount of begging, pleading, or even valid threats would keep the Queen dragons from rising up and exacting revenge. A civil war between man and wyrm? The thought, although unlikely, was terrifying. She checked her watch. It was seven-thirty. “I guess we better go.”

They finished up the fries and their drinks, packed up all the garbage, and pulled out of the parking lot.

The chains on Farley’s skaters made chink-chink noises as his tawny legs ate up the distance to Garrett’s office. When he got to the door, the big man was on the phone.

And that was “big man” in the proverbial and literal sense of the words. At close to seven feet with wide shoulders and a hard face, Garrett was imposing. And unlike Kin, he’d come by every inch the old-fashioned way—genetics.

Farley waited at the threshold until Garrett curled his hand. He crossed the room and stopped at the edge of his desk.

Garret said, “Where’s Haley? I called her apartment twice and didn’t get an answer.” His eyes added, “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“She took a vacation.” Getting Garrett’s head-on glare made Farley bounce on his toes and fidget like he had ants in his pants. “I swear, she took a vacation. She’s going to some concert in Sandy Creek. Battle of the Bands. Bunch of heavy metal groups playing there. Deshi bought tickets. So she went.”

“Is that the Sandy Park off I-10?”

Farley kept his face composed. “Yeah, have you been?”

Garrett’s mouth made a slash and his mustache rolled under his large crooked nose. “No, heavy metal isn’t exactly my forte.” His eyes stabbed Farley some more, but he refused to break. Garrett said, “She wouldn’t be going on campus, would she?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“You see the news this morning?”

“I don’t pay attention to that kind of thing.” Which was true. Mostly.

“Where else is she going?”

“Not sure, but knowing her, it involves Fredericks of Hollywood. Haley likes to buy lacy underwear when she’s having a bad day. Makes her feel better.”

Garrett stared, and Farley folded his arms, then unfolded them.
Christ…how long was he going to…

Without warning, Garrett changed the subject. “Do you think you could pick up Inoata’s trail again? Vice really needs a sit-down with him about his manifest.”

“Vice always needs something.”

When Garrett’s eyes pegged Farley this time it was different. Not in the
I know you’re shitting me
way.

“How fast can you make it happen?” Not how long will it take.

“I don’t know. He’s slick. Took me four days sleeping in a gutter last time.” Farley bit off his words as a look came over Garrett’s face he wasn’t familiar with. “Is there something you want to tell me, sir? ‘Cause you’re looking at me like I just told you I ate your puppy.”

Garrett made a face. “This is just an important shipment.”

Farley moved closer. “They’re all important, Garrett. No one likes it when people get eaten.”

Garrett’s scent changed, and now there was a lick of fear in the cloak of dominance he wore.

Farley went to the office door, shut it, and came back. “Okay, it’s just you and me. Spit it out.”

“Don’t order me around,” Garrett said.

“I’m not. I’m just telling you it’s safe to talk now. Something has you all worked up about this particular manifest, and I’d like to know why.” Apparently Garrett didn’t like being assessed. He stood up and went to the window, leaving Farley to stare at his back.

After a long minute he said, “I got a request from upstairs to put you on another detail when you’re done here.”

Farley arched an eyebrow. Upstairs rarely asked for him personally. No, they preferred pretending he didn’t exist. “Must be pretty serious.”

Garrett made a sound. It wasn’t a happy one. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten it. They’ve been after me for while.”

Oooh-kay, now Farley’s interest was really piqued. “And you’ve been denying it?”“More like putting it off.” His boss almost tossed him a glance but he didn’t quite make the turn. “Farley, do you know who Roger Heikman is?”

The name sounded familiar. For some reason Farley associated it with those ridiculously wealthy social enigmas the media was always harping on. “Not really, no.”

“He owns the GLG Grand downtown. Runs a resort of sorts. Hosts a lot of the big Pit fights, caters to all the wealthy.” And Garrett said cater like it was something repulsive. Farley had a pretty good idea what he really meant. Just because you were rich didn’t mean you didn’t have the same kind of vices which drew the average business people into the Dens on the weekend to roll with the wyrms in places like the Pit.

Doing it in a hotel just gave the patrons more privacy.

And room service. And fresh towels.

Garrett scrubbed a hand over his head and said, “Heikman has been on Vice’s radar for years. The intel on him has told us some pretty scary things. They’ve gotten in…but most don’t get out. The GLG building is a regular Bates motel.”

“It isn’t illegal to sell Kin.” Hell, most of them sold themselves in some form or fashion. It was a living.

“No…and prostitution isn’t what we’re concerned about.” Garret did turn a little then and Farley saw a lot of disgust in his expression. “Heikman has a long history with several of the big hitter flesh traders in the city. He puts in regular orders for young Human girls.”

“Prostitution?” It wasn’t anything new. Humans did bad things to their own on a regular basis.

“That’s what upstairs thought at first, but no. He’s using them in the Pit trade.”

Farley shook his head. “What? Why? I mean what on earth could he…” A horrible realization hit him square in the chest. “Holy shit.”

And Garrett said exactly what Farley was thinking. “Yeah. Breeding stock.”

Farley scrubbed his face then rubbed his chest. God of Man. The only reason half-breeds were even walking around is because Kin didn’t condone killing the unborn. Granted most half-breeds were too stupid to find their way out of a wet paper bag. A few had sense and strangely enough those tended to be the ones who could sideline for
food
. But as a general rule, the cross breeding between Human and dragons made the blood potent. And eating tweaked-out flesh and blood was like biting into a high voltage wire. Sometimes with very similar results. Those halvsies were used in the Pit or sold as guard dogs for the flesh and weapons dealers. So the ones who could
feed
Kin were coveted.

But to make them on purpose? It was a wonder that Medan hadn’t leveled the place.

“Jesus, this asshole is purposely making halvsies? Does Medan know? She’d be pissed.”

Garrett said, “Upstairs is pretty sure Medan knows what’s going on. But this isn’t happening in the Dens and while she might not like it, it’s Human business, not hers. And quite frankly I prefer to keep it that way.” Who wouldn’t? “We’ve had a lot of losses on this one, Farley. But Vice has finally made some head way. They managed to flush out several of Heikman’s top dealers and they’ve convinced one of them to flip. His name is Paul Husely.” Garrett turned back to the window. Farley suspected it was to hide the expression on his face. The one which said he really didn’t enjoy looking at all the ugly. “Paul has confirmed most of what we already knew and told us things we didn’t. This is really bad. Not because of the things going on in the GLG, but how much is going on. There are a lot of powerful people involved. Judges, Federal Marshals, city officials, just to name a few. Heikman has his hands in a lot of deep and politically tied pockets.”

“So if you put off the request from upstairs, why are you telling me this?”

Garrett stayed quiet and his scent wavered, but Farley couldn’t identify what he smelled. When the man spoke he was business as usual. “Because I want you to know why I don’t want you going in there.”

Farley shrugged. “Flesh dealing is flesh dealing. It’s all ugly and brutal and people die.”

“Yes. They do.”

And why did Farley have a feeling there was a whole lot more meaning in those three little words? “Garrett, if you need something, you can ask me. I owe you my life ten times over and I owe you for helping me keep Haley safe.”

He coughed. “She’s my Agent and what she is makes her invaluable. The department would never recover from losing her.”

“Yeah, well, Kin like me are a dime a dozen and you’ve never left me in the wings.” Which was true, and there were so many times Garrett could have turned his back on Farley and let upstairs send him down the road with a pink slip.

Or prison.

Garrett shook his head. “Right now I just need you to find Inoata and fast. It’s important.”

Farley studied his boss for a long moment, but the man had worked with Kin for years and was very good at hiding his scent by batting down his emotions. Trying to figure him out was like reading a blackboard wiped clean. Ghosts of words and nothing more.

Farley said, “I’ve got another contact I can tap into.” It wasn’t his favorite and it sure as hell wasn’t as safe as sleeping in the alley. “But…”

“So you can find him then?”

“Yeah.”

“Then do your job. And I don’t want to see you in my office again until his ass is down in the Tank. Am I clear?”

With that Farley turned and left.

There was one place Farley needed to go before he headed out. The lost and found box in the PD’s front office, which just so happened to double as has his personal discount store, because he was still waiting for the raise he’d asked for back in the eighties.

Farley stopped by the empty computer box and pulled out a couple things, a sweater, an over coat. Was that…no way. Underwear? How the… Never mind, he didn’t want to know.

“What are you looking for?”

Farley glanced up at Wally Hicks. To Farley, the guy looked like a stunt double for Opie Taylor except his hair was black. Wally’s official job was to man the phones in the front office. His unofficial one was overseer of all things lost and not yet claimed.

Wally waved a hand over the box. “You know we take this stuff to the shelter to help the poor people, don’t you.”

Farley narrowed his eyes and rehashed their same old argument in his head.
Yeah well if you’d ever seen my apartment you’d think that homeless shelter was the Ritz…there’s no way in hell I’m camping out in the alley without a coat…and seeing mine is out of service…
Aloud he said, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Wally sighed and it made Farley think of a deflating balloon. “That means you’re not supposed be going through that stuff. Or taking things. Or keeping things.”

Farley glared. “Wally, you and I have this same fucking convo every time I come over here.”

Wally crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know, and you still won’t stay out of the thing.”

Farley pegged him with a look. “Exactly.”

With a little more excavating, Farley found a black duster and gave it a quick inspection. There wasn’t any vomit or visible blood, which was good. The hem was tattered, and there was a hole splitting the seams on the left shoulder. He sniffed it. Nope, nothing had died in the thing. Farley put it on. It hung too low and the sleeves were a tad long. If he had to, he could roll those up. But otherwise it fit.

Wally made an angry sound.

Farley smiled at him. “See you next time.” He headed out the front doors and down the sidewalk.

With the sun gone, it was getting cold quick. Man, Farley hated the winter. Only thing good about the whole thing was Christmas, because nothing says good times like a ton of food and shiny surprises wrapped in fancy paper.

Which reminded him, he had to get Haley a present. Oh, and Deshi, since he was back. If he was back.

Farley was convinced Deshi was proof positive that while a Queen could design something to perfection, the brains part was all luck. What was the name Orin liked to call him again? Oh yeah, Special Ed Deshi. Short Bus when he was really in a mood.

Farley stepped off the sidewalk and headed across the road as the MARTA bus pulled up to the curb. He climbed on, flashed the driver his bus pass, then looked for a seat. Two old ladies in the front, three big dudes on the left, a sprinkling of inner city residents. There was a seat in the back. Farley could have sat up front, but people tended to get a little wiggy when they realized what he was, which pretty much happened as soon as they looked at him.

The dead giveaway was how he moved. Liquid. Even the act of turning his head to look at something screamed predator. As long as he stayed still people ignored him. There’d been a time in Farley’s life when he savored the fear people radiated, his body coming alive with the prospect of prey. But then Haley had come into his life and things changed.

The bus lurched forward. Outside the window, the sky was a blanket of black. There were stars up there somewhere, but the halogen lights burning along the sidewalks ate up any and all natural glow. The bus stopped again and people on the inside exchanged places with those standing at the bus stop.