City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood (22 page)

Farley said, “I know Inoata does some part time stuff for you. I need to find him. He fucked me.”

“In the literal or proverbial sense?” Frankie was the only one who laughed. “I don’t know where he is.”

Farley’s nose twitched. Humans lied so often most of them didn’t even seem aware they were doing it. If only they could smell themselves.

The waitress walked over and Farley looked up. She said, “You want your usual?”

Farley caught her hand and licked her palm. “Sure, Cherie.” He always tried his best to show respect to the woman, but then all the Males were good to her. As a Lesser-Bred, Cherie was as close to being with a Female most Males would ever get. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the Humans and Folk in the place. They treated her like a disease.

Cherie gave Farley’s ear a tweak . His eyes locked on the swell of her ass flashing under the hem of her short skirt as she headed back to the bar. Farley hissed a little and shifted in his seat.

Frankie said, “You’re such a fucking good Samaritan.”

“She’s female.” And Farley said it like it should explain everything. For him it did.

Frankie frowned. “I’m busy, wyrm. Either tell me what you want or get lost.”

Farley turned back around. “I’m tired of sleeping in the gutter with the rats, Frankie. Inoata’s been jerking my dick for almost a week and I need to find him.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got a good source who says he’s double dipping on the buyers for the December load.”

Frankie made like Bob Marley on his cigar. There was definitely more than tobacco in the thing. “And what makes you say that?”

“Normally, Vice is so Chatty Cathy I have to beat them off of me with a stick. Lately not so much, which can only mean they’re milking a different cow. Inoata’s name came up. You know,” Farley gave a shrug, “in conversation.”

“And this info is good?’

“My info’s always good. If Inoata is dirty, a whole lot of shit is gonna hit this place. And believe you me, we’ll all be face first in the crapper if Medan gets fingered for any of it.”

Frankie’s gaze came up. Before he could speak, Cherie returned with two shots of tequila and a beer.

Farley slapped his palms together and rubbed while rolling his shoulders. Oh yeah, he was more than ready to feel the
burn
. For Kin, alcohol set their metabolism in high gear, shooting their adrenaline into overdrive. For them, the euphoric sensation was a different form of sex.

Farley threw a twenty down on the table, picked up the first shot and tossed it back. Warmth spread under his skin and a low lean growl eased out of his clenched teeth. To keep the heat from spiking too fast he drank some of the beer.

Shot two, coming right up.

The next one stroked him twice as hot, making his muscles tremble and his breathing hitch. Frankie watched him with a curious expression. But then the man always did enjoy a good show and Farley had no inhibitions giving the man one. Hell, he would have taken Frankie in the back for some fist action if he thought it would make him talk, but the flesh dealer preferred small, weak, and illegal. Still, Farley knew his appearance was enough to play into the man’s fantasies.

Farley pushed up his shirt just enough to flash some skin and worked his fingers across his stomach, groaning.

“You want another?” Cherie asked. Farley nodded and let his eyes slide half closed while he enjoyed the chemical induced glow. Every so often he sucked on the beer to keep up the heat.

When Frankie spoke, his voice was thick. “You were saying, wyrm?”

Farley tipped his beer at Frankie and gave him a lazy smile. “Our asses will be on the platter, I think, or something like that.”

“And what makes you think anything on this load would rain all over Medan?”

“Because the cops know she won’t come out to defend the charges. She’ll pay whatever fines they come up with, then she’ll send her marks out to collect the individuals she thinks played a part in costing her money. Something tells me the trail of bread crumbs is going to lead right back to this post.”

Frankie leaned forward and his watery gaze narrowed down to thin slits. “You know, for a low man on the food chain you sure get busy with the Dominants. Especially the cops. So how’s that work, wyrm? You fucking them too?”

This dangerous line was Farley’s home territory. And in order to stay alive he could never lie. His info had to be firm, like concrete. Which meant he really did have to leak Vice locations, undercover units, wire taps and just about anything else to keep traders coming back to him when every neuron in their twitchy little brains warned them of a set up.

Smiling, Farley cocked one leg up on the chair and dipped his fingertips just inside the hem of his skaters. Frankie’s eyes followed. “Shit. That’s my job.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I don’t see things like the rest of those in the business. The only good place for a rat is in the sewer. Face down.” He gave Farley a glare and lined up his stacks of Franklins, touching his money a lot like he did himself.

Cherie returned with two more tequila shots. She’d over filled them and the liquor kissed the edge. Farley gave her another twenty and threw back the first one. When he spoke, his throat was still tight. “I can appreciate your apprehension, Frankie. I really can.” Damn, he was burning up. Farley took a breath and opened his mouth so he could pant. The trader tried to keep his eyes from showing interest but it wasn’t working. Farley rubbed his free hand on his thigh, encouraging the burn. “I mean, if I was in your position I’d be weary of me too.” His hand trembled when he picked up the shot. No doubt, this one would push him over.

As expected, the alcohol hit Farley’s stomach and set a blowtorch off in his bones. He went forward, forehead hitting the table. If Frankie wanted to kill him, here was his chance. This was also a part of the game. By being reckless around them, Farley hoped to prove he had nothing to hide.

He groaned and slid his hand further down the front of his skaters. God of Man, doing this made him miss his true form, the feel of the wind under his wings, the kick of his fire lung. For a few seconds Farley was there, his sails cutting the sky, his body alive with the power of flight.

Too bad the euphoric sensation never lasted very long. As the burn faded, Farley sat back feeling used up and ready to pool inside his clothes. “Fuck, that was nice.”

Frankie jabbed his cigar at the air between them. “Tell you what, wyrm. I’m feeling generous. You give me something good and maybe I’ll be able to point you in Inoata’s general direction.”

“That’s right neighborly of you, Frankie.” Farley grinned, flashing fang. “I tell you what, you throw in a couple of those bills and I’ll give you something better.” The man flipped up his eyes. Farley pretended not to notice. “Let’s say, ah, a tidbit that will save you a tombstone.”

Frankie pulled out one bill, then two. He slid them across the table but kept his hand in place. His scent tasted spicy now.

Farley caught Frankie’s gaze. “You’ve got a shipment coming into Savannah in three days from China. Some deal you made the dealer over the internet with a trader who goes by SamRed. He told you he was leader of the Zhua gang and promised you a load of little
fortune cookies
. What you don’t know is he’s International Vice. Works out of Hong Kong, ex-military. If you go into Savannah to pick up those girls, jail is gonna be the last thing you have worry about. Word is he got himself a nice five digit bonus to insure an itchy trigger finger. And because this guy is Internal Ops he can Swiss cheese your ass and get away with it.” Frankie’s mouth twitched. Farley dipped his chin. “My suggestion to you, Frankie--whoever you owe money to, pay up. Cause them fuckers got deep pockets.”

Frankie blinked and pulled out another Franklin and put it with the rest. He moved his hand. Farley snatched the money up and crammed it into a front pocket.

The flesh trader leaned back and said, “Inoata is doing some flesh trolling for a local buyer and he’s been picking up some of those white bread suburban types right out of their fancy private schools. Been hanging ‘round up on the north end where those high dollar freaks who play the pits hang out. He’s due in over on Middleton, about nine blocks outside the Pit. It’s an outside drop-off tonight. They say he’s got a full load.” Frankie slung the cigar butt to the other side of his mouth with a flip of his tongue. “Supposed to meet up with Dogo Carlos ‘round four AM. But Carlos…his truck ain’t been running so good.”

A grin spread across Farley’s face. “You think he might be scheduled for a break down?”

Frankie gave a beefy shrug. “You never know, those kinds of things just happen. Been happen’n lots lately since he’s been behind in his payments. Karma ya know. Such a bitch.”

“I hear yah, what goes around comes around.”

Frankie gave him a look. “Don’t I know it. But word to the wise, wyrm. Inoata’s got heat on his back you don’t want any part of.”

Farley arched an eye brow. “As in teeth and claws?” If a Kin was gunning for him, that was how he’d die.

Frankie snubbed out the smoldering cigar and flicked the butt onto the floor. “Naw. We’re talking five-O. Seems he picked the wrong package. Kid belongs to some Federal big-wig. If Inoata was smart he’d dump the fucker, but he’s not so smart that way.”

Yeah, smart was definitely not one of the words Farley would use to describe the Faerie.

Farley stood up. “As always my man, nice doing business with you.”

Frankie didn’t reply. He just pulled out another spiced cigar and lit up.

Back on topside, the air was had acquired a bite. Farley burrowed into his duster and headed up the alley, passing faceless figures moving in and out of alleyways doing business.

So, Inoata had bitten off a little more than he could chew and picked up some Fed’s kid? Maybe that’s why upstairs was on Garrett to send him into the GLG grand. Christ, the man was probably taking heat from every angle. No wonder he was wound up tight enough to snap.

If Inoata was pulling a nasty and snatching kids for that psycho Heikman, then Farley had an even bigger reason to snag the Faerie’s ass at all costs.

Back on the other side of the causeway, the wind snapped the edge of Farley’s duster around his legs, but it wasn’t just the cold making his muscles jump, it was the aftermath of the
burn
. He needed to eat. There was a Mickey D’s about a block down. The place was battered all to hell, held together with duct tape and a prayer, but it was clean, and since it was inside the Gray Zone they’d let him eat indoors.

Farley headed across the street. As he stepped up on the sidewalk, another set of footfalls echoed off the buildings. Farley caught the scent of Human sweat, steel and gun powder. He risked a quick look back. The dude in the cowboy hat from the trade station emerged from the opening in the Wall.

The sparse light leaking out of the storefront windows reflected on something shiny in Cowboy’s hands as they unfolded from under his jacket. Apparently the guy wasn’t going to waste any time introducing himself.

Farley dove for the shadows just as Cowboy fired. The first bullet pinged off the brick wall, the second caught Farley in the shoulder. Farley slammed into a parked car, rolled across the hood and landed on the other side.

Pain shot down Farley’s arm. When he examined the wound, there wasn’t much left of his shoulder. Mostly cartilage, some bone, and frayed ends of muscles and flesh resembling green-tinged hamburger.

SOB must have been using hollow points.

Farley pressed himself against the car. The sticky smack of boots hitting wet pavement slowed as Cowboy came around the back of the Buick with his gun hand out way too far. This idiot was an amateur, and just the kind of fool Inoata would sucker into doing his dirty work.

Tapping the last of his resources, Farley lunged, moving too fast for the Human eye to follow. Chelae extended, he caught the bastard across the stomach. At the same time Cowboy managed to squeeze off a shot. The explosion of sound made Farley’s skull ring, and the bullet left a hot line down the side of his head. Farley dove to the side and rolled until the brick wall of the building stopped him.

In spite of the pain, in spite of the exhaustion, Farley jerked up and made ready to spring out of the line of fire. It was all for nothing, though. Cowboy didn’t have any more interest in playing hit-man.

Intestines dangled like wet hose down around Cowboy’s thighs. The gun in his right hand clattered to the ground and he went to one knee. Tears squeezed out of his eyes along with little frightened sounds from his mouth.

Yeah, Humans usually didn’t do so well when they got a good look at what’s on the inside. The scent of blood hit Farley’s palate, making his teeth punch down.

Instinct told him to
feed
.

And that was
so
not going to happen.

Farley pushed himself away from the building and concentrated on moving. One foot in front of the other. As he went around the corner, he glanced back. Cowboy was prone on the sidewalk now. In the Gray Zone outside the Wall, the streets were thick with ferals and Lesser-Breds out on the hunt. No doubt, the body wouldn’t last very long.

By time Farley cleared the couple of blocks to his apartment, the wound on his shoulder and head were no longer healing and he was chilled. He went up the steps slow because the last thing he needed was to misstep on the crumbling stone and take out an ankle.

Inside he made a bee line to the squat kitchen and yanked open cabinet doors in search of anything edible. He found a box of crackers, ripped it open and choked down the contents. Behind door number five he spotted an ancient canister of NesQuick, but there wasn’t any milk. He found a Redbull in the fridge. Farley mixed them together in a glass and wound up with a paste that tasted as nasty as it looked. He ate it with a spoon.

Calories were calories and he needed as many as he could get at the moment. It still wasn’t going to be enough. Thanks to the alcohol, nothing but a
feed
was going to bring him back.

The trembling in his limbs went from bad to worse and Farley headed into his bathroom. He flipped the handle marked with the big H and put in the plug. Normally he would have gone for a shower, but the damn thing hadn’t worked right in over a year. By the time there was an inch in the bottom he was on his knees, unable to stand, and had to roll himself in. The water turned dark with his blood.