Hallow Point (30 page)

Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t a pro. But then, fact that he’d brought a hunting rifle to shoot me from across the room’d already made that abundantly clear.

Took me a bit to realize I knew the face behind the rifle. Old, worn, grey—more worn and more grey than when I’d first seen him a few weeks before. You coulda packed a vacation for a family of four in the bags under his bloodshot eyes, and if his hair’d even
seen
a comb in days, it was in a fever dream.

But as I said, I
did
recognize him.

I hadn’t planned to tell him until everything else was over. Guess I shoulda expected the bulls’d beat me to it.

“Something I can do for you, Mr. Caro?” I asked.

Frank Caro—father of the late (and probably lamented by some) Miles Caro, and the man who’d hired me to find his son—uttered a hoarse, choked sob.

“Can I get you something? Water? Milk?”

“
You can get me my son, you fucking bastard!
”

Oh, brother.

“Sure. You want him in pails, or will wax paper-wrapped parcels suffice?”

I know what you’re thinking, and you ain’t wrong. I’m an ass at times. Poor guy’s in mourning something fierce. What would it’ve cost me to be kind? Sympathetic? It ain’t as though I haven’t grieved my own loved ones often enough.

And that’s not even counting the gat he had aimed at me.

I coulda commiserated with him. Reasoned, maybe. Pointed out all the reasons he didn’t wanna do—and his son wouldn’t have wanted him to do—anything stupid. Or even just stall him long enough to work my way into his head and flip a few switches.

Lots of options, and any one of ’em woulda been kinder, more humane. Woulda taken time, but I had time; nothing else was supposed to go down until later in the day.

But the thing is, it also woulda taken patience. And I was just. Plum. Out of it.

Scheming factions of the Fae. Uncooperative cops. Any number of aches and pains and injuries. And of course, Ramona. My tank was dry as a sand salad.

So while Mr. Caro choked and sputtered and wept and wilted beneath those words, I refused to let up.

“I didn’t kill your boy, pal. I didn’t plant the bomb, and I sure as hell didn’t tell him to get caught up with Mob bootleggers! You got a beef, fine. Plenty of mugs to choose from. I ain’t one of ’em.”

“You were supposed to find him!” He was waving that damn rifle wildly, now, arms flailing and his whole body shaking. “You could’ve prevented this! If you’d done your job, if you’d done what we paid you to do, my son would—!”

“And if you and the missus had bothered keeping up with your son’s life, maybe you coulda told me who Miles was involved with and I mighta had a chance of finding him. Or maybe he wouldn’ta gotten mixed up with the wrong kinda cats in the first place. You sure it’s
me
you’re sore at?”

If it sounds like I’d gone beyond “mean” to “deliberately pushing,” well… I had. And once he was good and worked up, sputtering and screaming and accusing and sobbing, it was duck soup to step up and yank the Winchester outta his hands. One startled gasp and he went silent, gawping at me, lip trembling.

“You’re angry and frustrated,” I told him more calmly. “But you also know what happened ain’t my fault. You ain’t ever gonna find the bastards who did it—and I’ll tell you, Mr. Caro, even if you did? They wouldn’t defend ’emselves with
words
. Your wife already lost her boy; you don’t wanna make her a widow, too.”

Not even sure how to describe the sound he made, then. I hefted the rifle, worked the lever a few times until I’d ejected all the slugs, then handed it back to him. He held it like he’d forgotten what it was.

“Don’t ever come back here,” I said, “and I won’t prefer charges over this. Go bury your son, Caro.”

The old man fled, weeping. Me, I shut the office door, slumped down at my desk, and tried to ignore it when, some while later, I finally started feelin’ bad for how I’d talked to him.

* * *

It was past noon, and I’d been mostly sittin’ since Mr. Caro’s little visit. Waiting.

Thinkin’, at first. See, I’d finally pieced it together. I finally had a theory that made it all fit, and oddly, it was Caro’s father who’d given it to me. Or rather, it’d been me rememberin’ back on my encounter with the guy. Thinkin’ about how, once I’d got him all riled, it’d been so easy to take his roscoe away.

You’ll understand why that’s a relevant notion later.

Anyway, yeah, initially I’d been prodding at the theory, poking it, lookin’ for holes. But after that? Just waitin’, tryin’ not to think about much at all. Probably coulda used those couple hours for something more productive, but still, I’d waited.

Hadn’t felt much of anything else was appropriate, and probably wouldn’ta been able to concentrate on it anyway.

And this time, when she slunk into my office, I knew it really
was
as a snake. Even if it was one I’d almost be willing to let bite me.

“Good morning. I think I’ve… Mick? What’s wrong?”

Heh. Good one.
What’s wrong?
How about everything, dollface?

I’d spent a lotta time bracing myself for this, even reinforcing my own will with luck and magic, and I still wanted to back out. The smile falling off her face was like the sun going out. Just about every part of me wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, tell her everything was gonna be all right.

But no.
Hell, no
. Not this time.

I leaned back in my chair, heels crossed and propped up on the desk, next to a mug with a bit of creamy residue slowly congealing on the bottom. (I’d really needed a nip this morning. It was the last of the cream; even cut with milk, it hadn’t gone far.) Point is, all nice and casual, ’cept for the dour expression I couldn’t keep off my mug. Also meant she couldn’t see the L&G in my left hand, hanging loose at my side.

“I been thinkin’, Ramona.”

“Yes?” She stepped closer, hands together—not quite wringing ’em, but near as—concern painted thick on her face like too much makeup.

“Was there actually a Ramona Webb before you came along? You take someone’s place, or just make this grift up outta whole cloth?”

Gotta say, she was impressive. Ain’t easy to go pale on cue.

“What are you talking about?”

“If I’d had half a chance to dig deep enough into your sob story, would there be a real Jeremy? A real Cliff? I’m thinking not, but you got me curious.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

She was starting to go all teary. I wish I could say it didn’t bother me.

“Why are you—?”

“Not why. Who. As in,” I continued, before she could ask what I meant, “
Who are you?
”

It was kind of a roar, honestly. Suppose I coulda been more subtle about the whole thing, but I was fed up with games.

She broke down, sobbing, begging me to stop it, to make sense, to explain what she’d done wrong. But it wasn’t her words I was focused on… And now, I felt it.

My fascination with her, the need to protect her, my excitement over her; affection, infatuation, lust, all of it: it got stronger.
Heavier
. A front of pressure, pushing in on me from all sides. From
outside
.

That’s why it’d been so surprisingly strong, so all-consuming. It wasn’t real. I almost wished it was.

Big bad Mick Oberon. So damn confident, nobody’s gonna mess with
his
conk without him sensing it. What a joke.

I was real glad I had the wand right then. Made her enchantment a whole lot easier to shrug off.

No. No, that ain’t true. I didn’t shrug it off. Felt it as powerful as ever. Maybe more. What I
was
able to manage was to put it aside enough to work through it.

I raised my arm, tapped the wand against my chin like I was absently pondering something.

Then, when I was sure she’d not only seen it, but understood the implication, I said, “Not buying what you’re selling, babe. Not anymore.”

Stubborn tomato, Ramona. She gave it one more college try.

“Mick, darling, please. Whatever you think I’ve done—”

“I tailed you downtown yesterday.”

She drew herself up stiff, perfect picture of affronted dignity.

“You what? How dare you? I—”

I frowned around the wand, just givin’ her my level-best stare. Her shoulders slumped.

“Damn
sidhe
. You always were way too mule-headed for anyone’s good.” Funny how the tears, the hurt, all of it just vanished in that moment. “What gave me away? You didn’t just randomly decide to follow me.”

“Started with the iron stool at Bumpy’s.”

That got a wince out of her.

“I was afraid of that. I wasn’t sure if I’d need to defend myself from those Seelie galoots. I had you hooked good by then, though. You shouldn’t have noticed.”

“Almost didn’t. Took me until after your other fuck-ups to suss it out.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms, emphasizing her curves in ways that weren’t helpin’ my focus any. “And what, do tell, were those?”

“First, Pete tells us about a guy following him—a guy who looks just like the mug who’d been following
you
—and you didn’t utter a peep. Didn’t register at the time, but lookin’ back? Only tracks if you already knew who the gink was.”

“All right, that’s fair—and careless of me—but still pretty thin. There’s got to be more to it.”

“Oh, there is. You were too comfortable searching Rosen’s place. Didn’t quite jive with your hysterics. Still didn’t prove anything, but it was enough for me to spot your slip after the old man’s grandkid showed.”

“Slip? You aren’t…” She abruptly barked something real unladylike. “The spear. You asked her specifically about a spear.”

“And you didn’t bat one pretty eyelash, doll.”

“Goddamn it. I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Tell me about it.”

She turned, grumbling, and plopped herself down in a chair.

“All right. So what now?”

“I just said. Tell me about it.”

“Mick, I actually really do like you. That part wasn’t an act. But if you think—”

I aimed the L&G and let loose. Not at her, at the door. Metal clattered as the lock more or less gave up the ghost, locking us both in here until either I fixed it or someone forced it.

Ramona looked back at the sound. When she turned her attention back to me, I’d wrapped my right mitt around the
other
surprise I’d had waiting behind the desk. Everything but her breathing froze as I lifted the old Spanish-steel rapier into view.

“You’re good,” I said. “I mean, amazingly good. Impressive enough you managed to whammy me—
me
—at all, but to keep me from even noticing for days… Damn. If it hadn’t faded a hair anytime you were outta sight, I might never’ve gotten wise.”

“Wouldn’t
that
have been a shame?” she grumbled.

I kept right on. “I dunno if you’re a mortal who’s picked up some
real
potent tricks, or one of us. If it’s the latter, congrats on some of the most convincing glamour I’ve ever seen. Either way, I got no intention of killing you unless you make me, but I’m more’n happy—and able—to injure you bad enough that this whole fiasco’ll be
long
over before you’re shipshape again.”

Her sharp exhalation was almost a hiss.

“You wouldn’t dare! You can’t even be certain you
could
!”

Real slow, real deliberate, I put both feet on the floor and stood, sword in one hand, wand in the other.

“Try me.”

I felt a sharp gust through the office, one that came outta nowhere, rustling papers and making the fan—turned off at the time—spin backwards. The lights in the office and the hallway flickered, couple of the bulbs even burst. I musta been closer to losing my cool than I thought.

Maybe because, even after all this, I still wasn’t
completely
sure I had it in me to hurt her.

But whatever else it mighta been, it was convincing. Ramona looked unsure for the first time, and she nodded slowly.

“I represent a certain… political interest.”

“Yeah, I got that much from City Hall.” I sat back down, but kept both hands—and their contents—real obvious. “Who?”

“Someone who knows a good portion of what actually goes on in Chicago. Among other things, he’s a collector.”

“A coll… He wants the Spear of Lugh as a
trophy
?”

“Well, and to keep it from falling into anyone else’s hands, but essentially, yes.”

“And the fact that he fits the profile—rich, powerful, and wise to some of what goes on outside the mortal world—of a bunch of other mugs who’ve kicked off lately? I’m sure that’s got
nothin’
to do with him wanting some kinda leverage.”

“That… concern might also have come up in passing,” she admitted. “Why, have you found a concrete connection? Proof the deaths were deliberate?”

I ignored the question, as I still had too many of my own.

“Who is he?” I asked again.

She leaned forward, fists clenched.

“No.”

“Ramona…”

“I can’t.”

I started to stand again. Her fingers’d gone white.

“Mick, I
literally
can’t, even if I wanted to. Enspell me, torture me, kill me. I
can’t
.”

All right, that coulda been on the square. I could think of a couple different magics that would bind someone that way. I settled back down, and she visibly relaxed.

“So the whole ‘terrified client’ routine was just about gettin’ an in with me?” I asked.

“Pretty much. To start with, anyway. My boss is well informed, but he’s not privy to everything that goes on in your world. I wasn’t going to recover the spear on my own, and since infiltrating any of the official Court factions seemed a long shot at best…”

“You decided I made the best patsy.”

Her grin was almost sheepish.

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have bothered if I didn’t think you were good enough to have at least a chance of succeeding.”

“Hey, surprise! It doesn’t. Why such a complicated yarn, then? Why not just some jealous boyfriend coming after you?”

“Made it more likely to hook you. Kept your mind on me and kept us together long enough for me to work. Not as though I had complete power over you from the get-go.”