Hunter's Prayer (5 page)

7

F
ailing sunlight dipped the flesh gallery in gold. The tenements slumped, tired as the women who walked below, go-go boots and hot pants, fake rabbitfur jackets, each on her prescribed piece of sidewalk. The overall impression of this section of Lucado Street has always been motion, hips swinging back and forth, eyes blinking and glittering under screens of makeup, teased hair, candy-glossed lips most often marred by cold sores. The older girls worked the north end, the bargain basement; Diamond Ricky’s turf was further south, prime real estate I could remember pacing years ago when it was Val’s territory.

I never like thinking about that, though. It was a whole lifetime and a trip to Hell away from me. Thank God.

Ricky had some of the best merchandise, the youngest and prettiest; teenage girls who each would have sworn that Ricky
loved
her and was
protecting
her. And of course, we suspected him of running an escort service that provided underage action for rich businessmen. No proof.

Yet.

His number one was a girl a little older than his usual crew; she tossed back her long brown hair, sniffed, and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand as I tilted my head, taking in the apartment: huge entertainment system, white leather couch, trendy-in-the-eighties Nagel print hanging on the wall. Ricky’s tastes ran to chrome, glass, and leather, and every piece in here was bought with the money he took from the young girls outside, peddling their asses scraping together enough to feed his appetite for luxury. Normally he’d be sitting out on the street in his Cadillac with some muscle, overseeing the action, but we’d managed to catch him at home with nobody but his girl.

Lucky us.

I took a deep breath. Pulled the chair out from the dining-room table, dragged it across the spotless white carpet. You wouldn’t think to look at this place that it was merely a modest brownstone sandwiched between sloping ramshackle apartment buildings filled with the desperate.

Slim greasy Ricky lounged on the white leather couch. He wore a black cowboy hat with silver scallops on the band, black silk button-down shirt, and leather pants. Cowboy boots with silver tips were propped on the low glass table in front of him. He gestured at the small square mirror tile laying on the table. Two lines of white powder were prominently on display.

Christ. Do pimps ever change?
I shook my head, set the chair on the carpet at precisely the right angle. Saul leaned against the door next to Carp; Rosie was still at the scene. Carp’s blue eyes were avid, flicking over every surface.

I settled down on the chair, folding my arms and resting them on the back, knees on either side. Turned my unblinking gaze on Ricky while the number one wiped at her nose again, snuffling, and padded into the kitchen.

Ricky grinned, his fingers dangling loosely in his lap, an advertisement. He indicated the powder on the spotless mirror again, with a nod of his hat. “Feel free,
puta.
” His grin widened; we wouldn’t bust him unless it got difficult. “Or you here to make some money? I turn you out after I test the merchandise, see.”

You son of a bitch.
The scar on my wrist throbbed. The smile began down deep, I let it rise to my lips. Waited for the right time to speak, as Ricky shifted. It was that tiny movement, a flinch, that told me I had already unsettled him. He was a man who lived off mindfucking women, and I was just aching to do a little in return. Even it out for the female species, so to speak.

I waited. Let the smile bloom. He was Puerto Rican, so I let the tiger’s-eye rosary dangle, hunching my shoulders and resting my chin on my crossed forearms. My eyes would do half the work for me. It’s funny how many cultures have weird legends about people born with different-colored eyes.

Only I was born with brown eyes. The blue one is a gift—or a curse. Whichever, as long as it worked.

I looked at Ricky’s nose. If you stare right at the bridge of a man’s nose, he thinks you’re looking him in the eyes. The gaze grows piercing, intense, and the man starts to sweat. Especially if he’s done something wrong.

“What you want, huh?” His eyes flicked past me to the door. Carp was probably grinning. Saul, of course, would be staring unblinkingly at Ricky, daring him to make a move. “What you want,
puta?
”

I slid the gun free of its holster, rested my elbow on the chair back and pointed the barrel at the ceiling. The pimp stiffened. “Call me a whore again, Ricky, and I’m going to shoot your balls off.” My smile widened, became sunny. The charms tinkled in my hair as I moved slightly. “Baby Jewel.”

His eyes widened. “What about her? Hey, man, she swears she’s eighteen, you can’t pick no—”

I leveled the gun, cutting him off midstride. “Did she get uppity with you,
cabron?
Stopped handing over her cash? What was it?”

I’ve never seen a man turn white as curdled milk so fast. There was a gasp from the kitchen, and his number-one girl came around the corner, her eyes as big as dinner plates. I didn’t move—if she needed taking care of, Saul would handle it.

“Jewel? She …” His eyes flicked over to Carp, widened, came back to me. “Oh, shit. Listen, I did no—”

“Shut up, Ricky.” I pulled the hammer back.

He shut up.

“Now. Jewel was working for you last night. When did you last see her? When did she drop off her last load of cash?”

He flinched. “Nine,” he finally squeaked. “She work the early shift, man.”

Vice had seen her at just past ten or thereabouts; she must have hit the street again, maybe trying to make her rent now that she’d paid Ricky off. Or had she? “How much did she give you, Rick? And keep in mind that I can smell a lie, you greasy little piece of shit.”

The girl behind me was quivering with terror, exhaling a high hard musky smell dipped in copper. She knew something. Good luck getting her to spill; if she told us anything Ricky would probably demote her, a fate worse than death.

Still, I might be able to try, if I could catch her alone. A lot would depend on the next few minutes.

And a lot would depend on if I could keep my temper.

Ricky reached up, took his hat off. “Four, five hundred,” he said cautiously. “Sent her back out, her pink ass can make four
times
that if she works. Lazy bitch. They all lazy.”

And you’re such a self-made man.
“She didn’t show up all day today, and you didn’t check on her?”

“Check on her?” He laughed, snuggling back into the couch, his hips jerking up. It was macho, and I let it pass.
Let him get comfy. I’m going to make him pretty damn uncomfy soon enough.
“The bitch comes back. She begs for a little Ricky love,
bruja.
They all do.”

So we’ve gone from calling me slut to witch. It’s an improvement.
I raised an eyebrow. “Just like Sylvie? Did she come back begging too?”

Despite being lazy, Ricky wasn’t a fool. His eyes returned to Carp. “Oh,
shit.
” He could barely get the breath to whisper.

I moved. The chair squealed, glass shattered as I brought it down squarely on the table; the sound was incredible. The girl screamed; Ricky let out a yell, and I was on him.

My knees sank into the leather of the couch. My left-hand fingers sank into his throat. I smelled
quesadilla
and cologne, not to mention the thin acrid funk of a coke fiend. I pressed the gun to his temple and smiled into his eyes.

This was pure terrorization for its own sake. I am not a very nice person, and if there’s one thing I hate with a vengeance that surpasseth all understanding, it’s
pimps.
I never pass up a chance to make a pimp feel my displeasure.

“I would as soon blow your head off as look at you, you greasy little cocksucker.” My breath touched his lips. He shook like a rabbit in the snare. “I am going to ask you a few simple questions. Sylvie. Jewel. What did you do to them?”

I didn’t think for a second that he had much to do with it. Mostly because the girls were worth more to him alive and peddling their wares. And also because Ricky was, like all pimps, a fucking coward.

He spilled a lot of babbling in Spanglish, enough for me to determine a few things: he hadn’t even known Jewel was dead before we came calling. He also was more than willing to spill about the escort service, and I let him talk about that for a little while. Then he dropped one more piece of news.

I let go of him, reholstered the gun, and was off the couch in one motion. “You’re sure?” The number-one girl stood by the entrance to the kitchen, her fingers pressed to her mouth and her eyes huge, dark, and full of tears.

“Course I’m sure, the stupid bitch!” Ricky moaned, turning his face into the couch. There was a ratty little gleam to his eyes I didn’t like. “There’s a doctor on Quincoa—Polish fucker, name’s Kricekwesz, he takes care of that shit, but it ain’t cheap. Stupid bitch. Stupid
fucking
bitch.”

“You’re a real prince, Ricky.” I looked over at Carp, who was almost purple with restrained glee. It did him good to see me do something like this, something a regular cop wouldn’t be able to do without worrying about a brutality lawsuit. “You want to take him in?”

Carp shook his head. He sounded excessively casual. “Not worth our time right now.”

I silently agreed. Looked at the girl. Tears slicked her cheeks, and the way her eyes jittered away from mine told me there wasn’t much hope of questioning her. There was a fading bruise just visible under the scoop collar of her pink shirt. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but was already looking old.

“Do yourself a favor, honey.” My voice was harsh. “Get out of the biz.”
Before you end up just as dead as those other two girls.

Then I stalked for the door.
Pregnant. Sylvie was pregnant.

This puts a little different shine on things, doesn’t it. Two counts of murder for her and her baby; and all her internal organs gone. Why? What is this?

Outside in the hall, Carp eyed me while Saul curled his hand around my nape and reeled me in. I spent a few moments leaning against Saul’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, the shakes going down slowly. Very slowly.

I’d never told him about Val, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he guessed. I’d never told Mikhail either, even in the long, sun-filled afternoons we spent in the same bed. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Mikhail had known, too—he had treated me so gently in that one space, the space where we became more than just teacher and student.

Saul didn’t want to let me go, but after a few moments I slid away, and his hand fell back down to his side. But a little of his warmth remained against my skin, as much as I could hold on my own without his hands on me.

“Well?” Carp couldn’t restrain himself.

I checked the hall, set off for the end of it, where stairs would take us down to the door and the street below. “My initial reaction? He’s got nothing to do with it. Could be chance, you know how it is. The escort service, though …”

“Yeah?” Carp was almost begging for me to give him something, anything.

“It gives me an idea.” More than an idea, in fact.

Shit. I’m going to have to go see him early.

8

R
osenfeld had short auburn hair, a strong-jawed, too-striking-to-be-pretty face, and wrists that put mine to shame even though mine are hellbreed-strong. She settled into the booth next to Carp and examined me suspiciously. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything useful.”

“Not yet.” I blew across my coffee to cool it.

Carp I could lie to, Monty encouraged me to keep it close to the vest—but Rosie liked it out where she could see it and tried to act like working with me didn’t bother her.

Rosenfeld had only questioned my judgment once. That was during the Browder case; the next day she’d seen an
arkeus
up close and personal. I had almost been too late to save her—and she had seen me take my wristcuff off and battle the thing hand-to-hand. After a week in the hospital, she’d actually come down to the warehouse and
apologized,
something I had no idea a cop could do.

She was probably still dyeing her hair to cover up the white streak. I had no idea if she was still undergoing therapy, and I didn’t ask.

Carp snorted. “You shoulda seen it. Diamond Ricky pissed his pants.”

Rosie’s eyes didn’t sparkle, but it was damn close. “I heard the Vice guys giggling about it. Are you really gonna eat that? My arteries are hardening just looking at it.”

“I need protein.” I smothered the pancakes in butter and strawberry jam; picked up two slices of bacon at once. “Got to keep my girlish figure.”

“We should all be so lucky.” She studied my face. “So what do you think?”

“Sylvie was pregnant. Ricky was going to send her to a doctor on Quincoa. I’ll check him, leave you two to talk to the other hookers. See if they can describe the last trick of the night for either of our girls.”

“I don’t have to tell you we gotta work fast.” Carp dumped more creamer in his coffee. “There are only so many man-hours they’ll spend on this.”

I knew. If the dead had been nice middle-class churchgoing girls, the public outcry would be tremendous and we’d have a whole task force paid for by John Taxpayer. As it was, the only thing drawing attention to this was the shock value of the killings. Who cared what happened to hookers? Certainly not the same John Taxpayer who handed over a twenty for a blowjob or a bendover in one of Lucado’s dark corners.

Same old story, different day.

Saul stirred restlessly next to me, tucking into his hash browns. His eyes flicked over the inside of the restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall diner on Holmer. I passed him the salt and the green Tabasco, shuddering at the thought of kissing him afterward.

I will never understand men and Tabasco sauce. “Two dead women in two days. If this accelerates we’re going to have problems.” I looked down at my cheese and ham omelet. The pancakes were substandard, but the bacon was crisp, at least.

“Thanks for that lovely thought.” Rosie grimaced into her yogurt and granola, produced from her purse. “Anything you want us to do other than talk to hookers and try to keep the press off our backs?”

“I’ve got someone to visit who might be able to shed a little light, after I talk to the doctor. At least, he’ll be able to tell me if someone’s moved into town without permission.”
And I’ve got to go back to the seminary and question a few kids, not to mention call Andy and … Christ, my dance card’s full. As per usual.
“Just be careful, okay? This isn’t looking good.”

“Be more than careful,” Saul piped up. “Be
cautious.
”

I glanced at him. He’d been extremely quiet since this morning, and while I appreciated his restraint—he more than other people understood how I felt about the sex trade—I still felt a little alarmed at how pale he’d been.

But he probably didn’t want to talk in front of the cops, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

“Great.” Rosie waved her spoon. “Be
cautious,
Tonto says. Care to give any specific pointers, or will you just settle for being cryptic?”

“Shooting our mouths off before we know precisely what’s going on will get us exactly nowhere,” I pointed out. “Don’t give Saul a hard time. He works for me, not for you.”

“We all work for the taxpayers, baby,” Carp weighed in.

Yeah. So do the hookers.
I rolled my eyes, flicked a long, charm-weighted strand of hair back over my shoulder with a slight chime. “Eat up, boys and girls. There’s work to do today.”

The abortion clinic on Quincoa was closed by the time we got there. I used the payphone on the corner to leave a message on Carp’s cell that we would try the doc tomorrow. Next we could either stop by the seminary or go to the Monde Nuit. I wanted to get the Monde out of the way first, and Saul just got that look again, so I drove. I left him in the Impala smoking a Charvil and staring at the building with narrowed eyes.

I walked up to the door, fitting the silver over my right hand. It was technically a set of brass knuckles, but made out of alloyed silver with just enough true content to hurt anything damned but enough other metal to be twice as hard.

The usual daylight bouncer was on duty, a massive guy with a tribal-tattooed neck; I nodded to him and strode past. My blue eye widened, taking in the flux of bruised hellbreed-tainted atmosphere.

It was still daylight, never mind that the sun was fading fast; the Monde was almost deserted. One or two Traders were in there drinking whatever it is the damned drink, and Riverson was at the bar again; a couple janitors were cleaning everything up and waitstaff were getting ready for dusk.

Perry was at a velvet-covered table in the back, three other hellbreed with him. They were playing what looked like a card game, and cigarette smoke fumed in the air. He didn’t even glance up at me, but the scar on my wrist ran with throbbing prickles, a hurtful bloom on the underside of my arm.

I was glad it was covered.

“Hey!
Hey!
” Riverson yelled. I ignored him. There were a few musclebound idiots in the shadows, too far from the hellbreed to be any help; my pace had quickened. By the time I reached the table they were converging on me. Perry’s profile was supremely unconcerned, bent over his cards. A low murmur like flies above a corpse filled the air.

Helletong,
the speech of the damned. The ruby warmed against my throat on its silver chain.

I kicked the chair out from under Perry and
punched,
catching him across the cheek and flinging him down and away. The next kick shattered the table; oversized cards, cigarettes, and a half-bottle of Glenlivet went flying.

I reached down, grabbed Perry’s shirt, hauled him up left-handed, and punched him again. Blood flew, the silver armoring my fist would hurt him more than the force of the blow. I drew back, silver suddenly hot on my fingers, and did it
again,
dropped him, and kicked him twice. The gun left its holster left-handed, a feat I practiced long and hard to achieve in the dim first days of my training, and I set my feet on the floor, turning in a complete circle to see what I was up against.

Seven of ‘em, not counting the goddamn breeds I just interrupted. Splendid.

Perry coughed, and the sound of his laughter cut the air into a thousand wet, shivering pieces. “Sweet nothings,” he managed through a mouthful of blood. “Kiss. So nice to see you again.”

The muscles stopped, each leather-clad mountainous one of them. I drew in a deep soft breath, the gun held level. “Back off,” I told them. “Or I’ll fucking kill you all.”

Silver in my hair rattled just like a diamondback’s tail.

They backed off. I reholstered the gun, bent down, and hauled Perry upright again. “I put up with a lot of shit from you, Pericles. You and the rest of your hellspawn scum. But
no underage cooch.
The rule’s simple: no dabbling in the under-eighteen pool in my territory. Right?”

As usual, he got cute with me. “Would we dare disagree?”

I’d damaged one whole half of his bland pale face, his blood-masked eyes glared at me but he remained still, perfectly still.

Inhumanly still.

I let go of the front of his shirt. Blood dripped from his chin, the skin over his cheekbone mashed into hamburger, his lacerated eye puffing up.
Never pretty in the first place, and a whole lot worse now.
I discarded the thought, lifted my fist again.

“Spare me your kisses, Kismet.” He raised his hands, loosely. But there was no shimmer of etheric force around them, he wasn’t getting ready to throw anything nasty at me. “We know this decree of yours. We
obey.
”

Like shit you do, if you think you can get away with it.
“Oh yeah? Someone’s breaking it. Using Diamond Ricky’s teenage whores to feed a few bad appetites. And right now my suspicion is squarely on the hellbreed population. I know how little self-control you bastards have.”

His unwounded eye narrowed a little, that was all. I could tell nothing from his face, and he probably had the idea that I was just fishing.

Still, it was therapeutic to bash his face in every once in a while. It was also good for my image. “Whatever escort service supplying underage cooch you’ve got your fingers in, get out. Now. Or next time I come back I’ll
shoot
you in the fucking face.
And
I’ll see this place loses its incognito appeal with the police.”

His lip curled—at least, the half of it that wasn’t split and bleeding. “Human police?”

And whatever nightside help I can beg, borrow, and threaten to erase you from the face of the earth.
“I’m sure they can be given a little help.” I held his eyes, unblinking. The scar on my wrist sent waves of heat up my arm, each wave deep, soft, and deliciously warm. My heart rate rose a little, but I was trained too well to have a little sex magic distract me. “Don’t fuck with me, Perry.”

“Someday you might want me to.” He reached up, touched his bleeding lip with delicate fingertips, and the smile in his blue eyes chilled my blood. “I’ll live to hear you beg, hunter.”

Not if I have anything to say about it.
“Dream on, hellspawn. Do we understand each other, or do I have to kick your ass around this cheapshit little shack?” The back of my neck prickled. I could
feel
them moving in on me.
Got to think of something quick here.

Perry waved them away. Thin black ichor spattered on the floor, the wounds closing slowly. Very slowly. Silver’s deadly to them, something about the Moon and how she rules the tides of both sorcery and water. We don’t fully understand
why
silver works, but no hunter I’ve ever run across cares. It’s enough
that
it works.

Perry’s eyes burned laser-blue. The tip of his cherry-red scaled tongue flicked over the black ichor oozing over his lips like a tiny crimson fish. “I understand you perfectly, dear Kiss. Do you even understand yourself?”

“Spare me the psychobabble.” I turned on my heel, my hand throbbing inside the silver weight. My back ran with electricity—a damned I’d just punched in the face was right behind me.
Right
behind me. In front of me, two mountains of muscle, both wearing sunglasses, both armed with assault rifles. “See you Sunday, Perry. Maybe I’ll ruin another one of your suits.”

“I look forward to it. Try not to break anything next time.”

“Don’t piss me off, and maybe I won’t. Keep your ears open.” I strode straight for the muscle, and they moved aside to let me pass.

I let out a soft breath of relief, though I shouldn’t have. Perry’s voice floated through the air behind me, wet and chill with glee.

“You could’ve just asked, Kiss.”

You fucker.
“You wouldn’t have told me jackshit,” I tossed over my shoulder.
And I’m not so sure you don’t know anything. This was an exercise in futility, but at least I got to hit you.
“Besides, maybe I like smashing your face in,
hellspawn.
”

With that, I hit the door. Mercifully, he didn’t say anything else. Maybe he was getting smarter.

My orange Impala gleamed at the curb, once again in the fire zone, Saul’s cigarette sending lazy whorls of smoke into the air out the passenger’s-side window. I got in, dropping down in the driver’s seat, and looked at the red fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror. Let out a sigh.

Saul said nothing.

“I think we’re fucked.” I stared through the windshield as the last of the daylight poured out of the sky’s cup. “He knows something, maybe, but he won’t give it up. Yet.”

Saul exhaled a long sheaf of smoke. I worked the silver knuckles off my fingers; they were grimed with Perry’s thin black blood.

They don’t bleed red, Hell’s scions. No, they bleed silt-black, in thin runnels like grapeseed oil, and it stinks as it decays.

“It isn’t Were,” Saul answered softly. “It isn’t hellbreed, at least not any hellbreed or damned Perry has control over. It isn’t a type of damned you’ve seen before. Whatever it is, it stinks of violence, and fur. I haven’t ever smelled anything like this, Jill. It’s definitely not human, but I don’t know
what
it is.”

I turned my head, meaning to look at him, but instead staring at the front door of the Monde guarded by its huge bouncer. Why the muscle kept letting me in I don’t know, except for the scar on my arm and my bargain with Perry. Still, they should have roughed me up once or twice, just to keep things standard. “Something neither of us knows about. Something that attacks teenage hookers and divests them of their internal organs.”

“It stinks of ice and rotting flesh. And magic. Bad, old, nasty magic.”

I stared at the door as if I could will a part of the puzzle to come clear. “You think he’s involved?”

“This isn’t his style. But I wouldn’t rule him out.” Saul flicked the Charvil out the window. “What next?”

“The seminary. We need to figure out how an
utt’huruk
got into a nice corn-fed missionary boy. Then home to pick up a few things, and call Andy.” I gave him a tight smile. “No, I haven’t forgotten. And I want to pick his brains as well as ask him to send his apprentice down here to cover for me.”