No Place Like Hell (10 page)

He laughed. "He can't open his mouth without making a speech. I usually tune him out, too. But I listened to what he said about you."

He looked over his beer glass as he sipped. "What do you do when you aren't keeping Solaris safe from its criminal denizens?"

"Not much. I volunteer at the Mission on Saturday afternoons to help feed the homeless."

"And the rest of the week?"

"Work keeps me busy. Lots of overtime."

"No boyfriend?"

I shifted in my seat. "A cop's life is hard on relationships. What about you?"

"No boyfriends for me, either," he replied straight-faced, but his eyes twinkled.

My discomfort soared. I wanted to crawl under the table. Was he having fun, or was he making fun of me?

"I meant what do you do in your spare time?"

His expression soured. "I spend all day hopping from one photo-op to the next. My father is grooming me for a run at the city council."

"The rumors are true, then? With your military record, you ought to be a shoo-in."

He dismissed my assessment with a wave of his hand. "The war isn't popular. Many people hold my service against me. Besides, I'd like to do something more… I don't know… direct. It seems like I've spent my life focused on all the wrong things. I want to dedicate myself to helping others."

"Risking your life to defend your country seems like helping to me."

"It's not enough to erase my sins. Maybe I should do a stint at the Mission with you?"

A guy who'd volunteer at the Mission. I couldn't believe my ears.

The waitress brought our order. Tad tore up breadsticks and dipped them in the soup. I stuck with my spoon and wondered how to ask him if he was in some kind of trouble.

"Do you know someone who lives at the Carlisle Hotel?" I asked.

Tad frowned and pursed his lips. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"

"I just wondered." I stirred my soup and tried another approach. "It must be tough running for office. Your whole life is suddenly in the spotlight. Enemies come out of the woodwork. You don't know of anyone who has it in for you?"

"It's only the Solaris city council, not President of the United States," he laughed. His expression became serious. "But no one is safe while the Slasher is on the loose."

"We know who the Slasher is."

Tad rocked back. "You do?"

"A hippie named Sleeth." A beat later, I realized my mistake. I shouldn't talk about the case.

"But the police chief said there wasn't enough evidence to prove it was him."

A little sigh of relief whispered past my lips. I hadn't leaked anything he didn't already know. "I saw him. He's a sicko. Believe me, he did it."

Tad stirred the remains of his soup with a breadstick. "If there isn't enough evidence, maybe Sleeth isn't guilty. Maybe you should keep looking. The real Slasher could kill again while the police chase the wrong man. The detective's report says there's no connection between this Sleeth and Decker."

"Ha!" I laughed. "Turns out Sleeth's enjoying 'free love' with Decker's secretary."

Tad's eyebrows bounced up. He dropped the soggy breadstick in his bowl. "That information wasn't in the briefing my dad got."

"Well…," I said, casting around for a way to explain how I'd come by this tidbit.

He plowed on. "Aren't most murder victims killed by people they know? Decker's secretary will have a list of contacts, and I bet you'll find the killer's name on that list. Has anyone questioned her? From the report given to my father, it doesn't sound like Decker's being given enough focus."

"If she knows anything about Decker, she isn't sharing it. She handed over a couple boxes of files, but nothing interesting turned up."

"You should talk to her," Tad urged. "You're both working women. You two would connect."

"I'm not on the case. If Lt. Mack found out—"

"I can talk to my dad, have him ask the chief to assign you to Decker's murder." His hazel eyes glowed with excitement.

It was a tempting proposal—exactly the kind of cronyism I wanted to avoid.

"I appreciate the offer…"

Tad's enthusiasm cooled. "But…?"

"I need to make detective on my own, not through connections."

An awkward silence stretched between us.

"We found your car," I said. "It's three blocks from here in that lot next to the State Theater."

A smile flitted across his face. "You didn't need to go to any bother on my account, but thanks. I'll pick it up."

Another awkward silence hung in the air. My reserves of questions disguised as small-talk were as empty as my soup bowl.

"Golly, look at the time," I said. I jumped to my feet.

Tad hopped up. "But you didn't tell me about my accident. How about a stroll on the beach tomorrow? I can pick you up around noon, and we can talk then?"

"Oh, uh…" Did I want to see him again? I hadn't learned why the two hoodlums were chasing him. He might be in danger without realizing it, and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. "I'll meet you there. How about twelve-thirty?"

I bolted before he could protest. I'd only gone two steps when I stopped and faced him.

"Thanks for lunch. And be careful, okay?"

16

Kasker drove by the Luna Azul and muttered curses under his breath. Cars filled every parking spot for blocks, their occupants attending a street fair ahead. Strains of guitars and marimbas floated in the open window, and the scent of barbeque filled the air.

He circled back at the next corner, rumbled two blocks, and pulled into a fifteen-minute loading zone. From there, he strode through the climbing afternoon heat to his destination, keenly aware that he was already half an hour late.

A couple with two children slipped into the Luna Azul ahead of him, and the sound of dozens of voices drifted out. Customers packed the restaurant. When Kasker tried to enter, the burly door guard put up a hand.

"Mr. Calderon isn't here. He says you should wait."

A curse on Susie for making him late. The sumptuous smells from inside caused his empty stomach to growl. A double-curse on the flesh for its incessant demands. But he had time. He'd eat now.

He nodded and started through the door.

The guard stepped into his path. "We're full."

He ground his teeth. He would make do with beer and peanuts.

"I'll wait in the bar." He moved sideways.

The guard moved with him. "Bar's full, too."

Kasker's eyes narrowed. "How long will he be?"

"Mr. Calderon couldn't say for sure, but he thought it would be real soon."

Seve left him blistering his heels on the burning sidewalk for half an hour—precisely the amount of time he'd been late. By then, his shirt was soaked in sweat and he'd do anything for a drink. The demon sent the big Negro bodyguard to fetch him to his inner sanctum. The man smirked as he delivered the summons.

Seve sat in a tiny office off the kitchen looking cool and comfortable. He waved Kasker to a chair on the opposite side of a heavy mahogany desk and took a sip of a tall iced tea. He didn't offer any to Kasker.

"What progress, sabueso? Did you find the Oracle?"

Kasker shifted in the hard chair. "He's a crazy man who tells bad jokes."

The demon leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. "Did you ask him about the ritual?"

Now that he thought about it, Kasker realized that he hadn't asked anything. Remembering their meeting brought back the uncomfortable feeling of melting away. He suppressed a shiver.

"He speaks in riddles. He's useless."

Seve leaned back. "You fear him."

"Get real. I'm not afraid of anything," he said.

He grabbed the demon's glass and drained it.
How does anyone drink this stuff?
Had he been less desperate, he would have spat it on the floor.

Kasker slammed the glass on the desk. "Decker left a diary. Somewhere in it, I'll find Holmes. Holmes will lead me to Decker, and if Decker lives in the flesh of another, you'll get your soul."

The demon's eyes narrowed, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. "Our master is not pleased. You will return to the Oracle and learn about the ritual."

"I have better things to do." Kasker's lips twitched into a sly smile. "But if you believe the Oracle has important information, I'll tell you where to find him."

Seve's eyes slid away, and his knuckles whitened.
So even a creature as powerful as this demon fears the crazy Hawaiian.

Seve seemed about to make a retort. Instead, he reached into the bottom drawer. He withdrew a yellowed scroll and tossed it on the desk between them.

"Lester Renquist. A man willing to do anything for money.

"Another collection so soon?" Kasker asked.

"Their fates are written at their birth. It's only the path they take to their ends over which they have free will." Seve leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "This time, no mistakes."

The hackles of the flesh rose at the implication that Kasker was somehow responsible for Decker's escape. He grabbed the scroll and unrolled all three feet of crumbling parchment.

A spidery scrawl of ink crawled down the page, one line after the other, describing in great detail what each signatory would receive. Kasker skipped over the details. The human always wanted power of some kind: wealth, influence, dominion over others. Seve always wanted a soul. Boring and predictable.

Two signatures written in blood blazed at the bottom of the page. Kasker ignored Seve's. Blood from demon-worn flesh was meaningless, and the demon hadn't signed his true name, only the moniker of the flesh he occupied. The human who co-signed didn't know how he'd been hoodwinked.

The human signature was unreadable, not that it mattered. Signing was a ruse to willingly get the human's blood on the contract. The instant a drop hit the parchment, the soul was doomed.

Kasker raised the paper to his nose and sniffed. Soul-scent wafted to him. He flicked out his tongue to test Renquist's blood. His senses ignited with the sweet burn of damnation.

He closed his eyes and savored the experience, gradually narrowing his focus and following the pull of the blood to its source. There it was, three miles southeast in a high-rise office building. Renquist's soul glowed like black fire.

"When?" he whispered, breathless.

"Tomorrow night at 11:13. Don't be late."

Kasker let the admonishment go unanswered. He could already taste the soul, and his mouth watered. His true form fought for release from the flesh.

"Go," the demon ordered. "I have work to do."

Kasker opened his eyes and growled his displeasure. The demon turned his attention to papers on the desk, unfazed.

Kasker kicked back his chair as he rose. It ricocheted off a table behind him. He yanked the door open and considered slamming it. No, he'd leave it open and make the demon rise to close it.

On his way past the surly bodyguard, Kasker caught the man with an elbow in the solar plexus and thumped him back against the wall. He stormed on, listening for the sound of footsteps.

The guard recovered and pursued him into the kitchen. A hand grabbed Kasker's shoulder. He spun, seized a beefy wrist, and twisted. Pain blossomed on the bodyguard's face.

Kasker grabbed the giant's shirt front and slammed him into a counter. A stack of plates crashed to the floor, drawing shrieks from the kitchen staff. Kasker bared his teeth.

"Your time will come," Kasker said in a quiet voice. "And then I will devour you."

The bodyguard struggled, panic filling his eyes, but Kasker didn't let go.

Seve broke them apart and faced Kasker, arm pointing to the door.

"Enough! Go."

For an instant, the demon's true face flickered beneath the flesh. Kasker turned away. As he passed a counter, he snatched a taco from a plate.

"I warn you, sabueso, don't lose this one," the demon called.

Kasker strode through the restaurant dropping a trail of crumbs as he ate. Heads turned at his passing, and waiters scrambled to get out of his way. A murmur of disapproval followed him. By the time he reached the door, he'd polished off his meal and licked his fingers clean.

Outside, a wave of heat and regret swept over him. He shouldn't have antagonized Seve. He relied on the demon for money, drugs, and a comfortable place to rest. He smiled. If Seve withdrew his support, he'd crash at Susie's.

Thinking of the woman roused the flesh. He walked faster despite the heat and cursed the street fair for causing so much congestion in the streets. If only Susie's place had air conditioning. Or perhaps a swimming pool. Then they could shag in the cool water.

A yellow traffic ticket fluttered under the wiper blade of his Mustang. He laughed, pulled it loose, and tossed it through the open window.

Only then did he notice the slashes in the sidewalls of the front and rear tires.