Shade City (28 page)

I had been a fool. Bedros, I knew, was a wild card. But I had assumed that everything else would be straightforward. I was so busy watching Soren I didn't even think that Ambrose could have jumped into someone else.

Heavy feet pounded the floor behind me. I lifted the side table with both arms and swung it behind me. Like a matador trained in the art of avoidance, I sidestepped the lumbering brute as he crashed through the boxy table. He tumbled down the steps to the lower level with a groan. I backed up the stairs, keeping an eye on both of them.

I felt like an idiot. There were two things that made my enemy dangerous. One was that he made strong connections to his hosts, who changed from generation to generation. The other was that he could temporarily possess others, like Sal. And I had totally not accounted for it.

"What's this, Ambrose?" I demanded. "Keeping me busy while Soren slips away again?"

Greg didn't bat an eye. "That is one way of looking at the situation. But really, Mr. Butcher, how did you expect all of this to play out in front of that crowd? You really must think these confrontations through."

The big Armenian dusted himself off and regained his feet. This time he climbed the steps more intentionally. He would be more careful not to trip himself up again. I moved to the top level which was covered in brick. It was a walkway more than a seating section, with more space to maneuver. There were some high bar tables, small round pieces of wood attached to metal poles, along the railing. I hefted one in my hands and slammed it into the floor. On the second blow, the wooden surface jarred loose, and I kicked it away with my feet.

"Come on, big guy," I taunted, holding the metal pole like a Louisville slugger. It was an awkward weapon that was weighted wrong and had table legs extending from the tip. It would have to do.

Bedros came at me with a couple of feints, trying to get me to swing and miss. I kept myself in check, backing up when he got too close. When I saw an opening, I swung as hard as I could. Bedros put his arm up. The metal slammed into his shoulder and shoved him aside. He let out a bellow but the heavy blow didn't have a lot of momentum behind it. The big man easily tore the club from my hands and it clattered to the floor.

I lunged at him and planted my knee in his stomach. He grabbed my legs and held me into his body. My fists rained into his face and the top of his head wildly. It shook him. But not enough.

The Armenian charged the back wall and crushed me up against it. Something in my side spasmed in pain. I tried to kick Bedros off, but he released me at the same time. I dropped to my ass hard. Now it was his turn to kick.

Before he could connect, I sprung off the wall and thrust my shoulder into the same spot my knee had softened. He was much larger than me but my leverage had gotten him off balance. He fell backwards, trying to catch himself with several panicked steps. I kept pushing and the small of his back snapped against the metal balcony railing, sending him over the edge to the middle section, on top of another table.

I had just about fallen forward over the railing as well. I was leaning upside down, precariously hanging on to the metal with both hands. It was only a five foot fall, but I fought against it. In my struggle I caught a momentary glimpse of Greg, sitting on the same level against the wall, watching with patient interest. Then my hand slipped.

I tumbled into Bedros as he was trying to get up. He snatched at me with his large fists but I stood up and kicked them away. I climbed up on a leather booth and grabbed the metal railing above me again. Bedros clutched at my leg. I sent my foot into his face. Then I pulled myself up and over. I was on the top once more.

The two of us sat on our separate floors, leaning against something for support, catching our breaths. As I moved away from the railing, I saw Pam standing at the top of the stairs coming from the lobby. She was staring at me, with a tear in her eye and a pained expression on her face.

Greg followed my gaze and abandoned his nonchalance. He rose to his feet. "Pam! Go back downstairs. Don't worry about this."

I brushed my hair out of my eyes and stood up. I confidently approached the girl. Ambrose was on the lower level and didn't come up.

"How'd it go?" I asked her, and held out my hand. Pam placed the Hamilton watch in my palm.

"Fuck you," she said. Her head twitched, and another tear streamed down her cheek. "I hate this."

Bedros took advantage of the breather and remained still. Greg, however, inspected us in confusion. "What's this?"

I held up the pocket watch and let it swing by the chain. "A spy," I answered, turning to Ambrose. "Violet, where's Soren?"

It wasn't the pocket watch that answered.

"I made sure he went outside," said Pam, "with the others." Greg dropped his jaw as he realized what had happened. He had been fooled by his same trick. But it wasn't over. "I got it," said Violet. Then she handed me Alexander Ambrose's walking stick.

"You hypocrite!" cried Greg, his jaw shaking with rage. But he wasn't glowering at me. I watched Pam tremble under the weight of his words. It wasn't as if she needed them, though. She already hated herself enough.

Pam spasmed more obviously this time. Violet had always had trouble remaining inside hosts. She didn't like it, and she wasn't good at it. I wondered which one caused the other.

"Get out of here," I said. "Join up with Soren. And free her from this."

Pam nodded and raced down the stairs, unable to hold back her sobs.

I stood triumphantly on the top balcony level, tapping the metal tip of the walking stick against the railing. The two men, now both standing, glared at me with angry eyes.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" asked Ambrose.

"I wonder..." I said. I slowly walked along the railing, letting the metal scrape as it slid. "How powerful is the famed Alexander Ambrose without his conduit?"

Greg scoffed. "Ridiculous," he said. "It is just a tool, Mr. Butcher. My true talents are what ensure my stay among the living." He plucked the nearly finished cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at me. I ducked to the side and it bounced harmlessly on the brick.

"Maybe," I said. I banged the stick against the railing harder and harder. The metal rang loudly in my ears, and Greg's eyes seared into me.

"Get him," he snapped.

Bedros hopped up to my level again and marched my way. He reached his fists towards me and I rapped them tightly with the walking stick. The Armenian rubbed his knuckles in annoyance. Then he jumped at me.

Once again, the bull was enraged and the contest was mine. I forced the stick between his clawing hands and stuck Bedros square in the Adam's apple. Not too hard. I didn't want any permanent damage to the man whose body I was beating. Then I spun under his retreating arms and wrapped myself around his back. I locked my legs around his waist, making the big man support my full weight. Each end of the stick was securely nestled in my elbows. My hands pushed the back of his head; the stick: his neck. Bedros could no longer breathe.

The giant thrashed. He clawed at my eyes. His neck. He tried to knock me over the railing. He slammed me against the wall. All of his efforts failed to throw me. His actions slowed as his face grew more distressed. Then the two of us collapsed on the floor.

I reached into my pockets and withdrew a white sage clove, then searched for the lighter. I tapped at my left side, then right, and then my back pockets. Shit. I had dropped it at some point. Where was it?

"You don't happen to have a light, do you?"

Greg anxiously watched. "I'm afraid I'm fresh out."

I eyed Bedros lying unconscious on the floor and wanted to make sure he woke up a different man. This was my chance, and I didn't even have any matches. And then I saw it.

I paced a few yards away and picked up the cigarette that Greg had thrown at me. It was still lit. I held it against my clove and pulled the smoke inside me. Then I flicked the used stub back at Greg.

"I won't let you banish him," he asserted. "He is too important to me."

"What, are you going to get your hands dirty?"

"You don't think I can, Mr. Butcher? You don't think I can beat you until you have nothing left to break?"

I narrowed my eyes as he stepped up to the top of the mezzanine. Greg was a scrawny guy. Like me, but he didn't work out. He looked like a stoner all the way. But I knew he would have some inner strength that came from Ambrose. From another world.

There were heavier footsteps that concerned me, however. A pair of them. Behind Ambrose, stomping up the carpeted stairs, was Emilio. I spun around and saw Eladio at the other end of the balcony, rising in unison with his twin. They must have followed me. Neither said anything, but Ambrose knew he was in trouble.

"You fools," said Greg, facing one strongman, then the other. "What do you intend to do here? I can release myself from this body and rejoin Soren."

Marquis casually strolled up behind Emilio. "Please do. Soren is with my people outside."

Greg's face was filled with horror as he laid eyes on his old nemesis. "You can't hold on to Soren forever," he proclaimed, but I'm not sure he believed it.

"You were supposed to give me time," I scolded. "I had things under control."

"No worries, Dante. It appears that you did. But after your struggles last night, you can hardly blame me." The man tugged at his vest and stood as tall as his short frame allowed as he examined Greg. "Is that really you, Alexander?"

Greg stepped back and inched along the top railing. "You are a hypocrite, Mr. Butcher. You condemn me for my actions yet use possession for your own benefit. My own daughter, against me. Then you consort with the enemy for your own gain. How much of your noble mission is built upon guilty compromises?" He was trying to keep away from Marquis and Emilio but that brought him closer to me. Eladio was lumbering behind me but was keeping his distance as well. That was good. He made me nervous.

"What of you, Ambrose?" I asked coldly. "You claim to be the ultimate victim of circumstance. You say that morality has never given you justice, but you were never a just man. You were cornered by your own corrupt dealings in the Southern Pacific. You ran from the blame. From justice. You killed yourself and your daughter. Still running. You tried to cheat death, but you only cheated yourself and your daughter out of proper lives."

Good, I thought. I clutched the watch in my left hand and the alabaster rose in my right. Things were getting a little messy, but I had the two things I wanted.

Greg laughed maniacally. "We did what needed to be done. For the city. For our families." He raised his voice in rage, as if to convince himself of its merit. "I am a great man!" he boomed.

I shook my head slowly. "Men are remembered by their worst actions, not their best." I turned away from him and walked back to the sleeping Armenian.

"Don't do that," said Marquis. "I could use a soldier like him."

"That wasn't the deal. One for one. I'm giving you Ambrose."

"Like hell," said Greg. As soon as he had reached a middle set of stairs, he bolted down to the lower balconies. I planted my foot on the metal railing and leapt over. Suspended in the air, I snapped the walking stick on the top of Greg's head. It was an immediate knockout. Ambrose melted into the carpet. I landed on my feet.

I tilted my head to each side to crack my neck as I strode back up the steps. Eladio was standing over Bedros now. I stared hard at him and shoved by. Then I kneeled beside the sleeping bodyguard and blew the smoke into his lungs. Marquis put his hand up to hold off the strongmen and watched me with interest. After a few moments, I rested my hand on the big man's chest and saw that his soul was clean.

"It's done."

Marquis nodded and Emilio stepped down to the front of the balcony and approached Greg.

I smiled. "No," I directed. "Not him."

"Dante," said Marquis, "one for one. You said so yourself."

"I'm giving you Ambrose, not Greg. Not an innocent." I plucked the horseshoe ring from my pocket and let the watch dangle from the same hand. I tried to slip the ring over the end of the walking stick, but the metal tip was too wide.

I started to panic. My whole plan was about to crumble because the ring was too small. I had thought it was large enough. It was, but the metal tip was preventing the fit. Then I realized. I gripped the alabaster rose in one hand and the tip in the other and brought Alexander's walking stick down hard. It splintered in half on my knee. Then I slid the cold iron over the wood. It caught several inches up as the base widened. I made sure it was tight.

"Are we good?" I asked.

Marquis didn't realize I wasn't talking to him and answered. "I suppose we are, Dante. You've certainly gone to a lot of trouble to minimize the collateral damage." He held out his hand and I gave him the broken stick. He examined it with interest. "A man who has the power to jump into a multitude of men is now stuck, attached to a single piece of wood. I have seen something like this before. Clever. But how do I know that he is really tied to this?"

I shook my head. "If you can't see it like I can, I'm sure you have ways of confirming it. You have agents on the Dead Side, don't you?"

"More than I have here, Dante. It will upset me if this was all an elaborate deception."

"We are men, not savages," I said calmly. "We must do right by each other." He smiled as he recognized his words.

Emilio glanced around, trying to appear useful, then shrugged and returned to our level, leaving Greg in peace.

"There's one more thing," I said, "before you go. Ambrose also buys Soren. If your people are holding him outside, they need to let him go. Soren will never agree to join your crew now, anyway. He'll never kill himself. He's a newly rich man. Just married. His future is bright without you. Let him go."