Authors: Anthony Izzo
The Dark Ones (19 page)
Digger parked his bike, and Frank parked next to him. He got out of the truck. From inside, a southern rock band wailed on guitars. Frank thought it was Molly Hatchet. He’d spun a few of their tunes as a college DJ a lifetime ago.
Digger eyed the place. “Used to be a fancy joint, one time.”
“What happened to it?”
“Owners went into bankruptcy. Building sat here. Warlords bought it cheap.”
“Looks like they painted recently.”
“Yeah, you surprised?”
“A little.”
“We take care of the place, believe it or not.”
“Are we ready now?” Frank asked.
Digger scratched his beard. “Stay close to me. Don’t say nothing less I tell you, got it? They’re not going to like that I brought you here.”
Digger went up the front steps and in the door. Frank followed and found himself in a large foyer. An abandoned coat-check room and counter occupied one-half of the room. The counter had a film of dust on it.
They entered the inn; the main stairs were straight ahead. Around them was a great room, one end with a stone fireplace and the other end with a bar. Dirty-looking bikers in leather and denim sat at tables scattered around the room. Frank took a step and the floorboards groaned. He got dirty looks.
A biker came in from a doorway off the bar. He was a slimmer, clean-shaven version of Digger. As he approached, he eyed Frank with suspicion. He had the faraway stare of a convict in a mug shot.
“Hey, bro,” the biker said. “Who’s this?”
“Hey,” Digger said. “This is the guy we’re holding the stone for, Frank. Frank, this is my brother Ray.”
“Call me Nitro.”
“Okay, Nitro. And it’s actually Reverend Frank.”
“Reverend?” Nitro asked. “Digger, you go bringing a clergyman in here?” He looked at Frank. “You don’t mess around with little kids like some of those priests, do you?”
That’s a heck of an icebreaker.
“No, do you?”
“No, do you?”
“I look like a queer to you?”
“Frank, shut your hole,” Digger said. “Where is it, Ray? We need to take it.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You don’t have it?” Frank asked.
“Nope.”
Digger said, “What the hell’d you do with it?”
“It’s here, I just don’t have it.”
“Who does?” Frank asked.
“Roddy does. Came in yesterday from Pittsburgh.”
“Shit,” Digger muttered.
“Who’s Roddy and why does he have the stone?” Frank asked.
Digger said, “Club president, mean as a wolverine.”
Frank turned to Nitro and said, “Why on earth would you give it to Roddy?”
Nitro said, “Well, my bro here pulled that stone out and it starts to glow and doesn’t he give us a little demonstration, making light glow from his fingertips. I called up Roddy and says you’ve got to come see this. Something like that’s bound to be valuable.”
Frank shot Digger a look designed to stop hearts. “I thought you didn’t ‘flaunt’ your powers, didn’t tell your brother.”
“I didn’t think he’d call Roddy, for Christ’s sake!”
“Fool,” Frank said. “Where’s this Roddy?”
“Upstairs. First room on the right. But you can’t go up there,” Digger said.
“Why, is he up there studying calculus?” Frank asked.
“Frank, don’t push it,” Digger said.
“Smart-ass, why don’t you get out and we’ll keep the damned stone.”
This called for action. Reasoning with them would do no good, and time was running short. Frank shoved off of Digger and bolted up the stairs. He heard Nitro yell, “Get him!” The stomp of boots followed him and he knew the bikers that had been at the tables were giving chase.
He reached the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing. He turned right down a corridor, found the first door, and entered. Frank saw a mustached man leaning back in an office chair, desk in front of him. His head was back, his eyes closed. A woman’s head bobbed up and down from over the top of the desk. Needless to say, he looked like he was enjoying himself.
More importantly, Frank spotted the Everlight stone sitting on the desk. He barged into the room. The redhead stopped and picked her head up, a runner of saliva on her chin. The guy in the seat opened his eyes, saw Frank, and jumped up. He yanked up his pants and underwear and fumbled with his zipper. Frank grabbed the stone. The bikers plowed into his back. Two grabbed his arms and another wrenched the stone out of his hand, nails scratching his skin.
The recipient of the oral affection now had his pants zipped, a bulge still in his crotch. The redhead, dressed in cutoff jeans, black T-shirt, and cowboy boots, retreated to the corner.
Nitro stepped in front of Frank. Nitro had the stone in his hand, and he set it on the desk. The biker from behind the desk, presumably Roddy, said, “Who is he and how did he get in here?”
Someone stepped up next to Frank. It was Digger. “He’s leaving.”
Roddy came around the desk, maybe six-three or six-four of him, whip thin. The skin on his face was leathered and cracked. He had done long hours in the sun.
“Who are you?”
“Reverend Frank Heatly. And you have something of mine.”
Roddy turned, looked at the stone. Then he faced Frank.
“That? That’s gonna make me a fortune. Damn thing’s magic. Genuine magic.”
Digger said, “Just let him go.”
Frank turned to Digger. “You know how important it is.”
From the corner, the redhead said, “He walked in on us. I say cut the sumbitch open.”
Roddy rolled his eyes. “Will you please shut the hell up, you skank?”
The woman in the corner lowered her eyes. She had bruises on her upper arm, just below the sleeve. Three guesses who put them there.
“No, you aren’t leaving. You walked in on private property.” Roddy leaned in close. He adjusted his crotch. Frank smelled cigar smoke on him. “Some sort of minister, huh? Jesus saves, and all?”
“Even people like you,” Frank said.
The slap caught him on the right cheek and the side of his face immediately felt like it had blistered. His cap fell to the floor.
“Grab him,” Roddy said.
Two of the bikers grabbed Frank’s arms. Their body odor assaulted his nostrils. From his back pocket, Roddy pulled out a large folding knife. He clicked the blade open.
The woman in the corner said, “Yeah, cut him open, do it.”
Roddy turned around and said, “Get the fuck out of here, will you?”
The redhead gave Roddy a dirty look, but complied with his request. As she strutted past Frank she said, “You’re in a world of it now, aren’t you?”
Charming woman
, Frank thought. She left the room. He heard her footsteps echo down the stairs.
, Frank thought. She left the room. He heard her footsteps echo down the stairs.
Roddy turned his attention back to Frank. He held the blade up, the tip an inch from Frank’s nose. He might not even have to worry about the Enemy killing him. The bikers would be more than happy to oblige. Frank gave Digger a sideways glance. Digger looked ready to pounce.
“Hey, leave him be. You scared his ass, right?” Digger said.
“Shut up, Dig,” Nitro said. “Let Roddy go to work.”
With one quick stroke, Roddy whipped the knife downward, slicing a vertical cut in Frank’s chest, right over the breastbone. Frank winced and sucked in a breath. Dear Lord, that hurt. There had to be a way out of this without hurting them. He had only one way to defend himself, and he didn’t want to resort to it.
Digger grabbed Roddy’s knife hand and Roddy looked at him with a measure of surprise and disgust. With his free hand, Roddy snapped a punch, catching Digger in the nose. Digger’s head snapped back, and he staggered into the wall. Blood ran from his nose, and he knelt down, hands over his face.
“That’s enough,” Frank said. “Give me the stone if you want to live.”
“I’m gonna give you a cross all your own, Reverend,” Roddy said, and slashed a horizontal cut across the vertical, making a cross. Pain shot through Frank’s chest.
Frank strained against his captors. He pulled one arm free, threw a wild elbow that missed. A sledgehammer blow caught him in the ribs and he doubled over. A boot shoved his rear end and he stumbled forward into the nearly empty hotel room. He crawled on the floor, sucking air hard. He heard the door slam.
“I’m going to cut you,” Roddy said. “And when you think I can’t cut anymore, I’m going to keep going.”
Frank looked over his shoulder. Roddy stood there, blood-tinged blade in hand, looking like one of Satan’s own imps. A group of dirty, tattered bikers stood behind him. Digger remained slumped against the wall. He covered his nose, blood dripping from under his hands.
Frank’s chest hitched. The air began to return to his lungs, and he sucked in hard.
“Let’s give the Reverend a Warlords welcome,” Roddy said.
The bikers closed in around him. One kicked him in the leg. He grunted. Another rained punches on him. Frank managed to get his arm up. Some of the blows got past him, peppering his head and ear.
Roddy knelt down. Frank was on his hands and knees. Roddy held the knife in front of Frank’s face.
They’re going to kill me if I don’t do something.
“You gonna die, ’cause I ain’t afraid to kill someone, ’specially a preacher,” Roddy said.
One of the bikers kicked him hard in the tailbone. The pain shooting up his spine was excruciating. He yelled. The bikers laughed.
“Why don’t you say a little prayer for us?” Roddy asked.
“Yeah, preacher man, how about a prayer?” Nitro added.
“Let me go. Give me the stone. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Let you go? After we just kicked the hell out of you? I don’t think so. I don’t need the Staties coming up round here.”
Frank, still on hands and knees, looked at the ground under his torso. Droplets of blood had collected on the floor from his chest wound.
“I think I’ll cut you now,” Roddy said.
Frank looked up, scanned the room. He saw Roddy, Nitro, and four others surrounding him. Behind Roddy, Digger was staggering to his feet. Lord, please do not make me do this, Frank prayed.
“Don’t make me do it!” Frank said.
“Do what, bleed on the fucking floor?” Roddy asked.
“They’ll die horribly,” Frank said.
Roddy pressed the tip of the knife to the side of Frank’s neck. Frank saw Digger approaching. Digger, like all Guardians, would not be harmed by a stray bolt of light.
“God gonna save you, preacher?”
“No. This is.”
Frank looked at Roddy. In one motion, Frank rocked back on his knees, threw up his arms. A flash of light sizzled from his fingertips and slammed into Roddy’s right shoulder. The knife flew from Roddy’s hand. He stumbled backward. On his back, he looked at his shoulder, which was now a mass of blackened flesh and tattered fabric that had fused to the skin. He started to howl, then rolled back and forth on the floor, yelling, “What did you do to me? What did you do?”
Frank got to his feet. The other bikers in the circle stared, mouths open. That gave him a window. Digger, seeing what had transpired, grabbed the stone from the desk. Frank bounded over Roddy, outstretched on the floor. Digger went through the door first. Frank followed and slammed the door behind him.
From inside the room, he heard a muffled voice say, “Get his ass!”
Frank tore down the stairs with Digger at his side. He pressed his hand to his chest. The blood felt sticky and warm. His ass ached from being kicked and he considered himself lucky not to have a broken tailbone. As they ran down the steps, Frank jammed the stone in his pocket.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, then ran through the lobby and out the front door.
“Get in the truck, it’ll be quicker.”
“I’m not leaving my bike.”
He stepped on to the blacktop, the truck in sight. From behind, he heard the thud of boots on the steps. If he could make it to the truck, they might outrun them to the armory. Frank heard the pop of rifle fire, and the truck’s grille exploded. Water splashed from the radiator. Two more shots popped through the truck’s hood with a
thunk
. So much for that, he thought.
thunk
. So much for that, he thought.
Now, Frank turned and saw the bikers charge from the door. He spotted the rifle barrel sticking out from a second-floor window. The next—and last—sound would be a bullet exploding his skull.
Digger had stopped and was looking at the window. Digger raised his hand and fired a blast of light at the window. Glass exploded. The unseen gunman shrieked, and the rifle fell to the ground and bounced end over end. Small flames engulfed the window frame.
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