Redemption Song (Daniel Faust) Page 8

  “Seems to me,” he said, “our first step should be figuring out who the halfblood in the henhouse is. Find the source of those loose lips and snip ’em off permanently. Lemme make a few calls. Meanwhile, you need to find out what’s so special about this priest. You sure he doesn’t know what’s up?”

  “If he knows anything, he doesn’t know he knows it. Maybe he heard or saw something he shouldn’t have, but it’s something only our crowd would recognize the significance of.”

  “Well, grill him. And if asking your way doesn’t do the job, bring him down here and I’ll let the twins go to work on him. Two hours of that and we’ll know everything he’s ever heard, seen, or done.”

  “One,” I said, holding up a finger, “I don’t work for you anymore. Two, nobody is torturing the guy. He didn’t do anything wrong, besides pick up a lousy run of luck.”

  Nicky smiled, but his eyes stayed hard. “Hey, play it how you want, pal. I’m just looking out for both our asses here. All three, if you count your girlfriend. Remember, Lauren’s still got the ring. As long as she’s still above ground and breathing air, she’s a grade-A problem.”

  That was a secret shared by only a few people on Earth, and we aimed to keep it that way. Solomon’s ring came straight out of the Arabian Nights. It was a relic that let Lauren bend demons to her will as easily as wishing for it. Caitlin had already fallen victim to the ring’s power once before. It was pretty much the ultimate weapon against the infernal underworld, and that was exactly the problem.

  If word got out that the ring wasn’t just a myth, every hex-slinger and criminal occultist from here to Miami would show up on Vegas’s doorstep, looking to take a crack at the prize. They’d be killing each other in the streets. Then Earth’s demonic population would get involved, since they were a little touchy about being enslaved, and start cracking heads. The slaughter would be incalculable. That wasn’t even counting what the ring could be used for if it fell into the wrong hands.

  Nicky would sell his own mother for spare change. The fact that he was willing to keep the secret, and not even the twins knew about the ring, was telling. Of course, being half-human and half-demon himself, maybe he was afraid he’d be the ring’s victim instead of its master.

  “Imagine what the Redemption Choir would do with that thing,” I mused. “You think they know?”

  “Some possibilities don’t bear too much reflection. Ain’t healthy for your peace of mind. I say we get that ring, charter a boat to Japan, and drop it into the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

  I nodded. “That’s one thing we’re in perfect agreement on.”

  • • •

  I got back to the apartment a little after midnight. I thought maybe Father Alvarez would have gotten some shut-eye, but that wasn’t in the cards. If I were in his shoes, I would have been the same way I found him: sitting ramrod-straight in a chair, one eye on the door and one hand on the TV remote, trying to distract himself with the Home Shopping Network.

  “Yesterday they had a really good deal on those—what do you call ’em, those shoes with the individual toes?” I said as I locked the door behind me.

  He almost bounced out of his chair. “What happened? Did you find someone to help us?”

  “I think so, yeah. But nothing’s moving until morning and I’m bushed, so if it’s all the same to you I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. You should try to do the same. I know it’s hard, but adrenaline can only carry you so far, and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

  I was just starting to enjoy myself, luxuriating under the hot shower spray and letting the water pulse against my aching muscles, when Alvarez pounded on the bathroom door. I killed the water and grabbed a towel.

  “Someone’s here!” he whispered, on the edge of panic. “Listen!”

  Then I heard it. The voice boomed up from the parking lot, rough as sandpaper.

  “Faust! We know you’re in there!”

  I cursed under my breath and grabbed my clothes. I killed the lights and got low, pulling back the curtains to take a peek outside.

  Bulky sedans sat lengthwise across the entrances to the apartment parking lot, blocking the way in or out. Another car sat parallel to the building. One of the gunmen from the church stood on the roof of his car, all the better to be heard. Others stood scattered across the lot, eyes on my front door, ready for a siege.

  “Send him out to us! We only want the priest. Send him down here, and you can walk away.”

  “I thought nobody could find this place!” Alvarez cried.

  I tried to rein in my thoughts as they raced down a broken track. This apartment was my sanctuary. I was more than careful about keeping it hidden. The entire lot was magically warded, sealed against scrying and occult espionage. We should have been impossible to find by any means.

  I pulled on my shirt and buttoned it. Alvarez fought with his flip phone, shaking his head. “No bars. Why don’t I get any bars here?”

  I took a look at mine. No reception. Somehow they’d jammed our cell phones, and I was pretty sure none of the other tenants would be able to call for help either. Nice trick. I’d have to figure out how they did it, once we got out of this mess.

  I eased over to the door and opened it a crack, keeping the latch-chain in place.

  “I don’t have him,” I shouted. “I dropped him off at the police station.”

  There wasn’t even the slightest pause before the gunman on the car hood shouted back, “We know he’s in there. Send him down or you die tonight, Faust! We’re willing to forgive your crimes, but only if you cooperate.”

  “Crimes?” the priest said. I shrugged. I didn’t know what they meant either. I decided against asking them to be more specific.

  “He’s under my protection,” I called back, tugging my pants on. “So if you want him, you’re gonna have to get your hands dirty. You sure you want that? You know who I am.”

  “You have one minute,” he shouted. I shut the door and relocked it.

  “I’ll go,” Alvarez said.

  “What? No, you won’t.”

  He shook his head. “Yes, I will. There’s at least six of them. If we fight, you’ll die, and other innocent people in this building might get hurt as well. If I surrender, you’ll all live. I’m a priest, Mr. Faust. My duty is very clear.”

  “I say we wait them out. Look, jammed phones or not, the cops do patrol this neighborhood. Sooner or later a squad car’s going to come by, see the blockade out there, and check it out. All we have to do is sit tight until then. That way nobody gets hurt, including you. All right?”

  Alvarez sagged, nodding weakly. “All right. We’ll wait.”

  That was when our minute ran out, and they lobbed a Molotov cocktail through my window.

  Thirteen

  I jumped backward. Broken glass sprayed across the carpet, and the heavy, dusty drapes billowed into orange flame. There was an extinguisher behind glass, outside on the second-floor landing, but there was no way I’d get there and back without the Choir’s guns cutting me down. Glasses of water from the sink wouldn’t be fast enough to stop the spreading fire.

  My home was burning. The only question was how to save ourselves from burning with it.

  I swallowed my anger and ran to my closet, dialing in the code for the combination lock.

  “What are you doing?” Alvarez followed me, flailing his arms. “We have to go. We have to go now!”

  Behind the door, stacked high on three shelves, were the tools of my trade. Grimoires, journals, lithographs on obscure branches of occult philosophy. All useless now, and they’d just weigh me down. The box on the top shelf, my jumbled odds and ends, that was what I needed.

  Most of my magic was long-form. It could take hours to put together even a basic ritual, though the end result was usually worth it. Every now and then, though, I would prepare something for a rainy day and stash it away, tools for an emergency that might not ever happen. Call it my own version of doomsday prepping.
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  This situation counted as doomsday, in my book. Besides, everything I didn’t take was kindling for the fire. Use it or lose it.

  “Father,” I said, “things are about to get really weird around here. I’m going to need you to trust me, okay?”

  “What do you mean, weird?”

  “You remember where the car is parked? I’m going to distract them. Run as fast you can, get in, and start the engine.”

  I tossed him the keys and shook out a folded square of emerald silk, about the size of a tablecloth and edged with runes sewn in golden thread. My throat tightened. This was extreme sorcery, something I’d spent months working on and ultimately abandoned because the risks of it going wrong were too high. Tonight, the risks of not using it were even higher. I pocketed a handful of mottled clay balls and clipped a pair of brass hoops to my belt with a quick-release carabiner.

  “Chinese linking rings?” Alvarez said. “That’s…of all the things to save, you’re grabbing magic tricks?”

  “My tricks are special. Wanna see something cool?”

  He stared at me like I was a madman. He wasn’t too far off, given what I was about to do.

  “Watch,” I said and threw the cloth up in the air between us.

  When it drifted to the floor, fabric runes burnt black like a fried circuit board, I wasn’t there anymore.

  Reality shrieked at the violation as my spell rewrote the world in a heartbeat. Before my eyes shut, I was in the burning apartment. When they closed, I was nowhere. When they opened, I was down in the parking lot. Displaced air buffeted me and popped my eardrums. My stomach lurched, bile surging up my throat, but I didn’t have time for weakness. Two of the attackers stood a few feet in front of me, their backs turned. Cambion for sure. There was no mistaking the strain of corruption that clung to their souls like a twist of barbed wire.

  One turned, aware enough to figure out something was wrong. Not fast enough to stop me from grabbing his revolver with one hand and throwing a punch with the other, driving my knuckles into his throat. He dropped, sputtering. The other one turned just in time to see me open fire. I put three bullets in his chest and another three in his fallen buddy’s skull. The hammer clicked down on an empty chamber, and I tossed the gun aside.

  The next closest stood about ten feet away. He raised a shout, dropping a bead on me. I yanked the carabiner on my belt and grabbed the brass hoops, gripping one in each hand. I hurled the first hoop through the air, ducking behind the closest car as a bullet smashed into the windshield. The hoop zeroed in on the shooter’s neck like a guillotine blade, opening wide to leash his throat and then constrict. I grabbed my own hoop in both hands and yanked downward and to the left. The hoop around his neck mirrored the move, jerking him down, slamming his head against a car hood and knocking him out cold.

  On the other side of the lot, my car roared to life. I saw Alvarez behind the driver’s seat, hunkered down low. More shots whined through the air, one smashing a side-view mirror a couple feet away from me. Time to leave. I pulled the clay balls from my pocket, flooding them with energy fueled by my adrenaline. Then I pulled my arm back and let them fly. Wherever they landed and burst, gouts of sickly green smoke blasted forth like water from a fire hydrant. The smoke washed over the lot, cloaking me in shadow as shots crackled through the air. I dove into the backseat of my car and pointed.

  “Drive!”

  “That’s—but,” Alvarez stammered. “They have cars in front of each exit, and the curb between was at least half a foot high.”

  “We can jump it. Go. Now!”

  Whispering a prayer, he hit the gas and clung to the wheel like a drowning man with a life preserver. I barely had time to sit up before we slammed into the curb, the car lurching up and over, leaving a trail of sparks as the rough concrete scraped against the car’s chassis. For a moment, I was sure we’d blown a tire, that we’d end up pinned on the roadside like fish in a barrel, but the old sedan held tough and soon we were clear of the billowing cloud. We shot off down the street with our pursuers left in the smoke.

  I crowed, slamming my fist against the seat. The adrenaline and the fear and the waves of rogue magic playing havoc with my nerves spun together in one nauseating and giddy witches’ brew.

  “That!” I shouted. “Is how it’s done!”

  Alvarez was a wreck. He looked at me in the rearview mirror, stammering, not sure where to start. He probably had a hundred questions, but the first thing out of his mouth was an accusation.

  “You…you killed those men.”

  “Only two of them. And they were sure as hell going to kill me if I didn’t. Considering the other four are all getting off with bumps and bruises, I’d say that’s pretty damn charitable of me.”

  “Don’t you care? Don’t you feel anything?”

  I thought about that and nodded.

  “Alive,” I said. “Best feeling in the world. I told you I’d protect you, Father. I meant it.”

  “And I said I’d surrender!” he snapped. “You killed them in my name. Don’t you understand that? I share in that guilt. Who are you to decide their lives are worth less than mine?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see. A couple of gun thugs who throw Molotovs into crowded apartment buildings, versus a guy who never hurt anybody and basically does charity work for a living. Yeah, y’know, I’m gonna call that a no-brainer.”

  He fell into a sullen silence. That suited me fine. The roller coaster running through my nervous system coasted over its last peak and hit a broken piece of track, crashing hard. The frenzied excitement melted into a muddled morass of slow reflexes, stomach cramps, and a pounding headache.

  The car wobbled, then rattled, then groaned as one of the tortured wheels finally gave. Alvarez pulled over to the side of the road. I got out and shook my head at the tangled mess of broken rubber clinging to a bent rim. Even if I had a spare, I wasn’t sure I could get the tire off. I looked around to get the lay of the land.

  “Strip’s two blocks from here,” I said. “We walk the rest of the way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace with lights, noise, and crowds, while I plan our next move. Those guys won’t try snatching you in public. I want lots and lots of eyes on us.”

  We walked about half a block in silence. I knew I had to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t think you’d take it this hard. But Father, you’ve gotta understand, it’s not just about you. They want you for something, some purpose, and whatever it is can’t be good. Shooting those guys may have saved lives, in the long run.”

  “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to kidnap me. I don’t have money. I don’t have any family.” He paused. “How did you do it, by the way?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You were there one moment, then you weren’t. I assume it’s a trapdoor? Some kind of emergency tunnel leading to the sewers? You must have dropped through and then come up in the parking lot.”

  I could have pointed out that we were on the second floor, making a tunnel a tricky setup, or that I’d crossed about fifty feet of real estate in less than a breath’s time, but I just nodded instead. He needed what he’d seen to be a trick. He needed it to be a trapdoor to keep his world from spiraling any further out of control tonight. So it was a trapdoor.

  The Strip was a wonderland of light, a safe harbor stretching out its neon arms to embrace us. Traffic along the boulevard moved at a crawl, and men stood at every corner, clicking their little clickers and handing out laminated escort ads to anyone who stood still long enough to take one. We passed a Metro cop, who gave us both a casual once-over before turning his attention to a pack of drunken college kids farther down the sidewalk.

  “Lose the dog collar, Padre,” I said. “You’re standing out in the crowd.”

  Alvarez blinked and unfastened the white tab on his shirt. No good, he still looked like a priest even without the gear. Some people just have that air about them.

&nb
sp; I led him into the Monaco, past a pair of towering Ionic columns. The casino swallowed us in cool blue lights and the electronic catcalls of a hundred slot machines all peacocking for the crowds. Right past the entrance to the casino’s theater was a bar with no name, a simple island of liquor in the middle of the concourse near the poker tables.

  “Whiskey, neat,” I told the bartender, then nodded at Alvarez. “Same for him.”

  I noted, wistfully, that I was acting like Caitlin in more ways than one tonight.

  Fourteen

  Alvarez didn’t argue. His trembling hands needed a drink as badly as his overtaxed brain. I patted his shoulder and gestured to the doors.

  “I need to make a quick phone call. Sit tight, drink up. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

  I didn’t go too far, just enough to hear my own thoughts over the casino bustle. Then I called Nicky.

  “Danny!” he said. “Where you been? I’ve been trying to—”

  “In deep shit. They hit my place, Nicky. They burned it. I got out, got the priest out with me. We’re on the run.”

  “How the hell did they find out where you live?”

  “No idea.”

  “They burned it? I mean, burned it for real?”

  I thought about my place. It was cramped, stuffy, not much better than a transient hotel, but it was mine. I’d worked hard to make it a home. Worked harder to put together the rainy-day cash I’d sewn into a pocket under the mattress. Banks and people like me didn’t get along very well. That was all gone now. So were my books. Some of them first edition, some you couldn’t buy at any mortal price. All of my magical gear, my journals and notes.

  I’d started out as a small-time grifter with twenty bucks and a deck of cards in my hip pocket. Now I was right back there again. Square zero.

  At least I still had my cards.

  “Yeah,” I said to Nicky. “Burned it. Listen, this priest’s a hot potato. I’ve got to get him off the street. We’re hiding in plain sight at the Monaco, but even the crowds here thin out eventually. Can you…?”