Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (9 page)

 

 

 

 

"That's a bad joke," I said to my best friend.

Evan Cross shrugged firmly. "You were gone five years, brother. Emily went out with a couple different guys in that span, real douche bags if you ask me. I always looked out for her, though. You know that. Next thing you know, both of us are single, commiserating, and—"

"I get the picture," I snapped, before he finished the thought. Milena had said Emily was married, but she left out the part about it being to my best friend. I was stunned.

"I... This... How..." I fell back into my seat.

"I'm really sorry to tell you that," he said. "There was a small part of me that thought, if you knew, you'd be happy for us." The bastard even sounded sincere.

Look, I know ten years is a long time. If they held out for five, they weren't dancing on my grave or anything. And I truly couldn't blame Emily for moving on. But with my best friend? It felt unnecessary. Like I'd lost both of them in one fell blow. Life was throwing me yet another beating. Cisco Suarez, the dead horse.

"Let's just change the subject," I said, trying to outpace my self-loathing. "Onward, not backward."

Evan Cross nodded and sat back, but he wasn't relaxed. His jaw was tight. His shoulders were tense. Mine were too. I avoided eye contact as much as possible.

"Look at you," I said in a lighter tone, trying to be happy for him. He was my friend, damn it. "You got your own office. The nameplate on the door says Lieutenant. You've done okay."

He nodded. "I command my own unit. The DROP Team."

"DROP?"

"As in DROP the bad guys."

"Maybe you should DROP the acronym."

His face went sour but he shook it off. "District Risk Overview and Prevention. Miami's divided into five districts, with five city commissioners. This gig's a political appointment."

"Sounds kinda like you have five bosses."

"That part's not great," he admitted. "But it's big-picture stuff. The commissioners are concerned with long-term improvements to their districts. That's where the DROP Team comes in. We analyze crime trends from the top down, look for underlying motivators for crime, and choke it out at the source. We're specially reserved for the long view."

Emily must be proud. "Sounds fancy."

He shrugged. "Eh, I'm practically a politician now. I get a call, work up an analysis, and send the boys out. Meantime, I'm sitting on my ass. Perks of old age, huh?"

I kept checking out his office so I wouldn't need to look at him. "I wouldn't know."

He smiled. "Come on, buddy. Whether you've been alive or dead for the last ten years, you aren't twenty-four anymore."

I couldn't disagree.

Evan stiffened. "Look, man, I'll help however I can. You know that. But I don't mess around in your circles. I don't understand the rituals that go on out there and I don't want to. My task force is purely mundane. That will slow me down. What I can do is get you gang intel."

My eyes zeroed in on his. "The Bone Saints."

He nodded. "My sergeant came from the gang unit, so I'm plugged into the scene. And what I don't know, I can find out."

"Let's hear what you do."

He nodded, eager to get down to business. "The Bone Saints have been making the news lately. A power struggle at the top. Elevated violence on the street. There's not a lot of intel on their new leader because he only recently came into power. The old boss was assassinated last year in a very public shootout. That's the official word." Evan leaned in and crossed his hands together. "It's clear to people like us that magic's involved."

"Tell me about it."

"The Saints are into all that voodoo shit, like you and Martine. Jules Baptiste supposedly had a falling out with his lieutenants. I thought he'd be around forever but they got him. That triggered a power play. Several other deaths followed, anyone from top leadership to low level peddlers—all street scum in my book."

I nodded, attempting to categorize everything I heard into easy buckets. Threat, ancillary, or worth looking into. "Who took over?"

"His name's Laurent Baptiste. And before you ask if that's a common Haitian last name, they're related. He's the younger brother of the old guard, like Fidel and Raul. You heard about that, right? We got Bin Laden but needed to wait for Fidel to kick the bucket.

"Anyway, from what I understand, Laurent Baptiste has majority support now and the takeover is complete. The guy's creepier than his brother. Paints his face and carries a snake around, and encourages his crew to do the same."

"All the bokors do that stuff," I said. He looked puzzled so I explained. "The Haitian necromancers, the bokors, they have a flair for the dramatic. The Bone Saints always did that."

Evan eyed me, surprised I knew that much. "Well, from what I've seen, there's a lot more face paint out there."

"That means they brought in more talent."

"I wouldn't doubt it," he said. "The Bone Saints have been more organized under his leadership. More of a long-term problem. Not just drugs but tax scams and stuff. Baptiste is a control freak in every sense of the word. If his guys are trying to kill you, it's definitely by his order."

Sheesh, I didn't even know the guy. His brother, the previous leader, probably hadn't been in power ten years ago. How could a dead man get mixed up in an internal gang beef?

"What's the African connection?" I asked.

Evan raised his eyebrows. "African?"

"I was almost killed by an African trickster spider today. I burned it down in Martine's house."

"Holy shit, Cisco. I don't want to know about that."

"Forget it then. It's dead. But it makes me wonder how the Haitians are connected to the Old World."

My friend looked at me like I was stupid. He leaned forward and whispered, "They're black."

I shook my head dismissively. "Thanks, jackass. I was hoping for something a little more concrete."

"Hey," he said, shrugging. "You're the expert, but voodoo, Santeria, all that saint stuff came over from Africa with the slave trade. It's all the same crap."

"Maybe to the uninitiated," I said. "Think about how different Los Angeles and New York are, and they're in the same country. Africa's a gigantic continent."

"Whatever," he said. "You're the expert."

He said it sarcastically, as if I'd made a mistake and was backtracking with an unnecessary explanation. I didn't bother getting into it with him and moved on.

"What about me? How'd I die?"

Evan paused, going circumspect on me. "You really don't know?"

"I don't remember my death or the days leading up to it. I don't remember getting mixed up in anything, or even being scared. It's like, yesterday was a random day, only today's ten years later, and all I've got to show for it is a bad hangover."

"You are the worst material witness ever, you know that?" Evan shook his head and grew solemn. "We found your blood, man. Buckets of the stuff. Even though your body was never recovered, there was too much blood loss for survival. Everybody said it was impossible. Zero percent chance. And since the crime scene was on Star Island, we figured you were dumped into the Bay or the Atlantic."

The body of water between the island of Miami Beach and mainland Miami is called Biscayne Bay. Some islands lie off the MacArthur Causeway in between. Star Island is one of them. It's billed as the home of the stars. Puff Daddy, Shaq, Gloria Estefan. Real swank places.

"What was I doing there?"

Evan shrugged. "We don't know. The homeowners at the time were on extended vacation in Germany. They were cleared. We couldn't place anybody else at the residence. The property was on the market and a sign was out front, but the economy's been in the shitter since you've been gone. No one was buying or watching the house. We think squatters were involved."

I sighed. More like DROP the ball. Evan noticed my lack of satisfaction and became defensive.

"Listen, Cisco. The room was a mess. A pentagram was drawn on the floor with your blood. Judging by the smears, your body was once in the center of it. There were candles and dust and—"

"What kind of dust?"

"I don't know. I'm sure it was analyzed, but it didn't lead anywhere. The point is, we're out of our depth with this occult stuff."

I nodded in agreement. It was going to be the hard way then. "I need access to the property."

"Cisco, the evidence is long gone."

Forensics are one thing, black magic's another. After ten years, detecting trace Intrinsics wouldn't be a walk in the park, but given enough time and channeling, I could find something. I
had
to find something.

"I want the address," I said, leaving no room in my tone for debate.

"I don't have it. I don't remember addresses from years ago."

"Then get me the file."

Evan rubbed the heels of his palms on his forehead. I could see him working through the logistics of getting me the case file. Going against procedure, asking favors, sticking his neck out.

"You owe me this, Evan. You can't sit on your ass forever."

He snorted. "No one sat on their ass. This was out of my hands. I say 'we' only to refer to the City of Miami, but I wasn't allowed anywhere near your case. I tried in the early days and got reprimanded for it. It was over by that point. I couldn't do anything for you." He was angry, but it didn't look like it was at me. He put his head on the desk. "I wish I'd known you were alive, man. Damn it. I wish I'd known you were alive."

I shifted uncomfortably. Wondered what this was like for the people whose lives I was interrupting. Maybe everything was silky smooth before ol' Cisco came back to town. Maybe the only thing I would do is scratch and tear and burn everything I touched.

I kinda liked the sound of that.

With a lull in the conversation, I re-examined the absurdity of my predicament. The police couldn't help me, Martine was dead, Em wasn't around to give me a pep talk. For maybe the first time in my life, I was on my own.

"What about my family?" I finally asked. "Tell me you have something there."

The same lost look continued to plaster his face. "I don't know what to tell you. There was a lot of blood, but the murders were years apart from yours. The scene was different. A massacre. No signs of ritual. The murders aren't officially linked."

I frowned. The desperation hurt. It physically hurt. Being dead was painless, being alive torture. The absence of information, the futility of the police investigations, the lost time—they were all needles biting into me, twisting deeper.

"What if they're not dead?" I asked.

Evan's face hardened. "Cisco..."

"I'm serious. Everybody thought I was done for. We both know damn well that the killings are related."

"We don't know that."

"Bullshit we don't. If I came back, maybe they did too."

My friend's forehead knotted. He was trying to be patient, but it came across as condescending. "Cisco, they were butchered. Hacked into pieces."

"You saw the bodies?"

His lips tightened and he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, man. It was them. I don't know shit about magic, but nothing could bring what I saw back."

I nearly convulsed. Hope was important, even when it was hopeless. Holding on to that faint, stupid glimmer of a chance that my family was still alive gave me something to fight for. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I should have stayed dead.

"What open leads
do
you have?" I asked stubbornly.

"You tell me," snapped Evan, losing his cool. "You come in here after ten years and make me feel like shit when you were the one mixed up in it."

"I didn't do anything. Don't put it on me like that."

He raised his voice. "Who had it in for you? Who wanted to destroy everyone you loved?" I grumbled and turned away, but that only emboldened him. "I told you not to mess with black magic, man. You never listened. Not then. Not now."

"Now?" I returned. "What other option do I have
now
?"

"How about being happy you're still alive? I want you to move on and figure out how to
stay
alive. Your family's been dead eight years. Digging them up won't do you any good."

"Oh, the hell with this," I spat. "You think I can walk away from this? Whoever killed me killed my family. Solving any of the murders gets me one step closer to ripping that bastard's heart out."

"You're living again, Cisco. Don't you see that? You're living, and you can't live for revenge."

I laughed coldly. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do. But it's not only about vengeance. Martine was murdered today. Who's next? I need to stop them. I'm the only one who can. If it's not me, then who?"

Evan squirmed in frustration but didn't have an answer for me. "So you're gonna go messing with black magic again. That's a great idea, Einstein. See how many more people get killed."

"It's not the magic," I said. "It's the people. Somebody needs to pay. My family's gone, Evan. You can throw me and Martine under the bus if you want, but my family didn't deserve what happened. No one ever brought them justice."

My friend could be a self-righteous bastard when he wanted to, but he knew how to pick his battles. He kept his mouth shut while I fumed.

I shook my head. Words couldn't help anyway. Nothing could.

I let out all my steam in a great big exhalation. "Unbelievable," I said, smiling because there was nothing else to do. "My family and I were murdered, years ago, and everyone else went right on living."

Evan grimaced weakly. "That's what people do, Cisco."

No. Not when Cisco Suarez was dead. I locked eyes with him. "And what did
you
do, Evan? Besides 'take care' of my girlfriend?" It was a low blow, but I took the shot I had.