Drawing Dead (32 page)

“Only confirmed kills.”

“Okay, I get it. Only thing is, they're not in that joint.”

“You sure?”

“Dead sure.”

“You got surveillance on—?”

“I asked. They told me,” Ace interrupted.

“Just like that?”

“A hit man went over to where my wife was. My wife and my kids. He was supposed to
leave
them all there. The people running that house over there, they know me; they know what I do. I told them the stone truth: whoever called that blackout, they're dead. What the guy running that house told me? They ain't there. He wasn't lying. He knows—they
all
know. I don't mess with dope. And I ain't no tax collector.”

“You telling me to back off?”

“You want to hit that house, don't mean nothing to me. I'll just fade. You want to make Blondie and Wanda dead, I'm telling you two things: They ain't in that house. And I
am
going to kill them.”

“That's my job.”

“You want to come along with me, I'll let you take all the cell-phone snaps you want when we're done.”

“I don't work with partners.”

“Me, neither. Not when I'm…doing what I do. This is different. Not about business. Personal. If it's same ol', same ol' for you, go ahead and do whatever you feel like doing.”

“You just happened to be here, right? And you figure, why not keep me from wasting my time?” Percy said.

“I was here for the same reason you are. Like I said, I was already at that house. So I figured you'd be along soon enough.”

“That isn't any—”

“What, explanation? I don't owe you no explanation. Didn't ask you for one, neither. Why I waited was to offer you what you just turned down.”

“You mean a…?”

“Yeah. A partnership. You're hunting what I'm hunting. I want them dead; you want the
proof
they're dead. You're a good man in a gunfight, and you got some kind of G-man thing working for you, too. So, even if your info is half guesses, it's got some facts mixed in. I could use that.

“I got to be close to do what I do. But I got something to ante up that you don't. I can work this area. I can get
ground
info. You want them wasted; I don't have time to waste. You're walking with me or you're walking alone, your choice.”

Percy did the math at combat speed, his internal Threat Level Meter dropping like an anvil from an airplane. “Let's go,” he said.

The pressure between his kidneys disappeared.

“WHAT THE
hell is
that
?” Cross asked So Long, pointing at a sign over a black-glass storefront over which fleeting images played, none long enough to actually identify:

NO-CHANCE GAMING PARLOR

If being wedged between Rhino and Princess bothered her, it did not show in her voice.

“That sign is a message. ‘No-Chance' means this is a place for games of
skill,
not luck. The people in there, most are…I cannot describe them, but they know each other by something more than appearance.”

The black-masked Akita nudged So Long's sleekly silked legs, as if in agreement.

“See!” Princess half-shouted in excitement. “Sweetie understands what people say. I
told
you!”

“Do
not
!” Tiger snapped at Cross, anticipating his response to a male dog nuzzling So Long.

“I could not go in there,” So Long said, as if none of the surrounding nonsense—spoken and otherwise—was any of her concern. “Not you, either,” she told Cross, clearly assuming that Buddha and Rhino would not even entertain such a thought.

“Me?” Tiger asked.

“You and Princess,” So Long answered. “None of those playing inside would feel out of place at ComicCon, and you and Princess would fit—”

“And Sweetie, right?”

“Certainly,” So Long replied, as if this had never been in question.

THE SHARK CAR'S
doors hissed open.

Princess stepped out onto the sidewalk and waited patiently for Tiger to climb over Cross from her position between him and Buddha.

Tiger and Princess entered the gaming establishment together, her hand resting lightly on the cartoon-muscled arm of her gentlemanly escort. The three proprietors, identically dressed in white T-shirts sporting the game cave's logo that draped down to the knees of their jeans, stopped whatever they'd been doing to
stare!
at the invasion. The blazing-color comic book covers that lined the entire back wall had sprung to life, leaving them stuck somewhere between fascination and terror.

Others were so deeply engrossed in whatever was on the screens of the hexagonal tables scattered throughout the room that they didn't notice. At first. But the rolling wave of gaping silence coated the room like the spray from a slow-motion tsunami—even the faint pings from the demanding screens seemed to be muting of their own accord.

“Hi!” Princess boomed, as Tiger pranced around him, whispering, “Rip your shirt off, honey,” to the monster child. Princess fisted his tearaway lilac mesh shirt and stood silently, still waiting for the dumfounded crowd to respond to his greeting. He was utterly without makeup, a ridiculous .600 Nitro Express pistol holstered under one arm. His body gleamed, its armor coating flexed and popped, as if acting on its own instructions.

He's right out of Geof Darrow's pen!
a few of the more sophisticated watchers thought, in one single, soundless a capella.

“You and Sweetie just watch the back wall, honey. I want to talk to those boys over there, okay?”

Princess dropped Sweetie's chain. It hit the floor like the sixty-pound linked iron it was, but all eyes remained glued to Tiger as she stalked over to the counter. Her every move threatened to crack the coating of the scarlet body paint she
must
be wearing—
Nothing else could be that tight!
being the universal, albeit unspoken, verdict of the watchers.
It looks like she stepped right out of that poster. That big one over on the far wall…

“Don't do that,” Tiger said in a sugar-sprinkling voice, as she snatched a cell-phone camera from one young man's hand. “I don't like having my picture taken with all these clothes on.” Without looking back, she flung the phone over her shoulder at Princess, who deftly caught it in one hand and closed his fist around it. The crunching sound that emerged didn't frighten any of the gamers—this
had
to be some kind of illusion, right?

When Princess opened his hand, the shattered remains of the phone drifted to the floor. By then, none of the gamers were watching their consoles, not even those who had been utilizing the slide-out panels on either side of the individual seats for “private play.” All eyes were on Tiger as the Amazon hip-switched her way to the counter.

“Who's the boss?” she purred, leaning on the counter. Her scarlet-soled, black spike heels combined with her natural height to make it appear as if she were bending over extravagantly. The tables were filled with youngish males whose minds were too overwhelmed even to
think
the string of “OMG!!!”s that would otherwise be filling the micro-keyboards they all carried.

“We…we three are,” a long-haired male with a wispy mustache said. “I mean, we divide—”

“Sssshhh, baby,” Tiger said, so softly that he had to lean forward to be certain he could hear her. Tiger's body perfume wafted toward him, as if released by pressing her elbows together. Fortunately for his equilibrium, he was down to mouth-breathing by then. “I'm just…curious, about this place. Is that okay?”

“Sure! I mean…”

“Oh, stop teasing! I just want to show you a picture. A photograph, that's not much to ask, is it?”

As the other two partners moved closer to the man between them, Tiger reached down to her gorgeously sculpted thigh and pulled one of the twin daggers strapped around it. Her hand flashed; the dagger spiked into the wood counter. It stayed there, vibrating, as a photograph that had been tightly wrapped around the handle unrolled itself loose.

The dagger was back in its holster before any of the three could look at the photo. But when they did, they were silent.

“Come on, now,” Tiger whispered. “You don't want to make me beg, do you? That would be a shame—the last man who tried to make me do that won't be back anytime soon. Unless those zombies you're always watching in your movies are real. Maybe they are, for all I know. But here's what I know for sure:
I'm
real. And so is my friend back there. And that darling little puppy.”

“If we let you—” one of them said, stopping when he caught a look from the others.

“Oh, I know he's not back there
now.
But this place, it's got some more depth to it, doesn't it?”

“Uh…”

“I understand. If all those boys watching me see me go behind that nice blue velvet rope and disappear, they'll stay until you close up, waiting for me to come out. That wouldn't be good. You've got another way for people—certain people—to get back there, yes? Sure, you do. And they pay real money to do that. You want to know
how
I know?”

None of the partners spoke.

“Never mind. I know, that's all. But I still have to see it for myself,” Tiger said, not asking permission. “I'll just disappear behind those two staggered mini-walls you flash stuff against…like those tarot cards that are being dealt right now. It's
so
clever, the way you have it set up.”

“There's no one in—”

“Oh, that doesn't matter. The way we'll work it is, I'll just walk back there and
disappear.
See this cute little glass ball? When I drop it—
Poof!
—a lot of pretty scarlet smoke. By the time it clears, I'll be gone. Cool, huh?

“Now listen, after tonight, you'll be able to double your prices. 'Cause I'm going to walk out of there the same way people walk
in.
You follow me? Ah, never mind, here comes the really cool part. In a couple of minutes, I'm going to walk in the
front.
And drag my friend back out with me. By the time anyone blinks, we'll be gone.