Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (48 page)

“If you touch her—”

“Who said I haven’t already. Now be a good boy and throw the phone.”

“Catch,” Veck barked, as he tossed the thing over.

He didn’t wait to see whether there was a safe landing. Racing for the stairs, he took them three at a time, the soles of his shoes squeaking, especial y as he hard-cornered it on the second-floor landing.

The closet in his bedroom was ful of weapons. Guns, ammo, knives—how that bitch knew about it al , he didn’t want to think—

“Motherfucker !” he shouted as he opened the doors.

The shelves were empty.

But of course. The police had come and taken everything he had into evidence.

“That’s not what you’re going to need.”

He wheeled around—and recoiled. Standing in the doorway of his room, Heron’s partner, Adrian, was looking like a hot mess: His shirt had been rotted through in places and . . . Christ, the
smell
.

Whatever, though, the guy was alive and breathing, and with the way things were going, that was the only data screen that counted.

“Guns aren’t going to work,” Adrian said.

“The hel they won’t.”

Rushing out of the room, Veck pushed past the man, his eyes watering from that acrid stench. Downstairs, he checked the other two obvious places he’d kept autoloaders: in the kitchen under the sink, and under the couch.

Gone.

Only one stash left.

As Jim Heron’s angry voice drifted in from the kitchen, Veck went into the utility hal that connected the garage to the house. The washer and dryer were behind a pair of louvered doors, and he busted both sides open before squatting down. The dryer unit had been dropped during his last move, the bottom panel becoming loose enough so that if you knew where to press, it . . .

Snapped. Right. Off.

And there they were. Two nines with ful y loaded clips, with everything stored in plastic bags to keep them lint free.

“Thank you, Jesus.”

“Those are not what you need.”

Veck looked up. Jim was standing over him, that cel phone in his hand. The angel was so pissed off, a flush had ridden up his throat and nailed him in the face, but that wasn’t the only glow he had going on: There was a fierce light emanating from his body, like he was a Lava lamp in the
on
position.

Veck leaped to his feet, images of Reil y being defaced giving him a very precise picture of what in fact
was
required. Ripping the guns out of those Ziplocs, he double-checked their actions, and then went down low again for the two extra clips.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he loaded up his pockets.

“If you go in there half-cocked, you’re going to choose the wrong path.”

“Fuck that, I’m ful y cocked.” He grabbed the guns, and shoved Heron out of the way.

His spare holster was hanging from the coatrack by the back door, and he slipped the straps over his shoulders. Both weapons went in perfectly, because he was a one-size-fits-al kind of guy, and then a light windbreaker covered the show.

“Where is she,” he snapped.

“We need to talk first.”

“Not on my list of things to do. Sorry.”

At that, he unsheathed the pair of autoloaders and pointed one barrel at Jim Heron’s chest and the other at Adrian’s.

“Now, where is my woman.”

W
el , this was going fucking great, Jim thought, as he stared into the business end of a nine.

“You tel me where she is,” Veck bit out, “or I’l shoot you.”

The guy meant it: He was cucumber cool, icebox ready. Kinda made you respect the bastard. Except he wasn’t thinking straight, was he.

“You kil me,” Jim pointed out level y, “and I can’t tel you where to go. You kil him”—he nodded in Ad’s direction—“and I’m going to strangle you with your own colon.”

There was a brief pause and then the gun pointed at him shifted no more than a mil imeter to Jim’s left.

The SOB pul ed the trigger and buried a bul et into the molding right by Jim’s ear.

“Who said anything about kil ing?” Veck subtly moved the muzzle lower. “Pain works wonders on tight lips. Besides, I’l bet if I did a cal back they’d pick up.”

Triangulating where the next bul et was going to land made Jim fear a new career as a falsetto—assuming he didn’t want to take for granted the whole bul ets-can’t-touch-me thing. Then again, at least it wasn’t Adrian’s’nads on the line—given how much that guy could not sing.

“You might think this shit over, Jim,” the other angel muttered. “We know the guy’s got good aim.”

Jim shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Veck.”

“Have I mentioned time is flying? God only knows what’s happening to her.”

“True, but she’s not the one I’m worried about.” Jim glanced over at Ad. “And I need to go with him. Any clue how I can do that?”

The other angel cursed softly. “That was Eddie’s department.”“
No
one’s coming with me,” Veck barked. “Or that woman is going to kil her.
And will you
stop wasting time
—”

“Devina is not going to do shit to her! She needs you there, and Reil y alive is the only way to make sure you show up. Now wil you give me a moment to think, asshole?”

As Jim began pacing, Veck started spouting off, al , “Stop moving or I’l shoot,” but he ignored the guy—

The second shot went into the floor at Jim’s feet, and halted him. Pegging the Clint Eastwood motherfucker with a glare, he said, “That was, like, an inch from my boot, man.”

“Next time it’s your goddamn ankle.”

“Better than your bal s,” Ad pointed out.

Jim turned to face the detective, ready to paint the true picture of Devina . . . when he happened to glance down at the guy’s bifurcated shadow on the tiled floor.

That pair of dark patterns looked like two trees in the forest . . .

And you could stand behind trees, couldn’t you. Hide behind them. Camouflage yourself to appear to be part of the environment such that anyone, like, say, your enemy, could look around . . . and notice nothing.

After al , Devina had seemed to suggest she couldn’t find him—but was he real y wil ing to take a chance on something he didn’t quite get?

Except then he thought about that shit with the badge. Granted, it had nearly split his own self in two, but was there any other solution? Short of sending this pistol-packing, pissed-off sonofabitch into the showdown alone?

“I have to get inside you,” Jim said in a deep voice.

Veck frowned hard. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”

“We could put a wig and a dress on him,” Adrian suggested. And as he got the hairy eyebal from everybody in the room, the angel shrugged. “They gotta make that crap in tarp size, right?”

“And to think I’m actual y glad your smart ass is coming back,” Jim muttered before refocusing on Veck. “I’ve got to come with you—and she can’t know I’m there. So if you’l excuse me . . .”

Jim closed his eyes and instinctively let the corporeal part of himself go, shedding his suit of skin and bones until he was nothing but the light source that animated his body from within.

The dissolve went off without a glitch—it was exactly what he had done but hadn’t been able to control down in Devina’s lair when he’d exploded in fury at her.

“Brace yourself, big boy,” he said into the air.

Clearly, Veck heard him, because the guy recoiled, his eyes rol ing around like peas in a jar at the prospect of being possessed. But this was the only way to protect him, and he must have known that because he didn’t run.

Given that Jim had no clue what the hel he was doing, he approached careful y. The last time he’d done this, he’d blown Devina apart—not exactly the happy ending he or Veck needed in this case.

Good news, though. As he pressed forward, Veck became nothing more than a sieve, offering only a passing resistance. Inside the shel ? Jim fought for room in a metaphysical landscape that had nothing to do with the molecules that made the man, and everything to do with the space in between tm.

And what do you know, he got a crystal-clear on why Eddie had said no-go for an exorcism. Veck was a goddamn Moon Pie, al half-and-half: Every inch of his soul was yin-and-yang, with good and evil spliced together.

No way to operate and excise. You’d destroy him.

Except two could play at this takeover game: on instinct, Jim suffused the man’s interior being, becoming a fog that turned it into a threesome situation.

. . .

Man, that sounded dirty.

But the fact of the matter was, just as Devina’s “DNA” was pervasive, Jim became the same—and he hid not behind the good side, but the bad one.

Better coverage that way—

Huh. From this vantage point, he could look out of Veck’s eyes.

“How’m I doin’?” Jim asked in his own voice—hey, he could talk out of the bastard’s mouth, too.

Across the way, Adrian shrugged. “Pretty damn good—I can’t sense you. But I gotta ask—the pair of you want a cigarette? Or are you going for a twofer?”

“Fuck off,” Jim and Veck answered at the same time.

Standing in his utility room, Veck felt vaguely nauseous, like he’d eaten a two-day-old Phil y cheese steak, washed it down with lukewarm beer, and had a cherry slushie for dessert: too ful of shit that didn’t get along.

And as for hearing Jim’s voice coming out of his own lips? He could do without that, thank you very much.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

Wel , didn’t this give a whole new meaning to “talking to yourself.”

“The quarry.”

“The
quarry
? For fuck’s sake, it’l take forever to—”

“Get the cigarettes,” Jim said.

“Screw that, we need my bike—it’l take us a half hour—”

“Come on, sport. Get the Marlboros—I’l take care of the travel arrangements.”

Cursing a blue streak, he beat feet over to the kitchen table, grabbed the pack and the lighter, and shoved them in with the backup bul et clips.

“And take this,” Adrian said, unsheathing what looked like a glass knife.

“No offense, I’l stick with bul ets.”

“Sil y subhuman.” The angel shoved the dagger into Veck’s belt. “You can trigger up anything you like—it’s for Jim.”

“Tel me this isn’t permanent?”

“No, you have to give me my weapon back at the end.”

Har-har, hardy-har-har. “I’m talking to Jim.”

“No, it’s not,” the angel answered from out of Veck’s mouth. “I can get free as easily as I got in.”

“You sure about that?”

“Nope.”

“Fabulous.” Veck looked around to meet Heron in the eye and realized that was pointless—without a frickin’ mirror. “So how are you going to get us—”

Next stop was the quarry. Literal y.

And there was no bus ride or train trip or car crawl to compare: One ment Veck was in his house; the next he was in the center of the quarry’s long slope.

Don’t address me out loud
, Jim said in his head.

Is this what schizophrenics experience
, Veck wondered.

Couldn’t tell you. Just make sure you stay tight.

“Like I have a choice with you in here, too,” Veck muttered, as he looked around.

Wait, before you head in.
There was a pause.
Veck, this is your show. I’m just going to make sure you live long enough to have a shot—but
everything is on you. I won’t interfere or intercede—we clear? You’ve got to make your mind up on your own. But you’ve got to do the right thing,
whatever that is.

“Yeah. Sure.”

I just want you to remember—evil is usually the easy way out. And your fate is your own and no one else’s.

As if on cue, a glow emanated out of the mouth of a cave about one hundred and fifty yards off to the right.

Enough with the fucking chatter.

Unsheathing both guns, Veck moved like the damn wind, leaping from boulder to boulder, jumping down, jumping up, scrambling. As his body went on ful flip-out to get him to Reil y, his eyes stayed locked on that light. With every obstacle he threw himself over, horrible visions ran through his head, the gruesome, bloody nightmares making his chest burn with a fury that gave him power beyond the physical sum of his muscles and strength.

The cave in question had an entrance large enough so that he didn’t have to duck down, and wide enough so that he didn’t have to squeeze through.

And then the nature-made corridor he found himself in stretched out ahead, penetrating far into the bel y of the earth.

Dropping into a crouch, he ran as fast as he could toward the flickering glow.

Al around him, the wal s were wet and rough, the ceiling dripping, the floor puddled up. In a panic, he tried to filter out the pounding sound of his own footsteps so he could hear what was up ahead: Screams? Heavy breathing? Painful moaning?

Nothing.

It was too fucking quiet.

And then he turned the final corner.

The cave opened up to what appeared to be a low-wal ed space about the size of a big living room. It was impossible to get a true sense of its breadth, however, because the place was lit with candles, outside of which there was nothing but darkness.

In the center, there was a body strung up by the arms, the deadweight hanging from the ceiling.

It was not Reil y. It was what appeared to be a man with short sandy blond hair.

Veck glanced around for Bails and that bitch woman. But al there was . . . was the body. And it was turned to face the far wal .

Was that . . . a hospital johnny? he thought as he stepped forward, keeping the guns up.

“Reil y!” he shouted.

The echoing name roused whoever was hanging, and as the head jerked, a scraping sound rose up into the stil , dank air. The person was slowly turning himself around, using the tips of his bare, muddy feet to change his position.

When Veck saw who it was, he cursed: The victim’sidentity was clear, in spite of the fact that the guy had obviously been punched in the face recently: His forehead was swol en and going black-and-blue, but the features were wel known.

“Kroner . . .” Veck muttered, wondering how in the fuck the bastard had been brought here. Then again, abductions from hospitals were improbable but not impossible.