Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (42 page)

“Whatever.  There’s a little café down the street.  Let’s go there and wait for our ride.”  I took my phone out punched in a number.  “Limo’s gone.  Osamu will have to use your bug.”

Trudging toward the café, Kat gave no sign she’d heard me.
As I dallied outside on the phone, lighting a fire under my driver, she went inside and claimed a table by a big window.  She pored through the menu on the table, as I sank into a chair opposite her, a checkered red-and-white, plastic table cloth between us.

A waitress bustled over, pad and pen in hand.  She wore a too-tight dress but lacked the figure to set it off.  I felt like pulling my eyes out and throwing them at her.  Instead, I ordered a beer, a pulled-pork sandwich, and seasoned fries.  Kat got the Southern Sampler and an iced tea.  After the waitress moved off, she looked at me, eyes turning serious.  “My people have always run from danger, hidden from it.  I’ve made Josh do it, for me.  You really think I’ve been holding him back?”

“Think about the peaceful world you could give your child.  A world built on Josh’s strength.  Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

“I hate saying this,” she said, “but you might be right.”

“Kat, by any chance, do you know where I can hook up with a gun dealer, a good one?”

A slow, wicked smile stretched her lips.

“That old, yellow iron bridge,” she pointed out the window.  “I know the troll that lives under there.”

“I don’t get along with trolls.”

“Or just about anyone else.  Look, Caine, suck it up.  He’s got the best stuff in the city and we can get it right now, no questions.”

“I
do
like no questions.  We’ll go as soon as Osamu gets here.”

We ate, paid our check, and headed out as Osamu pulled up.  We piled into the VW and pulled away.  Osamu raised an eyebrow at the realty sign Kat carried, but wisely said nothing.  We drove to the iron bridge, leaving Osamu with the vehicle while we made our way under the structure, picking out a path in brown grass, watching for loose rocks.  The “bridge” was an old railway trestle that spanned a nameless, twenty foot creek.  Bamboo spiked up through the water, clawing for the sky.

Under the shadow of the trestle, Kat took charge, launching a piercing whistle into the air.  Only silence answered.  Walking to one of the supporting girders, Kat knocked.  A moment later, we heard two knocks back.  Kat nodded.  “Okay, we go in.”

A hatch in the bank lowered on rusty chains, becoming a drawbridge.  We step walked across the dropped door—into a totally different world. 

Black marble bricks formed the floor.  Great, black iron lanterns hung from the cavern roof on more chains.  The light spilling out was an unhealthy green.  Kat and I both looked like green Martians in that light.  There were treasure mounds mixed with junker cars and items of trade from dwarf, fey, and goblin worlds.

I stared in disbelief.  “Wow, not what I was expecting.”

Kat walked us to double, wooden doors.  The handles were huge and heavy looking.  Kat didn’t try to manage the door.  She jiggled the handle and waited. 

The door opened and the troll towered over us, all smelly, hairy, fourteen feet of him.  Wide as a mountain, his craggy face was homely, half covered by a dark green beard.  He extended a hand in invitation.  He grinned, showing off yellowed tusks.  The expression made his red eyes look small and beady.  He wore an imitation of a blue polo shirt and black cargo pants cut short to show off knobby knees and bare feet. 

His voice crashed out, deep and river-rock smooth, “Kat, how have you been, young lady?” 

“Just fine, Zingu.  Good to see you again.”  She went and I followed.

The troll closed the door behind us and walked over to a workbench in the center of an enormous room.  The whole place was filled with tables of every size, loaded with every weapon you could dream, even magical ones.  “Where’s Josh?” the troll asked.  “And who’s that with you?”

“Josh couldn’t get away.  He’s dealing with a lot right now.  This is an acquaintance of mine.  He wants to do some business with you.”

Acquaintance?  Thanks for the ringing endorsement.

The troll shook his head, throwing hair like seaweed out of his eyes.  “You know I’m not cheap.  With that said, take a look around.”

“Got a small mirror I could use for a moment?” I asked.

The troll shrugged, trundled off, and came right back.  He held out a circular mirror that was six inches across.  A makeup mirror, similar to the one I’d had on the chest of my zombie apocalypse suit—the one the autumn fey thief had made off with.  I muttered a spell Old Man had taught me, and reached into the mirror.  My whole arm went in, through ether, and emerged from a stand up mirror in my vault below the
Malibu house.  Feeling blindly, it took a moment to locate what I wanted.  I pulled my hand back and it came out with a canvas sack that clinked with fey gold.  On a whim, I decided to keep the mirror, slipping it into a pocket of my black, nylon windbreaker. 

I opened the sack, spilling gold coins into my open palm.

The troll’s face did hideous things as he smiled widely.  “It’s been a while since I’ve been paid in gold.  Let me show you the good stuff.”

Zingu walked me over to the table in the very back of the room and pulled off a dust cover.  He picked up a handgun and held it out.  “This is a Beretta PX4 with a silencer.  It has a lighter trigger than older models, and a blue dot laser sight built in.  I’ve infused it with magic to reduce the recoil to almost nothing.”

I grabbed the one he offered, a second one like it, and the silencers sitting on the table.  “I’ll take them.”  I noticed a more compact version of the same gun, and took two of those as well. 

Zingu picked up an assault rifle looking thing and handed it to me.  “I just got this one done, it’s the Beretta MX4 Storm with an extended clip.”

I pulled out the clip.  It was over a foot long, full of .9mm ammo. 

Zingu said, “The forward grip has a button for laser sight, and another that triggers what I call a “glass” spell.  Where the blue light hits, you’ll be able to see through any wall, any metal, anything, but constant use kills the batteries in five minutes.”

I threw the rifle over my shoulder and picked up all ten clips off the table.  I looked at Zingu, “Got a bag?  I think I’ll need one for all my gear.”

Zingu got me a bag and went to show Kat something in a baby stroller.

I snatched up some specialty ammo, some flash bags, a sawed-off shotgun with three barrels, and a 1911 Magnum.  Further along, under a black sheet was a muscle car.  I pulled the sheet off and fell in love.  A’65 Ford Mustang.  She’d seen better days.  There was no backseat, carpeting, and the bottom had spots that had rusted through.  The paint job was a sun-faded root beer.  Still, with a little love and care, I knew I could restore her to showroom caliber.  The keys were in the ignition.  I started the car up.  She purred like a sexy dream.

By the time Zingu returned, I had my gear stowed in the trunk.  I grinned at him.  “So, how do I drive this baby to the street above?”

“Oh, I have a freight elevator for that.”

Perhaps, just perhaps, I’ve been wrong about trolls all these years
.

He handed me my final bill.  I stared at the grand total.

Fuckin’ crook!

THIRTY

“Like good sex—the secrets of the dead are

messy and interesting.  And no, I don’t

do zombie chicks.  Well, just that one time...”

                                               —
Caine Deathwalker.

The sun descended, but twilight lay hours away.  Osamu parked the VW on K Street and got out with Kat and Josh.  With Vivian seated next to me, I parked my new Mustang in the mouth of a nearby alley, a few blocks from the Darth Vader building.  Sleek, dark, mysterious, the black glass tower looked like someplace dhampyr would hang out at.  They’d be strong in the lobby, in the stairwells, and ready to lock down the elevators at the first sign of trouble. 

Mason would be in his office, business as usual—or at least trying to project that illusion.

Kat hadn’t listened at first, but Josh made her stay with the car, claiming a fast escape might be needed.  She’d pointed out that Osamu was the chauffer.  I told her we’d need his demon sword, and had asked her if she were able to pull one out of her pregnant ass.  She’d said no, which settled things nicely.  That left me, Osamu, Josh, and Vivian hoofing down the hot sidewalk, hoping the PRT didn’t get wind of what we were doing.  We really didn’t need any more help from them.  Josh barely survived their last assist.  He was functional, but still a little shaky.