Mob Rules (10 page)

“And then you went to work for him.”

“And then I went to work for him.” I spread my hands. “And here we are.”

Adan laughed. I leaned across the table and opened my mouth, and he gave me a bite of his pizza. He sat back in his chair and smiled as he watched me chew. It was probably cute enough to make the other diners lose their appetites.

“And what about you?” I asked. “Who is Adan Rashan?”

He waved away the question. “You know, spoiled, lazy, rich kid who makes absolutely no contribution to society.”

“I mean besides that.”

Adan threw his napkin at me. “Well, I have a bachelor's degree,” he said, with mock pompousness.

“What did you study?”

“I can't say. You'll laugh.”

“No, I won't. Promise.”

“Criminal justice.”

I laughed. “Studying to be your father's consigliere?”

Adan frowned and I remembered the conversation we'd had at the beach about him and the outfit. Very smooth, Domino.

“No,” he said, “I wanted to be a cop. Can you believe that? I just thought if I was stuck in the middle, maybe that was the right place for me.”

I nodded. “Yeah, actually, it makes a lot of sense. And we could always use another good cop on the payroll.”

“You wish,” he said, laughing. “I wouldn't have been on the
payroll. I just wanted to help protect the people who deserve it, you know?”

“Sure,” I said. “There are still some left.”

“Anyway, it didn't matter. I tried everything—LAPD, sheriff, even CHP. No one would even consider me because of who I am.”

“That's stupid. You'd probably be the only honest cop on the force.”

Adan shrugged and smiled. “So, I could get a job that has nothing to do with my interests, or I could have fun and spend my father's money.”

“Yeah, fuck the job.”

“Exactly. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You have to now,” I said.

“Okay. Sometimes I think I should be desperate to do something meaningful with my life, like teach in an inner-city school or something. But I'm not. I feel like, if they don't want me, then I'm not going to worry about them, either. Does that make me shallow?”

“Probably,” I said, and shrugged. “But what do I know? I'm a gangster. At least you're not leeching off the underbelly of society.”

“Well, my father is your boss. I guess I am. Anyway, I don't think you're a leech, Domino.”

“Okay, then I don't think you're shallow.” I smiled, and then watched him for a moment, considering. “You mind if an older woman gives you a piece of advice?

He grinned and shook his head. “You have to now.”

“Okay. I obviously wouldn't be doing what I'm doing if I felt the need to contribute to society. I learned pretty quick, you find something you love and you do it—not for them, but for yourself.”

“And you love what you do?”

Giving advice is dangerous, especially for a gangster. “I love the magic. I always have. The rest of it—I didn't make the rules.”

Adan nodded. “Anyway, you're right. I guess I'm still just looking for something I can love like that.” His eyes locked with mine and stayed there until I chickened out and looked down at my plate.

We drank some more wine and picked at the remains of our pizza. We shared stories about life in the outfit, and laughed and played a little footsie under the table.

Adan was telling me about a road trip he'd taken to Cabo with some of his school friends when I saw Jamal. He was wearing a Lakers jersey, baggy jeans and Air Jordans, but he was still skinless. And transparent. He was slouching in a chair a few tables away from us.

When I locked eyes with him, the ghost flipped his head in a quick nod and flashed me a lazy peace sign. He did something with his mouth that might have been a grin, but Jesus, the guy had no lips and didn't need to be drawing attention to it.

Adan was still immersed in animated description of his vacation, and if he was seeing Jamal, he wasn't letting on. The other patrons of the restaurant were talking quietly and enjoying their pizzas, so it was pretty clear Jamal was appearing only to me. I scowled at him and jerked my head surreptitiously in the direction of the restroom. Jamal bobbed his skull, pushed himself out of the chair and faded from sight as he started toward the back of the restaurant.

“Adan, excuse me for a minute. I'm going to powder my nose.”

“Okay,” he said. “I'll be here.”

I pushed through the door of the restroom and saw Jamal trying to press the button on the wall-mounted hand dryer. His hand was passing right through the metal. He didn't really have any facial expressions to read, but he seemed frustrated. I made sure the bathroom was otherwise unoccupied, and then locked the door.

“Uh…hi, Jamal,” I said.

“Hey, D, 'bout fucking time you saw me.”

“Huh?”

“Girl, I been following you all day.”

“Oh. I didn't see you until just now.”

Jamal stopped poking his hand into the hand dryer and turned to me. “Yeah, Domino, I get that. Guess it takes some practice manifesting and shit.”

“I tried to bring you back across. Last night. Didn't work very well. Sorry.”

Jamal shook his skinless head. “It worked, D. It just took a while to get my shit together.”

“That's good, Jamal. I'm glad I could help you. But now you have to help me so I can put this right.”

“What you think I'm doing, D?” A knife appeared in Jamal's hand, a long, curved blade like hunters use to skin their kills. “I'm gonna go Freddy Kruger on that punk-ass bitch and take his motherfucking skin.”

“What bitch is that, Jamal? Who killed you?”

“What you mean, what bitch is that, bitch?” He held up his transparent hands. “No offense, D. Anyway, you brought him here.”

I heard what he said, but I couldn't make any sense of the words. I just stood there and stared at him. I think maybe my mouth opened and closed a couple times, but I couldn't think of what to say.

Jamal cocked his skull and looked back at me, that hideous grin slowly stretching his face again. “Ah, shit, girl, you really didn't know. You didn't know it was him.” He shook his head and laughed. “You just hot for the cat, D.”

“Jamal, are you telling me that Adan Rashan killed you?” It occurred to me that getting himself murdered might have driven Jamal insane. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. People lose it over a lot less.

“Yeah, D, that's what I'm sayin'. Motherfucker took my fucking skin. Now I'm gonna take his.” He flashed the knife in front of me.

“Jamal, you can't even dry your hands.”

Jamal nodded, looking at the hand dryer. “Like I said, it's gonna take some practice.”

“Okay, let's assume what you're saying is possible, which it isn't. You know I'm on the case, right? You got to leave this to me, Jamal.”

“Yeah, I know you on it, Domino. But you didn't even know it was him. No offense, D, I know you got juice and I respect you, but I need some motherfucking justice.”

“Okay, Jamal, just tell me what happened. You know, maybe we can work together on this thing.”

“What you want to know? I met him at the club. The fucking name of that place—I shoulda known he was into some freaky shit. Anyway, I knew who he was and, you know, he's the boss's son, so we started hangin' out and whatnot.”

“And then he skinned you?”

“Nah, girl, not right away. He said he liked my work, said I was an artist. We talked about my tags a lot, you know. That night, I told him what I was doing to improve my game, with the S-M and whatnot, and he thought it was cool. He wanted
to check it out, said he might be able to help me hook up with some girls from the club.”

I nodded. This was really detailed for a paranoid delusion.

“Okay, so we go to my place and when we get inside that motherfucking vampire is there and he sucker punches me and lays me out. Yo, D, I thought those motherfuckers couldn't go in your crib 'less you said so?”

“Myth,” I said, shrugging.

“Damn, yeah, okay, so I come to when the vampire is nailing my black ass to the fucking cross. Motherfucker didn't even use a hammer, just slammed the motherfuckers in there.” Jamal made a stabbing motion with his knife hand.

I winced sympathetically.

“So I started screaming and shit, you know, but there wasn't no sound, and I was trying to get my flow on but I couldn't reach the juice. I never was a violent brother, but I thought if I could get my flow I might be able to get away.”

“What was Adan doing when the vampire was nailing you?”

“Making a circle and getting ready, chanting and shit over that motherfucking spook box he had.”

“He was doing magic, Jamal? He isn't a sorcerer.”

Jamal shrugged. “Yeah, well, tell that to my motherfucking skin, D. He was spinning spells all right.”

I shook my head. “Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was the box.”

“No, girl, it was him. I wasn't in your league, D, but I wasn't no rookie, neither. I know what I saw. He was using the box, but he was flowin' juice all right.” Jamal's skinless brow furrowed in concentration. “I'll give you this, though, it wasn't normal, like we do it. He was sucking in a lot of juice,
but it was different. He wasn't taking it from the street, you know, or tapping a line or a tag or anything like that. He was getting it from somewhere else, D, and it was cold, girl, that motherfucking juice was
cold.
”

“Where was he getting it?”

“At the time, I didn't know, and anyway, I wasn't thinking too good with fucking railroad spikes in my fucking arms. But now I know.”

I waited.

“He was tapping that shit from the place I been, D. He was getting his juice from the Beyond.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. In my defense, they pretty much had to given that a skinless ghost was telling me about some kind of spooky death magic.

“There was something else, D,” Jamal said. “I think those spikes they nailed me with might have been magic, too. He didn't want to even look at them, let alone touch them. Made the vampire do all the spike work. Maybe those spikes come from the Beyond, too, you know, and that's why only the undead motherfucker could touch them.”

I shook my head. “Maybe, but they were just spikes when I looked at them. How did they feel?”

“How you think they felt, motherfucker? They felt like fucking spikes!” He showed me the ragged holes they'd left in his wrists and ankles, and I probably shuddered.

“Sorry,” I said. “I meant, did they feel magic, or, you know, bone-chillingly cold, or anything like that.” I saw the irritated look he was somehow managing despite the lack of a face. “Okay, never mind.” I considered for a moment. “The ritual, Jamal,” I said. “Did he squeeze you?”

“Oh, hell, yeah. He opened up that box on me and I could
feel it, you know, stripping away my magic along with my skin.”

“The box…it's called a soul jar. He got it from Papa Danwe.”

Jamal nodded. “He was talking the whole time it was happening. Said it held the juice of some King Tut motherfuckers back in the day.”

“Yeah,” I said, “it's like an organ jar. I saw this show on the History Channel. They'd pull a pharaoh's brain out through his nose and put it in a fucking jar. Only this one was made to hold a guy's juice instead of his brain or whatever.”

Jamal rubbed his nose-hole and nodded. “I ain't got cable, D, but that's what he said, too. I'm just glad they didn't do my brain like that, girl. The whole thing with my skin was enough. When he told me that shit, I thought he was turning me into a fucking mummy.”

“Is it possible that the killer was someone else, someone using a magical disguise to look like Adan?”

Jamal looked thoughtful. “That don't sound right. We was hanging out for a couple weeks, you know, before. Sometimes I took him home, even chilled in his crib from time to time. That night, when we left the club, he drove. It was his car, you know, that red Porsche. So if it was a disguise, it was someone living in his crib, driving his car and whatnot.”

None of it made any sense. Adan couldn't be the killer. It just wasn't possible. And yet, Jamal was certainly convinced it was him. He wasn't lying. He believed it. He just had to be wrong.

“Okay, what about the vampire? Where is he now?”

“I don't know, Domino. I can't haunt his pasty white ass, I guess 'cause he's already dead.”

“But you can haunt Adan? So that means he's alive. I mean, he's not a vampire or anything like that.”

“Yeah, D, he's alive. He's really alive. Lit up like the motherfucking fire you set off on the playground last night. I figure it's 'cause he murdered my ass.”

“What about the Papa Danwe connection? Did you ever meet Terrence Cole at the club?”

“Some of the Haitian's niggers hung out there, seemed like they knew the vampire. I never saw Terrence there, specifically, but you know, I wasn't there 24/7.”

“Okay, Jamal. I don't know what this means, but I'm going to figure this shit out, man, so you can rest or whatever.”

“Yeah, that's great, D.” He pulled out the knife again. “In the meantime, I'm gonna go get me some motherfucking skin.”

“Jamal, I can't let you do that. I can't have you interfering in my investigation.”

Jamal laughed. “You sound like Five-oh, D. Anyway, how you gonna stop me?” He disappeared through the wall of the bathroom and then stepped back through a moment later. “I'm a ghost!”

I sighed. “Yeah, Jamal, I know. At first cock-crow the ghosts must go, back to their quiet graves below,” I said, and bound Jamal's shade to the toilet in the corner stall of the bathroom.