Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us (21 page)

The two Russian thugs lifted him up between them by his armpits, dragged him off the sidewalk into a narrow alley, spun him about so his arms were pinned behind him by one of them, the other facing him. “This is from Vladimir, motherfucker.”

A fist slammed into Paul’s cheek. “Vladimir wants you to learn proper respect.” Paul tried to draw power, couldn’t focus properly to do so as fists slammed into his ribs, his solar plexus, his cheek.

A familiar voice shouted, “What the fuck you think you’re doing?”

The beating halted. One of the Russians said, “Don’t interfere. This is none of your business.”

“Oh, we’re going to interfere, ass hole. You’re fucking with one of my customers.”

The thug dropped Paul and he hit the pavement. Paul managed to peal an eye open, his face sticky with blood. Jessie and Steven stood on the sidewalk, both carrying baseball bats. They advanced warily toward the two Russians. The Russians stepped over Paul, advanced on Jessie and Steven. Then both Russian’s halted and reached into their coats.

Paul had to do something. Baseball bats were no defense against nine-millimeter hollow-points. He pulled power, but it was a ragged thread compared to his norm.

Jessie and Steven froze when they saw the guns. One of the Russians said, “I told you not to interfere.” He raised the gun.

Paul pulled more power, couldn’t do more than direct it in a broad sweep in the general direction of his two attackers. A flash of light lit up the sidewalk and a bolt of electricity slammed into the backs of both Russians. Unfortunately, Jessie and Steven stood just on the other side of them and got a small taste of it. They staggered back a step but didn’t go down. The Russians had taken the brunt of it and went down hard. Jessie and Steven only took an instant to recover, caught the Russians still on their hands and knees, used the baseball bats to give them a brief taste of their own medicine. Jessie and Steven relieved them of their guns then left them lying there groaning.

They helped Paul back to the bar, sat him down at a table. The two gay fellows from the end of the bar helped them clean him up. “What the hell was that about?” Jessie asked.

Paul held an ice pack to his cheek, decided a lie would be best. “I think they were trying to mug me.”

“Paul, that was no fucking mugging. And what the hell did you hit them with? Hit us with it too. Looked like lightning. Felt like we were hit by lightning.”

Again Paul lied. “They must have stepped on a loose wire from one of those houses.”

Steven shook his head. “Didn’t look like no loose wire to me.”

“What do you think happened?” Paul said, trying to sound sardonic. “Like maybe I’m like a Gandalf, and I go around throwing lightning bolts.”

They all got a good laugh at that. It turned out the two Russians had raised Jessie’s doubts when, as soon as Paul was out the door, they hurriedly paid their bill by throwing a couple of twenties on the bar, a big overpayment, then rushed after him. They argued a bit about calling the cops, which Paul vetoed.

They cleaned him up, and the two gay fellows—he learned their names were Chris and Sam—insisted on walking Paul back to his building. Just to be safe, Paul pulled power and held it all the way there.

~~~

The next morning Paul hurt so much he could barely walk. He limped into the bathroom, looked carefully at the mess that faced him in the mirror: split and swollen lips, several cuts on his face, black and yellowish bruises everywhere, the tissues around one eye so badly swollen he had to force it open with his fingers. He stepped back, looked down, saw that his knees were scraped and cut, the palms of his hands much the same. Standing in his boxer shorts, no shirt, the bruises up and down his torso confirmed what he felt inside.

He called McGowan, told him about the Russians, though he had difficulty speaking with the left side of his mouth badly swollen. “I’m not going to make it in today. I hurt all over. I’m just going to stay in bed.”

“Sit tight, kid. I’m coming over.”

It would take McGowan a good half hour to get there, so Paul crawled back into bed.

The telephone by his bed woke him. He picked up the receiver. “Ya.”

“It’s me, kid. I’m on my cell phone, standing in the hall in front of your door. We can’t get in. Did you change the wards?”

“Ya. They’re my wards now.”

Paul staggered out of bed, answered the door in his skivvies, experienced a brief moment of embarrassment to see Colleen standing next to McGowan. But he hurt too much to give it more than a passing thought.

“Oh dear child,” Colleen said at the sight of him.

He turned away from them tiredly, staggered back toward his bedroom. Colleen and McGowan flanked him, helped him get back into bed, Colleen all the while making sympathetic, motherly sounds. Paul lay on his back and Colleen sat next to him, examining his injuries, McGowan looming behind her.

McGowan nodded, had a pleased grin on his face. “Changed the wards, eh, kid? And I can barely sense them. Good job, buddy.” He looked at Colleen. “I think the kid’s growing up, in a wizardly sort of way.”

Colleen looked at McGowan sourly, her voice dripping with that Irish accent. “And perhaps you should stop calling him
kid
, old man.”

McGowan shook his head. “Nah. It keeps him humble.”

“Be gone. Be gone,” she said impatiently, hustling him out of the room. “I have work to do here.”

To Paul she said furiously, “You’ve got broken ribs, and possibly some internal damage. You should have called me right away, not waited until this morning.”

Colleen spent several hours working some of her healing mumbo-jumbo, produced a marked improvement in the aches and pains. He resolved to stop thinking of it as
mumbo-jumbo
, learn some of it if he could, but there were so many other things he needed to learn first.

Paul slept on and off for most of the day, finally roused sometime in mid-afternoon. He heard voices beyond his closed bedroom door, struggled out of bed and pulled on a robe.

McGowan sat on his couch, talking on the phone. Devoe and Colleen sat at his small breakfast nook, both nursing coffee. Since the nook was only large enough for two, Devoe stood, let Paul sit down, hustled up a mug and poured Paul a cup of coffee.

Paul felt much better, though still a bit weak in the knees. “Thank you,” he said to Colleen. She just smiled back at him.

McGowan finished his phone call, stood and crossed the living room to stand over the two of them, with Devoe leaning against one of the kitchen counters.

Paul said, “Sorry the accommodations aren’t more suited for entertaining.”

That got a smile from Devoe. “He can make jokes. That’s a good sign.”

McGowan said, “Clark here’s your bodyguard now. He’ll stick close to you until we clear up this Russian mafia problem. Even our Russian friends are scared of Clark.

“Colleen tells me she was able to repair all the serious damage so you’ll be ok. I’ve also made a few calls. We’ll have to wait to see how it plays out, but everyone is really pissed they crossed the master-apprentice line again. Especially since those two idiots were ready to pop a couple of civilians right on the street in broad daylight. None of us wants that kind of attention. This’ll really eat into that Russian bastard’s support base.”

Paul’s interest focused more on the take-out wrappers in the trash: looked like hamburgers. “I could use something to eat. Where’d you get those?”

“Place called Jessie’s-something-or-other down the street. Clark’ll get you something.”

Paul nodded. “
Jessie’s
. Run by Jessie and Steven. Nice people. If they hadn’t pulled the Russian’s off me it would have been a lot worse. I’d hate to see it come back and bite them.”

McGowan frowned angrily. “Glad you told me that. I’m tired of that Russian bastard fucking with my apprentice. And I won’t let him hurt your friends, either.”

Devoe left to pick up a hamburger for Paul and to check out Jessie’s place more thoroughly. Once he was gone, Paul asked McGowan, “Clark as a bodyguard? I mean, he’s not that strong of a wizard.”

The look that passed across McGowan’s face was almost one of fear. “Clark may not be a strong practitioner, but he has enough capability to delay even the most powerful wizard or witch for an instant, and in that instant he’s fast enough to empty a magazine full of hollow-points in your face. Be afraid of Clark, Paul. I’m afraid of Clark. And be careful to be Clark’s friend.”

When Devoe returned, McGowan and Colleen left. Devoe had picked up a hamburger for Paul and the smell of the thing made Paul’s stomach growl. Paul had just finished the burger when the phone rang. Devoe answered it, listened for a second, handed it to Paul. “It’s McGowan.”

“Guess who just called me, kid: Karpov. He wants a powwow. We’ll meet in my study tomorrow at ten. Be at my place an hour before that. He even agreed to enter my home without bringing his thugs for protection, so the pressure’s really on him.”

~~~

It had been a long day, with a couple of particularly difficult cases to contend with. As Katherine’s last appointment left her office she was looking forward to a drink and a nice, hot soak in the tub.

Her phone rang, and since it was the private inside line from her receptionist, she answered it. “What is it, Judy?”

“Dr. McGowan, there’s a gentlemen here to see you.”

Judy’s voice sounded strange, distant and preoccupied. “Does he have an appointment? I thought I was done with my last appointment.”

“No. No appointment. But I really do think you should speak with him.”

“It’s been a long day, Judy. Why?”

Judy hesitated for several seconds. “I really think you should see him, Dr. McGowan.”

Judy had been with her since she’d first started her private practice almost ten years ago, and she trusted her implicitly. Judy wouldn’t ask her to break her schedule unless it was important, and if she was reluctant to discuss the details with Katherine with the
gentlemen
probably hovering nearby, she would just have to trust Judy’s judgment.

“All right, Judy. Send him in.”

When the door opened a tall, attractive young man stepped into her office. He was dressed conservatively in a tan suit, expensive, probably a designer label, long, blonde hair hanging down to his shoulders, broad shoulders, trim waist, blue eyes, deep blue eyes.
Attractive
, she thought.
No, not merely attractive, gorgeous
.

She stood, a courtesy she gave to any client, reached across her desk to shake his hand. As their fingers touched she felt a sudden surge between her legs, chided herself for thinking like a horny schoolgirl and allowing some fellow’s good looks to get to her that way. “I’m Katherine McGowan,” she said, surprised her voice was a bit shaky.

“I’m Simuth,” he said, still shaking her hand. Her nipples hardened, and the sensation between her legs intensified. Not until he released her hand was she able regain some modicum of control. And damn it, she’d gone school-girl horny, soaking-wet-between-the-legs horny.

She pointed to a comfortable chair to one side of her desk, could barely get the words out. “Sit down . . . please . . . Simuth.”

He grinned at her, as if he understood fully her reaction to him, but he didn’t sit down, continued to stare at her with those incredible, blue eyes.

“What can I . . . do for you?” she asked, still standing herself.

He smiled warmly, but now his eyes were green, and they sparkled like emeralds, slit vertically like cat’s eyes. She didn’t recall him moving, but suddenly he stood beside her behind her desk. He touched her gently on the cheek, then took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. She gasped and orgasmed just standing there in his arms.

She couldn’t look away from his eyes, desperately wanted him, wanted only to please him. Her world now centered on that one thought, and only that thought. She lifted her skirt for him because she wanted him now, right then and there on her desk, but he stopped her with a touch and said, “That can wait. What you can do now is come with me.”

“Yes,” she said, “of course.”

Chapter 16: Oaths That Bind

McGowan had drawn the drapes in his study, turned the lights down so the shadows were thick about the walls. He sat behind his desk, Paul and Karpov in two wingback chairs in front of it. Devoe stood in the shadows along the wall where they could all see him. They went through the polite preliminaries: McGowan offered Karpov coffee or tea; he took tea; McGowan and Paul took coffee.

They sipped at their drinks while McGowan and Karpov chatted amiably, catching up on mutual acquaintances like two old college chums. When they finally got around to the real purpose of the meeting, Karpov turned to Paul and said, “Meester Conklin, I want you to understand Vladimir acted on his own for the purposes of petty revenge. I do not condone what his friends did, and you have my apologies. My subordinates will not trouble you again.”

Karpov seemed sincere, but Paul knew better than to trust him, though McGowan had told him to keep it civil and not make any hard accusations. “So Vladimir and his friends were not acting on your orders?”

Karpov looked like he’d just swallowed a glass of sour milk. “As I said, he acted on his own initiative, without consulting me first.”

Paul sipped his coffee. “And you’re telling me Vladimir won’t act on his own initiative again.”

“Yes, Meester Conklin. Especially since Vladimir suffered an unfortunate accident yesterday. It was quite painful for him, and he will take some days to recover. His friends were involved in the same unfortunate accident, and they suffered too, though not as severely. However, Vladimir and his friends know that, should they not heed my advice, they will not survive the next unfortunate accident.”

Karpov looked at Devoe, then back at McGowan. “Valter, your weapon will not be necessary.”

“Perhaps,” McGowan said. “But I think we’ll keep Mr. Devoe close at hand for a bit. He’s quite fond of Paul, and very upset he was injured so. Weren’t you, Mr. Devoe?”

Devoe didn’t move a muscle, just quietly said, “Um hum.”

Paul and McGowan both saw Karpov out the front door. On either side of the door were two, narrow, floor to ceiling windows. Paul watched Karpov walk down the steps in front of McGowan’s place. Two of his thugs in cheap, horse-blanket suits awaited him on the street, one Paul didn’t recognize, the other Joe Stalin.