The Love-Haight Case Files (21 page)

“Okay, so that’s how we do it, eh? I cut off your head and you die again.”

The three remaining were trying hard not to give him that sort of opening. They’d retained some intelligence in death, and one of them had retained some martial arts skills. It was employing the Thunder and Lightning style, focusing on the
ki
punch and crushing block. It managed to get close and sink its teeth into Dagger’s cheek.

The bite hurt like hell, but worse was the dizzying sensation that came with it. The thing was sapping his
qi,
or life essence. Dagger pushed it away and wiped at his cheek. “Now you really pissed me off.”

He moved faster, wishing he’d taken off his leather jacket, which was a little confining. He slashed hard to his right, finding another throat but not cutting deep enough, pivoted and brought the blade back with more force, landing a blow against an outstretched arm and breaking it. The limb hung limply and caused the
jiang shi
to totter. Dagger kicked it and it fell back, good arm and legs waiving like a turtle trying to right itself.

Two standing.

“Let’s hurry this up,” he told them. He wanted a face-to-face with Mei-li, even though he knew she’d left with the darkness—no more jasmine scent.

And more undead coming from a back corner. There must be a stairway somewhere.

“Oh, this is getting better and better and better,” Dagger said. He counted eight … nine, as the one he’d knocked on its back was getting up. Nine was going to present a problem. A glance behind him confirmed that he was surrounded. “Better and better and better.”

It wasn’t a full moon tonight, so Dagger had to put effort into his transformation. He rarely took this path when the moon didn’t force the change on him. It was painful, and he thought it took a little piece of his mind away each time. His heart beat faster, finding a rhythm that matched Chinatown’s secret, dark one. He felt it expanding his chest, pressing at the seams of his shirt, his arms lengthening, straining the confines of his expensive leather jacket. The sides of his shoes ripped out and his pads spread, his palms broadening, fingers elongating, nails turning into claws. Everywhere coarse black hair grew; his pelt was thick and parts of it looked silver in the light that filtered in through the big front windows.

His face changed, and that was the most painful part. The bones popped and moved, rearranged themselves as he grew a snout. His ears shifted and he screamed against the agony. It turned into a howl as he dropped to all fours, slavering jowls closing around the leg of a
jiang shi,
snapping it and dropping the creature, turning on the next and doing the same. Over and over, he rapidly tore into the undead with a viciousness they couldn’t match. From the back of his mind, Dagger watched the beast rage, finding it at the same time compelling and disturbing, and exerting control over it when only one
jiang shi
remained. He snapped its legs and removed its arms.

Dagger pictured himself a man again and felt his body folding in upon itself, the hair receding, claws shrinking, chest regaining its normal size. He fell on his hands and knees next to the surviving undead and gulped in the malodorous air. His clothes hung on him in tatters, and his shoes were worthless.

The last undead glared up at him, unable to move.

“I came here looking for information about Mei-li Arnold,” Dagger said. His voice was hoarse, and his throat felt dry. “You need to tell me about Mei-li. I bet you know all about Mrs. Arnold’s plans, don’t you? I bet you know all about her.”

The defiance in the
jiang shi’s
eyes faded, and slowly it talked.

Dagger cut its head off when he’d gotten enough, stood, and surveyed his carnage. He ached, like he had bad arthritis, but he knew the pain would pass. He grabbed up his helmet bag and padded toward the back corner where he’d seen the
jiang shi
emerge. The scent of jasmine was stronger here.

He found Mei-li downstairs with two more
jiang shi
attendants. She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in traditional silks, but from an era long passed. Her skin was pale like cream and her feet small as if they’d been bound in childhood. One oil lantern on an old sea chest provided the only light, but it was enough for Dagger to see beyond her and to the room’s contents. His stomach roiled. Apparently the
jiang shi
lived down here. A dozen coffin-shaped boxes lined one wall, and against the other were piles of bodies in various states of decay, no doubt what the
jiang shi
had been eating. The freshest bodies were the most gruesome, a few were children, all were Chinese, and all had been dressed in ragged clothes.

Dagger’s pocket had survived. He reached into it, pulled out his cell phone, and took some pictures. “Smile for the camera, Mei-li.”

“You are a fool.”

“Probably. But I’m not a murderer.” Dagger pointed to the tangle of bodies. “Indentured servants, weren’t they? You’ve been buying people from the Triad, smuggled in. Food for your friends. You’re murdering these people.”

Mei-li smiled, the icy expression sending a shiver down Dagger’s back.

“Not much bothers me,” he said. “But this … you’ve managed to seriously turn my stomach.”

In Mandarin, she told her remaining attendants to drink Dagger’s life. He dropped his helmet bag and made fast work of them. She headed for the stairs and he cut her off.

“You trespass,” she hissed. “This is my building.”

“Call the cops,” Dagger said. He took another picture of her. “I’ll let you use my cell phone.”

She stepped back, gestured at the lantern. He’d expected her to douse it but instead it burned hot and bright, much more than the device was naturally capable of. The light revealed more explosives rigged to support beams, made the remains even more grotesque, and then it grew so bright he found it hurtful.

“I am immortal. You cannot kill me, and so you cannot stop me.” At the same time as the light grew brighter still, Mei-li shrank. Dagger took more pictures. It was a transformation similar to Dagger’s. But where he’d grown larger, she halved her size and then halved it again. Her dark hair turned umber and flowed down her limbs like butter melting. Her perfect nose became a snout, her head heart-shaped, and nine tails grew. She was a fox. Literally.

“Fine, so I can’t kill you,” Dagger said, putting his cell phone away. “That’s not my plan anyway.”

Chapter 2.14

Dagger found Franklin Arnold in his office. He’d gone to the man’s house first, and a reluctant and sufficiently intimidated butler revealed that “Mr. Arnold is working late tonight.” Evelyn had mentioned Arnold looking like a horse. Dagger concurred. The man’s face was overly long and his long gray hair was like a mane. But where a horse’s eyes appeared soulful, Arnold’s were cold and hard like buttons.

“I received a call that said to expect a tattered, barefoot man,” Arnold said. He closed the screen on his laptop. “How did you get past security?”

Dagger didn’t answer. He took a look around the office. The carpet was thick and felt good against the soles of his feet. It smelled pleasantly musky, and he sucked in a few deep breaths, hoping to rid the last of the undead stench from his lungs. The room was larger than Thomas Brock’s entire law office and was richly appointed. One leather chair probably cost twice what Gretchen’s desk had set Brock back. He glided forward, appreciating the deep pad under the carpet, and dropped his motorcycle helmet bag on Arnold’s desk.

“How about you leave Thomas Brock and Evelyn Love alone.” Dagger didn’t pose it as a question. “Brock’s dead, your hit mostly succeeded. And you and your wife targeting Evey? That stops. All of it stops.”

Arnold glanced at the lumpy looking bag.

“Mr. McKenzie—”

Dagger showed no surprise that Arnold knew who he was.

“And there’s more to this bargain,” Dagger continued. “Change your building plans. The ones with the gargoyles … leave them the hell alone. Consider it a trade for what’s in the bag and what I’ve got pictures of. I can e-mail you copies of the pics, if you’d like. Pics of indentured servants your OT wife had murdered. Pics of your OT wife. But I won’t send them to the
Chronicle
or anywhere else if you leave the gargoyles and their buildings alone.”

“Mr. McKenzie—”

“And, like I said, no more attempts on Evelyn Love.”

“Ordering a hit? On Thomas Brock? On his little assistant? That would be illegal, and beneath me. I play within the law. While I might help facilitate matters for a friend, I don’t personally cross the line. I don’t need to. Look elsewhere for your Thomas Brock woes, Mr. McKenzie. I’m not the man a dog like you should be sniffing around. And the ghost who holds your leash should be looking a little closer to home. A lot closer, actually.”

Dagger’s eyes narrowed. Arnold had just told him who had really ordered the hit on Thomas Brock. Dagger had to consider how and when to pass that unfortunate tidbit along.

“What is in the bag, Mr. McKenzie? This trade-off for leaving the gargoyles alone?”

“A gift. You can open it after I’m out of here. Hope you’re up to date on your shots.”

Arnold nudged the bag and it wiggled. Something inside started trying to claw its way out.

“Your wife,” Dagger added, “is a whole lot older than you think she is. By a few centuries, I’m betting. And I’m also betting you know a lot of good lawyers. Maybe one will handle your divorce on the cheap.”

Chapter 2.15

Thomas heard the bell above the door jangle and saw Dagger walk in and stop at Gretchen’s desk. He slammed a bill down on it.

“Good heavens! What is this?” Gretchen set her hands on her hips. “How do you get off, McKenzie, giving us a bill for a new wardrobe?”

“Not an entire wardrobe, just a leather jacket and a pair of shoes. Doesn’t have to be paid right away.” Dagger looked up and saw Thomas hovering above the conference table. “But it does have to be paid.”

Dagger strode past a still-grumbling Gretchen and took a seat across from the ghost. “I checked with the hospital. Evey’s doing all right. I’ll go see her in a little while.”

“I have to tell you,” Thomas started. He knew the excitement was evident in his voice, and he didn’t care. “I left the office last night. Really left it. I went to the hospital and saw Evelyn. The doctor made me leave, but I went to the hospital. And I’m going back this afternoon. She can have visitors in a few hours.”

Dagger didn’t say anything.

Feeling exasperated, Thomas stared at the private detective, knowing the man wasn’t that dense. “Don’t you get it? I can go to the hospital. I’ll be able to go to the courthouse.”

Dagger sat back, his expression flat.

Thomas continued: “I know that Evelyn is going to be fine. I talked to the doctor. Evelyn is smart. She’ll pass the bar. We’ll get more cases. We’ll get enough money, somehow, to keep this place open.”

Gretchen raised her voice from the front of the room. “And apparently we need to raise some money so we can pay McKenzie’s extravagant clothing bill.”

Dagger related most of what happened in Chinatown, the story interesting enough to draw Gretchen to the table.

“So, I got the story from one of the Asian vampires or zombies, or whatever they were—I have pictures of them so I can show Z-man. Arnold’s wife is a
huli jing
, a fox spirit, sort of like a European fairy. They’re either good or bad, these fairies, and Mei-li is definitely on the Dark Side of the Force. Supposedly immortal. I didn’t try to test that theory. She had some bad stuff going on in a Chinatown basement. Indentured servants slaughtered. Nasty stuff.”

“You found her?” Thomas leaned forward.

“Obviously.”

“Did you fight her?” Thomas pointed to the bruises forming on Dagger’s knuckles and the thick bandage on his cheek.

“Fight her? Not exactly, but I caught her. Handed her over to her loving hubby a little before midnight. I’m thinking Gretchen will see the divorce notice in the
Chronicle
sometime next week.” Dagger drummed his fingers against the table. “Come to think of it, I need to adjust my bill. You also owe me for a helmet bag.”

Thomas leaned forward farther, until he was halfway into the table. “So Evelyn was right, thinking Mei-li was behind—”

“The fox didn’t have anything to do with the gargoyles. But I’m thinking maybe Arnold will lay off them now. He has other things to worry about.”

“His OT wife,” Gretchen supplied. “Why didn’t you hand her over to the cops instead?”

“What would it do, Gretchen? More bad news about OTs, like they need that kind of press. Let’s say I traded her for Pete … and for the city’s other gargoyles.”

Gretchen gave him a stern look.

“Mei-li was interested in only four buildings in Chinatown, which she legally owns.” Dagger grinned wide. “Though that will be a matter for the divorce settlement, and part of a four-gallon can of worms. There are bodies in the basement, at least in one of the buildings. Had to be people that were smuggled in, illegals from the Triad. She was feeding them to her pet vamps. Cops are crawling all over the place right now. So Arnold is gonna be busy, working to distance himself from Mei-li … who is going to have to disappear, at least for a while.”

“You really think Arnold will let the gargoyles go … in exchange for his wife?”

Dagger held up his cell phone. “For keeping pictures of his wife out of the papers. Yeah, I think he’ll back off. He can’t afford to have this public, not the way he publicly hates OTs. If nothing else, it’s bought you a lot more time to save those buildings.”

Thomas wondered if Dagger could read his pleased expression. “We owe you.”

“Yeah, you do. I gave Gretchen my bill.”

Gretchen made a “harrumphing” sound. “And it will be a while before it gets paid.”

Dagger pushed the chair back and stood. “The undead … they said Mei-li wants what is
under
those buildings in Chinatown.”

“Under?” Thomas floated higher to be eye-to-eye. “There’s no subway or underground or—”

“Some undead are quick to talk when you take their arms and legs. They said she’s looking for buried treasure.”