Hotter Than Helltown: An Urban Fantasy Mystery (Preternatural Affairs Book 3) (14 page)

I
had
brought cash, though. I knew what I was doing.

What I didn’t know was what Monique was doing. Now that I had stepped into her cramped little shop, I could see that her production had seriously gone into overdrive. Her shelves were filled from floor to ceiling two layers deep. Hazy sunlight shone through glass bulbs and cast a kaleidoscopic glow on the floor, red and green and gold and blue.

“I don’t even recognize half of this stuff you’re making,” I said.

Judging by Monique’s expression, she thought I was a huge moron for confessing that. Hey, at least “moron” wasn’t “asshole.”

“Tell me what you want and get out of here before your smell scares off the real clients.”

“I smell great,” I said.

“You smell like meat. Annoying, whiny meat.” Monique rolled a glass ball in one hand while she painted it with a tiny brush. The jagged, spidery symbols reminded me a little bit of the circle of power Suzy had cast in the hospital boiler room.

“Is that the demon language you’re drawing there?”

She set the ball on the counter and just looked at me. “Mind your fucking business.”

Okay. Not in a chatty mood
.

I pulled out the one thing guaranteed to cheer her up: a wad of cash. Her eyes brightened. Her black tongue slithered over her lips.

“I’ve got an easy question for you today, Monique.”

“Ask,” she said, extending a hand for the money. I held it beyond her reach.

“What kind of demon stops clocks, shuts down electricity whenever it murders, kills kopides in its proximity, and takes souvenirs from its victims?”

Monique’s instant of receptiveness vanished. She snatched the ball from the counter, like she thought my words might shatter it, and hugged it to her sunken chest. “Get out.”

I produced more money. Her expression didn’t change.

“I’m trying to find a killer. This demon is connected to the Compassionate Heart Ministry. I already arrested a suspect, but she’s not helping me find the demon responsible. I need to know what I’m dealing with, Monique.”

“You’re suicidal.”

“Not any more than usual. To be fair, though, I am in Helltown.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You think you’re so funny. Don’t you, asshole? You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said.

“Nobody goes to the Ministry anymore,” Monique said. “The slavers haven’t been letting the meat attend. Not since we found out what lives there.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t want your money. Get out of here.”

If Monique wasn’t taking my money, then she was serious. Dead serious. “Okay. If you’re not going to talk, then who will?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do. You always know.” Monique seldom gave me answers of her own volition, but four times out of five, she pointed me in the right direction.

“Other suicidal assholes will definitely talk about this,” she growled.

“In specific…?”

Her lip curled. “Okay. Fine. Try Bates’s Barbershop. Two blocks directly north on the corner.” She checked the clock. “It’s getting to be a little late, but you might catch him if you hurry.”

“Wait, a barbershop? For demons?”

“You ever seen how fast a well-fed succubus’s hair grows?”

No, and for that I was eternally grateful. “Who’s at Bates’s that I want to speak with? The barber?”

“A client,” she said. “He’s been getting his hair trimmed at eleven-thirty every Monday.”

Her vagueness did not inspire confidence. “You know if you send me into a death trap, I’ll never be able to give you money again, right?”

“I mourn and weep,” Monique said. “Boo hoo.”

Right.

I gave her twenty bucks. “Thanks for your company,” I said. “It’s always such a pleasure, Monique.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” she said.

Considering that the incubus mafia would kill me if they realized I was snooping around Helltown, going deeper into their territory seemed like just about the most terrible idea I could ever have.

But the only alternative was going back to the OPA office to talk to Lucrezia de Angelis, so I followed Monique’s directions north.

The barbershop was located in a building that used to be one of those cute little bungalows from the forties, though it definitely wasn’t cute anymore. Human bones were scattered around the lawn. The rocking chairs on the stoop were listing on broken legs. Tattered curtains fluttered without any wind and the barber’s pole didn’t spin.

When I stepped inside, I was surprised to find a room that was mostly clean. No blood, no bones, no bodies. Just two leather chairs in front of a long row of dusty mirrors.

One of the chairs was empty, but a man sat in the other chair with a black drape over his shoulders. He was a Latino-looking guy with graying hair and a friendly face. His eyes were mocha-brown, not demon-black. And he seemed to be having a nice talk with the demon trimming his hair.

The barber wasn’t using scissors or a razor—he was using his goddamn claws. I assumed that this was the eponymous Bates. I wasn’t exactly surprised to see how he plied his trade, but I was kinda grossed out.

“Take a seat,” said Edward Scissor-demon in a gruff, gives-no-fucks kind of tone. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Running a hand over the back of my hair, I contemplated the leather seat. I did need a haircut. I just wasn’t sure how much I trusted a demon to have those claws so close to my jugular.

Suzy’s taunting voice echoed from the depths of my skull.
Stop being a pussy, Hawke
.

Imaginary Suzy had a point. After all, I had a gun. I had good reflexes. I could shoot the asshole if he went for my throat.

So I sat down, and my reflection in the dust-encrusted mirror didn’t even look all that worried about it.

“You don’t seem like the usual visitor to Helltown,” said the man in the other chair. His voice was as friendly as his face. Made me trust him in an instant.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just looking for information.”

“You’re either a brave soul or a fearful one to resort to looking for your information here.”

“Can it be both?”

He chuckled. “You’d have to be a fool if you weren’t somewhat frightened by Helltown.”

“You’re not afraid. You’re the biggest fool of all,” growled Bates, slapping the man’s shoulder. My hand made it all the way to my sidearm before I realized the barber was just teasing him.

“I bask in the comfort of knowing God is on my side.”

Bates snorted. “Delusional.”

“Wait, are you the priest in residence at the Ministry?” I asked the client.

“That’s right. I’m Father Phillip.”

“I’m Agent Cèsar Hawke,” I said. “I think I’ve been looking for you.” I kept an eye on the demon barber as I spoke, but he showed no interest in attacking me. This was a guy who kept to himself. I could admire that, even in a demon.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Hawke. How can I be of service?”

No nice way to say it, so I just had to be blunt. “Sister Catherine has been arrested under suspicion of murder, but I’m thinking she didn’t do it. I want to be able to let her go. If you know anything that would help me do that, I’d appreciate the information.”

Bates snort-laughed. Smoke spiraled from his nostrils. “You’re done here,” he told Father Phillip, brushing the hair trimmings from his shoulders to the floor. “I’m going to go sit somewhere that I’m not likely to hear sensitive information.”

“Smart man,” Father Phillip said. The demon peeled the drape away. The priest was about as traditional as Sister Catherine; he wore a v-neck tee and black slacks. No white collar or cassock for this guy.

He offered money to Bates, but the demon didn’t take it. He waddled off into the back room and left us alone.

“Sister Catherine is innocent,” said the priest.

That seemed to be a common sentiment. “She’s confessing to the murders.”

“Lord above.”

“Yeah. Any thoughts on that?”

Father Phillip gave me an appraising look in the mirror. “If she’s confessed, why do you think she’s innocent?”

“Character testimony from a mutual friend. Plus, she doesn’t seem to have a clue about the murders she’s claiming to have committed.”

“She must be trying to protect someone,” he said. “Sister Catherine puts the parishioners first. Always. She gives everything for them: her money, her time, her soul. I completely believe that she would admit to a crime that a parishioner committed if she thought her confession would help the actual perpetrator live a better life.”

“A real woman of God,” I said.

“To her very core.”

I wondered if the real killer was someone I’d seen at the soup kitchen. The guys cleaning the front yard? Volunteer Mary? The cook who ran off the instant I set foot in the kitchen? Or maybe the homeless guy who had attacked Jay Brandon?

I didn’t realize that I’d been musing out loud until Father Phillip said, “It could be any of them. They’re all family to her.”

“She’s got bad taste in chosen family.”

“Sister Catherine’s heart is pure. She sees the goodness in us all.” He sighed. “But yes, she’s also naïve. I’m not surprised at all to hear that she’s in trouble.”

At least he was willing to admit it.

“How long have you been working with her?”

“About eight weeks,” Father Phillip said. “I volunteered to spread the word of God in Helltown last year, but the Ministry only allows one visiting priest at a time for safety’s sake. The demons have welcomed our presence for now, but they are mercurial. Better for only one of us to die should they change their minds. I had to wait for Father Webb to leave before I could take his place.”

“That doesn’t sound like a job I’d volunteer for.” I got out of the chair. Didn’t seem I was getting a clawed haircut that day. Bates was still nowhere in sight.

“It’s a higher calling.”

It was downright suicidal. “Who does Sister Catherine see the most in Helltown?”

“The priestesses,” Father Phillip said. “Catherine believes that all gods are one and that God is all, so she considers even infernal priestesses to be allies.”

Priestesses like Isobel, who used to serve in a Helltown temple.

“Any of those priestesses have cloven hooves?” I asked.

“Not that I’ve seen.”

Damn.
Guess it had been a long shot. “Did she smuggle a body into the Ministry recently? As in, this week?”

“Not smuggled, no, but she brought a man who requested burial on our grounds here yesterday.” Father Phillip stood. He was shorter than me, but then, most people were. “Is he a victim?”

“His name Roberto Tanner?”

“The kopis? Yes.”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I’d sure love to find out. I’m going to have to seize the body so I can investigate.”

“We’ve already laid him to rest,” the priest said. “You’ll have to disinter him.”

The day just kept getting better and better.

ROBERTO “BUBBA” TANNER WASN’T looking great after spending a day buried in Helltown. He didn’t look like he’d died the same morning as Jay Brandon. He looked like he’d died weeks ago and had flies picking at his skeletal corpse in the open sun.

Isobel said that it was something to do with the supernatural effect preventing bodies interred on site from being resurrected. Guess if they rotted quickly enough, their bodies would be useless to death witches in more ways than one.

Considering the condition he was in, if it had taken another day to find Bubba, we might have never found him at all.

“That’s a smell,” Fritz remarked.

It wasn’t just a smell. It was a
stench
. We’d brought Bubba’s body to the Golden Fields Funeral Home and the ventilation system wasn’t doing its job. The fumes put off by his rotting flesh were that putrid.

At least I wasn’t the only one bothered this time. Everyone was standing on the fringes of the room: Fritz, Suzy, even Isobel, and she dealt with bodies all the time.

“Well, we got what we wanted,” I said. “Let’s take advantage of it and talk with him.”

“You’re right. I should call him forward,” Isobel said, but she didn’t move closer to him. And who could blame her?

Suzy waved a hand in front of her face. “You guys are alone on this one. I’m going back to the office. I’m waiting on emails from the LAPD, and I want to keep digging back in the phone records and ATM security footage.”

“What, giving up before me for once?” I asked. “Pretty sure I get bragging rights on this.”

“I’m not giving up. I think I’m close to finding the crank caller.”

After all the actual bodies, I’d forgotten about the fake calls leading up to Jay Brandon’s discovery. They hadn’t seemed important anymore. “Don’t you think that’s a waste of time?”

“What if it was one of Sister Catherine’s volunteers making those calls?” Suzy asked. “Would you think it’s a waste of time, or would you think we’ve found the possible culprit?”

“Good thinking, Agent Takeuchi,” Fritz said.

She slipped out of the room with a hand over her nose.

“Okay,” Isobel said, approaching the body. “What did you say his name was?”

“Roberto Tanner,” I said. “Bubba for short.”

She lifted her hands over him. She didn’t look directly at the body and her nose was wrinkled. “Bubba Tanner, come to me.”

Considering the stink that the body was making, I was half-grateful for the way her magic closed my throat. I coughed into my sleeve. Gasped in a lungful of air that tasted like bad hamburger.

Bubba Tanner shimmered, and the residue from his spirit rose to stand beside the table.

He looked a lot better as a bald, naked apparition than he did as a rotting corpse. He was in pretty good shape for a fifty-year-old man. He was stocky, but muscular. The layer of thick body fat made him look like a biker rather than someone who ate too many potato chips.

I’d never seen a demon hunter as old as Bubba Tanner before. All the kopides that worked for the Union were practically kids. Half of them couldn’t even grow beards.

Looked like life treated a hunter pretty well if he could survive the demons for a few decades.

“Hello, Roberto,” Fritz said.