Viper Moon (24 page)

I wore jeans and a loose button-down shirt with an inner pocket originally designed for a traveler’s money and papers. I also slipped the small bottle of truth potion in my pocket. Never can tell when you might have to give someone a dose of honesty.

Nirah stretched out on Abby’s kitchen window sunning herself, and she didn’t object when I picked her up and carefully slid her into the pocket. She squirmed and made herself comfortable. I didn’t want to carry a gun in broad daylight since I might have to go somewhere besides the Barrows.

Nefertiti wasn’t around, but Horus sat on the back porch staring at the bird feeder, where several warblers, blissfully unaware of possible disaster, pecked at seeds. I bent to scratch his ears and he growled at me. I sympathized with his frustration and left him alone.

A car wreck I couldn’t get around had me sitting in a hundred-degree oven for an hour, so by the time I arrived at the Lost Lamb, I found Vic and his helpers finishing their daily handout of bagged lunches and bottled water. He grabbed two bags, led me upstairs, dug around in a small refrigerator stuck in a closet, and brought out two generic-brand colas. We sat at his desk and ate lunch. I wasn’t that hungry, but he really seemed to enjoy my company.

“Have you found out where the Butcher Boys have your girl?” I asked.

“Yes. She’d escaped again and gone home.”

I breathed an inward sigh of relief. I needed to find Selene and Richard, not take on the Butcher Boys for his missing girl, even though I knew it meant a lot to him.

I’d spent the whole morning trying not to think. An earthshaking event loomed the following night on the dark moon, and I had no idea of what it could be. I felt no responsibility for Pericles Theron’s death, but I’d bet his disappearance would have ramifications all through the Barrows eventually.

“Cassandra! Cass!” Vic had his hand on my arm.

“What?” I jumped and reached for my gun, then realized I’d left it at Abby’s.

“I’ve been calling your name. Were you that deep in thought? It’s not like you to be so distracted.”

“No, but even I think occasionally.” I smiled and the concern on his face faded. “Hey, Vic, who do you think is the strongest, Pericles Theron and his bunch, or the Bastinados?” I had to speak in present tense. Right now, very few people knew Theron was dead.

“Theron.” Vic’s voice was firm. “The Bastinados are vicious, some even intelligent, but they have small minds far more interested in personal power and protecting their turf. Theron is organized.”

That wasn’t my image of Theron, but I was wrong on a regular basis. “And if someone could organize the Bastinados? Give them terrorist-type weapons?”

Vic shuddered.

“Yeah. That’s how I feel.”

“I heard the police found a warehouse full of arms yesterday. You think that’s what they were for? Someone organizing that particular evil?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe wishful thinking, too.”

“How much power would it take to organize psychopaths like the Bastinados? Control them. You have to admit it’s an intriguing idea.”

“Intriguing? No, but it would take more ‘power’ than you could get from money and guns.” I stood. How odd that such a gentle man would think the idea intriguing rather than horrifying. Such a battle would destroy him and his mission.

“Gotta go, Vic. Thanks for lunch.”

“Day-old sandwiches and stale cookies? You’re quite welcome, my dear.” He waved a friendly hand at me. “I know you’re tired of me saying it, but please be careful.”

I stopped inside the front door and checked on Nirah. “You okay, baby?” I said softly.

Nirah squirmed and stuck her head out of the pouch. It lay right between my breasts. “Okay, little girl, get ready. Next stop won’t be as easy as Reverend Vic.”

If someone asked me to describe my relationship with the Slum Devil Bastinados, I’d have to say cautious—extremely cautious. My caution, since the gang didn’t give a shit. They tolerated me on occasion because, first, they knew I was as vicious and deadly in my own way as they were, and, second, I’d saved Big Devil Snag Shuster’s life one night. A bunch of monsters had Snag cornered, and I mistook him for a decent human being and rescued his ass. I have no illusions of his true nature. If I stood between him and something he wanted, he’d turn on me like a shark with a whiff of blood in the water.

The nocturnal Bastinado gangs moved their headquarters often, so I had to give an early-rising prostitute twenty dollars to tell me the location of the Devils’ current hangout. They rarely ventured more than two or three blocks from River Street, but that covered a good deal of territory. I had to give her another ten to make sure Snag was still top Devil. I wasn’t universally popular with the gang membership, and walking in on a new leader could get me killed.

I parked in front of the building, once a warehouse, and approached with my hands held out to show I didn’t have any weapons. I didn’t see anyone outside, but the door creaked open ahead of me as I entered. I stood unmoving while my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light streaming through high windows around the building.

The stink of beer, urine, and other unsavory odors filled the air, but, thank the Mother, no stash of weapons and explosives appeared.

“Hey, witchy. You too late for the party,” Snag called to me from across the room.

Witchy. Ugh. I hated that. I had used one of Abby’s repellant potions to rescue Snag from the monsters that night. Using a magic potion made me a witch in his eyes.

Snag sat in a plastic chair with his back to a wall, wearing nothing but extraordinarily worn and dirty jocks. I kept my eyes on his face because part of his equipment peeked out from one stretched-out leg hole in the jocks. Some things I didn’t want to see.

Mattresses scattered on the floor held gang members not on guard duty, either alone or with their girls. Most slept, but a few engaged in other, more personal activities.

Snag’s dirty blond hair fell in strings down his shoulders and his ribs curved in on one side, making his thin body lopsided. He had a serious limp, too. Not exactly a prime male specimen, but he held the great equalizer, a .357 Magnum, balanced on his thigh. Intelligent, but completely lacking in any sense of morality, he made the perfect Bastinado leader, even if he did have to kill one of his own men occasionally to prove his management skills.

A naked woman sat in another plastic chair next to him. Her tattooed breasts drooped like wilted flowers, a woman old enough to be his mother. Probably wasn’t, but the Barrows aged everyone who stayed here too long.

Snag reached over, grabbed her by the hair, and jerked her out of the chair. She slammed to the concrete floor with a single cry of pain. Great Mother help her. She crawled away whimpering.

“Sit down.” Snag pointed at the chair he’d forcibly vacated for me. “Someone get her a cold one.” He shouted the words to the room in general. He had a raspy, croaking voice, as if he’d been chewing dry crackers and needed water to wash them down.

The last thing I wanted was to sit in that chair. Oh, damn. Such an honor to sit by the Big Devil. I forced my mouth into a fake smile and sat.

Snag silently laughed at me. He’d marked my revulsion.

One of the girls came running over with a cold beer. At least it had a sealed cap.

“You should be my woman,” Snag said. He gestured at the gang and chuckled. “All this could be yours, too.”

I’d give Snag one thing: he had a wicked sense of humor. He wasn’t stupid. Vicious, yes, but not stupid.

I laughed a little at his joke. “You mean you’d share, Snag?”

His gaze ran up and down my body. “I will if you will.”

“I’m flattered, Snag, but I already have someone. You understand.”

Snag’s good humor held. “Yeah, guess you get enough. Hear you doing that pretty boy
and
the cop.”

I winked at him. “I am truly blessed these days.”

No secrets in the Barrows and no point in letting him know I wasn’t “doing” Michael as well as Flynn. No cop scared a Bastinado unless the entire force descended en masse, but I’d always heard that everyone walked wide around Michael.

Snag chuckled. “Got something for you.” He waved his hand and one of the gang brought him a wadded-up bloody rag.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” My stomach churned.

Snag unfolded the rag and lifted out a chain with the gang’s devil head insignia stamped on a pendant attached to one link. He offered it to me. “Motherfucker don’t need it anymore.”

I could only assume the said “motherfucker” was dead now. “The Devil chains have to be earned, Snag. I haven’t—”

Snag broke out in loud, shrill laughter, exposing a mouthful of blackened teeth. The rest of the gang laughed with him. Forced mirth, but when the Big Devil laughed, they laughed with him. He tossed the chain at me. I caught it and turned it in my hands. At least the blood was dried.

“You did the Slashers, Witchy. Think we wasn’t watching the motherfuckers? Took ’em down and blew them to hell in little fucking pieces.”

I winced. “An accident, Snag. Only an accident.”

“Don’t matter. They roach shit now.”

“How about you? Nobody’s offered
you
guns? Explosives?”

Snag’s smile faded. “Who’s asking? You or the cop?”

“Me. Exeter Street almost killed me. And there was another, a warehouse.”

He nodded. “Heard that. Cops got those. You were there, though. Heard that, too.”

“Another accident. Someone’s passing out serious shit like a dirty old man handing out candy to little girls. Maybe the Devils should get in on the action. Don’t want to be the last kids on the block to get the new toys.”

Snag grunted. He stared around at his gang. They stared back with watchful eyes. Communal living left little room for secrets, and every man wanted a chance to be Big Devil. I used to be curious how Snag reached his status, given his physical limitations, but then I began to understand his level of intelligence when it came to the Barrows’ streets. Under different circumstances, with an education—and a good doctor for his physical problems—Snag would make a hell of a lawyer or stockbroker.

“Contacted the man,” Snag said. “Ain’t heard nothing—yet. You keep blowing ’em up and calling the cops, won’t be none left.”

“If only that were true. Tell me who the
man
is, and maybe I can make sure no one gets any more excess firepower. You get into that kind of war, they’ll send in the big boys. National guard has tanks, big guns.” I had no earthly idea what the national guard had, and I hoped Snag didn’t, either.

“I’ll think about it.” He reached over and slapped my knee. “Now. Since you’re an official Devil, you got to be nish-e-ated.”

Damn! That didn’t sound good. “Taking out the Slashers wasn’t enough?”

“Naw. You got to do three of the boys.” He leered and waved his hand in the general direction of the assembled lesser Slum Devils. “You can take your pick.”

“Is that how you made it? Was it fun? Which three boys did
you
choose?”

Snag howled with laughter, slinging his head. Thin wet droplets whipped off his hair and hit me in the face. I’d have to scrub my skin raw to get it off.

The gang didn’t laugh with him this time. Snag was making a joke at my expense—I hoped—since the usual initiation involved killing and kidnapping.

When he calmed, I asked, “Why don’t I break a few bones? Breaking bones is a lot more fun than sex.”

More laughter from Snag and dirty looks from the gang. I needed to get out. I’d learned very little for my time and effort, and the longer I hung around, the greater the danger. Eventually someone would challenge me.

Snag’s hand tightened on the pistol. His eyes narrowed and he made a barely audible rumble in his throat. A bare-chested bruiser shuffled toward us. Serious tattoos covered his arms and shaved head. He stood at least six-five, and his massive bare beer gut spilled over his belt. He appeared dangerous, but not very smart. The butt of a pistol stuck out his pants pocket.

“What you want, Pogo?” Snag spoke as if asking for the time of day.

Pogo? He had to be kidding.

Pogo pointed at me. “Bitch. I’ll teach her some manners.”

Snag smiled. “Nah. Too dangerous. Wouldn’t want my main man to get hurt.”

Pogo sneered.

“Tell you what, Pogo.” Snag’s eyes had a calculating look. “You take the witch, you can have her, teach her all you want. But I get—” He stared around the room. “Dawn, get your ass over here.”

Snag’s voice sounded like he wanted to negotiate. I knew better. The Big Devil didn’t negotiate anything.

Pogo growled like a bulldog.

A pale, pitifully thin girl in shorts and a torn T-shirt came forward. Part of one breast peeked from a tear in the shirt, but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t look over fourteen. Head bowed, eyes on the concrete floor, she locked her bony arms across her stomach, as if those brittle sticks would protect her.

I couldn’t afford pity at that moment. I couldn’t afford justifiable rage. They make me weak. Calculated justice, though—I could do that.

Snag nodded. “Okay, Pogo. You take the witch, you get an extra twenty percent of the next haul. She takes you, I get Dawn.”

Pogo made a chuffing sound I took to be laughter. “She ain’t no witch. Just another stinking whore.”

Snag spared me a single glance, and that said everything. Pogo was a problem Snag wanted me to remove. My reaction to Dawn’s abuse was a sure thing in his eyes. Getting others to do the dangerous dirty work was one way he stayed Big Devil.

I rubbed my hands together in fake anticipation. “Tell you what, Snag. I take Pogo and
I
get Dawn. I’m thinking of branching out into girls anyway.” I flicked my thumb over Nirah’s pocket. She had already moved into position.

The woman Snag had thrown out of the chair had crawled around and crouched at his other side. He bopped her on the head with his gun. Hit her hard enough to make her teeth click together. She smiled at him, adoration filling her eyes. “Deal,” Snag said. “I don’t like ’em that young anyway.”