Viper Moon Read online

  Flynn cleared his throat. “Doesn’t this terrify you?” His voice came out with the texture of a rasp.

  “Yes, but . . .” I tried to find a way he would understand. “Aren’t you frightened when you bust some bad guys? When you go into a place where you know they’re going to be shooting back?”

  “Yes, but I’m trained to put it aside. You—”

  “Oh, I’ve been trained. By experience. By focusing on the job to be done. Knowing what happens to children in this place.”

  Fear. It coursed through me as we spoke. Mostly fear for him. Michael and I knew how to take care of ourselves. Our odds? Fairly good, given that knowledge. Flynn didn’t belong. I didn’t like the thought.

  Then he touched me. Just a brief hand on my shoulder. How idiotic. One touch and I felt desire rise. Not so much for sex as for the sheer pleasure of him at my side. Great Mother, what was I going to do?

  The sewer grew lighter here, more glowing lichens and less monster shit covering the floor. Occasionally we’d pass a storm grate, where wonderful sunlight poured down, but all were too high to reach. Getting out required a manhole.

  We moved along quickly, until we came to an intersection where four tunnels joined.

  “Now what?” Michael spoke softly.

  I went to the first corner, drew my knife, and scraped lichen from an area four feet up on the stone. Nothing. The same at the next corner. The third gave me what I was looking for, a series of numbers and letters.

  “There’s a system,” I told them. I pointed down one tunnel. “If it’s open, there should be a manhole, about fifteen hundred yards.”

  “You come down here often?” Flynn asked.

  “Only when I have to.” There wasn’t enough light to see his expression.

  “What if it’s blocked?” Michael asked.

  “We come back and go another way.” I hoped it was open, because the other way led deeper into the Barrows toward the Zombie. I headed into the tunnel.

  Fewer lichens grew here, and walking was treacherous where rushing water had loosened stones on the floor. Flynn went to his knees once and even graceful Michael staggered.

  We trudged on, occasionally sloshing through a seemingly endless tube.

  “How long have they been here?” Flynn asked. His voice sounded almost normal. “These . . . things. What are they?”

  “They were there when I was a boy,” Michael spoke softly. “Only a few, though. There is no name for them. We always believed they came from the Bog. They came out on dark nights and fed. It was a terrible time to live in the Barrows.”

  “I’m still having trouble with why all of this is ignored.” Flynn had moved closer to me. I wanted to hug him, shit and all.

  “I asked my questions when I first came and Abby said—” I hesitated, expecting his reaction to the mention of Abby.

  “What? Just say it. I’ll believe. Or at least I’ll accept it.” Resignation filled his voice.

  “Abby says there’s a spell, cast by Mother, to keep people out. But it clouds people’s minds. The longer they stay here, the less susceptible they are, but they become more accepting. Like Joe Holey, at the strip bar. He knows what’s here, but he stays away and plays ignorant.”

  Flynn said nothing, but I’d bet he had heavy thoughts on the matter, or had pushed all thoughts away rather than deal with them right now.

  The tunnel grew brighter. It could be light from a hole like the one that dumped us here.

  As we approached, we could see it was indeed a hole, one with sloped sides that led into a rough basement. The basement wall had collapsed into the sewer. The structural integrity of the building above concerned me, but not enough to pass up the chance to get out. From the looks of the debris, it hadn’t been open long. This, unfortunately, wasn’t unusual. One of my great fears was that I’d be running for my life and be trapped against a cave-in.

  The light came from a single bulb hanging from a cord, welcome as a lighthouse warning ships away from the rocks. We’d actually come out of the Barrows and into one of the periphery buildings, one with electricity.

  Boxes, cartons, and assorted scrap metal lay scattered across the room, much of it directly below a set of wooden stairs leading up to a door. Flynn grabbed a rag he found on the floor and cleaned his hands as much as possible. Then he wiped down his gun. Our clothes and shoes were a total loss.

  We climbed the stairs and easily opened the door at the top.

  I kept my gun drawn as Flynn opened the door. He had his in his hand, too.

  Silence greeted us as we entered a large warehouse; then came a sound I’d heard before. The faint jingle of the metal chains Bastinados wore around their necks to show their particular affiliation. They weren’t close, but if we could hear them, they could hear us—or smell us.

  We couldn’t see anything because of a mountain of wooden crates stacked between the sound and us. High windows near the roof gave dim, dirty light. The boxes had markings, some Oriental, others English letters and numbers, and none specifying the exact nature of the contents.

  Flynn nodded and I followed him as we eased toward the sound. Michael came silently behind us. It didn’t take long to locate the source.

  Two Bastinados sat in plastic chairs near a door in the building’s metal-clad side. Both had plugs stuck in their ears, plugs connected by wire to something in their pockets. One sat motionless, but the other rocked back and forth in his chair in time to a rhythm only he could hear. Both had their eyes closed.

  I glanced at Flynn to tell him I’d take one and he could have the other, but Flynn wasn’t looking at me. His attention focused on the contents of a box with the lid pried off. Lying on blocks of foam were rows of automatic rifles. Flynn carefully lifted one. He gazed at it, then at the boxes around us.

  So did I, but my eyes stopped at eight four-by-four shrink-wrapped pallets set along the wall. I carefully walked toward them and used my knife to slice the wrap open a foot or so. Inside were brick-sized cubes of what looked like individually wrapped gray modeling clay.

  Flynn drew a sharp breath. Michael merely stared, his face grim.

  It had to be C-4. I’m not an explosive expert, but I knew it was relatively stable, requiring a detonator or blasting cap to set it off. Flynn had said that the Bastinados on Exeter Street had plastic. The idiots must have tried to use it, or maybe they already had some made up, ready to go and set it off.

  To my surprise, Flynn turned to Michael.

  Michael had left his bronze rod behind. He stood, loose and relaxed, with his hands at his sides.

  “Are these yours?” Flynn spoke softly, mouthing the words.

  Michael shook his head. I believed him.

  Flynn leaned close, whispered in my ear, “You take the one on the right. I’ll do the left. Probably shouldn’t do any shooting in here.”

  My heart did a little flop. You take the one on the right. He’d acknowledged my skill as a fighter. Did this mean he wasn’t too ticked off at me for having him dumped into a hellhole sewer? Or was it the fact that we were now in a place, a situation that he moderately understood?

  I agreed with the no-shooting rule. We had no idea if more men waited outside. Of course, it all went to hell the minute we started toward the Bastinados. Mine glanced up as we started our charge. He was on his feet by the time I reached him. I already had my fist balled up to punch him but came within danger of impalement. A ten-inch knife suddenly appeared in his hand.

  I dropped back, but my feet didn’t get the message in time. I landed on my ass and slid into his legs. He came down on top of me. In a tangle of legs and arms, I focused on the most important thing. Where the hell was the knife?

  I saw it in the corner of my eye as it arced toward me. I caught the Bastinado’s knife hand by the wrist. A look of surprise crossed his face when he realized my strength. I could hold the knife back, but he had a free hand. He locked the hand on my throat and dug his fingers in with enough force to crush my windpipe. Each fin
ger gouged in and his fingernails cut into tender skin. I had a free hand, too. I jammed my forefinger into his eye. The eye popped and gooey stuff gushed over my hand.

  He forgot the knife and my throat. He rolled off me, howling as he went. I hadn’t had time to get short of breath, but my throat hurt like I’d swallowed fire.

  The Bastinado writhed across the floor, holding his hands over his face, wailing like a child. I staggered to my feet and drew my gun. If there were more outside, I’d need a weapon. The Bastinado’s strident cries abruptly stopped. I guess he fainted.

  Flynn stood over the other Bastinado, who lay silent on the floor. Michael stood not far away, shaking his head.

  “What?” My voice croaked like my POS on cold winter mornings.

  “I could have distracted them for you,” Michael said. He sounded irritated. “But you and Flynn were in such a hurry, you left me behind.”

  “Fuck you, Michael,” I said. Or at least tried to say. My voice came out as a whistle. A very painful whistle.

  “What was that, Cassandra?” Michael smiled.

  “She said, ‘Fuck you,’ ” Flynn volunteered. He picked his phone out of his vest pocket, where the leather had kept it shitless. He would have phone service since we’d come to the Barrows’ northern edge. “I’m calling this in. It can’t be legal. Bastinados, heavy weapons, explosives.” He glanced at Michael. “You’d better go. Might be a few questions asked that you don’t have answers for.”

  Michael nodded. He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” I whispered. “For saving him. If you hadn’t gone into that hole after him, those things would have taken him.”

  “You’d hate me forever if he died,” he said softly. “I’d never have a chance to prove that I’m better for you.” He kissed me on the forehead.

  “Go by my car and check on your money. It’s probably gone, though.”

  “I brought no money. Only a briefcase.”

  Michael went to the door and opened it. No point in looking outside. If there had been any more Bastinados outside, we would have known it by now.

  “Michael,” Flynn said.

  Michael turned back, his face once again calm and beautiful. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Flynn. Perhaps you should think of an explanation for how you both came to be in the sewers.” He nodded gracefully, then left us, carefully closing the door behind him.

  Flynn sighed. “What are we going to say?”

  “You. Not we. I’ll meet you at the car.” I didn’t want to answer any questions, either. “Can you find it? It’s that way.” I pointed in the direction of the car.

  Flynn came close and suddenly kissed me. Square on the mouth. No gentle brush on the forehead like Michael. With my olfactory nerves on overload, I couldn’t smell a thing. His mouth tasted fine.

  I leaned against him. “What was that for?”

  “I felt like it.”

  I glanced at the Bastinados and realized I’d almost missed something. I pointed at the one I had taken down. “Hey, that’s a Python.”

  “And that’s a Blood Beast.” Flynn nodded at the other.

  The Bastinado gangs waged savage and deadly turf wars, and if any two tried to join forces, the others slaughtered them. Pythons and Blood Beasts fought so viciously at one time, annihilating their enemies, that both gangs faced extinction.

  Flynn gazed around at the guns and ammo. “Bastinado gangs getting together?”

  “Shit, that’s scary.”

  I left the warehouse and didn’t see Michael, but it was still daylight and he knew his way around. I walked away toward the car. I had gone only a block when a law enforcement convoy swept down the street behind me. The simultaneous arrival of multiple fire trucks, a SWAT team, the bomb squad, and more patrol cars than I believed possible spoke to Flynn’s credibility. They didn’t send a couple of guys to check it out before they called in the troops. I hoped there wasn’t a major criminal event in uptown Duivel, because it seemed as if all the law was here.

  I sat in the car and sweated. The only building I could go in was the one with the hole in the floor—the hole now minus its bronze bars.

  Less than an hour later, Flynn came strolling toward me. “That was quick,” I said. My throat was feeling much better.

  He grinned. “Well, there’s a bit of a problem. I seem to have significant body odor.”

  My own clothes had dried in the sun, and they were stiff with caked shit.

  Flynn laughed. “They have enough to keep them busy for a while. I’ll file a report later.” He lifted out his phone again and turned it off. “I’ve suddenly become unavailable.”

  We went back to my apartment. When we parked, I left the windows open on the POS and reminded myself I had a case of deodorizer under the kitchen sink. This is the one situation I stayed prepared for.

  “What’s the plan?” Flynn asked as I pulled into the parking lot. He kicked off his shoes.

  “Well, we can go over to the Dumpster, strip naked, and go up the fire escape.”

  “I will if you will.” He wrapped his arm around me.

  “Nah, kids live here,” I said. “We’ll keep enough on to be legal. Someone might call the cops.”

  “Now that would be embarrassing.”

  We went to the Dumpster and stripped. He went down to his pants and I had my pants and the thin tank top I used as an undershirt. My boots, his shoes, a total loss, went in, too. Damn, I was down to two pairs of boots. I usually bought them six pairs at a time. My footwear had a high mortality rate. Flynn carried his leather vest, belt, badge, and gun in his hand as I carried my own gun and shoulder holster. I also retrieved my cell phone. Thank the Mother I’d left it in the car, hooked to the charger, so it remained shitless, too.

  Flynn stared at my chest and grinned.

  “What? So I got boobs and nipples. I seem to remember that you examined them quite thoroughly last night and this morning.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “Nice rack.”

  “Ass.” I started for the building.

  Mr. Blackstein, the neighbor across the hall from me, stood in the building’s shade by the back door and smoked one of the five cigarettes his wife permitted him to consume daily. He stared at my chest. “Nice rack.” He winked at me.

  chapter 18

  As we entered the apartment, my cell phone rang.

  “Got Hammer.” Dacardi’s voice came across the distance, cold and clear.

  “Where?”

  “Columbia Stores warehouse by the river. North door.”

  “Be there in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. You remember—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He sounded justifiably frustrated. “You get him first.”

  I closed the phone. “Dacardi has Hammer. I really think you should stay at the apartment, or maybe go file your report at the station. You don’t want to get dirty hanging out with a crime boss.”

  “No, I’m going with you.” He looked at me hard. “Do you trust him?”

  “Dacardi? I trust him until I get what he wants.”

  He shook his head. “Michael.”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you trust Michael?”

  “What do you want me to say about Michael, Flynn?”

  “Try the truth. What’s he to you?”

  I gave him a look of my own. “Okay. You asked. The truth is, Michael is a desirable man and I’ve known that since the day we met. I’m not immune to his . . . attributes. His charm? Whatever it is, I’ll never accept him for reasons I don’t want to talk about right now. There are other truths that are more important. I want you. I want you in my bed and in my life. You called me weird, and—”

  “I meant different, not bad.”

  “I know. But you’re the one who’s different, especially in the Barrows. Michael is a lot more like me than you are. And, no, I’m not going to give up and trust him to find Selene. Michae
l’s too mysterious to be trusted. If I trusted him, you and I would go screw each other’s brains out in the shower, and again on the bed, not spend the evening with a bloody gangster.”

  Flynn didn’t say anything, but after a while he grasped my hand and locked his fingers in mine. “Forget the cop. Let the man who cares for you and his sister go with you.”

  He released my hand and lifted the case containing his badge and his ID, opened a kitchen drawer, and placed them inside.

  I’ve always classified people I deal with as an ally or an enemy. No neutrals existed in my world. I don’t have time for them. But Flynn and Michael had no neat little labels. I guess life would grow boring if I lived it in black and white all the time.

  Flynn and I had admitted caring for each other. That was enough for now. Each day that passed would solidify our relationship like cement, or force it to crumble like the Barrows buildings.

  We showered and dressed in clean clothes. And deodorant. Lots of deodorant. Our remaining soiled clothes I packed in a plastic bag to carry out to the Dumpster. Flynn did manage to clean his leather vest, and I gave him my gun-cleaning kit for his pistol. Fortunately, he had a pair of athletic shoes with his things.

  Things were happening fast, so I loaded Nirah and Nefertiti in the basket I sometimes used to carry them. No matter what, they would be safer at Abby’s house. Horus followed us out and jumped in the car. And jumped back out. I had to go back for a can of deodorant spray before he would ride with me.

  It was late afternoon when I drove into Abby’s driveway, parked, and led Flynn to her back door. Nefertiti and Nirah slid out of the basket and headed for the garden. Horus raced after them.

  “No birds, Horus,” I called after him. “Remember the rules.”

  We approached the back porch, where a terra-cotta jar sat on the top doorstep.

  “Go cleanse yourselves,” Abby called from inside.

  “Aw, shit,” I grumbled. I snatched up the pot. “Come on.”

  Every time I had to go into the sewers, Abby made me use her cleansing potion before I could come back into her house. She wouldn’t make an exception because of Flynn.