Dying Is My Business (18 page)

“As a doornail. You should try it sometime.” His cracked, dry lips spread in a grin, and for the first time I noticed pinpoints of brilliant red light shining inside the pupils of his eyes like finely focused lasers. “It’s not like you think. Death is so different from what I expected. No pearly gates. No light at the end of the tunnel. Sully was full of shit about all of that.”

I struggled to free my gun arm, but he was strong, even stronger than he’d been when he was alive. He banged my wrist against the kitchen wall until the gun slipped from my hand and dropped to the floor. He kicked it to the other side of the room.

“You made a big mistake, errand boy,” he said. “You pissed off the wrong people. Now something’s coming for you, something real bad. When they get here, everyone in this house will die. Even you. Do you understand? This isn’t like getting shot in a playground in Queens. This is a whole new ball game. They will take you apart in ways you can’t come back from. So listen good: You can’t stop them. Don’t even try. If you fight them, you’ll lose.”

He let go of me. I doubled over, holding my throat and coughing. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Consider it professional courtesy, one dead man to another.” Bennett looked over his shoulder at the kitchen window. Outside, the sky was growing lighter. “The sun will be up soon. They’re coming at dawn, which means you’re running out of time. If you want to live, you better start running now.”

“I have to warn the others,” I said. “I have to get them out of here.”

I turned to the door, but he was already there, blocking my path. I glanced over my shoulder at the empty spot where he’d been standing. I hadn’t even seen him move.

“Fuck the others, they’re irrelevant,” Bennett said. Before I could protest, he pulled a small object out of the inside pocket of his blazer and put it in my hand. “Here, take this.”

It was a small cloth pod, curved like a kidney bean and rough like burlap. Its surface was speckled with tiny dots of metal. It felt warm, and something thrummed inside it like the gears of a machine.

“What is it?” I asked.

Bennett ignored me. He picked my gun up off the floor and handed it to me. “You’d better take this with you, too. You’re going to need it.”

“Take it with me? I’m not going anywhere until—”

White light burst out of the object in my hand. It was blinding, filling the room until everything—the walls, the floor, the kitchen table, even Bennett himself—was obliterated from view. A moment later the light faded.

The kitchen was gone. So was Bennett. In fact, Ingrid’s whole house was gone. I was standing alone on a circular patch of cement and grass in the middle of a big, empty traffic circle. I glanced around in a desperate panic, trying to get my bearings, but saw only empty sidewalks, shuttered storefronts, and darkened windows.

I looked at the strange little object still in my hand, and understood then what it was. A magic charm, like the ones Bethany carried in her vest. Bennett had tricked me. The son of a bitch had used a charm to transport me away from the house against my will.

I looked up at the tall granite column that rose out of a dry fountain bed beside me. Perched seventy feet atop it and lit by floodlights against the night sky was the unmistakable marble statue of Christopher Columbus.

Shit. I was in Columbus Circle, nearly a mile from the safe house, and from whatever was heading there now to kill everyone inside.

“Send me back!” I shouted into the empty street. “Damn it, Bennett, send me back!”

Fifteen

Down the canyon of Central Park South, bookended on one side by the edge of the park and on the other by skyscrapers, the sky was already fading from black to gray. In the distance, a violent slash of pink tore at the eastern horizon.

They’re coming at dawn.

How much time did I have left? Half an hour? Less? I cursed under my breath. Wherever he was now, Bennett obviously had no intention of sending me back to the safe house. That left me with precious little time to cover roughly a mile’s distance and get the others out of the house before it was too late. I looked at the strange burlap charm he’d given me, but I didn’t have the first clue how to make it transport me back. I stuffed it in my pants pocket. The only way I was going to get back to the safe house was on my feet.

I put my back to the impending dawn and darted across Columbus Circle, up the sidewalk to Ninth Avenue, then swung left to bolt downtown. An empty cab drifted along the street beside me, but when I tried to hail it the cab sped by, its off-duty light shimmering in the predawn gray.

I kept running, trying to outrace the rising sun and wishing Bennett had just stayed dead where he belonged. Why had he come back to warn me? He certainly didn’t owe me any favors after I’d handed him over to Underwood.

I pushed the question from my mind and tried to focus on just getting back to the safe house, but the void it left was instantly filled by more questions: Without an amulet like the one Thornton wore, how had Bennett come back from the dead? When he said I pissed off the wrong people, who did he mean? Who was coming to the house at dawn, and why couldn’t I stop them?

I barreled down empty sidewalks and through intersections, the gun in my trench coat pocket banging against my hip, and all the while the sky kept brightening. I crossed Ninth Avenue against the traffic light, barely avoided getting hit by a speeding
Daily News
delivery truck, and ran up a side street toward Tenth. How much time was left? How soon before dawn?

Farther up the block, I noticed a figure walking toward me. From a distance the man was just a shadowy silhouette, but as I drew closer his features clarified, sharpened. My heart jumped into my throat. I skidded to a halt, breathing hard.

It couldn’t be.

Tomo.

Where the hell had he come from?

I turned to run back the way I came and slammed into a wide wall of a man coming up behind me. “Whoa, where you goin’, T-Bag?” Big Joe asked with a sneer. “Been lookin’ for you.”

His fist connected with my jaw. I fell, the back of my head hitting the sidewalk and flaring with pain. I tasted blood and wiped it from the corner of my mouth. “How did you…?”

“Find you?” Big Joe finished for me. He grabbed the lapels of my trench coat and hauled me onto my feet. “Underwood’s got eyes everywhere. You know that.”

He dragged me across the sidewalk to a run-down building whose glass front door was propped open with a brick. He yanked the door open all the way and pulled me into the vestibule inside. The stench of urine was overpowering. Two homeless drunks lay curled against the walls, sleeping off the effects of the empty bottles scattered around them. Tomo followed us in, pulling his gun and using the butt to smash out the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Big Joe kicked the drunks awake and told them to clear out. They didn’t wait to be told twice.

Big Joe slammed my back into the wall. I groaned as pain flared through my wounds.

Tomo put his gun away, which was a relief, but the grin of sick satisfaction on his face told me not to get too comfortable. “I think it’s time to teach this piece of shit a lesson,” he said.

Big Joe brought his face up close to mine, his breath hot on my cheek. “We oughta kill you now while we have the chance.”

“We’ve been waiting for the right time ever since you wasted Ford,” Tomo added.

“And we’d do it, too, if we thought it would take,” Big Joe said. “But I know you, freakshow. You wouldn’t even have the decency to stay dead. Though that could be kind of fun, too, killing you as many times as we like. We could take turns, try out interesting and exciting new ways of making you die.”

I reached for my gun, but Big Joe grabbed my arm before I got it. “Nice try.” He twisted my arm away, took the gun out of my pocket, and put it in his own. Then he punched me in the stomach.

I doubled over, gasping. He’d knocked the air right out of my lungs. Big Joe grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me upright again. “You’re lucky Underwood wants to see you, T-Bag. Otherwise me and Tomo could do this all day.”

I bristled at the nickname T-Bag. I’d always hated it. He knew it, too, which is why he kept using it. I spat in his face and said, “Go fuck yourself.”

He punched me again, in the kidney this time. It hurt like hell. “Keep giving me attitude and next time I’ll use a knife instead of my fists,” Big Joe said. He shook his head in disgust. “I told Underwood from the start you’d be trouble, but he didn’t listen. He shoulda found a way to bag-and-tag you the minute you iced Ford, only Underwood thought a freak like you might be useful. There’s a fuckin’ joke if I ever heard one.”

Outside, the sky kept brightening in its unstoppable march toward dawn. I thought of Bethany and the others, still asleep, not knowing what was coming. I struggled to get free, but Big Joe’s grip was like a vise. “I didn’t kill Ford,” I insisted. “Not on purpose. I can’t control it when it happens.”

“Keep talkin’, T-Bag,” he said. “Give me a reason to see if you can come back from a bullet in the brain.”

“That’ll do,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind Big Joe.

Big Joe released me and took a step back. Tomo took a step back, too, and between them I saw Underwood standing in the vestibule doorway. He came forward until he was standing right in front of me, the overwhelming stench of Obsession for Men inundating my nostrils. He looked me up and down.

“Nice outfit,” he said. “You been shopping?”

I wiped my bleeding mouth with the back of my hand. “Underwood—”

“Where’s the box?” he said. It came out less like a question than the verbal cocking of a gun.

I saw him then for what he was, no longer blinded by the things he’d done for me. This was the true Underwood; he was a burning coal, a coiled viper ready to strike. It was why so many people were afraid of him. It was why I should have been from the start.

Through the glass door, I saw the gray murk outside grow less murky. I was running out of time. I had to get out of here fast, but there was no way Underwood was going to let that happen. He searched my face, waiting for an answer, his eyes hidden behind his black sunglasses. I had a feeling if I ever saw his eyes, they would be as empty and merciless as a shark’s.

“I don’t have it,” I told him.

“How much longer until you do?”

“I’m working on it.”

Underwood shook his head. “I asked you a question.”

“Today,” I lied. “I’ll have the box for you today. Just let me go get it. Let me do my job.”

Underwood’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “What did I say when I sent you out last night? Didn’t I tell you there was a lot riding on this? Didn’t I tell you I had a buyer waiting to dump fucking
truckloads
of money on me for that box? I told you I needed it ASAP, and yet here you stand, empty-handed and coughing up excuses like some fucking chump. Only you’re dressed in brand new clothes like you spent all night picking through the racks at Barney’s instead of doing what I asked. Do you know what that makes me wonder? It makes me wonder if I can trust you. And if I can’t trust you, something drastic needs to happen.” He flicked a speck of dust off the shoulder of his coat. “Here’s a little something for you to keep in mind, Trent. I may not be able to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you hurt. It doesn’t mean I can’t make you
wish
you could die.”

I remembered the chair behind the black door, the drain at its feet. As if on cue, Tomo pulled a straight razor from his pocket and flicked it open. I saw the sharp edge of the blade and thought of the gaping slit in Bennett’s throat. “Let me give him a taste, boss,” Tomo said.

He and Big Joe both took a step toward me, but I put up my hands. “Wait! Just wait!”

Underwood glanced wordlessly at his two enforcers. They stepped back.

I let out my breath slowly. “It’s not what you think, Underwood. It’s this job. There are complications.”

“You and your fucking complications,” Big Joe spat.

Underwood lifted a hand. “Now, now, let’s hear him out.”

“The box wasn’t at the warehouse. They hid it because there are others looking for it.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “They’re … gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles?” he said. “Never heard of them. Who are they, a street gang?”

“They’re not a gang, Underwood, they’re gargoyles.
Actual
gargoyles, with wings and claws and teeth—”

He burst out laughing. “Christ, Trent. When did you start hitting the pipe?”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” I said. “This isn’t like the jobs you’ve sent me on before. Things are happening that I can’t explain. Impossible things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He looked at Tomo and Big Joe, then back at me, a half-grin on his face. I got the sense he was only tolerating this because he found it amusing.

I took a deep breath. I knew how crazy I sounded already, and I was about to sound even crazier. “Just a few minutes ago, Bennett came to see me.”

Underwood laughed again, and Big Joe and Tomo joined him. They laughed like they’d never heard something so funny. “Now I know you’ve lost it,” Underwood said. “Trust me, Bennett’s not going to be paying any visits to anyone.”

“But I saw him,” I insisted. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s the box, Underwood. Everything connected to it is royally fucked up. It’s dangerous. You may think you can handle it, but you’re in way over your head.”

I felt Big Joe’s fist hit my cheek before I even saw him swing. I fell to my hands and knees on the thinly carpeted floor of the vestibule. “Know your fucking place, T-Bag!”

Underwood crouched down next to me. “Trent, Trent, Trent. When did you become such a disappointment? How did a simple job like this become too much for you to handle?”

I spat on the floor, my saliva tinged with blood. “Walk away from this one, Underwood. Whatever’s in that box, it’s not worth what’ll come after you once you’ve got it.”

“Walk away? Do you know how much money is on the line? Come on, Trent, enough with the bullshit. I’ll tell you what, just bring me the box and all will be forgiven. We can pretend we never had this conversation. I want it in my hands by tonight. Don’t make me come looking for you again. Am I clear?”