Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) (7 page)

“This is quite a bit different,” Edgemore said without bothering to elaborate. “This situation has gone far past cocaine and heroin.”

“And Louise Hartwell obviously understands the score while I’m sitting here in the dark,” Dade said, more than a little irritated.

“Surely, you must realize that Mrs. Hartwell is a desperate woman.”

“Desperate for what? What kind of answers are the angels looking for?”

“I’m not going to answer that. The moment I tell you the whole story will be the moment that someone comes after you. These are not nice people we’re dealing with here. They will torture you if they have to in order to get the answers they seek. They will torture those close to you as well. If I tell you the secret, you’ll be as good as dead. Since I’ve already crossed the void, it’s safer if I simply keep my information to myself.”

The thought of someone torturing Liz to make her talk was enough to make him reconsider pushing for more answers.

“I may need to talk to you again,” Dade typed. “For now, I think I’ll see what I can turn up on my own.”

“I would advise you to be careful. There are enemies at every turn. Some of them look like enemies. Some of them look likes friends. Therein lies the danger.”

Chapter 12

About the only real lead Edgemore had given him was the symbol in the crypt, and Dade knew that finding out what that meant was paramount. Louise Hartwell had obviously thought it important enough to have inked onto her skin. Dade didn’t need a flashing neon arrow to know it was the key to everything.

“If you can’t find what you’re looking for,” Liz had written along with the other three pages of instructions, “use the search option.”

“Thanks a lot, babe,” he said aloud as he typed the word ‘letters’ into the box. But he wasn’t so sure that this was going to be any help once the results were posted. There was everything from links to the origin of the letters of the alphabet to copies of old love letters written by movie stars from the 1930’s. He tried searching for the word ‘characters’ next, and all he got for his trouble was a long list of comic book heroes, on-screen personas, and heroes and villains from famous works of literature. As a last resort, he typed ‘symbols’ into the search engine and waited patiently while it compiled the results. After a little more thought, he added the word ‘angels.’

The first ten listings or so were useless, pointing to a complete listing of the elements of the periodic table and other frequently used abbreviations in the field of chemistry. But then he hit pay dirt. “Angelic and cabalistic symbols,” the hypertext link read.

His search was rewarded as he scrolled down a list of symbols compiled by the Catholic Church, detailing the various orders of heavenly beings including their names written in angelic script. Pulling the scrap of paper out of his pocket, he had no trouble finding a match on the screen, but he wasn’t really prepared for the revelation that the site provided.

“Samael,” he read silently, his voice little more than a whisper. “One of Samael’s greatest roles in Jewish lore is that of the angel of death.”

Like a sucker punch to the gut, the memory of where he had seen that symbol before returned, stealing his wind and his wits with one blow. At that moment, he wasn’t sitting at his computer anymore. Instead, he was sitting in his old office with Jane’s head cradled lovingly in his lap, her hair wet and oily with drying perspiration. She hadn’t been dead long-fifteen minutes maybe-and he could still feel the warmth radiating off of her in waves. Yet, despite the heat, Dade shivered and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. That mark on her neck didn’t look quite so much like a bruise anymore.

Chapter 13

Sometimes, it’s good to have connections. Knowing Leon had definitely come in handy on more than one occasion. He had access to a lot of useful information given his choice of profession and was a good man to have beside you if a fight broke out. Normally, Dade hated to ask favors of his friends for fear of endangering them unnecessarily. But Leon was a different story. The burly black man lifted weights at least four times a week and was built like a Sherman tank. As resident bouncer at The Black Cat, it was a requirement. Of course, there was the small fact that he dressed in frilly feather boas and wore fingernail polish. That always seemed to be a moot point, however, when the brawling started. Leon could more than hold his own. That was one of the reasons Dade didn’t feel so bad about calling him.

Because he wasn’t scheduled to go in to work for another couple of hours, Leon asked Dade to meet him at The Caffeine Cafe, a coffeehouse where a lot of college students hung out. Dade thought it a little odd to rendezvous there, but he didn’t question Leon’s choice of venue. Leon, after all, had willingly agreed to meet with him on short notice which pretty much meant that Dade owed him big time.

Leon almost looked at home amidst the freaky dye-jobs, piercings, tattoos, and thrift-store wardrobes. Today, the feather boa was green. The nail polish had been selected to match. And then there was the small steel spike that ran upward through Leon’s eyebrow. Everything else he wore was polished black leather.

“So why am I here, man?” Leon said. “What do you need now?”

“I’ve got a woman that I need you to check out for me. I need background information, any kind of dirt you can dig up on her, where she lives, the whole nine yards.”

“I thought you wanted something really demanding from me,” Leon said with a smile. “This is all second-rate investigation work. The sort of thing a really good detective could find out on his own. What‘s the name?”

“Louise Hartwell,” Dade said, spitting the words out like he would a bitter wedge of lemon. “She hired me to find the missing bones of her husband. And if that’s not strange enough, Liz and I have already watched her blow an angel away with a snub-nosed revolver.”

“An angel?”

“With wings, talons, feathers, the whole nine yards. Yep, he was most definitely an angel.”

“And the husband. Who is he?”

“Richard Edgemore,” Dade replied.

Leon chewed on the information like he would a tough piece of meat. “You’ve been here for a couple of weeks and already, you’re running with the bad crowd.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dade asked.

“There are lots of stories in this town about Richard Edgemore. He’s sort of become a cult figure to some. Had quite a lot of involvement with angels. I’m not surprised that his name still comes up when there’s a mention of one. He was a pusher. Supposedly, he dealt in some sort of exotic drug that chased away guilt. The angels that were rebelling against God bought the stuff as quick as Edgemore could get his hands on it. Made them feel better about their sins and their rebellion. Or at least that was the story on the street.”

“That explains what she told me about him being a chemist,” Dade said, making the connection.

Leon laughed. “A chemist, huh? Well, I guess that’s one word for what he did.”

Dade flagged the waitress and motioned for her to bring him another cappuccino. “What about Louise Hartwell? What do you know about her?”

“That one’s more tricky. The name doesn’t ring a bell. Could it be an alias?”

“Well, I haven’t checked her out if that’s what you’re asking. That’s sort of the reason I called you. I haven’t been in town long enough to establish a list of contacts. Other than you, of course.”

“Fortunately, I’m the only contact you’ll need,” Leon replied, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet coffeehouse. “Describe her to me.”

“Buxom, heavyset, red-headed, ring any bells?”

“Southern accent?” Leon asked, a worried look clouding his heavily made-up features. “Talks like she just stepped out of Steel Magnolias or something?”

“You know her?” Dade replied, more than a little unnerved by Leon’s reaction.

“Let’s just say if you’re talking about the same woman I’m talking about, you might be in more trouble than I originally thought.”

“You did remember me saying that she murdered an angel in cold blood, right?”

“This is deep,” Leon sighed.

“Let’s go back to Richard Edgemore. I want to know what kind of history I’m chasing here. I think he may have had something to do with my sister’s death.”

“I doubt that,” Leon said, eyebrows raised. “I knew Richard when he was still alive and he wasn’t the murdering type. He did a lot of things that would have got him thrown in jail if he’d ever been caught, but killing people wasn’t one of them.”

“Lots of people don’t seem like the murdering type until the police start pulling bodies out of the crawlspace beneath their house.”

“That wasn’t the kind of guy Richard was,” Leon maintained. “What makes you think he had something to do with your sister’s death?”

“It‘s complicated,” Dade said. “I’m not going to rely on you entirely for this. I’m going to do some digging on my own. All I want from you is just a few answers. I’ll do all the legwork myself. If Richard Edgemore had anything to do with Jane’s death, I’ll find out. You just point me in the right direction.”

Leon thought for a minute. It was apparent by the way the big man sighed and paused that he was indecisive about telling what he knew. After some deliberation, the clouds passed from his face, and it was clear that he’d made his choice.

“You’ve mentioned Richard Edgemore and a large woman with red hair and a southern accent. You’ve also mentioned angels. I’d say The Zodiac Club would be a place that could really give you a leg up on this whole thing.”

The look on Dade’s face was enough to show he wasn’t happy about going back to that place.

“Been there already? Or just scared that you’ll have to dance?”

“That’s where Liz and I met Mrs. Hartwell.”

“Go there after midnight,” Leon advised. “That’s when you’ll get some answers.”

“I owe you big time.”

“I’ll send you a bill,” Leon laughed, clapping Dade on the back. “With interest.”

Chapter 14

Dade didn’t want to run to The Zodiac Club with guns blazing. He needed time to think, time to plan. He decided to go back to his office first and grab a few things that might come in handy. Like holy water. Cursed bullets. A few talismans he had picked up along the way.

He had just grabbed his .45’s and was about to head out the door when he heard someone plodding up the stairs. He stood there expectantly, waiting for his guest, and was completely surprised to see a winded, white-haired old man stagger through the door, gasping for breath, his face red from the exertion of the climb. Dade immediately rushed to help the man into a chair, noticing with some concern how the old guy’s hands trembled and how his bloodshot eyes darted from place to place like a fly, never lighting in one place for more than a moment. Instinctively, he got the man a cup of water and pressed it into his tremulous hands. It seemed to help a little.

“Are you ok?” Dade asked.

“Dade,” the man whispered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “You’re a hard man to catch up with.”

Looking into those tired, red-streaked eyes, Dade suddenly felt like sitting down. It had been many, many years since he had seen that look of disapproval, but he hadn’t forgotten what his father’s scorn felt like. Luckily, there was a leather-backed chair for him to fall into.

“Dad?” he said, confused. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

His father smiled at his son’s reaction. “A lot’s changed since we last spoke.”

His father’s hair had thinned considerably, and the salt-and-pepper of memory had turned almost entirely to salt. Even his hands, once strong and steady, showed how old the man was getting. The Styrofoam cup shook as he held it and tried to bring it to his mouth. The last time Dade had seen him, Jack Gibson was the picture of health. Now, it seemed, the picture had faded a bit, the glowing flesh tones of yesteryear paling to a chalky white.

“I actually wondered if you would speak to me when I got here. We didn’t part on such good terms.”

“A lot of years have passed since our problems,” Dade said.

“Yes, I suppose they have. And maybe that’s been for the best.”

“Why are you here?”

“You’ve made quite a reputation with the clerics and rabbis in the neighboring cities,” Jack said proudly. “Makes a father’s chest swell when he hears the sort of stuff they’re saying.”

Dade shrugged his shoulders, not really knowing what to say. This was totally unlike the father he had known and deserted.

“They say you’ve done some work for clients that aren’t exactly what you would call normal, everyday people. Your cases are a little unorthodox and slightly off the beaten path. Am I right?”

Dade was reminded of the woman whose daughter had been possessed by the spirit of a Nazi general. “I’d say that would sum it up pretty well,” Dade said.

“I want to hire you.”

Dade didn’t know what to say.

“I was wrong about lots of things when Jane died,” his father continued. “I called her crazy because of the things she saw. I suggested we institutionalize her. Said she was delirious.”

“What’s done is done,” Dade said with a sigh. “You can’t undo the past. It’s best if we move on with our lives and the matter at hand. Now what is it you need me to do?”

“I need you to kill someone for me,” the old man said.

“I think you may have misunderstood just what kind of business I’m in,” Dade said, more than a little stunned. “I’m not a hit man. I’m an investigator.”

“This is a special request,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it weren’t important.”

“Surely, you’re kidding.”

The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Dade slammed both hands on his scarred desk. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. You haven’t had any contact with me in ten years and now you just waltz in and expect me to forfeit the rest of my life for you. Well, it doesn’t work like that. I’m not killing anybody.”

“I know you won‘t let me down,” Jack said. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard anything that Dade had said.

“What is going on? Are you in some kind of trouble? Why would you even ask me such a favor?”