***
Valdes had an arm hooked around Joann’s waist as he dragged her still-stunned form to Ninth Avenue. An SUV cab sat at the corner, the driver reading a newspaper. Valdes yanked open the back door and dumped her in. The driver glanced back.
“Hey, I don’t want no drunks puking in my cab.”
Valdes walked around to the driver’s side, pulled out the taser and shot him through the open window. The driver jerked and danced in his seat, then slumped over the wheel. Valdes opened the door and let him tumble out to the street.
“Coeus.”
The giant staggered out of the darkness, both hands squeezing his jaw as though if he let go it would fall apart. His right hand was swollen and angry tears streaked his reddened face. He shoved Joann out of the way and clambered in, the cab sagging under his weight.
“Come along, my boy,” Valdes said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get home and take care of—”
He heard a snuffling, rumbling sound from the back seat. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the giant hunched forward, face buried in his hands, massaging his injuries. Valdes watched, fascinated, as Coeus straightened and wiped his eyes dry. His face was healed with no sign of damage.
“Are you all right?”
The giant grunted, not sounding entirely human. His face held a cast of almost demonic light for an instant, then was gone. Valdes raised his eyebrows, feeling a chill that passed as quickly as Coeus’ demeanor change.
Hmmm.
He shifted into “Drive” and headed off.
***
Wet. Blood? Water.
Donovan’s eyes snapped open. Agony washed through him, cresting in his left palm, where he’d touched the tattoo. “Joann!”
An Asian man’s face appeared above him. “Holy shit! You all right? Hey, there’s somebody down here!”
They brought him up into the sea of Midtown North squad cars that flooded 48
th
Street. Donovan twisted free of the helping hands. “Joann! Where’s Joann?”
“Who?” The Asian man, a paramedic whose nametag read “Kwan,” shook his head. “There’s no one up there now.”
Donovan gazed up at his building. It wasn’t a place to live; all he could see on the structure’s façade was a skull face scarred by the fire escape, his bedroom window an empty eye socket. “Then they
do
have her.”
“Take it easy,” Kwan soothed. “Let me patch you up, okay?”
Fullam was conversing with a young Spanish man whose growing bald spot made him look older than he was. He foisted the Spanish man off on a uniform and came over. “I hope you’ve got renter’s insurance.” He grabbed a patrolman’s arm. “Listen, can we get a shirt over here for Mister Graham?”
“Yessir.”
Fullam glanced around at the activity. “When I heard there was a disturbance at this address, I told them to send the cavalry.” He shook his head. “Too late, I guess.”
Donovan shifted impatiently as the medic assembled his supplies. “Valdes showed up with Coeus, and they took her.”
“Hell of a burn you got here.” Kwan wiped Donovan’s hand clean and reached into his bag for bandages and salve. “That’s going to leave one unusual scar.”
“I don’t care.” Donovan’s palm was already blistering, the shape of the five-pointed star and circle clearly visible.
Great. Marked for life.
He shrugged into a sweatshirt and leaned against a squad car while Kwan wrapped his left hand. His fingers jutted out of the sterile dressing and he flexed them, loosening the bandages enough so he’d be able to grip the handlebars of his motorcycle. “Valdes and Coeus. They took her.”
Fullam frowned. “They showed up, beat the crap out of you and kidnapped Joann?”
“I opened my door, they were there. We fought; the last thing I saw before Coeus threw me into the ditch was Valdes hustling her away, towards Ninth Avenue.”
“How did they know where you live? How did they know Joann was there?”
“No idea.”
The sergeant looked at him, eyes matter-of-fact. “We’ll get her back.”
Donovan seemed not to hear. “He was definitely here for her. He said, ‘I’ll get our Vessel, Coeus’ before he tasered her.”
“‘Vessel’?”
“I have to figure this out.” Donovan started for the building door. “I’ve got to call Father Carroll.”
“Hey!”
Donovan finally looked at the sergeant. Fullam glanced around, reached into his jacket and unclipped a holster from the small of his back. Keeping it lowered, he pressed it into Donovan’s hand. Leather straps held a Glock .40 in place.
“Next time, give Coeus my regards. Right between the eyes.”
Donovan stared at the weapon, looking for answers. After a moment he spoke. “I never should have opened the door.”
“Not without your x-ray specs,” Fullam said. “Not your fault.”
“Sure.”
As Donovan opened the door to the building, the balding Spanish man jogged over. He was the building super, Alfredo Campanio.
“Damn,
vato
. Why you got to make work for me this late?” The force of Donovan’s stare made him stop short. He took a step back and looked up at the shattered window. “You went
through
there?”
“Yeah. And my bedroom door, too.”
“Really? You okay?” Alfredo’s eyes shifted to Donovan’s face, to the gun Fullam had given him, and back to Donovan’s face. “
Vato loco
. Give me a few minutes. I’ll bring some plywood up, patch it until I get someone to come out tomorrow.”
At the moment repairing the window wasn’t the highest priority Donovan had, but in Hell’s Kitchen he knew it had to be done, and quickly. “Fine. I’ll be upstairs.”
“
Vato loco
,” Alfredo repeated, looking up again as he walked away.
Donovan climbed the stairs with footsteps as heavy as his soul. The enormity of what had just happened was starting to sink in, past the bruises and the shock. He reached the top of the steps, saw the menus still scattered in front of his door, and felt a surge of irrational anger. He kicked them out of the way with his dirty, bare feet and went inside.
The energy of the fight hung in the apartment like the smell of sex. He went up to the kitchen and scooped a handful of cubes from a tray, then held the bundle in his injured hand. Shifting it like dice, he stared at the refrigerator’s bottom shelf, where his weed kit nestled out of sight. The temptation to soften the reality of what had just happened in clouds of fragrant hydroponic smoke was strong.
This isn’t a crime scene you can go to high
.
Instead, he shut the door and went to a cabinet, where he took out a bottle of Bushmills and swigged a mouthful. The Irish whiskey burned past the lump in his throat. He picked up the cordless handset and called Father Carroll.
“They got her, Father.” He took in more whiskey, gripping the bottle like it was his last handle on reality. “Valdes and Coeus. It’s my fault. They took Joann.”
“
I’ll come up,
” the priest said immediately.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll come to you. We have a new lead.
“We need to figure out why Valdes needs a Vessel.”
***
“I give you,
Herr Doktor
, your Vessel.” He gestured triumphantly at Joann’s unconscious body. “A beautiful force for good.” Flushed with his victory and the exertion of carrying her limp body, Valdes seized her shoulders and rolled her onto her back. “I certainly hope she’s acceptable. You have no idea what it took to get her here.”
Faustus took in the curves of her body inside the fluffy white bathrobe with no hint of lust or leer. He took her chin in hand and turned her head, eyes clinical as he examined her features.
“She seems satisfactory.” When he saw the marks from the taser darts he frowned. “Once Faustus hath remedied these—”
Valdes spread his hands, “what can you do?” “I
asked
her to come politely.”
***
Alfredo finished boarding things up and left while Donovan took a shower. Now dressed, Donovan stuck Fullam’s Glock into his waistband, grabbed his helmet and headed for the door.
He pulled it open and stopped short. His hand snapped to his waist before he recognized the angry face of the man.
“Where is my daughter, Donovan? Where is Joann?”
In no mood, Donovan pushed him away with a hand to the chest. “Get out of my way, Conrad. I have things to do.” It was his bandaged hand, but he refused to let Joann’s father see him wince.
“You son of a bitch!” Conrad growled, seizing Donovan’s jacket. “It’s
your
fault!”
Donovan yanked away. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“I know people
everywhere
. Joann was here when this serial killer and his goon showed up. One of your neighbors told detectives they said they were there to kill you. If Joann hadn’t been here, they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take her for God knows what.” He looked like he wanted to spit. “Philosophical Hermeneutics.”
“Killing me was an afterthought.” Donovan shouldered the smaller man back and stepped out of the apartment. “They came for
her
.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me to soothe your conscience—”
“I’m
not
—” Donovan paused, furiously gaining control of his temper. “They want,” he began again, “to use her for something. That’s why they took her, because of something about her, about who
she
is. I don’t understand what that means, but I will find out.
“And I will get her back.”
***
“Did you kill him?” Valdes asked.
Coeus sat glowering in the shadows. The only light came from a trio of candles and a battered twenty-inch television set in one corner. Wires connecting a computer game console to it cast serpentine shadows along the floor.
Valdes folded his arms and sighed. “We got what we needed. I’m not angry. I just need to know if—”
“
I don’t know!
” Coeus leapt to his feet, his scarred visage inches from Valdes’s calm expression. “I
tried!
I tried to kill him, but we had to
go!
I would have killed him if
you
didn’t make me leave!” He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, face screwing up into an impending tantrum. Valdes could swear he heard the rumble of thunder, but it was only a growl building in the giant’s throat. With one sweep of his arm, Coeus slapped the television set across the room. The game unit flew after it like a child unable to restrain a Great Dane on a leash. They exploded against the far wall in a shower of sparks.
First the aquarium, now this.
Coeus doesn’t seem much of a problem to him.
Valdes considered the implications before ultimately dismissing them.
Then again,
I’m
not Coeus.
SIXTEEN
QUESTIONS
J
oann’s body absorbed the effects of the taser shock like a sandbar defeating a rising flood. Consciousness returned in a solid mass, without nuance or detail. At first she accepted this; the torpor was not unpleasant, and remaining at this base level kept her anxiety in check. Detached bits of information gradually began to filter through her senses: soft cloth across her face, garbage dressed with urine, a sense of weight above and around her, newspapers and a rough blanket under her.
She groaned and pulled off her blindfold.
Three bare fluorescent bulbs cast funereal illumination around the windowless room. Filthy, water-stained tiles edged by dark rust and mold lined the walls. The single door had a twelve-by-twelve inch space that was all wire reinforcement and no glass. Gaps in the cement floor suggested furnishings long since removed by scavengers.
Rotating her neck muscles, she took stock of herself. Her body no longer hurt; she was surprised to find there was no swelling or soreness from where Valdes had zapped her. Her feet were bare and she still wore Donovan’s white robe, although now it was considerably less fluffy and smelled like her makeshift mattress.
She heard a noise and went to the door. An old woman shuffled by outside, bent back and ruddy face suggested long days gathering sod off the bog for the fire. A white rabbit trembled at her feet. “See what happens if you don’t obey me, Mr. Chew-chew?” She jerked its leash and nodded at Joann. “I’ll put you in a cage to starve and rot and die!”
Joann stared as the woman passed into the darkness.
What in the world—?
She banged the door with the butt of her hand. “Hey!
Hey!
”
“Ah, my dear. You’re awake.”
Valdes came down the shadowy corridor, a ray of sunshine.
Charming Man,
Joann thought. Coeus lurched behind him, and a chunky blonde girl with bad skin followed shyly. He unlocked the door to her cell, and all three of them crowded in.
“Where am I? What time is it?”
“You’re my guest, and it’s morning. I hope you’ve suffered no ill effects? The drugs I have are hardly top quality, and I was afraid there might be some side issues.”
“Drugs?”
“To help you rest.” His smile widened by a few teeth. “You have a big day ahead of you; or, rather, a big
night
tonight.”
Fear tightened her face, so she reached for her prosecutor’s manner. “What do you want?”
“At the moment, I want you to be comfortable. You’re my guest, and I’m not a savage.” He angled his head. “This is Lude, and I think you know Coeus. They’ll take you to the showers, then to the dining hall.”
She folded her arms to keep them from trembling. “I’ll ask again: what do you want?”
“
I
don’t want anything.” His lips twitched, restraining a smile as he glanced at the giant. “Mister Fizz does.”
***
Donovan snapped awake.
“Good morning.” Father Carroll stood next to him, holding a paper cup from which wafted a nutty vanilla trickle of steam. “Bad dream?”
Donovan nodded, dry-washing his face. “Joann. Covered in blood. Smiling.”
“Indeed?” The priest’s eyebrows rose as he went behind his desk, to the seat he’d occupied all the previous night. “I shouldn’t worry, my son. Dreams tend towards the dramatic when expressing anxiety, you know that.”
“They can also demonstrate prescience. Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything that might be a clue. Just…Joann, covered in blood. Smiling.” He sat silent for a moment. “No help finding her. Like this,” he gestured at the materials they’d been searching all night. “I’ve studied it for years, but when I need it most, it’s no help.”