Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) (12 page)

At the moment, Abbadon didn’t know what to do. He didn’t dare go back to the Ninth Order of Angelic Hosts for fear of missing something vitally important, and he couldn’t simply make his presence known with so many assassins flying around like vultures on the scent of dead meat. So he did the only thing that was familiar to him. He dug out the green fairy, the spoon, and the sugar, and let his mind drift for a few minutes. Normally the absinthe made him feel better, relaxed him. Not today. Not after all he’d seen.

He had watched the boy duck into an abandoned kitchen, and from his vantage point at the top of one of the city’s innumerable office buildings, he could see that Midael was having a hard time picking up the scent. He’d seen what happened to those bums and knew that Rush had something to do with it even though he hadn’t laid so much as a hand on the old geezer’s unwashed flesh. That’s what made Abbadon hesitate before rushing down to see what the boy was doing. The child was obviously powerful. That much was established. Yet it was on whose authority he drew that power which concerned Abbadon. As far as he’d been able to learn, nobody knew anything about the child. And in the realms of the dead, it was quite a feat to keep a bit of intelligence out of the air. It was also a little frightening.

He made it down to the street just in time to glimpse the outline of angel wings through the window. But then he heard Midael and his goons arriving and knew that he didn’t have time to stick around and contemplate the significance of such a sight. The assassins would cut him up just as easily as they would the boy. Easier, in fact, since he would eventually be the one holding the key to their prison. As Keeper of the Keys to the Bottomless Pit, he knew he would never win any popularity contests.

Chapter 26

The need gripped Samael like a strong hand. He tore the door off of an old Chevy and flung it into the depths of Reznick’s Junkyard. Louise Hartwell knew better than to speak to him at a time like this. She had seen his anger in action and knew that it was best to simply leave him alone until he got control of himself. She put her hand in her coat pocket and breathed a sigh of relief at the touch of the syringe. Yet there was a sense of anxiety underlying that relief. There wouldn’t be many more chances like this where she was protected unless she found out where Edgemore had hidden what was left of the Rusty Nails.

“None of this is going like I planned,” the death angel growled as he continued systematically destroying the Chevy. “I was going to stage a revolt. I was going to take charge of the nine orders. I was going to overthrow Heaven and succeed where Lucifer failed. But then everybody gets a taste of this new miracle guilt-drug and everything goes to Hell. Now nobody cares who they fight. There is no sense of allegiance. It’s every angel for himself. I don’t have an army of troops before. I’ve got a bunch of wide-eyed slack-jawed zombies who would just as soon tear my throat out as they would look at me.”

Louise winced at the screech of torn metal. Samael had peeled the roof back like it was a can of sardines.

“You’ll find Edgemore’s stash,” she reassured him, hoping he couldn’t read the true motives that lurked behind her eyes.

Samael’s eyes narrowed. “Not if you find it first.”

“I’m just trying to keep you supplied,” Louise admitted, hoping the death angel couldn’t spot her lie. “What kind of a pusher would I be if I didn’t have any merchandise to push?”

“I‘m not the angel you want to double-cross,” Samael said.

“Why do you want Dade Gibson to kill that boy?” Louise asked, hoping to turn the tables of the conversation.

Samael looked at her sternly. “What do you know about that?”

Louise was tempted to tell him that she had spies of her own, but she wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. “I hear things on the street, you know?”

“That boy is dangerous,” Samael said. “He’s wreaking havoc on this war. I want Gibson to kill him.”

“But you’re the death angel,” Louise reminded him.

“Let’s just say I’m subcontracting this one out.”

“You’re scared,” Louise said with some satisfaction. “You’re frightened of facing this child.”

Samael ripped another door off its hinges. He threw it at a stack of smashed cars and connected. The tower of oxidized metal fell with a thunderous crash. “We’re talking about killing a twelve-year old boy here. It’s not like I’m asking him to assassinate a lawyer or anything.”

“I still don’t understand why you want the boy dead in the first place.”

Samael looked at her with disgust, and for the briefest of moments, she was certain that the next hunk of steel he tore away from the car would be aimed at her.

“There are certain variables in any equation called constants. These are variables that can be calculated, measured, certified as true in every instance. The boy is not a constant. He is a wild card. I have no idea where he came from, who put him here, or what his agenda is. All I know is that he’s turning more and more of my men into slaves to the needle every day. That’s supposed to be my job.”

“Why don’t you kill the boy yourself?” she asked.

“Because I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know who put him on this earth or why. If I did the job and Rush turned out to be a minion of Lucifer’s, then we could have an entirely new and unwanted facet to this war. I don’t want anymore surprises where that sort of thing is concerned. I’ve already got enough that I can’t control without adding something else to the mix. If Dade pulls the trigger, there aren’t nearly as many consequences involved. Yet, the end result is still the same. I don’t have to wonder anymore about my entire plan being jeopardized by a twelve-year old.”

Louise smiled wryly at the angel of death.

“You doubt me?” Samael asked for the second time.

“All I’m wondering is whether or not you’ll stop using the drug too once you take it away from everyone else.”

Samael grabbed the Chevy’s bumper and tore it away in a fierce display of muscle and anger. Louise just knew that he was going to club her over the head with it at any minute.

“It is not your place to question me,” he said, his voice masking the rage that simmered just below the surface like water in a covered pot.

“Fine,” Louise said, hoping he couldn’t read her blank expression or her thoughts.

“I think you’ve got something in your pocket for me,” he said with a smile. It made Louise’s blood run cold that he could see the unseen so clearly. It made her wonder if he had any hint of what she had planned.

Reluctantly, she handed over the syringe and walked quickly away as Samael cast off his inhibitions as easily as a worn-out shirt. She didn’t want to be around when he realized that she’d started cutting the substance in half in order to prolong her supply. Still she knew by the deafening clang of metal and the shriek of steel kissing steel that he’d figured it out.

Chapter 27

The kitchen was black and musty, still smelling of bacon grease and rotten produce even after so many years of inactivity. Rush waited until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness before moving through the maze of industrial-sized ovens and hanging cookware. Knowing that Midael would eventually find the door and throw it aside, Rush searched every inch of the room for a hiding place. But even the stainless-steel ovens were too small for a young boy to fit into. He had just about given up hope of preserving his identity when he saw the grease trap that was set into the concrete beneath his feet like a magician’s trapdoor. Hamburger drippings, bacon grease, several years worth of lard, and a whole lot of unidentifiable muck had pooled in fatty swirls beneath the kitchen floor. The single positive thing about it was that it only looked knee deep.

Although he had absolutely no desire to wade in the mire that sat stagnant in the grease trap, the shotgun report of heavy boots approaching was enough to convince him otherwise. He just barely had enough time to pull the grate back over the trap when Midael flung the door open. At first glance, the grease hadn’t looked to be more than knee high, but reality added about a foot and a half. Rush held his breath for as long as he could and then sucked air through his mouth hoping he wouldn’t gag. The only good thing about being stuck in the hole was that the angels wouldn’t be able to distinguish his smell from the hundreds of other horrid smells in the grease trap. Which meant that he might preserve his identity after all.

Pans were thrown across the kitchen. Ovens were overturned. Pantries were emptied, spilling what stale food the owners had left behind. Even the butcher block counter in the center of the room was torn apart for any sign of the wunderkind child.

Midael cursed and called for one of his trackers. “Where is he?”

The tracker adjusted the belt of weapons that he wore around his waist and shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for,” Midael said sternly. The tracker got down on his hands and knees and sniffed the damp concrete for some trace of the boy.

“There are too many conflicting scents in here,” he said in his defense. “Grease and alcohol and rot.”

Because the kitchen hadn’t been used in well over a year, transients had spent much of their time converting it into a home. Dusty sleeping bags, a few crack pipes, and several empty whiskey bottles were piled high in one corner of the room like a shrine to the god of vagrancy. A few gated centerfold pinups lay scattered about like dead leaves in an autumn lawn. And then there was what looked like a few loose bricks near the mausoleum-sized refrigerator at the back of the kitchen. The wall with the ill-fitting bricks was coincidentally the wall that adjoined the alleyway behind the restaurant.

“He might have gone through this hole in the wall,” the tracker suggested. “But I can’t tell.”

“You can’t tell,” Midael screamed, not wanting to consider the possibility that the boy had escaped. “You can’t tell and you’re supposed to be a tracker. You may as well be a janitor for all the good you’re doing me.” The tracker cowered like an insulted child.

Fuming, the stiletto angel paced the room like a caged animal. Aside from the door leading to the alley and the crumbling hole in the wall where the bricks had been carefully stacked, the only other possible exit was the door that led to the restaurant’s musty dining area. The padlock was old and rusty, and no key, no matter how well oiled, would turn the tumblers. Midael tore the door off its hinges, throwing it against one of the grease-stained ovens.

“Half of you search what’s left of this place,” he growled at last. “The rest of you come with me and check the alleys.”

Rush waited until the angels had dispersed before climbing out of the hole. He knew he had gotten lucky this time. They hadn’t found his hiding place. He knew he wouldn’t get that lucky again.

Chapter 28

Since she started dealing to angels, Louise had learned a lot about their methods and talents. She knew that Samael would catch her scent in a matter of seconds. And if he even suspected that she was following him, he would make her life a living misery. That’s why she’d taken precautions. The small glass vial filled with opaque liquid was in her glove box along with the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum that she always kept for such occasions. She took both. It hadn’t been nearly as difficult to get the firearm without a license as it had been to collect enough of Samael’s sweat to give her adequate camouflage.

He had been infatuated with her in the beginning and had touched her willingly. Now, she was a convenience. Thankfully, she’d had enough foresight during those first tentative nights to collect whatever the death angel left behind. Feathers, concentrated sweat from the bed linens, even a few flecks of dried blood. Surely, Samael’s nose wouldn’t prick at his own scent. It’s what Louise was planning and praying for most.

Even before she watched him fly out of the junkyard and toward the city, she had a sneaking suspicion about where he’d end up. Since Edgemore died, he had effectively taken over The Zodiac Club and made it one of the centers of his operation. If the angels were going to abuse the needle, at least he could keep an eye on them while they did so.

And she, in turn, could keep an eye on him.

Nobody at the club seemed to notice her as she walked in. They were accustomed to seeing her. A lot of them were customers from time to time. It was only as she got close enough to give off a scent that attentions turned toward her. They could smell Samael on her and gave her the respect that he would demand. It wasn’t difficult to see what they were thinking, and she made no attempt to dispel any of the potential rumors that she was the death angel’s mistress. Instead, she walked right past the bar and headed toward the back, oblivious to the stares and whispers.

She’d only made it halfway to Samael’s bed chamber when she heard his voice.

“You haven’t gotten the results I was hoping for, Lilith. I thought you could coax an answer out of him somehow. There were no drugs at that tomb. It seems that if I want this done right, however, I’ll just have to do it myself.”

At one time, it might have made Louise jealous to hear another woman’s voice. Now, it was somewhat of a comfort. It would simplify her problems greatly if Samael was no longer interested in anything but scoring drugs where she was concerned.

“No,” the woman pleaded. “Just give me one more chance with the bones. I’ll find out where Edgemore’s stash is.”

At the mention of bones, Louise Hartwell froze where she stood, her grip tight on the .357.

“Jackpot,” she said with a smile.

Chapter 29

“Any ideas on how to get out of here?” Liz said. “You’re the war seraphim. You should have some experience escaping from places like this.”

“I’m a warrior not Harry Houdini,” Pyriel replied.

“You’re also pretty freaking big. Couldn’t you just bust through the door or something?”

Pyriel looked at her with a pitying smile. “This is a club for angels, remember? Richard Edgemore built this place so he could make the deals he had to make without the risk of prying eyes. If he built this room to hold angels, I’m sure he bought a door strong enough to do its job.”