Master of None (7 page)

Coughing out a mouthful of wet warmth, I struggled to my
feet and sent a glare at Jazz. She looked away fast. I faced the cop—or whatever he was—and spoke slowly in deference to my throbbing jaw. “I’m not armed. Trevor’s brute squad took care of that earlier tonight.”

Conner’s gun stayed steady on me. “Jazz. Take his jacket off and hand it to me.”

“Don’t touch me.” I spat blood on the ground at her feet. The gesture lost some of its effect in the dark, but she’d get the point. I shrugged free of the jacket, yanked my arms out, and tossed it in Conner’s general direction. “Happy now?”

The cop kicked the jacket into the weeds. “Turn out your pockets.”

I complied in silence. Nothing in the right. The left held a small folded wad of hundreds. With a one-sided smirk, I held it toward Conner and said, “Here you go. Buy yourself some balls with it.”

Conner grinned a nasty promise. He spun the flashlight, stepped forward, and rammed the butt end into my crotch.

Every muscle in my body liquefied. The cash fell from limp fingers and hit the ground some time after me, as far as I could tell through the dazzle curtain bursting over my vision. Somewhere outside the high-pitched whine filling my ears, Jazz shouted. I didn’t care. Wished her dead. Wished myself dead, if it would stop the agony flooding my groin. Gradually, the pain eased enough to let the world emerge through the fog.

“Thanks. But why bother buying some, when I can just take yours away?” A shoe prodded my shoulder. “On your feet. We’re going for a ride.”

It took longer to get up this time. I leaned back against the van, panting, and watched Conner slam the flashlight into a
belt holster, then detach a set of standard-issue handcuffs and hand them to Jazz.

She snatched them. “Bastard. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I didn’t. But it was fun.” Conner fished in a pocket and produced a single key. “Put them on. Your right, his left.”

Jazz fumbled with the cuffs and after a minute managed to bind us together. I didn’t resist. I’d have to try to escape from Trevor before the bastard killed me—which put my odds of survival somewhere around the chances that a bolt of lightning from the now cloudless, star-strewn sky above would strike Conner dead in the next five minutes.

Conner extended the hand without the gun. Jazz thrust the key into it. The cop pulled another set of cuffs from a pocket, this one with a longer chain. “Turn around and face the van.”

With a sorrowful glance, Jazz started around me to achieve the directed position. I failed to return her pity. “You wanna stick another knife in while you’re back there?” I said.

She kept going without a word. The minute my back was turned, Conner’s gun dug into my spine. “Your left.”

I extended my free hand. The bracelet snapped around my wrist. Conner tightened it one-handed, pulled my arm toward Jazz, and fastened the other cuff to her right wrist.

The cop ordered us to face him. He moved toward the van’s side door. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here.” Popping the handle, he slid the door open, retrieved the flashlight, and shone the beam inside. “Well, look at that. Tall guy in a trench coat. Heard a little something about him.” Conner turned a sickly grin in my direction. “Doesn’t look dangerous to me. Looks dead. Let’s just make sure of that, shall we?”

My eyes closed against helpless fury. Two shots sounded
in solemn progression. I managed to keep my legs under me. If Ian wasn’t dead before, he sure as hell was now.

“That should do it.” Conner replaced his gun. “But just in case, why don’t you get in there and find out?” He prodded my shoulder with the flashlight.

“Are you as stupid as you look? How am I supposed to do that?” I rattled one of the chains for emphasis.

“Figure it out.”

You asshole.
Whatever Trevor had told him, it was apparently enough to make him worry. I sat on the edge of the van floor, swung my legs inside, and glanced at Jazz. She hadn’t moved. “A little cooperation would be nice here,” I said through my teeth.

She sat next to me without a word.

I inched between the seats, dragging Jazz with me, far enough to catch sight of Ian’s still form. Under the van’s dome light, his skin looked gray. One of Conner’s bullets had gone through his foot. The other was a straight hit to the heart—at least, the place a human’s heart would be.

His chest didn’t move at all. I leaned over his face, checking for a faint breath. For an instant, I thought air moved across my cheek . . . but it was cold. Lifeless. Probably a draft from outside.

“Is he . . .” Jazz whispered.

I glared at her and decided not to dignify that with a reply. “Move out.”

She scuttled sideways and must have caught a foot on a seat leg. She jerked suddenly. The movement pushed me against Ian.

Light infused his body the instant I made contact with him, a faint and ghostly aura. It faded quickly. I blinked and
would’ve rubbed my eyes if I could use my hands, positive I’d hallucinated that. I hadn’t seen him glow before.

We made it back outside. “He’s dead, you fuck. Satisfied?”

“Supremely. Don’t worry too much, Donatti. I’m betting you’re about to join him.” Conner slammed the van door and grabbed Jazz by the arm to steer us toward his idling cruiser.

Even if I was in a gambling mood, I wouldn’t have taken that bet. I suspected Conner was right.

Silence smothered the back of the squad car. Conner, separated from us by a thick layer of reinforced glass with a small sound grate low and center, pulled off 34 and headed east, toward Owasco Lake. Toward Trevor.

The aching sorrow residing in the vicinity of my chest surprised me. I’d hated Ian—or at least thought I did. Still, to borrow a phrase from Benedict Arnold there, at the moment I hated Jazz more. He hadn’t deserved to die for her treachery. Would his wife ever know what happened to him? I couldn’t tell her. Didn’t know where to find a magic mirror. Maybe there were other djinn somewhere in this world—but would they be able to find Ian? I had no idea how they operated. It wouldn’t surprise me if they all hated each other.

I turned my attention to what I could recall of Trevor’s place, hoping to remember something that might help me escape once I was inside. There was the fortress of a gate surrounding the house and the grounds on three sides and the lake on the fourth. Guards manned checkpoints at the gate 24-7. Dogs—well—dogged the stretches between the checkpoints.
The house itself, a three-story Victorian, featured barred windows, electronic locks, and a remote-monitored alarm system that kept items in and people out. Of course, it also kept people in, if Trevor didn’t want them to leave.

I grimaced and considered trying to swim the lake. If I didn’t drown, Trevor’s thugs would have plenty of time to boat across and either pick me up on the way or secure the opposite shore before I got there.

Option three: offer to become Trevor’s servant for life. And die anyway.

“Donatti.”

Jazz’s whisper pierced my thoughts. I refused to look at her. “I don’t feel like talking anymore,” I said through clenched teeth.

“There’s something you should know.” She continued to whisper, as if Conner couldn’t hear her. The wire leading from the sound vent probably connected to a microphone somewhere up front.

“Whatever it is, I don’t care.”

“Tough shit. I’m telling you anyway.”

I faced her slowly. Her expression, grim but determined, bore no trace of the sadness she’d exhibited earlier. “If you’re having an attack of conscience, it’s too late,” I told her.

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks. Tried that already, and look where it got me.”

“You . . .” Jazz closed her eyes, opened them. “Look, it’s real simple. I love my son, and I would do anything to keep him safe.
Anything.
Understand?”

I flinched. “You mean, Trevor has . . .”

“Yes. He does.”

I forced my mouth shut against a flood of profanity. Could the sick bastard sink any lower? “He was at your place when I called. Wasn’t he?”

She shook her head. “I was at his.”

Conner banged a fist on the partition. “All right, that’s enough. It’s lovely that you two kissed and made up, but now it’s time to shut your fucking mouths. Or I’ll shoot her. Trevor only wants you alive, Donatti. Think about that.”

I pressed my lips together and winced when fresh pain shot through the split corner.
That was stupid.
Resolved to keep better track of my injuries—without doubt, there would be more to come—I looked at Jazz. Her sorrow had returned. Her eyes shone with it, threatening to spill over.

I’d never seen her cry. Didn’t want to now. If she broke down, I might follow her lead.

Momentarily forgetting the handcuffs, I moved to touch her face and succeeded only in scoring my wrist when the chain jerked taut. I swallowed a curse, lowered my hand. She released a slow, controlled breath and faced forward.

I eased over and slipped my fingers between hers, trying to convey with gestures what couldn’t be said. Not that I enjoyed being turned over to Trevor, but I understood why she had to. She faced me, her mouth forming an O before settling into a small smile.

I held her gaze for a moment and looked away to refocus my rage. Trevor had her son.
Our
son. I’d make sure the bastard didn’t hurt him, even if I had to die for it.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling that was exactly what I’d end up doing.

F
IVE
, S
IX
,
SEVEN, EIGHT. DEFINITELY A NEW RECORD. AND THE
night was still young.

Not all the thugs on Trevor’s porch had guns. One carried an aluminum baseball bat. Another held a Taser. The seventh and last had enough mass and muscle to qualify for his own zip code. No external equipment required.

Conner removed the cuffs, then drew out his pistol and offered it handle-first to the nearest goon. Criminal protocol demanded that we all be subjected to a pat-down. The guy with the bat collected Conner, and Taser Boy claimed Jazz with a grin that said she wouldn’t escape this with her dignity intact. Since the firepower had to stay in place, that left me to the land mass.

Lucky me.

Several minutes later, shoeless and with a few extra bruises to catalogue, I joined Jazz to be marched inside and led to a spacious and richly furnished den complete with indoor columns and a full-sized dry bar—Trevor’s sitting room. There, we found Trevor, sitting.

With a prison-style buzz cut, hard features, and dark eyes that held the promise of fucking you over, he should’ve resembled a gorilla stuffed in a suit. But Trevor wore his Italian silks and English wools like a birthright. He’d blend right in at a country club or a yacht party, until he started shooting the other suits for looking at him funny.

And the bastard wasn’t alone. A small boy with a riot of silky black curls perched on his lap, half-dozing, a tiny thumb thrust into his mouth.

“Cy!” Jazz lunged forward, only to be stopped by an arm as thick as a roof beam and just as solid. “God damn you, Trevor. You were supposed to bring him home.”

The boy perked up. His eyes widened, and his thumb left
his mouth with an audible
pop
. “Mommy?” Cy wiggled and slid down to the floor. Trevor made no move to stop him. “Mommy, I wet.” He toddled toward the forest of thugs, eyelids drooping as he walked.

Trevor gestured. The land mass moved aside, and I saw the silencer-fitted Ruger .45 the seated man had been holding on the boy.

“Was he that dangerous, Trevor?” Somehow, I managed to speak evenly.

“Insurance, Mr. Donatti. You understand, of course.”

“Oh, God. Cy . . .” Jazz fell to her knees as the boy neared and swept him against her. She buried her face in his curls, rubbed his back. After a moment, she directed a look of absolute rage at Trevor. “He’d better not have so much as a hangnail, you sick asshole.”

“Not to worry, dear lady. The boy’s been an angel.” Trevor rose and passed a hand over his shaved head, then brushed at a damp spot on his tailored slacks. “He is, however, wet.”

Jazz scooped Cyrus into her arms and stood. The boy snuggled against her with a contented sigh, and his thumb migrated back to his mouth. “Is there some reason you sent your puppet after me? I told you I’d bring him in.”

Trevor moved two paces forward, the gun held casually at his side. “I don’t believe in trust. I believe in control.” Frigid green eyes settled on me for a moment and then languidly scanned the rest of the group. “Conner. Come here, please.”

The cop approached Trevor, his expression neutral. “What’s up?”

“Where is our friend in the trench coat?”

“Still in her van. He’s dead.”

Trevor stared at him. “You must be mistaken.”

“Uh . . .” A flicker of unease penetrated Conner’s features. “No, he’s gone. I shot him a few times, just to make sure.”

“Did I tell you to shoot him?”

Those flat words were Conner’s death sentence. I knew it. Conner did, too.

“Wait.” Conner stumbled back. “Trevor, I—”

Trevor’s arm jackknifed up to press the gun against Conner’s forehead. He fired without hesitation. The silencer allowed a whining snap, no louder than a breaking branch. Trevor didn’t even blink when the cop’s blood spattered his face and his pristine linen shirt. The body dropped to the floor. Trevor released a short sigh and shook his head.