Scorcher, p.11
Scorcher, page 11
“Whaddaya want?” he demanded, taking a minute to finish what he was doing before looking up. His eyes landed on Louis, and a wide smile crossed his face. “Lou! How ya doing?”
Louis lit up at the enthused greeting and marched forward to take the man’s hand. “Doing real good. I got a couple of friends here who need a little help.”
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Charlene said sweetly. She crossed the room and held out her hand in a dainty way that implied she expected him to kiss it. A hungry smile crossed the young man’s beardless face as he dragged his eyes up the length of her and took her hand in his own. She practically purred as she introduced herself. “Prissy’s the name.”
“Zeke.” He kissed her hand, and my stomach curled in disgust. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“My colleagues and I”—she gestured in our direction, and I rolled my eyes instinctively— “are looking for someone you might know. She goes by the name of Twilah. Any idea where she might be?”
If Zeke did know, he didn’t let on. His face remained exactly as greasy and sly as before, but his eyes flickered through the three of us as though he were making some quick calculations.
“I might know something,” he said, laying the stack of bills on the table before folding his hands across his midsection.
“Let me guess,” I cut in. “Information costs money. You’re a businessman. It’s nothing personal. Etcetera etcetera. Cut to the chase. What do you want?”
Charlene’s smile never faded, but her gaze shifted toward me, threatening death before returning to Zeke.
He nodded toward me. “He a cop?”
“Ex-cop. I’m a private eye now,” I corrected. I’ve got a mouth. I can speak for myself, thank you very much.
“Around here, we don’t see much of a difference.” Zeke took a thick puff from his cigar and let the fumes waft lazily from his lips. “You’re right, big guy. I am a businessman. I’ve got quotas to fill and pockets too, for that matter. So, yeah, that kind of information’s gonna cost ya.”
“What do you want?” Charlene asked.
A devilish smile slid around the edges of Zeke’s cigar, smoke pouring up around his face. A shiver ran down my spine at the look that entered his eyes. “Ratings, sweetheart. I need a good show, and your friend here is just what I’ve been looking for.”
CHAPTER NINE
CHARLIE
Zeke’s words hung in the air; my mind unable to grasp them. Everett shifted on his feet, a look of distress on his otherwise stoic face.
“What do you mean by ratings?” he growled. But even as the question was asked, I understood, and a feeling of dread coiled through my chest.
“We have money…” I began to counter. My words trailed off as Zeke donned a half grin, split by that thick cigar between his teeth.
“Your money is no good, doll. I’ve got money. If I need more, I make more. It’s as simple as that. But money don’t run things here in the Forenza. You wanna move up, you gotta give ’em a good show and earn good ratings.”
A cold chill crawled down my spine at the thought of what he was asking. Everett shifted again. His jaw pulsed the way it did when he was working through something in his head. His gaze caught mine, and I could see the tension rolling like a tide, just beneath the surface. With a single look, I knew he meant to go through with it.
Don’t you dare, Daniels.
It’s not your decision to make, Charlene.
Don’t make this about us. You can’t honestly—
“I’ll do it,” Everett announced, turning away from me and the incredulous, angry fear seething through my tight smile.
“Hey, boss?” Lou, standing like a shadow behind Everett, glanced between us with a look of obvious confusion. “I know I’m new to this detective stuff, and I was trying to follow…but I guess I’m not so good at it yet. What is it that you gonna do?”
Everett removed his gun, placed it on Zeke’s desk, unbuttoned his sleeves, and began rolling them to his elbows. He wore determination like a shield, and I prayed it would be enough.
Everett placed a strong hand on Lou’s shoulder. “I’m jumping in the ring, Lou.”
“What? Why?” Lou blurted. His nervous eyes darted between each of us in turn, stopping on Zeke. “Why would you want him to get in the ring?”
That greasy smile remained on Zeke’s face as he answered. “Cops, kid. Everyone wants to see a cop taken down a notch…or five. Trust me, it makes for a great show.”
Everett opened the door, and the raucous sound of shouting men filled the room. He didn’t spare a backward glance as he plunged himself into the crowd. That moron was going to get himself killed. I marched after him with Zeke and Lou in tow.
Everett always had been stubborn. The man thought of the job the same way he would his honour or integrity. He would throw himself into danger for the job—all because he’d said he would. Maybe I loved him because of it…or maybe despite it. It didn’t matter though. Electric fear tore through my veins when the crowd parted for Zeke, and I watched Everett step into that ring.
“Interesting guy you’ve got there. Brave…but not too smart, is he?” Zeke said over his shoulder.
“He has his moments,” I managed absently. My focus was narrowed on Everett, now standing motionless in the centre of the clearing. His lean muscles visibly tensed through his shirt as his opponent stepped into the ring. The man was easily twice his size. His head and bare chest were shaved clean until they could have reflected birds in the sky. His face was frozen in an emotionless expression, but there was putrid hate in his eyes.
“Powell is a crowd favourite,” Zeke explained, “although I do end up cleaning his opponent up off the floor with a mop more often than not. But hey, your colleague seems like he knows what he’s doing.”
Zeke straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair, and then stepped onto a small platform at the edge of the clearing. He lifted his hands and a hush fell over the room.
“Gentlemen. Esteemed friends. I have brought to you tonight a show that you won’t want to miss. Before you stands a man of uniform. A former cop, unable to let go of his life of the law. We pit him tonight against your champion, Powell!” Zeke threw a hand toward the behemoth of a man, and the crowd exploded. “Shall we see what sort of steel our newest contestant has?”
The world erupted, fists rising in cheers and bookies rushing to take bets. Though the crowd frenzied around me, I remained motionless at the edge of the clearing, unable to move a single muscle. Everett stared ahead, his jaw pulsing, his chest rising and falling with steady, likely forced, breaths.
Look at me, Everett. Please, just look at me.
“Gentlemen, take your places,” Zeke shouted.
Powell came to stand opposite Everett, and the pair of them lifted steady, bare fists. The crowd grew nearly silent for a moment, every set of eyes glued on the two of them. At last, a bell rang from somewhere in the room and the match began.
The stark fluorescent lights hanging above the ring cast deep shadows over Everett’s face, but I knew that he studied Powell with careful, calculating eyes. With every step that Powell made, Everett shifted on the balls of his feet to counter. When the first swing was thrown, I felt my stomach leap into my chest. Everett dodged the hit and countered with a quick jab at his enemy’s midsection. On anyone else, Everett’s hit would have been a real blow. Powell hardly seemed to flinch. The crowd broke into jeers and laughter.
“Miss, I don’t got a good feeling about this,” Lou muttered at my side.
“You and me both, kid.” I flinched as Everett ducked another hit aimed at his head. The crowd roared in frustration and tightened around the ensuing fight.
Powell was frighteningly strong, but Everett was fast, and he used his opponent’s weight against him. He danced around the edge of Powell’s reach and managed to land several devastating hits to his enemy’s side—drawing a surprised grimace to Powell’s face. Still, Everett wouldn’t be able to dodge forever.
In one wrong move, one hit, Powell landed a punch to Everett’s gut that doubled him over. Powell didn’t wait for his opponent to rise. He threw his weight into a fist that cracked across Everett’s jaw.
Lou looked sick as Everett landed on his hands and knees, a splatter of blood decorating the floor. The boy took a step forward, and I clapped a hand around his wrist.
“Stay put, kid. The match has to play out or this whole shit show will be for nothing.” Even as the words left my lips, I found myself fingering a blade inside my sleeve, willing myself not to throw myself into the ring. Powell’s heavy footsteps seemed to shake the ground as he prowled toward Everett’s turned back. Why was he just sitting there?
“Everett! Behind you!” I hardly recognized my voice when I called out, but his eyes snapped to mine just before he dropped and rolled. Powell’s fist crunched into the floor where Everett had been, and he let out an anguished cry. Everett didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself to his feet and threw his weight into the fist aimed at Powell’s side before he dropped back into his ready stance.
Everett looked tired. His lip was split, spilling crimson iron across his face. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. For every hit he dodged, the crowd drew closer and closer, prodding the pair together.
Powell lunged again with his fist, but this time it was a decoy. Everett dodged, but Powell was ready. He caught a fistful of Everett’s hair, and my heart stopped. My breath stuck in my throat, coating my lungs with fear. For the split second before the barrage began, Everett’s eyes found mine again.
The first strike caught Everett in the jaw, a spray of blood painting the audience. Powell followed that blow with two more to the stomach, and Everett landed back on his knees, gasping for breath. A roar of thunderous applause washed over the audience as my stomach reeled. Powell, still clutching a fistful of Everett’s hair, slammed his head into the ground with such force that I could nearly feel the impact through the floor. Everett collapsed. Not unconscious, but prone, nevertheless.
The match was done.
Or so I thought.
Powell rolled Everett onto his back and gathered the collar of his shirt in one of his monstrous fists. I thought the man was intimidating when he bore no expression at all, but when the sinister smile curled through his teeth, terror gripped me to the bone. He raised a fist and drove it across Everett’s face. Then again. And again. Everett’s eyes drooped.
“Stop!” I called.
Nothing happened. Zeke watched from the platform with disinterest but made no move to call the match. I began elbowing my way through the crowd, on a war path toward him.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked casually. I wanted to tear his throat out.
“That’s enough. It’s over, Zeke. Call the match,” I hissed through my teeth.
Zeke rolled his eyes. He lifted a hand as another spray of blood fanned out across the floor. “Enough.”
Powell stopped instantly. He rose with Everett’s blood dripping from his arms. Bile crept up my throat. I hardly heard Zeke call the match and announce the winner as I rushed to Everett’s side.
Falling to my knees beside him, I took his battered face in my hands. A memory flashed before my eyes—Everett, broken and bruised, kneeling before the Mistress. Panic shot through my chest, rerunning the same emotions I’d experienced that day. “You absolute moron. If you die, I swear I will kill you.”
“What do I do?” Lou asked.
I hadn’t even noticed him at my side. I couldn’t think clearly. What to do? What to do? “Get him to the speeder, Lou. I’ll meet you there.”
Lou didn’t wait for further instruction. He pulled Everett’s arm around his neck and began to drag him through the crowd. I spun back to where Zeke had been, just to find him stepping back into his office.
“You got what you wanted,” I hissed as I closed the office door behind me. “Now, tell me where I can find Twilah.”
Zeke settled back into his chair and propped his feet up on the table. Crossing his arms, he regarded me with cool apathy. “That was hardly the show I wanted. I thought your cop might have a bit more bite to him.”
“If you wanted a closer fight, you shouldn’t have pitted him against Goliath out there,” I growled, gesturing toward the door. “A deal’s a deal.”
“No.” Zeke gave me a challenging look.
I blinked in surprise. Oh, is this how you want to play it?
Before Zeke could make a move, I reached across the desk, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him toward me. A flash of silver appeared at his throat, and I relished the feeling of my blade against his skin.
“I’ve got a new deal for you.” I tilted the blade until only the sharp tip pressed against his jugular. “You tell me where to find Twilah, and I won’t let you bleed out on the floor of this dump you call an office. How does that sound?”
“I…” He started to speak and paused to take a nervous gulp. “I don’t know where she is. I lied. Please…please…”
His confession hit me like a slap in the face, and I blinked down at him in incomprehension. He’d lied. Everett had been nearly beaten to death…for nothing. A growl tore from my throat, rage shaking the blade pressed to his throat.
“Twilah?” a voice asked behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see one of the bookies standing in the doorway. His eyes were filled with concern. “You’re looking for Twilah?”
I dropped Zeke unceremoniously, and he thudded in a trembling heap onto the desk. “Yes, I need to see her.”
“Why?” the boy asked cautiously.
“I need her help.” I slid the blade back into my sleeve in a gesture of peace, and his nervousness faded, but only slightly. “I promise, kid, my goal is not to hurt her. I was part of the network myself.”
The boy regarded me for a moment. I could see the wheels turning in his head. When he seemed to make up his mind, he strolled into the office and brazenly tossed a pile of bills onto Zeke’s chest. He turned to me. “I’ll talk to her. Meet me on the ground, on the corner of Grand and Third tomorrow night. Level twenty-seven. If she wants to see you, I’ll take you to her.”
At that, the boy turned and vanished into the crowd.
I spun toward Zeke, who was now cowering against the wall. Pathetic. “I will not forget the deal you broke.”
I didn’t wait for a response before turning on my heel and leaving this hellhole behind. The cries and cheers of the crowd turned my stomach as I stepped into the elevator and descended to the speeder port. Everett might hate me. He may wish he’d never met me—never saved me from the person I had been. But it didn’t matter. He needed me, and I would be there this time.
EVERETT
The crowd roared. Jeers and laughter became a cacophony that washed out all other senses. Powell swung sluggishly. In retrospect, it was too obvious, and the moment I leaped away, I knew I had made a mistake.
Everett, you damn idiot.
Powell’s fist found hold against my scalp and it was over. I surrendered to what would come next.
Somewhere across the space, inside the crashing tide of onlookers, her gaze called for mine. In the space of a single second, I found her. Charlie. She watched me with a pained expression, her jaw set as if she were willing herself not to move.
Pain exploded across my jaw, and I felt my knees weaken. But Powell’s grip in my hair held me in place, even as he knocked my breath out with a punch to the gut. My knees hit the ground, and then my head. Blinding pain took over. I had no notion of what happened after that—only that the pain didn’t stop. It came again and again until darkness finally enveloped me…
“You go ahead, Lou. Get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on him,” a voice said through the darkness. I tried to wrench my eyes open, to find the source of the voice, but the moment I moved, pain radiated through my head, and I drifted off again…
I let out a gentle sigh as I woke to a soft brushing against my temple. Ignoring the constant thrum of pain, I creaked my eyes open. The room was enveloped in darkness. The soft glow of city lights illuminated the sleeping form beside me. She was kneeling on the floor, leaning against the bed with her face resting on my shoulder. Her arm was draped across me, and her fingers caressed my face in her sleep.
I was dreaming. I had to be. Even so, I allowed myself to brush the hair away from her face. She had always been beautiful. Beautiful and unattainable. From the moment I’d met her, she’d always belonged to someone else. First to the Mistress. Then death. And now Lazlo.
I tore my hand away at the thought. This wasn’t a dream at all. Nothing had changed.
Don’t get attached, Everett. You’re better off alone.
Mustering all my strength, I pushed myself into the sitting position. Charlene sat up groggily.
“Everett?” she asked, half awake. Comprehension hit her slowly, and she took my face gingerly between her hands. “You’re awake. You’re okay.”
Wrapping my hands gently around hers, I pulled away from her touch. “Either that or my dreams have decided to start getting creative with unearthly amounts of pain and visions of my exes.”
She climbed to her feet and paced toward the window before spinning back on her heel. The kind expression on her face was replaced by tightly drawn concern and more than a touch of anger. “You can be a real moron sometimes, Everett. I’ve been worried sick. You could have died. You’re lucky not to be in a coma. For all we know, you probably have a concussion. Or internal bleeding. I mean, honestly, what were you thinking?”
Really? I’m the moron? “I was thinking that we needed information. And that was the only way to get it. Or is that a decision I don’t get to make for myself either?” I bit the last couple of words out between my teeth.
She stopped pacing, a look of clear shock on her face. “I did what I had to. To keep you alive, Everett.” She spoke with exasperation and defence. “I didn’t like it. In fact, I hated it. Every second of it. But I would do it again. And again. If that’s what it takes to keep you alive.”
