Play with Fire

chapter Forty-Five

QUINCEY MORRIS WAS on his third Diet Pepsi. Tension made him thirsty, and he was not fool enough to consume any alcohol tonight. He was trying to focus on the Local Politics page of the American Statesman when the phone in his shirt pocket began playing the “X-Files” theme.

Morris grabbed the phone, almost dropping it, and answered. He listened closely, grabbed a pen, and wrote something on a nearby pad. Then he said, “Thanks, Marty, I appreciate it.”

He turned his head toward the connecting door and called, “Libby!”

Libby Chastain was there within moments. “What is it?”

“We might have something. A break-in at a Sikh temple. Who’ve we got near East Twelfth and Springdale?”

Libby went to the heavily annotated Austin street map that was tacked to a nearby wall. She peered at it for several seconds before saying, “That’s Abigail and Eloise. They’re closest.”

“Right.” Morris checked his list of phone numbers and made a call.

“This is Morris. We’ve got a possible at 134 East Twelfth. It’s a Sikh temple, should be pretty hard to miss. Check it out, quick as you can and call in, okay? Right, thanks.”

Libby sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together tightly. “Sikhs, huh? I was wondering if our pal would get around to them. What is it about this spell that requires a different religion every time?”

“Maybe the idea is to piss God off every which way you can,” he said.

“And then He opens the gates of Hell because He’s mad? Or She?”

Morris made a face. “Nobody ever said magic had to–”

The phone at his elbow began making music.

“Morris.”

He listened for a few moments.

“Okay, looks like this is the one. There are cops on the way – you know what to do. I’ll alert the others. Wait for them to get there – or at least some of them. Do not, I repeat not go in there by yourselves. Right, bye.”

He looked at Libby. “Eloise says there’s definitely black magic coming from that temple – and it’s recent.”

Libby stood up. “Okay, then. Battle stations.”

Morris handed her a sheet of paper. “Here’s your list. Maybe you should call from your room, so we’re not talking over each other.”

“Good idea.” Libby turned and walked, very fast, toward the connecting door.

Morris glanced again at his list, brought up his phone’s directory, and touched an icon.

Two floors below, Ashley had just enjoyed her third orgasm when the phone near her head began playing Gregorian chant.

“Yes,” she said into it, a little breathlessly.

“It’s Morris. Looks like we’re on.”

“Excellent. Address?”

“A Sikh temple at 134 East Twelfth. That’s over near–”

“I’ve got the map memorized – I know where it is.”

“See you downstairs in three minutes.”

“Gotcha.”

“Ashley, one thing.”

“What now?”

“When we get there, try not to kill anybody, unless absolutely necessary.”

“Oh, it’ll be necessary, believe me.”