“Maybe. I got lots of coins. Exactly what kind of coin do you want?”
“A sliver of a silver real. It has a picture of Charles III on one side.”
“I’m a businessman,” the clown said. “What’s the going rate for one of them slivers?”
We were all distracted by shouting in the hallway and the sound of someone running in our direction. We turned to the doorway, and Hatchet burst into the room, sword drawn.
“Halt, rude and lowly beasts!” Hatchet yelled. “Hand over the coin before I cleave every one of you in twain and dance on your entrails.”
Josh pulled out his cutlass and pointed it at Hatchet. “Stand down or feel the bite of my blade.”
Hatchet was dressed in green tights, yellow Nike running shoes, and a white peasant shirt with a brown jerkin. Josh was wearing black Jack Sparrow–style boot covers over Converse sneakers, red-and-black-striped pants, a puffy white shirt, and a black tunic. It was like a fashion parade of crazies.
Hatchet squinted at Josh. “What art thou?”
Josh looked over at Diesel.
“Go for it,” Diesel said.
“I be a Buccaneer American,” Josh said. “What art thou?”
“Hatchet is his liege lord and master’s faithful minion.” Hatchet waggled his sword at Josh. “Do you dare to match swords with me, peasant?”
“Aye, sirrah, and I’ll rip you from belly to chin,” Josh said, waggling his sword back at Hatchet.
Hatchet swung the bigger, heavier broadsword. Josh’s cutlass was short but curved to an angry point. What the cutlass lacked in length I thought it must make up for in maneuverability.
“Methinks thou knows not about swordplay,” Hatchet said to Josh.
“Thou thinks as a fool,” Josh said. “Me took a course in fencing at North Shore Community College.”
Hatchet lowered his sword a bit. “How didst thou do?”
“Sadly, this good and worthy buccaneer suffered the flu during final exam and dost got an incomplete.”
“Seems unjust,” Hatchet said.
“Aye. Much of the world is unjust.”
“This is going nowhere,” Diesel said. “Maybe you two should take it outside so we can get on with business.”
“I will smite thee down first,” Hatchet said, turning toward Diesel.
“Back off,” Diesel said, “or I’ll turn you into a toad.”
“Can you do that?” I asked Diesel.
Diesel smiled. “I’d need permission.”
Hatchet lunged at Diesel, and Josh whacked Hatchet on the back of his head with the flat of the cutlass. Hatchet stumbled, went down to one knee, and farted.
“I believe I doth break wind,” Hatchet said. “Sincere apologies.”
We all took a step back from Hatchet and fanned the air. Spencer bumped into me, and I felt a vibration.
“The clown is vibrating,” I said to Diesel.
Diesel grabbed Spencer and shoved his hand into one of the big pockets in the baggy checkered clown pants.
“Hey, if I’m gonna get groped at least let the girl do it,” the clown said.
Diesel came up with some loose change, a throat lozenge, and a set of car keys. “You’re lucky you’re not getting searched by my monkey.”
“No kidding?” Spencer said. “You’ve got a monkey? Do you got an organ to grind?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Diesel said, moving on to another pocket. He pulled his hand out of the pocket and held a pie-shaped piece of a coin between his fingers. “Tell me about this,” he said to Spencer.
“It fell out of the cage,” Spencer said. “The one that held the body. When I was loading it into the truck, it fell out. I didn’t think it was worth anything. I only kept it as a good luck charm.”
Diesel flipped the coin to me, and I caught it with one hand and felt the vibration.
“This is it,” I said. “This is the second piece of the pie.”
The lights went out, and we were plunged into total blackness. I felt an arm wrap around my waist, I was lifted off my feet, and I was effortlessly swept across the room. Wulf’s voice whispered against my ear, his voice so soft it was barely above a thought.
“You’re still playing on the wrong team,” he said to me. “It won’t end well for you.”
He smelled faintly of cloves and woodsmoke. I felt his lips brush along my neck, and a chill ran down my spine followed by a rush of heat. His hand closed over mine, and I was no longer in possession of the coin.
“Hey!” I said.
There was a flash of fire, and after a beat the lights came on in the room.
Wulf was gone but Hatchet was still with us. He tipped his head up and sniffed the air.
“Sire?” Hatchet asked.
“He t-t-took the c-c-coin,” I said.
Diesel was hands on hips. “He should take his act to Vegas.”
CHAPTER SIX