My fingers drifted to the pendant around my neck.
I knew Marigold Vesta’s amulet was becoming an obsession, one leaving a dark essence on my soul. Did that really matter? My life was already in danger. I was indebted to a fallen angel. If I didn’t revive her, I would have to give her my body and die in the process.
I was fucked, fucked, and did I mention fucked?
There wasn’t time to waste thinking about my life’s torments. Instead I walked out of the room behind the bar. The cleaning crew didn’t notice me. They never did. They wanted to do their job and leave. Couldn’t say I blamed them.
Despite the wretched cold of winter, the sun warmed my face as I left the club. Christmas would be coming soon, along with snow.
For a moment, I wondered if I’d live to see either.
****
Bane was standing beside a van parked around the back, waiting for me when I arrived at Cleaver’s Pizza. He was dressed casually in jeans, a T-shirt, and a black baseball cap—probably to blend in with the locals. No one paid me any attention as I walked alongside the building and stopped at the vehicle’s back. Bane headed around to greet me, giving me a brief nod.
Alrighty then. So far, so good.
At some point in his life Bane had been a decent looking guy. He was over six feet tall—all muscle—and had a heart stopping smile that went nicely with his ice-blue eyes and blond hair. Unfortunately his nose had been broken numerous times, and a winding scar from his forehead to his chin ruined him from the neck up. If the puckered tissue bothered him, he didn’t let on. He appeared to be comfortable in his own skin. Hell, I was positive he enjoyed frightening people with a sadistic sneer that made the scar stretch and widen.
“I see you made it,” he said. No smile, no hello—only a level stare.
“It didn’t sound like I was being given a choice.”
Bane snorted, glanced around, and pulled the van’s back doors open. As promised, two Brownings sat side by side on the dingy flooring, their obsidian metal clean and unscratched. Four clips were lined above the guns—fully loaded—and two boxes of bullets were beside them. Just above was a double holster, the leather pristine and free of markings.
“May I?” I motioned and waited.
“Be my guest.”
I moved closer, so someone outside wouldn’t be able to see, and checked each sidearm. They were just as good up close, if not better. Bane had a solid reputation, so I wasn’t worried about quality. The guns would shoot straight, and their aim would be dead-on. Of that, I was positive. There was, however, the matter of money.
“How much?”
“A grand each.”
“You’re sure they’re clean?”
He nodded. “Totally untraceable.
“If you include the ammo, we have a deal.”
His grin told me he was going to barter. “The guns and ammo for three grand. Custom rounds aren’t cheap.”
I would have bargained, but I was short on time. I had to get home, store the weapons and ammo, and pack my things before Goose arrived.
“Deal.” I put the guns on the soft mat inside the van. “I’m going to step inside Cleaver’s and get your money.”
“Not so fast.” Bane clucked his tongue. He reached inside the van and pulled away a piece of cloth, revealing a large, gleaming sidearm. It was a thing of beauty, with an unmarred chrome barrel and a hard black plastic grip.
I’ll be damned. Bane had gotten his hands on a Desert Eagle.
“It’s clean as the others and more powerful. Want to kiss someone good-bye? This is the way to do it.”
I lifted the gun. It felt perfect in my hand. Just heavy enough to know it was there but light enough not to be a bother. “Do you have silver rounds?”
“Usually I don’t bother with questions, but one day I’m going to ask about your obsession with silver.” He reached inside and produced two large boxes. “How about some fifty action express?”
“How many bullets per box?” I looked down the barrel, taking in the craftsmanship.
“Fifty.”