Demon Song (Blood Singer #3)

Demon Song (Blood Singer #3) Page 22

I pushed back my chair and stood. “Let’s get you out to the seminary. I’ll call them on the way and have one of the priests go to your house to collect your parents.”

She seemed relieved I didn’t ask anything more about Manuel’s body and happy that I included her parents in my plans. I’d already put on my knife sheaths before she came in, but when I reached for my shoulder holster her eyes went wide. I shrugged. “We can’t guarantee there isn’t someone waiting outside. I want to be sure we make it to my car and to the seminary.”

On the way out, I planned to tell Dawna to implement security level one. It was a literal switch at her desk that would turn on a special perimeter barrier that would sound an alert if anyone approaching was armed with something metal. The door would be locked so that each guest had to be buzzed in and a nitrates sniffer would activate as someone approached the door. We’d do it all the time except the sniffer caught too many things out of the air from the military base down the road. The random sirens had driven us nuts until we figured out why they were going off.

After putting on my blazer, I picked up my purse and motioned Maria to her feet. “We’ll take the interstate. That’ll give us more maneuvering room if—”

The intercom buzzer sounded and I looked at the phone as if it could see me. “Celia? I’m sorry to interrupt. Could you pick up?”

Dawna didn’t interrupt a client meeting unless it was really important, so I reached across and picked up the receiver. “What’s up?”

“Remember that FBI guy who came to the office a few months ago? He’s on line two.”

Rizzoli? Wow! I guess I had hit a nerve. “Got it. Thanks.” I motioned Maria back to her seat and walked back around the desk, the phone’s cord stretching to its limit as I did. I pressed the button and heard the characteristic static of a cell phone. “Rizzoli? Is that you?” For a moment I heard nothing but the sounds of a busy street.

“Make it fast, Graves. And it had better be fucking important to interrupt a deep-cover stakeout.” Wow. I’d never heard him swear before.

“You’ve heard of Jorge Encarcion?”

“It’s why I’m calling. Like I said, give me something useful or I hang up now and go back to looking like a drunk bum.”

I might pay to see that. Rizzoli was very Italian and so very cookie-cutter Fed that I couldn’t imagine him in filthy clothes, sucking on a bottle of cheap wine. “What would you give me for a witness that could hand you Encarcion on a silver platter?”

There was a long pause. “Don’t tease, Graves. You’re too much of a lady.”

Aww … that was almost sweet. But I could hear the drool in his voice. “She’s a minor. I want a guarantee that you’ll protect her and her family before I hand her over. The Viper’s already taken out her brother. And when I say ‘guarantee,’ I mean paperwork with that lovely federal watermark on it.”

There was muttered swearing that I couldn’t quite make out. But I could guess. Witnesses were nifty for court cases, but paperwork that ties the Feds to the protection of those witnesses doesn’t make for happy agents. Still, the word “minor” was enough to make him sigh. “Done. I’ll probably get an ass chewing, but I’ll do nearly anything to get a hot shower and a good meal after a week out here.” Was he implying he was on a stakeout about Encarcion? No wonder he had called. “Call my office. They’ll arrange for someone to pick up the witness, get the information they have, and get them to a safe house.”

I made a noise that could be interpreted as rude in most polite circles. “No offense. But I haven’t had very good luck with people in your office. I trust you. I’m going to take her to the militant-priest seminary and I’m going to instruct them to deliver her only to you. And I want her kept out of the operation until it’s over.”

Now there was a strangled scream of frustration and then an angry hiss of words over the line. “You’re killing me here. I’ve got to have something to take to my superiors before I can protect her.”

Oh. Well, yeah. I suppose that was an issue. Unfortunately, it was a chicken-and-egg thing. He didn’t want responsibility without the information. I didn’t want to give him the information without a guarantee of responsibility. “Tell me where you are. I don’t want this broadcast. I’ll hand you the information personally.”

He paused for long enough that I would have thought he’d hung up if not for the traffic noise in the background. “Okay. I’m hanging out near the Sam’s burger place on Federal. Find some place to visit around here that would be normal for you. A gun shop or something. You won’t recognize me, so I’ll find you. I’ll start being more aggressive in my panhandling, so by the time you get here it’ll look normal for me to approach you. Push me away and then hand me a twenty when I plead. Put the note inside the folded bill. I’ll call you later after I’ve checked in and delivered the intel.”

Wow. That was a lot of detail on real short notice. But it sounded like it would work. “I’ll be there at—” I checked my watch. Already eleven? Damn it. Where had the time gone? I’d have to cancel my meeting with Shawn. If he wasn’t already waiting downstairs. I looked over at the pretty young girl who was now looking at me with rapt attention and hope in her eyes. “At one or one thirty. How far do I need to walk in from so I still have wheels on my Miata when I get back to it?”

Rizzoli let out a sound I realized was a small chuckle. “Come in with fangs bared and I don’t think anyone will mess with it. Come in with fangs and those knives of yours and you’ll have the street all to yourself.”

I supposed an empty street was better than a faceful of holy water.

Or worse … a crossbow.

10

It was twenty after one by the time I had Sam’s in sight. This block of Federal wasn’t one of the best. Litter was strewn haphazardly on the streets and sidewalks. Graffiti announced a gang’s turf over the top of a previous announcement, and the obvious hookers and addicted vastly outnumbered the people just trying to live their lives in peace.

As expected, my car was creating quite a stir. I should have taken the bus. Normally I’d park right in front of the business I wanted to visit and get in and out quickly. But if I did that, then I couldn’t “wander” past Sam’s. My best bet was to drive around the block a few times, appear lost, and then ask for directions at a local business—one on the wrong side of the restaurant, so that I’d have no choice but to pass it on the way to the gun store. I’d looked the gun shop up on the Internet so I’d have some idea of what I wanted. There actually were some interesting items for sale, and I was always open to new places to buy gadgets.

The song on the radio ended and a news report interrupted even though it wasn’t the top of the hour: “This is your KSML news center with a developing story. We’ve just learned that a warrior priest from Mission Viejo was found this morning buried in a shallow grave in the desert outside the city. According to police officials, Father Joseph Treer had been ministering to prisoners at the California State Paranormal Treatment Facility. Officials at the CSPTF haven’t responded to requests for an interview, but an unidentified source in the Santa Maria de Luna police has revealed that a joint operation with federal officials is being planned to investigate allegations of mistreatment inside the state facility. The governor’s office has indicated they’re working closely with all parties to monitor the situation and will respond with National Guard troops if required. This has been a KSML special report. Stay tuned for more information as it becomes available.”

So it was starting. Muscles I hadn’t realized were loaded with tension relaxed just a bit and I could concentrate a little more at the task at hand. Maria was safe at the seminary and one of the priests was on his way to her parents’ house to collect them.

Small groups of teens who should have been in school stared at me as I drove slowly by. Nearly everybody on the street was some shade darker than peanut brittle, which made my paleness all the more noticeable.

All of a sudden I realized I was slightly screwed. It was the middle of the day and I didn’t dare walk around carrying my umbrella because I needed both hands free in case there was trouble. But my skin wasn’t going to hold up for very long with only sunscreen to protect it.

It was a shame I couldn’t call Rizzoli back to change the plan, but real bums don’t normally have cell phones and I was pretty sure he’d turned it off after we spoke. And despite my best efforts as I’d driven by, staring at the various homeless men hanging out on the block, I couldn’t spot him.

Great. I was just going to have to tough it out. I parked the car near a convenience store that was one of the few nearby businesses with an awning. The shop was so crowded with products that there was only a narrow lane between the racks of items. Junk food and trinkets of all descriptions made for a blur of color that was nearly blinding. The lone clerk was stuffed into a tiny space behind a counter piled to the ceiling with more things to buy. Talk about making the most of the space available.

“Hi,” I said with a smile that mostly hid my fangs. “I’m a little lost. I’m trying to find Al’s Gun Shop. Am I close?”

“No. Here there is no Al. You buy?” His eyes were bird bright, his smile radiant, and his words heavily accented—likely he was right off the boat from India.

“I know there’s no Al here. I’m looking for his store. Is it on this block?” I motioned with my hands and he watched them carefully. I knew where the store was … and also knew I wasn’t going to get any information out of this clerk. But he’d probably remember me if anyone asked, and that was the point.

“Ah! Al. Yes, yes.” He reached out and handed me a pack of chewing gum. How he’d pulled “Dentyne” out of “Al” was beyond me. But I reached into my pocket and pulled out a couple of dollars. He beamed, rang it up, and handed me some change. I presumed I could still chew gum. I hadn’t tried since the fangs.