"Told you so," Heinrich said. "Imperium Scheisse."
The Japanese killer pulled a thin, three-foot, black object and held it under his long coat as he walked casually toward the hotel entrance.
"An Iron Guard, here in the U.S.? I can't believe this! Damn it. I wish we had the rest of the crew." Dan moved to start the car. They would need to alert the General that one of the Chairman's best men was in the States. There was no way just the two of them could take on an Iron Guard. There were other Grimnoir in the Midwest, and if he could raise enough of a force in time, they might be able to- "Heinrich, what're you doing?" he hissed as the young German opened his door.
"I'm going to go and talk to this Heavy, like Herr General ordered," he smiled as he got out. "Coming?"
"Are you crazy?" Daniel hissed. "Rokusaburo will cut us to bits. He can't be killed!"
Heinrich shrugged. "He is magic. He is not immortal."
Daniel banged his head on the steering wheel again.
Amish and two Torrio men, Brick and Hoss, stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor. The Jap trailed them silently a few feet behind, his long black coat almost hitting the carpet. Amish had left the two others covering the lobby. He wasn't expecting this to be too hard.
The imp couldn't tell them a room number. It wasn't like it could hop down the brightly lit hallways like a miniature kangaroo checking room numbers. It peeked through windows. That's about all the stupid thing was good for, but the logbook at the desk had Sullivan's blocky signature under Room 109, so that's what Amish was looking for.
He'd draped his overcoat on top of his Tommy gun, not that he needed to bother. The desk clerk had been passed out drunk. He tossed the coat over his shoulder as he rounded the corner and spotted the gold numbers for 109.
Daniel Garret went straight for the front door while Heinrich went for the side. Fades worked better in the dark. Mouths always preferred the public.
There were two gangsters in the low-class lobby. One was sitting in a chair next to the desk, pretending to read the newspaper. The other was acting like he worked there, behind the counter, except he hadn't even bothered to remove his hat. Both of them looked good and stupid. Dan kicked his Power up a notch.
"Good evening!" he said, friendly as could be. "I'm in need of a room."
"We're all full. Go away," grunted the man at the front desk. His posture told Daniel that he was holding a gun under the table.
Dan always did enjoy a challenge. He reached out, his magic telling him the emotional state of the two. They were small-minded and brutal men. The beauty of being a Mouth was that the dumber your audience, the easier they were to steer. Strong minds were much harder to sway, and they could usually sense the intrusion. "Hey, don't I know you guys? You look really familiar." So far, so good, so Dan pushed harder.
The two men glanced at each other, feeling a sudden deep sense of camaraderie. "Uh, yeah… I think I know you," said the one with the paper.
"We're friends, don't you remember… that one time? We all got together?" Dan asked, pushing as hard as he could. There was no time for subtlety. He was their buddy, their old pal. His magic was based on lies and coercion, but any moral qualms he'd had about using it had been put to rest once he'd seen the Imperium schools in action.
"Oh yeah!" said the one behind the counter.
"I need a favor."
Both of them were smiling now. "Anything, bub."
"What room is Jake Sullivan staying in?"
The goon flipped open the book and scanned down the page. "Tenth floor. Ninth room. Our buddies are up there now to whack him."
"Good. Good. Thanks a lot. That really helps me. You know what else would help a ton?" Both were smiling and nodding.
"What?"
"Anything for a pal!"
Dan hesitated. He wasn't as heartless as he'd thought. First he had to know. "Are you bad men?"
"I've killed three people for Lenny Torrio!" said the first one proudly.
The second one snorted. "Big deal, I once broke an old lady's hip because she owed Mr. Capone protection money; then I beat her head in 'cause she got lippy."
That would do. "Great, guys, just great. Do me a favor, would ya?"
"No problem." They both were grinning stupidly.
"Give me a second to get out of the way, then I want you to kill each other."
A Mouth couldn't force someone to do something that they normally wouldn't consider. It didn't work like that. Even someone as strong as Dan could only sway someone down his natural path. All he could do was push what was already there. If he'd asked a decent person to murder a friend, it would simply break the spell. Only a real piece of work would take such a small amount of Influence to do something so heinous. Dan wasn't even in the elevator before they started shooting.
Heinrich caught the door right before it closed and slipped inside. "That didn't take long."
"Not much loyalty amongst gangsters, I suppose. Tenth floor, please."
Amish checked the safety on his Thompson. He wasn't going to screw this up. Brick was the biggest, so he moved up to kick the door. Hoss reached up and unscrewed the hall light, plunging them into shadow. The boys had done this kind of thing before. The Jap just hung back, looking bored.
There was a big glass window at each end of the hall, and enough street light was coming in that Amish could still see his buddies. This was going to be great. He squeezed the Thompson tight. "Do it. Do it!"
Brick reared back and kicked hard. His considerable weight tore the lock right through the jamb, and the door flew open with a bang. Amish leapt through, screaming, turned toward the bed, spotted the lump in the middle of the blankets and mashed the trigger. He fired from the hip, stitching hot slugs through the bed, the headboard, and the wall. He jerked the foregrip back down and kept ripping the bed, flinging feathers and bits into the air, until he'd hammered through the entire 50-round drum in one continuous smoking burst.
"Take that, stupid Heavy! Yeah!" Amish shouted. "That'll learn you up real good."
Hoss rushed past him, double-barrel shotgun in hand, grabbed the blankets and yanked them off the bed, revealing nothing but a pile of bullet-riddled pillows and clothing. Hoss started to shout, "Where is-" but then his chest and head erupted in a shower of red as a swarm of giant bullets stitched him. Hoss tumbled dead to the floor.
The Heavy stepped out of the bathroom, shirtless, holding an enormous black cannon to his shoulder. The smoking muzzle swiveled toward the doorway where Brick had appeared and there was a terrible thunder. Brick disappeared back into the hall and Amish blinked as something hot and wet splattered him in the face. It took him a second to realize that he had just been hit with part of Brick's skull.
The cannon settled on Amish last and the Heavy paused, with a little smile that seemed almost sad. "Lenny couldn't even bother to come himself?" Amish pushed the release and yanked the drum out of the Thompson, then fumbled at his pocket for a stick mag. The Heavy just shook his head, disappointed.
Then everything was wrong, down was now behind him, and Amish screamed as he fell through the door and into the hallway. How- He felt his collar bone snap as he hit the wall. Gravity came back suddenly and Amish spilled onto the hall carpet. Pain washed through him in waves. The Heavy appeared in the doorway, glanced quickly both ways, and saw the Jap.
"Who are you supposed to be?" the Heavy asked.
The Jap didn't answer. He just opened his big coat and showed his sword. Amish looked back and forth between the two terrifying men and knew that he was about to see one hell of a fight.