He didn’t answer right away. “So I was right about her.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’ll have Rolon and Paco bring you a car. Any requests; I have a nice collection.”
“Something understated. I don’t want to be noticed. Paco’s lowrider would be a bad choice.” I paused, knowing I would regret this. “I could also use a firearm. A Glock 22 would be great-the .40. Failing that, any nine millimeter will do.”
“All right. Where are you?”
“I’ll be waiting for them in the parking lot of the Chandler Airport in half an hour.”
“They’ll be there,” he said, and ended the call.
I didn’t like relying on Amaya for help. It was bad enough that I was working for him, and that I had to conceal our arrangement from Kona. But I didn’t know where else to turn; few of my friends had extra cars lying around, not to mention extra pistols. Unfortunately, I had the sense that each time I called the man for help or a favor, I was cementing a relationship of which I really wanted no part.
But like the approach of the phasing, this couldn’t be helped. I needed a car, and fast. I set out on the lengthy trek to Chandler’s little municipal airport. As I walked, I tried to work out how best to use the remaining hours before the phasing began. I had much of the day left, but that didn’t seem like enough time; not even close.
I wasn’t ready to face Patty and Witcombe again, which left Dimples. And I’d thought of a way I might track him down.
I reached the airport in good time, and had to wait a few minutes before Paco and Rolon showed up. They pulled into the parking lot with a bit more fanfare than I would have liked, Paco’s lowrider rumbling like some hotrod in a Sixties beach-party movie. Rolon trailed him, driving a cream-colored, late-model Lexus sedan. I could tell already that Amaya’s loaner was going to spoil me for any car I’d ever be able to afford.
They got out of their respective cars and waited as I joined them. I eyed the Lexus.
“Nice car.”
“You sure you don’t want the lowrider?” Paco asked, grinning. “She’s pretty fast.”
“Too much car for me,” I said.
He laughed.
Rolon reached into the pocket of his sports jacket, pulled out a Glock just like the one I’d lost, and held it out to me. “From Jacinto. He says to keep it.”
I took the weapon from him, but shook my head. “I’ll bring it back to him once I have a chance to retrieve mine or buy a new one.”
Rolon turned grave. “Don’t, amigo. He’ll be insulted, and he’s not a man you want to piss off, you know?” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like he’ll miss it. He’s got enough to arm . . .” He glanced at Paco, grinned again. “Well, he’s got plenty.”
“All right,” I said, slipping the weapon into my bomber pocket. “Tell him I said thanks.”
“The magazine’s full,” Rolon said. “And it’s the high capacity; seventeen rounds.”
“Good to know. Again, thanks.”
Rolon tossed me the fob. “Jacinto also told me I should offer my help.”
I was already reaching for the door handle on the Lexus, but I stopped now. “What?”
“I can ride with you. Help you with what you’re doing.” He flashed the familiar grin once more, exposing a single gold tooth. “I shoot good, and I can craft a bit.”
“Not to mention, you’re built like a brick shithouse.”
Paco laughed. After a moment Rolon did, too.
“Yeah, not to mention that.”
I pulled off my bomber and held up my bandaged arm. “This may not look like much,” I said, “but I nearly died last night. And the guys I’m going up against today aren’t likely to be any more gentle.”
“You trying to scare me, Fearsson?”
“I’m trying to be straight with you. You’re not volunteering for an easy day off from whatever it is Amaya has you doing.”
His grin vanished. “It’s Mister Amaya. And I wasn’t interested in a day off. He told me to go with you because he thinks I can help. If you don’t want me riding along, say so.”
I opened the driver’s side door of the Lexus and slid into the seat. “Hop in. I’m driving.”
He flashed another smile and said something to Paco in Spanish that I didn’t catch.
A moment later he got in the car.
I was taking a moment. Leather seats that molded themselves to my body, a steering wheel that felt like an extension of my hands, an interior that was more spacious than rooms in some five-star hotels. Yeah, I never wanted to drive anything else. And I hadn’t even turned the key yet.
After studying the dashboard for about three seconds, I realized there was no key. This was one of those push-button-start luxury models. I started it up, the purr of the engine as sexy as Saorla’s voice. What can I say? I like nice cars.
“So where are we going?” Rolon asked as I steered us out of the airport lot.
“Back to the doggie’s single-wide.”
He nodded, leaned forward, and clicked on the radio. It was already set to a Latino pop station. He grinned at me and cranked the volume. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but he’d brought me a car and a new Glock. I couldn’t complain.
CHAPTER 20
The weremyste community in Phoenix was small compared with the general population of the metropolitan area. There might have been a thousand active mystes in all, and we tended to know each other. Not always, of course. I hadn’t been aware that Regina Witcombe and Jacinto Amaya were mystes, nor had I known about Patty. But people as famous as Witcombe and Amaya were bound to be exceptions, and I assumed that those who dabbled in dark magic would have kept to the shadows as well. The rest of us, though, had at least a passing familiarity with our fellow runecrafters, be it because we hung out at the same bars, or because we saw each other every month at the Moon Market, a floating marketplace where mystes could buy herbs and oils, crystals and talismans, and just about any other goods purported to lessen the effect of the phasing.
I was hoping that the werecreature community worked the same way.
I drove us into Buckeye and down to Gary Hacker’s single-wide. We parked by Hacker’s truck and got out. Rolon already had his SIG Sauer in hand. I pulled out the Glock. The structure and yard looked exactly as they had the day before, and the air conditioner was still rattling. But something about the place gave me pause. Or paws. Yesterday, Hacker had appeared at the door almost as soon as I pulled up to his home. Today it was too quiet; thinking this made me feel once more like an actor in a bad movie.
Rolon and I exchanged glances. I pointed at myself and then at the door to the single-wide. He nodded and followed me, gripping his pistol with both hands.
I knocked once on the door and called, “Hacker?”
No answer. I tried the knob. The door was locked. I pounded again.
“Wha’ the hell?” I heard from inside. He sounded fine. Hung over, but fine.
I glanced at Rolon again. He had lowered his weapon.
“It’s Jay Fearsson. Open up.”
“Go away. I’m not riskin’ bein’ turned again.”
“I have Rolon with me, Gary, and he’s perfectly willing to tear the door off your house if he has to. Now open up. We won’t stay long.”
I heard uneven footsteps, and then the click of a door lock. The door swung open, revealing Hacker, unshaven, puffy-eyed, and a not-so-healthy shade of green.
He pointed a shaking finger at Rolon. “You did this to me. You and that goddamned trank. I’m still sore where the dart hit me, and I feel like I’ve been on a six-day bender.”
“Let us in, Gary.”
He glared at me. “Why the hell should I? The two of you ruined my yesterday; today’s goin’ to be no better.”
“Rolon’s with me. And that means Jacinto wants you to help us.”
His expression curdled, but he backed out of the doorway and waved us in.
I entered. Rolon followed me, closing the door behind him. Hacker had dropped himself onto his couch; he looked like he was about to be sick.