Stone’s head was tipped so he looked not out over the building like most gargoyles in architecture, but down at the street. Specifically, down at the street in front of the door to my building.
Well, it looked like I had myself a big ol’ watchdog.
I stared at him for a bit, but he did not move. I didn’t know if that was because dawn was coming on, turning him to inert stone, or if he was pulling the immobile-statue bit for his own reasons.
Either way, I liked the thought of him being out there. Sort of like a big, dumb pet rock guardian angel.
The memory of him tearing into the Necromorph flashed behind my eyes. Correction: big, dumb, deadly pet rock guardian angel.
I let the curtain fall, and straightened the living room and kitchen-not that either needed much cleaning. Nola visiting had some extra advantages. I tried reading one of the several paperbacks I’d been picking my way through, but didn’t have much luck. After reading the same page three times I gave up and opened the manila envelope.
Violet knew how to do her research. Five brochures fell out, each with a photo of the instructor and staff, and a note card with her list of pros and cons attached.
I scanned them. Put two back in the envelope just because the instructors looked too damn smug, and spent some time comparing the remaining three. Two male instructors, one female. All offered a variety of training, from weekend self-defense classes to lifelong fighting disciplines. Not having much to go on, I decided to just call all three and make appointments to meet them.
But before I could dial, the phone rang.
I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Allie?” The voice was young, a woman. I couldn’t quite place it.
“Yes?”
“This is Tomi.”
Davy’s ex-girlfriend, the cutter Hound. The one who had kicked the shit out of him. The one who was running with a rough crowd. The one who hated me.
“Hey, Tomi,” I said. “Are you okay?”
I think the question surprised her. I could hear her catch her breath, could hear the sound of traffic in the background as she paused.
“Tell Davy to leave me the hell alone or I’ll get a restraining order for him.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Yes. He won’t listen to me. It’s over. It’s so fucking over.”
I rubbed at my forehead. She sounded angry and sad and a little afraid. Hells, I hated breakups.
“He’s worried about you,” I said. “About who you’re with and that maybe you’re hurt. Tomi, if you are hurt, or if you’ve gotten in a bad situation, you know the Hounds are here to help you. I know some doctors, lawyers, who would help straighten things out for you if you needed it. I’d make sure they got paid, so you don’t have to worry about the money.”
She paused again, inhaled, held her breath. I could almost feel her thinking it over Finally: “Tell Davy to back off or they’ll kill him.”
And then she hung up.
I stood there with the dial tone buzzing in my ear while I tried to think this out. I could call Stotts, tell him Tomi was mixed up with someone who wanted to kill Davy. Of course, a lot of new boyfriends want to kill old boyfriends, so it might be an empty threat.
It hadn’t sounded like an empty threat. She sounded afraid.
But Tomi was a Hound, and Hounds did a lot of things to manage pain-drugs being one option. She might be high and hallucinating, for all I knew.
I hung up the phone. Stotts already knew I had scented her at the job yesterday. I assumed he was following up on that, so there was a good chance the MERC’s had their eyes on her.
Which meant what I should do was try to find Davy. I didn’t have his number or address.
Note to self: get phone numbers of Hounds.
But I could still make the meeting at 7:30 and see him there, or get his number from someone else.
Since my last attempt to walk the street had ended with me sporting a raft of new cuts and bruises, I called a cab, waited for it to drive up before I left my building, and took it down to Ankeny Square.
The driver dropped me off at a corner with a light. It was cold out but not yet raining. I put my head down and walked as quickly as I could, not looking right or left. Not looking at the buildings or the street. Not looking at the people who hustled through here, like winter ghosts waiting for this graveyard to come back to life in the spring, waiting for the courtyard to fill with booths and music, the smell of incense, handmade soap, and food from carts.
My heart was beating a little too quickly. Ankeny Square felt like death. Pike’s death.
I ducked into the building. Compared to the stark gray light outside, the light inside was burnished a warm yellow. Long mazes of halls and shops and doors that went nowhere pocketed light into corners, lost it in the rafters, and poured it against blank walls. The smell of grilled garlic, incense, and soap hit me so hard, I held my breath. The fragrances filling the building followed me all the way down the central stairs and into the barely finished basement.
Jack Quinn, thin and tough as leather, stood in the middle of the hallway, smoking.
“Morning,” I said.
He nodded. “Evening.” At my look, he added, “Night shift.”
I opened the door to the other unfinished hallway and practiced not freaking out in enclosed places while I strode past the spackled Sheetrock to the room at the end.
The door was open, and the room, which probably had been a Prohibition hidey-hole and gambling parlor in an earlier incarnation, stank of mold and old, wet building. There was one table-a sheet of wood propped on two sawhorses-in the middle of the room, and six folding chairs against the peeling, faded floral wallpaper and bare brick walls.
Hounds, about twenty of them, only six of whom I’d actually met, one of them being Davy, thank all that was holy, stood in the room. A mix of men and women, old and young, insane and even more insane, the Hounds all stood or sat in such a way as to not come into contact with their fellow human beings.
I scanned the faces of everyone gathered, letting the sudden silence at my entrance stretch out. I’d learned years ago that she who controlled the silence in a room, controlled the room.
So far, so good. Every eye was on me.
“Morning,” I said to everyone gathered. No one answered; they just stared.
Neat.
There was a chair at the table, the chair Pike used to sit in. I guess I was expected to go sit in that chair, but my feet would not move. The idea of taking his place, really taking his place, made me want to turn around and leave.
Pike was gone. And I could never replace him.
I stepped in and leaned against the wall on the left side of the doorway so Jack could walk in past me.
“So we need to go over a few things,” I began.
Davy flipped open a pad of paper on a clipboard and clicked his pen. What do you know? He really was going to be my secretary. I gave him an appreciative glance and tucked both my hands in my coat pockets, letting my body language say
relaxed
.
“Pike had a lot of hope for the Hounds. He was a smart man. He knew potential when he saw it.
“But I’m not Pike. I don’t know what he had planned for the Hounds, for us. So I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do.”
A few feet shuffled. But other than that, the only sound in the room was Davy’s pen moving across the paper.
Tough crowd.
“First, I’m moving our meeting place to somewhere that doesn’t stink.”
And doesn’t remind me of Pike’s death
, I thought.
“I know the guy who runs Get Mugged. There’s a warehouse right next to him that he’s thinking about buying. I’ll see if he’ll cut me a deal. I’ll set up a permanent meeting place with a couple couches available for Hounds who need to sleep.”