“Kwon, please call me Lauren, okay.”
“Okay.” He turned to Curran. “What’s shakin’ muchacho?”
“We’re going to strike a blow for good, how does that sound to you?”
“I love a good blow,” said Kwon. He caught himself and slapped his forehead. “Oh, jeez, Lauren I’m sorry. I got a mouth like a sewer rat. Sometimes things just slip out.”
She laughed. “It’s okay, Kwon. I’m used to it. Besides, your joke was pretty funny.”
Kwon leaned back against the seat. “So, what’s the gig?”
“We’re paying Darius a visit.”
“Uh…and do what, exactly?”
“Stop him, of course.”
Kwon nodded. “Right.” He leaned a little closer to Curran’s headrest. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know if you noticed this or not but I’m more of a lover than a fighter. Dig? I don’t do much talking with my hands.”
“You’re more for show, okay?”
“Okay.” Kwon looked out the window. “So, what happens when we get there?”
“There’s something there we need to destroy.”
“You mean aside from the demon himself?”
“Uh huh.”
“What kind of something we looking for?”
“Some strange earthen jar that apparently contains the horrid putrid vomit of everyone he’s killed over the years.”
Kwon stayed quiet for a minute. “You freaking with me, Steve?”
“Not a chance, old buddy.”
“Five-year old vomit?”
“Some of it might be a lot older.” He shrugged. “Some of it might be aged like a fine wine. Say a hundred years?”
Lauren leaned back over the seat. “What we think is the vomit — what looks and smells like vomit — well, we think it may actually be the souls of the people this man has killed.”
“Their souls?”
Lauren nodded. “I know it sounds a bit strange.”
“Just a bit,” said Kwon. “But then again, I’m more of a believer than I suppose I oughta be. I’ll go along with whatever you guys say happened.”
“Thanks, Kwon,” said Curran.
“One question,” said Kwon. “If it’s their souls, how did it get to be vomit?”
Lauren looked back at Kwon again. “This man, this killer, he ingested their evil and then excreted it into the jar.”
“But it’s still vomit,” said Kwon.
“Looks that way,” said Curran.
“Man,” said Kwon. “I shoulda brought some gel for my nostrils.”
“Look at it this way,” said Curran. “At least you know ahead of time what the jar contains. I just opened it up and got the shock of my life.”
Kwon’s eyebrows danced. “You opened it?”
“Yeah.”
Kwon chuckled. “Cripes, did you lose your lunch or what?”
“Outside,” said Curran. “In the gutter.”
“And we’re destroying this jar?”
“Yep.”
“So what happens to the junk inside?”
“It goes down the drain,” said Curran. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“Gonna be smelly no matter what we do with it,” said Kwon. “Guess the local sewer will have to suffice.”
Curran found his way to the new westbound entrance to the Massachusetts Turnpike and headed for the Newton exit. They could double back toward Chestnut Hill from there.
Kwon nursed the bottle of water in the back, occasionally whistling to himself. In the front seat Lauren stared out the window of the car as they drove.
Curran kept both hands on the wheel and sighed. His life had gone from strange to worse in only a matter of days. He’d broken the law today for the first time in his life. He was in love with a woman who was about to become a nun. His closest friend was a bizarre medical examiner who acted more like a gigolo than anything else.
And they were all on their way to confront the servant of Satan.
Curran grinned.
Whoever said his life would be ordinary, didn’t know jack crap.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the time they got into Chestnut Hill, dark rain clouds had invaded the night sky. The sodium streetlights overhead cast lengthy shadows across the blackened streets. Curran drove slowly, brought the car down Darius' street and promptly stopped.
“What the hell is this?”
Two police cruisers sat outside of Darius’ house, one marked, the other an unmarked Ford. Two uniforms leaned against the hood of one of them.
Curran frowned. “You two stay here.”
He got out of the car and walked over the two officers. One of them looked at him funny. “Hey, Steve Curran?”
Curran nodded. “I know you?”
The uniform nodded. “You worked a homicide case that happened over by the Cleveland Circle Reservoir a few years back. Name’s Wilkins.”
Curran shook his hand. “That’s right. Sorry, got a hellish time with names.”
“No sweat.” He glanced at Curran’s car. “You got business here?”
“Buddy of mine is thinking about moving to the neighborhood. We’ve been cruising, you know, scouting some locations in case something opens up.”
Wilkins nodded. “Pretty nice area overall. House prices are killer, though. Your buddy got some kinda good job or what?”
“Overtime like no one’s business,” said Curran. He nodded at the two cop cars. “What’s the story with the presence?”
The other cop introduced himself and yawned. “Guy inside claims his place was broken into today.”
“Yeah?”
Wilkins nodded. “Yep. Guys from burglary are in there taking a statement from him right now.”
“They sent over two cruisers?”
The second cop frowned. “Guy bitched and moaned so they sent us over to calm him down. As it is, we’re going to be posted outside for the next day or so, just to ease the guy’s mind some.”
“Not the kind of thing we do for most burglary cases,” said Curran.
“Neither do we,” said Wilkins. “Apparently this dude gave heavy dough to the mayor’s last campaign. He called and yanked hard on some strings. Chief got the call and here we are.”
“What was taken?”
“Not a damned thing, near as we could see,” said the first cop.
“So, in other words,” said Curran, “this guy is dicking you over.”
“Looks that way.” The cop shrugged. “But overtime’s overtime. And I got a new boat I need to pay off, so
