may not be true, but they would make any cop or reporter’s career, and you can bet they’ll investigate. You might work around the heat, but it’ll slow you down, make life difficult. I’m betting time is of the essence.”
Colby waited for a response. They were playing for high stakes. It warranted some reaction from the other player. Colby was now running on fumes. He needed to see that worried look again on Dorn’s face to fuel his rebellion.
Dorn smiled at the dogs as he groomed them with his hands.
“Whenever one faction doesn’t want to see a group gain power,” the detective continued, “there’s always another that does. My guess is you’re in a race against people who’d be happy to see your cousin inherit his empire.”
Dorn continued stroking the Doberman’s head. “Look at you, Colby. One drawback to being heartless is the accompanying numbness, which always brings about a loss of fear. People forget to be afraid once you remove pain and emotion from their lives. Take Sweeny for example… at home, people have been flayed alive for talking to me that way. That toothless miscreant lacks fear. There isn’t enough pain in his life. But…”
Dorn’s attention wandered for a moment. When it returned, he surveyed the town around him. “I started this search for the prince cautiously, opting for a surgical approach in a world I barely understood,” Dorn said. “A strange land of magical drought that I never knew existed. I’ve since found my footing, Colby-we’re locating streams of magical energy here and there, buried deep. Enough to empower more ambitious sorceries. I’m reluctant because this place might yet have some uses for me and my ilk back in Aandor, but at some point, very soon, I will abandon my ‘surgical’ approach. And that will not bode well for the innocents of this world.”
Dorn’s words were too subtle for his tone. Colby thought of his son, Torrence, and the few others he still loved. It filled him with dread, just when he thought he’d exhausted his reservoir of that emotion. “You’ll never find this kid without me, Dorn. I’m that good,” Colby said, trying to reclaim his leverage.
Krebe approached silently with a large duffel bag from the taxi’s trunk. He unzipped it, revealing dozens of thumping velvet sacks writhing about like a colony of rats. Dorn reached into the bag and pulled out a familiar velvet sack. Krebe and the bag went back to the cab. Dorn twirled the velvet sack around playfully on its drawstring before Colby.
“Is that mine?” Colby asked. He didn’t expect Dorn to have his heart on him.
“I don’t know. Is it?” Dorn pulled the heart out of the bag and scrutinized it as he turned it around. The dogs began to salivate at the scent of fresh meat. “Hmmm. Your left and right ventricles were quite clotted. Only a few years left from what Symian discerned. The color in this one looks healthy. But then, they all look the same from the outside. You know, Colby… we don’t have to replace your heart to restore your life.”
Colby suspected a con. “I don’t follow.”
“Any heart will do, as long as the blood type matches. There are a few spry but not so bright young men in my employ. Take my friend, Salim, in the cab. Doesn’t smoke, never drinks alcohol, and prays to God five times a day. Never underestimate the aerobic advantages of prayer, Colby. Think about it. What use would millions of dollars be if you could only enjoy it for the short while your heart has left.”
“Millions?”
“Millions. My people live by the gold standard. Krakens, Gryphons… Phoenixes,” he said shaking the photocopy of the coins. “It doesn’t matter who adorns the coin, it’s ninety-one percent pure gold. We don’t care about green paper or dead presidents. My coffers here in the United States can be yours after I leave.”
The word “millions” echoed through Colby’s head like a scream escaping a canyon. With that kind of wealth, he could hire a dream team of lawyers; probably buy himself a pardon if he “donated” to the right political candidates. And, Tory would be set for life. Twenty-four-hour medical care with private nurses and the best doctors on earth. That much money bought life. Colby glimpsed at the driver in the taxi-the poster child for despondency.
“What about Salim?” he asked.
“He’ll be grateful. His deity has promised him seventy-two virgins feeding him sweetmeats in a garden after he moves on. Everyone’s happy.”
Colby had known his days were numbered even before the forced coronary extraction. He could feel it in his wheezing breath after a four-story walk-up. Now, Dorn was offering seven figures with a few extra decades of debauchery added in-or redemption. It was the kind of offer that made for great German literature. Some slacker punk would get his decrepit ticker or buy the farm. This was the real thing-wealth and long life. He could find this kid, he knew that. But the offer didn’t change the issue.
“It’s a good deal. But it doesn’t address why I brought you here. I’m not even sure you can reverse what you did to me and Carla. I want it now, before I find the kid. Otherwise, you can go to hell.”
“You wouldn’t be as motivated. Trust me, Colby, your heart is far more into completing the job sitting in my pocket.”
“Goddamn it, Dorn… I’ve conned enough to know a con when I hear one! You don’t give a rat’s ass about anybody that works for you. Everyone’s a mark to achieving your ends. You’ll shaft me just for shits and giggles. Now is that my fucking heart or not?”
“Let’s find out,” Dorn said. He dropped the organ between the Dobermans.
“NO!” Colby cried.
The dogs tore at it. Colby clutched his chest in anticipation. Instead, he heard a tortured yowl. It came from the church.
“It would appear not,” Dorn said.
Colby ran to the church and burst through the doors. Carla lay before the altar convulsing, screaming. A minister tried to help her as black blood shot from every orifice in her body. She was a perforated bag of soy sauce.
“I think she’s having a seizure,” the minister shrieked. “Please, call a doctor!”
No doctor could help her now. Colby sat on the end of a pew clutching his own chest as the aisle became a river. He wanted to cry, but was dry as a bone. Dead men didn’t have tears. He ignored the minister shouting to call 911. Colby felt nauseated, but didn’t even have enough life left in him to puke.
Carla’s torso heaved and she gasped for breath. Her breathing slowed. Then, she just stopped.
The door creaked. Dorn stood at the entrance. He cut a dark silhouette against the winter sky. “A shame,” he said.
“Is that what’s in store for me, Dorn? For the cabdriver, for every other wretch unlucky enough to have entered your sphere?”
“I don’t believe in fortune.” Dorn held up four manila envelopes. Even from a distance Colby recognized them as his “insurance” letters. They burst into flames in Dorn’s hands. He dropped them on the floor and watched them burn. The minister ran for the fire extinguisher, threatening to call the police.
“By the way… everyone these letters were addressed to will be dead within the hour. Don’t ever try to blackmail me again. There are worse things than what she went through,” he said, pointing to Carla. “I’m sure you’ll take my word on that.”
The cab pulled up in front of the church. Dorn turned to leave.
“Are you the devil?” Colby shouted.
Dorn considered the question. “I’m not as forgiving,” he finally said. “Find the boy.”
CHAPTER 8
Lelani and Seth placed the unconscious detective back in the police cruiser’s passenger seat. They fastened the seat belt around him to hold him in place and shut the door. Seth turned off the car’s headlights and put the driver’s hand on the steering wheel. It was about 2:00 A.M. Lelani was grateful for the cold drizzle that kept everyone indoors at this hour.
“They’ll both be okay,” Lelani said. “I tended their wounds and gave them some sleep dust to keep them out a while longer.”
