Sal laughed and took a pull off the bottle. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you’re pissing your shorts over something, yeah,” Jack said. “If not me, then I’d really like to know what.”
Sal raised the revolver. “Get out.”
Jack shook his head. “You don’t want to do that, mate. Believe it or not, I’m your friend in all this.”
“Friends, right,” Sal mumbled. “Got no fuckin’ friends left. Friends are leverage, Jack, you know? Friends can bleed if the sons of bitches can’t bleed you.”
Sal kept mumbling, but he dropped his eyes down to the bottle, and when the revolver dipped Jack grabbed it and punched Sal just under his left eye. Not hard enough to break his hand, or Sal’s cheekbone, but enough to get his attention.
Sal grunted, chair rolling backward, and his bottle teetered and smashed on the floor. A brown puddle bled slowly into the cracks in the concrete floor. “Well, shit,” Sal said. “Now look what you did.”
“You want your skull to keep its shape, you’re going to tell me whatever your scummy little part is in all this,” Jack said. He cracked the chambers of the revolver and emptied the bullets out before dropping it on the desk.
Sal grunted, and fished in his drawers for a pill bottle. He popped the cap and dry-swallowed a handful of small white caplets. “Said I’m not scared of you. What can you do?”
“It’s either Mayhew, Belial, or Sanford doing it,” Jack said. “So which curtain, Sal? Who wants me kept track of, and why?” He leaned across the desk and grabbed the greasy front of Sal’s uniform, lifting him halfway out of his chair. “As for what I can do … do you really want to find that out firsthand?”
Sal drove his fist into Jack’s gut, and his air went out of him, along with his balance. He went down, bouncing his chin off the edge of Sal’s desk and bloodying himself all over again. Sal grabbed the revolver, thick bourbon-numbed fingers fumbling with the bullets, sending copper slugs rolling in all directions.
A decade ago, Jack could’ve gotten his wind back, smashed Sal’s kneecap with his boot, and gotten on with the hard questions. One less trip to Hell, and he could’ve swallowed down the blood coating his tongue and stood up to trade lumps. But it wasn’t, and he hadn’t, so he struggled up as far as one elbow, sucking in air that felt like razor blades embedded in his lungs, before Sal aimed the gun at him.
“Adios, you fucking Limey cocksucker,” Sal said.
The office door creaked, and Jack expected Pete, and tried to yell. He had a vision of the slug in her chest, the red blossom growing on her skin, the exit wound spraying crimson mist over the hallway behind her.
“Salvatore,” a voice said. A man, not Pete. “You know better than that.”
Jack let himself fall back to the floor. The concrete was cool, and a flourescent tube buzzed above his head, throwing spider-legged shadows into every corner.
Sal’s face was wan, the boozy colors fled and a rime of blue in their place. His eyes were wide and black with panic, and the gun hung limp in his fist before slipping to the floor. “No,” he said. “No, I did what you asked.”
“Shooting Winter in the face isn’t part of the deal, friend,” said the man.
“He’s working for that demon!” Sal shouted. “The one who’s got his teeth in your ass. I was doing you a favor.”
“Belial can nip at my heels all he wants,” the man purred. “But he’s never going to bite down. He’s a spineless maggot like the rest. You know what I do with maggots, Sally? I squash ’em.”
Sal raised his hands, backed behind the desk, and sat down. “Whatever you say.”
The man extended a hand to Jack but kept his eyes on the mechanic. “It is whatever I say, Sally. Don’t forget that again.”
Jack didn’t take up the man’s offer. He was pleasant enough looking, what old ladies would describe as a nice young man. His slightly flat features were familiar, too, but Jack didn’t bother playing twenty questions with himself on where he knew the face from. He got up, knee and then foot. His head was swimming and his guts still roiled.
“You’re a tough guy, huh?” said the man.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jack said. “But who the fuck are you?”
The man spread his arms. “You don’t remember? That’s hurtful. I’m the man with the plan, Jack.”
Jack lifted one eyebrow. “Lots of stupid cunts have plans.”
The man laughed, displaying perfect movie star teeth. “Fair enough. I’m Don.” He held out his hand again. A small star sapphire ring glittered on his pinky finger, like an eye protruding from his flesh.
Jack found a whisper of familiarity in the voice as well, but couldn’t place it. It bothered him, but not as much as the rest of the mess.
Don retracted his hand when Jack didn’t take it. “Careful sort, huh?” He grinned wider, face almost in rigor mortis. “Don’t blame you, seeing as I’m the one you’ve been looking for.”
CHAPTER 15
Jack took a step back. A human reaction, to get as far away as you fucking could from predators and the unnatural. A reaction that made him look like a coward, and when Don laughed, it just felt all the worse.
“Don’t worry, Jack. I’m not here to make a steak and kidney pie out of you and the little woman,” he said. “Depending on how our conversation goes, we could be great friends.”
“I seriously fucking doubt that,” Jack said. “What’s your game, Don?”
“Survival.” Don shrugged. “Same as you, Jack. Same as Belial. Lions and zebras both dislike hyenas. Little motherfuckers will eat you clean and laugh while they’re doing it.”
“And three guesses, but I’ll only need one, you’re the hyena?” Jack said. Don shook his head.
“No, Jack,” he said. “I’m the fuckin’ big bad wolf.” He pulled a nail file out of his jacket and cleaned under each finger with a short motion. “But enough about me. Let’s repair to someplace a little more hospitable.”
“No, I think I like it here,” Jack said. Don shook his head.
“I don’t want to gut your lady friend out there from crotch to collar, but that doesn’t mean I won’t,” he said.
“You seem to know so much about me,” Jack said. “Then you know that threatening Pete is a royally bad fucking idea.”
“But effective,” Don said. “You don’t have soft spots, Jack, except for her. She’s going to get you killed one of these days.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh wait, she already has. How was your little vacation in the Pit, Jack? Did the dry air do wonders for you?”
“If you’re going to try and kill me, do it,” Jack said. “Otherwise, shut the fuck up and let me go about my business.”
“We’re not done,” Don said. He opened the office door, but instead of leading Jack back down the hallway, he went to the auto bay. The door was up and a sleek black car rumbled, headlights cutting cones of yellow on the dingy walls of Sal’s garage.
“Take a ride with me,” Don said. “I promise after it’s over, you’ll see things my way.”
Jack pointed to the back door. “Let me just tell Pete I’m going.”
“No,” Don said. “Now, or you can clean her insides off your outsides.” The door of the Lincoln swung open, and Don gestured Jack into the back seat. The car was old, upholstered in slick hide that shifted like oil in the low light. “She’s a big girl,” Don said. “I’m sure she can find something to occupy her time until we’re finished.”
Jack tightened his jaw, but he got into the car. Don needed him alive for something, at least for now. If he really wanted Belial off his scent, he could’ve just sliced Jack, or let Sal shoot him. And Pete would be well and truly pissed off that he’d left, but she’d get over it. Or she wouldn’t, which would probably make his life easier in the long run. Pete hating him was probably how it should go.
“Good move,” Don said when Jack settled back against the seat.
“Fuck off,” Jack told him.
The Lincoln didn’t have a driver, but it backed out of Sal’s garage and purred smoothly to the freeway. Don opened the center console between the seats and drew out a thin black cigar. “Care for?” he said to Jack.
