freaks I did on my own, and I want the credit for it. If you want to blame anyone for spilling the beans about any overly weird shit going on, blame the little pricks who tried to scare away some of my bondsmen by draining one of them close to death.”
“Where did this happen?”
“In Helena about six months ago.”
She didn’t say as much, but Paige recognized that sort of reckless behavior from Rocky Mountain Nymar. There was a theory floating around that the high altitude or thinner air made them skittish and hungrier than normal. Skittish, hungry Nymar were not pleasant to be around and they didn’t care about making messes.
“I’ve got some major interests throughout Montana all the way down to Colorado,” Stanley continued, “and I can’t let them go just because some punks with long teeth spit on my men. Word of that gets around and I might as well invite all my clients to become fugitives.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“The only time I ever saw these tattooed jackasses get nervous was when they crossed paths with Walter. I kept an eye on him and it turned out he was meeting up with you and some old guy.”
That would have been Gerald Keeley. Almost everything Paige knew about cracking skulls and killing monsters had been taught to her by Rico. Anything on the subtler end of the spectrum, such as tracking or using her head as something other than a battering ram, she’d picked up from Gerald. Thanks to a surprise attack from a Full Blood, Gerald and a promising kid named Brad were both dead. On a brighter note, Gerald’s last act had been to send Cole her way.
The way Stanley’s voice strained, Paige had an easy time picturing him leaning back and swinging his feet up onto a desk as he said, “I figure the next time you’re in the area, maybe you can talk some sense into these pricks.”
“We’re not enforcers,” Paige fibbed.
“Would it make a difference if I told you some of my guys found these assholes feeding in public?”
Even though Skinners didn’t hunt down and destroy every vampire out there, they drew the line at public feedings. Every Nymar should have known that, but not every guy who worked at a bail bonds office would be privy to that information. The sigh Paige let out slowly shifted into something close to a growl.
“All right,” Stanley admitted. “Maybe Walter told me a little more about you Skinners than what I originally said. But that was only after I found out a good chunk on my own.”
“We’re still not hired muscle.”
“I wouldn’t imagine putting you in that category! All I’m saying is that you folks must be in need of some legitimate income. Now that I know what to look for, I’ve realized several of my clients may be strange for reasons other than the normal ones. In fact, a whole crew that’s wanted for vice-related shit is marked up with those same tats. They’re harder than hell for my guys to track, and if I could get some specialized assistance in that regard, I’d be more than happy to pay my normal bounty hunter fee.”
Paige let her finger drift along the edge of her phone, lingering close to the button that would put an end to the whole conversation. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that Nymar did tend to be attracted to the seedier side of life. Some were upstanding citizens who dealt with their problem. Others were kinky, but law-aiding. Then there were the ones who wore their infection with pride. They not only wallowed in certain perversions that hooked up biters with bitees, but created new ones with a considerably less happy ending.
Being in a business where he got hung up on a lot, Stanley no doubt could feel it coming and quickly interjected, “I’ll raise my fee for this case. After all, specialists shouldn’t get paid the same as the rank and file, right?”
“Get Cole and Rico out of that jail cell and we’ll talk.”
“How about I go one better? I’m only a two hour drive away. I could go down there and spring them personally in exchange for a guaranteed business meeting within the next week.”
“Done.”
Paige swore she could hear Stanley smiling through the phone.
“You won’t regret this,” he said.
“I’d better not,” she told him. “Otherwise, the Nymar may get a few phone calls telling them just how much you want to see them gone. And when they come a’knocking, you’ll be on your own to answer the door.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Paige. Seems like we think along the same lines. You have a nice voice too. Why don’t we take our meeting over a nice din—”
She cut him short by finally allowing her finger to hit the magic button. Too bad every interaction wasn’t as easy to end.
Chapter 13
Daniels was engrossed in his work, but he stuck his head out of his room long enough to deliver some good news. Whatever feelers he’d put out to the local Nymar came up with a vague location of where they could be found. Paige cleaned up, threw on some fresh clothes, and headed out as quickly as she could. Even so, she wasn’t fast enough to get past Ned. The old man insisted on coming along and wouldn’t be talked out of it. He settled into the passenger seat of Daniels’s SUV with a cracked leather briefcase between his feet and started fiddling with the radio dials.
Their first stop was a fast food place to pick up a sack full of breakfast sandwiches. She handed one over to Ned and unwrapped the other to set it upon her knee. A cup of coffee fit nicely along with a deep-fried hash brown oval on top of her right arm like a baby cradled within her sling. Her right hand was aching and stiff, but it made a fine cup holder. She drove onto Highway 40 and headed for the Poplar Street Bridge.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” he asked.
“East St. Louis. Daniels says the local Nymar are holed up near a community college.” She looked over at him whenever she could, but didn’t see much more than the highway reflected in his sunglasses.
Finally he grumbled, “What’s the matter? Am I cramping your style?”
“No. I was just wondering if you intended on letting me know where you went last night.”
“I was out looking for more Mongrels.”
“You can—”
“Yes,” Ned snapped. “Even though most of you all think I’m just some blind man who can’t do anything more than sit in an empty city and answer phone calls, I can still do my job.”
“So…does that mean your eyesight’s getting better?”
“One eye’s doing pretty good. I can only make out a few blobs or lights in the other.”
Paige drove through downtown. The Gateway Arch made for some nice scenery, but she was in no mood to enjoy it.
Ned removed the glasses and rubbed the reddened, wrinkled skin around eyes that were so cloudy they appeared to be made from solid balls of rusted iron. “I’m disappointed in you, Paige.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you haven’t done any training since you got here.”
She chuckled and reached down to the radio to switch to an alternative rock station. “I do more than enough training to whip your ass, old man.”
“Maybe you should pick up another fighting style. I’ve been telling you that for years, though, and you never listen. Are you still using those sickles?”
“They’re more than just sickles,” she grumbled.
“And what happens if you lose that arm?”
Paige snapped her head around quickly enough to swat her ponytail against the side of her face. Turning to flip her hair into place again, she said, “I’m not going to lose my arm.”
“You think I assumed I’d lose my eyesight when I tested out my little innovation? When it happened, I was just as stubborn as you. The first time a Nymar crept back onto Lindbergh Avenue, the damn thing nearly had me for supper. And it was just some smartass little bastard who thought the coast was clear.”
“You handled him, right?”
