Even armed, I wouldn’t want to walk in that neighborhood alone. A succubus emerged from the shadows and immediately put the make on Novak. He recognized her for what she was and pushed her away. She was only one of the sex demons working the street, but none of the rest bothered us. A rat the size of a beagle sneered at us but didn’t bother to stop munching on whatever garbage it was dining on.
The massage parlor was located between a bar and a liquor store. I had been in the bar once, and I swore I wouldn’t go back without a hazmat suit. The liquor store didn’t sell many brands I would drink on a bad day. Then there was Fredo’s place, which lowered the overall neighborhood property values.
Larson directed his men to cover the exits, then he, Novak, and I approached the front door.
I rang the bell and waited for the little window in the door to slide open. When it did, I placed the muzzle of my pistol between the eyes of the man who looked out and held up my badge with my other hand.
“Police. Don’t say a word, just open the door.”
There was a click, and I kicked the door open, hitting the man inside and knocking him off balance. I walked by him toward the interior of the building, tossing the search warrant at him on my way past.
Larson and his men followed me, a couple peeling off toward the side and back doors to open them for their buddies waiting outside.
The building was larger than it appeared from the outside and had a full basement. The uniforms trundled the two bouncers and the woman at the front desk out to wait at the curb. In most of the rooms on the ground floor, we found one ‘masseuse’ or ‘masseur’ with one customer. Most of them were stretching the definition of massage past the breaking point, but that wasn’t what I was concerned about. There were also a few rooms with a man or a woman alone, waiting for business.
Fredo came pounding down a set of rickety stairs from his office with a pistol in his hand. At least six-and-a-half feet tall, and a sloppy three hundred-fifty pounds, Fredo wasn’t human, but I’d never figured out what he was. A wild fringe of gray-green hair surrounded a bald head, and he always seemed to have a patchy, unattractive three-day beard. His skin was pale gray, not a human color at all. I had wondered, more than once, if he got into the skin trade because his natural charms couldn’t attract a woman.
“Drop the weapon, Fredo!”
He stopped, the gun half-raised. “James,” he sneered.
“Your favorite defender of life and property, lovely and alluring as always. Drop it!”
The pistol clattered down the last three steps, and I bent over to pick it up, my Raider never wavering from its target on his chest.
“Where’s your warrant?” he growled.
“I gave it to your doorman. Sergeant Larson? Please escort our host out to the foyer so he can read it.” I gave Fredo a friendly smile. “You can read, can’t you? If not, we’ll find someone down at the station to translate it into one-syllable words for you.”
Larson was a large man, but Fredo dwarfed him. Two of the uniformed cops took Fredo out at gunpoint.
“We’ll leave the upstairs for last,” I told Novak and Larson. “Station one of your men here in case Fredo has any friends upstairs who decide to leave.”
Downstairs turned out to be where the real action was. The bouncer at the foot of the stairs was a minor demon. Nothing illegal in itself, but it raised the question of how Fredo was paying him. Demons didn’t use money in their own dimension and usually couldn’t buy their preferred foods with it in ours.
“Freeze!”
Of course, the demon didn’t obey me because it saw me as prey rather than a threat. So much for surprising anyone in the basement. I fired three times, the Raider deafening in the enclosed space.
“You’re going to be buried in paperwork,” Larson commented as he brushed past me, his assault rifle at the ready. “He wasn’t even armed.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” The demon had two-inch claws on its hands and feet, and two-inch teeth.
Larson kicked in the first door he came to. “James? Something for you.” He backed out of the room but kept his rifle pointed at something inside.
I peeked around the corner. The girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, sat upright and still in a chair, her eyes open and staring straight ahead without a trace of awareness. She truly was beautiful, with wavy red hair spilling over her shoulders and breasts.
The man looked fairly normal, although his features were exotically handsome enough to attract attention from women in a meat market bar. He had his hands on the girl’s head, fingers entwined in her hair. His eyes were closed, and the expression on his face was rapturous. He didn’t seem to be aware of our presence.
I approached him cautiously, and when I came within reach, I grabbed his arm and pulled his hand away from her head. His eyes shot open, and his expression changed to rage in an instant. Before he could react, I punched him in the face.
The guy stumbled backward into the wall, and Larson joined me. We held the man down until we got him cuffed—wrists and ankles.
I motioned Novak over. “Take her upstairs to Dr. Harrison. Tell her that she’s been attacked by a psychic vampire.” Revulsion showed in Novak’s face. “Be gentle with her.” He nodded.
Larson turned to a couple of his men. “Arrest him. Don’t bother being gentle, but watch out. He’s strong as an ox.”
The next room we entered was occupied by another demon, who waited until we kicked the door in, then bolted
