Dead Mann Walking

why—I didn’t know her at all—but I stepped closer still and grabbed her shoulders.

“Okay, forget the ferals; forget my stupid theories. You think you’ll always be up here? You don’t think he’ll run out of variations and you’ll wake up in that basement sooner or later?”

She twisted away. “What have you got, some kind of noir audiobook hooked into your brainpan? Why am I even talking to you?”

I had no answer for that one, but I couldn’t leave. There was something about her that pushed all my buttons, even the ones I thought were broken. I was scared for her, and at the same time she was pissing me off.

I grabbed her arm and pulled. “Listen to me! I’ve got to get you out of here!”

I’d never had a fight like this with a chak. Even our arguments were tepid at best. This was so . . . so different.

She started screaming. I was so crazy, I actually tried to drag her out. But she was a dancer, strong legs, arms, and hips. She knocked me off easily, then reached for a lamp to bash my skull in.

I heard the Reservoir Dogs thundering down the hall. How’d they find me? Cameras? Of course—some of that emergency power would be tapped to keep tabs on Green’s favorite.

That was it, then. She was staying.

There was one window, so I went for it. Before I tried to open it, I turned back to look at her. “You win; I’m out of here. Just remember what I said. Keep your eyes open. Just do that, okay?”

She lowered the lamp and laid those real-green emerald eyes on me. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Hessius Mann. I’m a detective.”

It had never sounded more stupid. And, for a dead man, I’d never felt more alive.

24

I was better off when I was depressed. Hessius Mann, detective, didn’t last.

First, the window was stuck. By the time I’d opened it half an inch, the Reservoir Dogs were through the door. I was off my feet before I knew what was happening. The one with the slightly bigger jowl smashed my head into the floor. If the rug hadn’t been plush, I’m sure my skull would’ve cracked.

His twin wrapped some plastic cuffs around my wrists, tying me like a garbage sack. The skin tore. I’d have rips for Misty to patch—if I ever saw her again.

But as they yanked me toward the door, I gave Nell Parker a wink.

The muscles on her face moved like the feathers on a startled bird. I wondered if that meant I was getting to her. Once I was in the hall, though, she stepped up to close the door. As the line of light narrowed, before she vanished, I caught another expression on her face, like she was thinking. It was something, I guess. Better than nothing?

I don’t know. I was never one for whistling in the dark. I could never carry the tune.

I tried to keep pace with the dogs, but they kept speeding up. They’d pull me off my feet, half carry, half drag me. We headed back down the stairs I took to get up here, through the tiled hall, and into a kitchen big enough to service a hotel.

There, they plopped me right next to the recycling. Nice smell.

Except for flashlight beams skittering across the windows, it was dark inside, and quiet, except for muffled gunfire. The slightly smaller gunsel lit a ciggie. The other stared at me like I was the Loch Ness monster.

“Something on my cheek?”

“I don’t get you,” he said.

“That a question?”

The smoker took a drag and wagged a finger. “Green said to keep him here. Didn’t say to talk to him.”

“Didn’t say anything about smoking in the house, either.”

The smoker shrugged. “The detectors are hardwired. No one will ever smell it over the rest of the stink.” His pal kept glaring until the smoker raised his hands in surrender. “But I take your point. So talk to him.”

Mr. Curious turned back to me. “The runners I understand; they want out. Ferals everybody understands; they’re animals. You, we let in, you break out, and then instead of leaving, you sneak back in to talk to a dead stripper. You working for someone?”

“Nobody living,” I told him.

“Maybe he just likes her,” the smoker said with a puff.

“He’s a chak. They can’t like anyone.”

“You sure?”

He brought his face closer, genuinely puzzled. “That it? You planning to run off with her and start a new life in the suburbs? Get a nice morgue? Adopt two-point-five chak kids?”

“No, thanks. I’m more the beach-house-and-dead-dog type.”

As he pulled on the filter, the red tip of the cigarette lit the smoker’s face. “Hey, in his case, it really could be two-point-five kids.”

A burst of gunfire startled him, knocking the ash from the end. We all froze until it stopped; then I heard something else: car wheels on gravel. I thought maybe the cops were arriving, but there were no sirens, and the sound got quieter instead of louder. Someone was driving away, fast.

“Mr. Green’s guests leaving?” I asked.

They eyed each other in a way that said I was right.

“Did anyone even call the police?”

Again, they eyed each other. This was too easy.

“But you’ve got ferals out there.”

The closer dog kicked me. “Shut it. You’ll be moaning soon enough yourself.”

“I’m just asking. Hate to run into one with my hands tied, you know? Hate to run into a bunch of them with my hands free. I saw that cell before it was opened. There were maybe thirty in there. You boys know what you’re dealing with, right? Numbers that big, pack instinct kicks in. You can’t just pick them off. They start hunting.”

I was lying. It was an urban legend, but as far as I knew, a bunch of ferals have as little idea what they’re doing as one. But I wanted to see if they knew that.

The smoker eyed his jowly twin. “Nothing to worry about. It’s covered.”

I pretended he was talking to me. “Thanks. You wanted to know what I was doing up there, right? Seeing as how we’re all friends now, I’ll tell you. I was trying to warn Nell, same way I tried to warn Green. There’s a psycho out to nab her, maybe the same guy who knocked out your power. . . .”

I stopped in midsentence. They were looking at each other again, like it was all old news. “Wait a minute. Did Green know someone was after her before I got here?”

I fell into that one, but it fit. It would certainly explain all his clever observations about Turgeon’s motives if he’d already been thinking about it. Crap. I didn’t see that coming at all; then again, I didn’t expect what happened next, either.

The jowly dog cupped his ear. “Didn’t catch that. Changing her mind? Who told her she had one?”

So I had gotten to her, a little at least.

“Okay, we’ll put this one downstairs, then deal with her.”

“The basement?” I said. “Ah, come on, boys! Can’t you just lock me in a cabinet? I promise I’ll be good.”

“No.”

Getting ready to leave, the smoker looked around for a place to crush his coffin nail, only everything was clean white tile and polished metal. He looked at me for a second, like maybe he could get me to swallow the damn thing, but then he walked to the sink and opened the window behind it.

When he leaned forward to toss the cigarette, two gray hands, torn flesh dangling from the fingers, reached up and grabbed his arm. The feral had probably been crouching out there for an hour, an unseen thing. Sure could see him now, though.

As I said, once a chak grabs on to something, feral or not, we don’t ever have to let go. The feral’s fingers