hair cut. She still looked like a gnome. But she was definitely human.
“Me again.”
“Where’s your girl?”
“Somewhere else.”
She nodded. “Good idea.”
“Is he here?”
“What? You think he’s hanging out at the mall?” She opened the door wide. “Come in.”
Lockman stepped into the apartment and found Marty seated on his couch watching the NBA playoffs. He wore a Pistons jersey, even though they weren’t playing. The tank exposed his green and muscled arms. He held a mug about the size of a paint bucket filled with dark beer. He was grunting as one of the players on screen streaked toward the basket and then dunked the ball.
“Aw, for the love of fuck” His voice rattled the framed Monet and Picasso prints on the walls.
“As couth as usual, Marty.”
The ogre turned around and smiled at Lockman. “Well shit me twice. Craig Lockman returns. You seriously need more gear?”
“I didn’t come here about gear.”
His smile drooped. He set his massive mug on the coffee table and stood to his full seven feet. “Eliza, you want to—”
“We need some groceries anyway. Do your thing.” She grabbed a set of keys and was out the door.
Lockman raised on eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“You never had a fight with a woman?”
He thought of Kate. Which made him wonder how she was doing. “I’ve had my share.”
“Well, if you ever get your ass married, they’re gonna seem like mild disagreements in comparison.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Marty flicked the television off with a remote. “You didn’t come here for marriage counseling. What’s the deal?”
“Teresa Stevenson.”
His face stayed straight. “Name sounds familiar.”
“Don’t fuck with me. You know exactly who she is. She’s got a trunk full of Marty.”
“I’m not the only gunrunner to the netherworld, you know.”
“Are you saying it’s not your stuff?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Lockman couldn’t blame the ogre for his reticence. Supernaturals didn’t last long on the mortal plane if they didn’t keep their business close to the chest. But Lockman didn’t have time to dance. “A group of vamps took her. I need you to be straight with me.”
His red eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean, ‘took her?’ Vamps don’t take. They eat.”
“This crew had training. They reminded me a lot of Dolan’s vampires.”
“Only Dolan is history.”
“You think someone could have taken over for his cause?”
“I haven’t heard anything like that. Guess it’s possible. But I don’t think he had any followers that loyal. Least not any that survived your soiree.”
Lockman shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to one of the Monet prints. “Starry Night.” It looked like a perfect night for vampires. “When did you see Teresa last?”
“I don’t know that I’ve seen her at all.”
Lockman spun around and charged the ogre, shoved him hard in the chest. The impact did little more than make a slapping sound and turn Marty’s green face a darker shade.
The ogre growled from the back of his throat. He reached for Lockman’s throat with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Stopped about six inches away. His jaw tightened. He shook as if someone had Tazed him, and didn’t stop until he dropped his arm.
“You’re a real prick, Lockman. Picking on a neutered ogre.”
“Chip’s still working then?”
“Makes it real hard to please my lady with the rough stuff.”
“I’m sure she appreciates that you can’t tear her arms out of their sockets.”
Marty’s face darkened another shade. “I’d never hurt her.”
“Not with the chip in your head.”
“Chip or not.”
“Whatever you say, buddy.” He smoothed out Marty’s jersey, patted him on the arm. “When did you see her last?”
“You can’t save her.”
The back of Lockman’s neck prickled. “Something you want to tell me, Marty?”
“Times are changing. Things aren’t like they used to
“Me again.”
“Where’s your girl?”
“Somewhere else.”
She nodded. “Good idea.”
“Is he here?”
“What? You think he’s hanging out at the mall?” She opened the door wide. “Come in.”
Lockman stepped into the apartment and found Marty seated on his couch watching the NBA playoffs. He wore a Pistons jersey, even though they weren’t playing. The tank exposed his green and muscled arms. He held a mug about the size of a paint bucket filled with dark beer. He was grunting as one of the players on screen streaked toward the basket and then dunked the ball.
“Aw, for the love of fuck” His voice rattled the framed Monet and Picasso prints on the walls.
“As couth as usual, Marty.”
The ogre turned around and smiled at Lockman. “Well shit me twice. Craig Lockman returns. You seriously need more gear?”
“I didn’t come here about gear.”
His smile drooped. He set his massive mug on the coffee table and stood to his full seven feet. “Eliza, you want to—”
“We need some groceries anyway. Do your thing.” She grabbed a set of keys and was out the door.
Lockman raised on eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“You never had a fight with a woman?”
He thought of Kate. Which made him wonder how she was doing. “I’ve had my share.”
“Well, if you ever get your ass married, they’re gonna seem like mild disagreements in comparison.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Marty flicked the television off with a remote. “You didn’t come here for marriage counseling. What’s the deal?”
“Teresa Stevenson.”
His face stayed straight. “Name sounds familiar.”
“Don’t fuck with me. You know exactly who she is. She’s got a trunk full of Marty.”
“I’m not the only gunrunner to the netherworld, you know.”
“Are you saying it’s not your stuff?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Lockman couldn’t blame the ogre for his reticence. Supernaturals didn’t last long on the mortal plane if they didn’t keep their business close to the chest. But Lockman didn’t have time to dance. “A group of vamps took her. I need you to be straight with me.”
His red eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean, ‘took her?’ Vamps don’t take. They eat.”
“This crew had training. They reminded me a lot of Dolan’s vampires.”
“Only Dolan is history.”
“You think someone could have taken over for his cause?”
“I haven’t heard anything like that. Guess it’s possible. But I don’t think he had any followers that loyal. Least not any that survived your soiree.”
Lockman shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to one of the Monet prints. “Starry Night.” It looked like a perfect night for vampires. “When did you see Teresa last?”
“I don’t know that I’ve seen her at all.”
Lockman spun around and charged the ogre, shoved him hard in the chest. The impact did little more than make a slapping sound and turn Marty’s green face a darker shade.
The ogre growled from the back of his throat. He reached for Lockman’s throat with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Stopped about six inches away. His jaw tightened. He shook as if someone had Tazed him, and didn’t stop until he dropped his arm.
“You’re a real prick, Lockman. Picking on a neutered ogre.”
“Chip’s still working then?”
“Makes it real hard to please my lady with the rough stuff.”
“I’m sure she appreciates that you can’t tear her arms out of their sockets.”
Marty’s face darkened another shade. “I’d never hurt her.”
“Not with the chip in your head.”
“Chip or not.”
“Whatever you say, buddy.” He smoothed out Marty’s jersey, patted him on the arm. “When did you see her last?”
“You can’t save her.”
The back of Lockman’s neck prickled. “Something you want to tell me, Marty?”
“Times are changing. Things aren’t like they used to
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