Read Online Death Blows: The Bloodhound Files-2 by DD Barant - Free Book Online
Authors: DD Barant
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy - Contemporary, Contemporary, Mystery & Detective, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Vampires, Science Fiction And Fantasy, Mystery & Detective - General, Romance - Fantasy, Criminal profilers, Comic Books; Strips; Etc., Fantasy Paranormal, English Canadian Novel And Short Story
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I’m asking is for you to tell me a little more than you told everybody else.”
She considers this. “Let’s say I did. How’s my situation gonna improve as opposed to staying the same or gettin’ worse?”
“Don’t know that it is. But I’m giving you a chance at revenge; after fifty years in here, I’m betting that’ll taste a whole lot sweeter than just about anything else I could offer.” I smile at her for the first time. “Besides—this might be the only chance you get. If one of the Bravos has gone bad, he or she might decide to pay you a little visit, clean up some loose ends.”
Her grin fades to a grimace. “Yeah, that’s what I figured you’d say. Still, can’t blame me for trying . . . so. Transe bit the dust and you think one of the others did him in.” She stares at me flatly for a second, then smiles. “Got to be one of the lems. They always was kind of uppity—Transe, he was kind of a snob, didn’t much care for working with them in the first place. Brother Stone put up with it—the whole ‘turn the other cheek’ thing—but it bothered him more than he’d let on. And the Kid? He’s always had a temper. What I heard, he and Transe got into it more than once.”
“Yeah? And how exactly did you hear all this, when you were working for the other side?”
Her smile turns cold. “Oh, you hear all kinds of things when they’re sticking you full of tubes in the back of an ambulance and already figure you’re a goner.”
I know there’s more to it than that, but calling her a liar isn’t going to get me any more information.
“Okay. So both Brother Stone and the Quicksilver Kid didn’t get along with Transe. Any idea where either of them is?”
“I heard a rumor the Quicksilver Kid was working as a bounty hunter, tracking down bail jumpers in the Midwest. Figured it had to be him, ’cause he’s still throwing knives instead of those little silver balls enforcement lems like so much these days.”
Not much of a lead, but considering how much Edison no doubt hates the Kid, it’s probably genuine.
“Anything else?”
“One thing. Think I can get another smoke before you go?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I take out another cigarette. Lighting the first one left my mouth tasting like an ashtray, so I reach out with the cigarette in one hand and pick up the lighter with the other—
Never seen a thrope transform that fast.
Thinking back on it later, I realize it was only her mouth that changed, her skull lengthening into a fanged muzzle so quickly it’s like a switchblade popping open. Her jaws snap shut no more than an inch from my fingers, clipping the cigarette in half as neatly as a pair of scissors.
She changes back just as fast, managing to hold on to the shortened cigarette with her lips. She grins at me lazily. “Prefer ’em without the filter, anyways . . .”
I stare at her, trying to get my breathing under control. I forget sometimes I’m no more than one bite away from losing my humanity forever—not that she knows that. She’d probably just find it funny that I’d have to grow a few new fingers—
“Almost lost your endangered status, didn’t you?” she says. “Pretty quick for a human. Too bad—
nothing I like better than a few ladyfingers for a snack.”
“How’d you know?”
“That gunk you’re wearing might fool Joe Thrope on the street, but you’re still pumping out all kinds of human stinks underneath. Living in a cage, you get kind of sensitive to anything new—and I haven’t smelled a genuine OR in a long, long time.” OR stands for “Original Recipe”—it’s what thropes and pires call us “unenhanced” humans when they’re being insulting.
I stand up and pocket the lighter. “Thanks for your help. Good luck getting that lit.”
She smiles and inhales deeply through her nose. “Oh, I wouldn’t want it lit now. Burning tobacco I can smell anytime—but it’s been a few decades since I last had a hit
She considers this. “Let’s say I did. How’s my situation gonna improve as opposed to staying the same or gettin’ worse?”
“Don’t know that it is. But I’m giving you a chance at revenge; after fifty years in here, I’m betting that’ll taste a whole lot sweeter than just about anything else I could offer.” I smile at her for the first time. “Besides—this might be the only chance you get. If one of the Bravos has gone bad, he or she might decide to pay you a little visit, clean up some loose ends.”
Her grin fades to a grimace. “Yeah, that’s what I figured you’d say. Still, can’t blame me for trying . . . so. Transe bit the dust and you think one of the others did him in.” She stares at me flatly for a second, then smiles. “Got to be one of the lems. They always was kind of uppity—Transe, he was kind of a snob, didn’t much care for working with them in the first place. Brother Stone put up with it—the whole ‘turn the other cheek’ thing—but it bothered him more than he’d let on. And the Kid? He’s always had a temper. What I heard, he and Transe got into it more than once.”
“Yeah? And how exactly did you hear all this, when you were working for the other side?”
Her smile turns cold. “Oh, you hear all kinds of things when they’re sticking you full of tubes in the back of an ambulance and already figure you’re a goner.”
I know there’s more to it than that, but calling her a liar isn’t going to get me any more information.
“Okay. So both Brother Stone and the Quicksilver Kid didn’t get along with Transe. Any idea where either of them is?”
“I heard a rumor the Quicksilver Kid was working as a bounty hunter, tracking down bail jumpers in the Midwest. Figured it had to be him, ’cause he’s still throwing knives instead of those little silver balls enforcement lems like so much these days.”
Not much of a lead, but considering how much Edison no doubt hates the Kid, it’s probably genuine.
“Anything else?”
“One thing. Think I can get another smoke before you go?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I take out another cigarette. Lighting the first one left my mouth tasting like an ashtray, so I reach out with the cigarette in one hand and pick up the lighter with the other—
Never seen a thrope transform that fast.
Thinking back on it later, I realize it was only her mouth that changed, her skull lengthening into a fanged muzzle so quickly it’s like a switchblade popping open. Her jaws snap shut no more than an inch from my fingers, clipping the cigarette in half as neatly as a pair of scissors.
She changes back just as fast, managing to hold on to the shortened cigarette with her lips. She grins at me lazily. “Prefer ’em without the filter, anyways . . .”
I stare at her, trying to get my breathing under control. I forget sometimes I’m no more than one bite away from losing my humanity forever—not that she knows that. She’d probably just find it funny that I’d have to grow a few new fingers—
“Almost lost your endangered status, didn’t you?” she says. “Pretty quick for a human. Too bad—
nothing I like better than a few ladyfingers for a snack.”
“How’d you know?”
“That gunk you’re wearing might fool Joe Thrope on the street, but you’re still pumping out all kinds of human stinks underneath. Living in a cage, you get kind of sensitive to anything new—and I haven’t smelled a genuine OR in a long, long time.” OR stands for “Original Recipe”—it’s what thropes and pires call us “unenhanced” humans when they’re being insulting.
I stand up and pocket the lighter. “Thanks for your help. Good luck getting that lit.”
She smiles and inhales deeply through her nose. “Oh, I wouldn’t want it lit now. Burning tobacco I can smell anytime—but it’s been a few decades since I last had a hit
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