Read Online Grimm - The Icy Touch by John Shirley - Free Book Online
Authors: John Shirley
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handed the wallet to Hank.
“Here’s the ID,” Hank said. He looked at the driver’s license photo and then at the head on the pillow.
“Monroe—don’t come in here,” Hank called. “But is the guy’s name Lemuel Smith?”
“Yeah...” Monroe’s voice sounded half strangled. “Smitty.”
Nick sighed. “Okay, let’s send for forensics, the body bag boys, and...” His voice seemed to trail off of its own accord. The vic was Monroe’s old friend. This was gonna hit Monroe hard.
Hank nodded and they turned away, grateful to leave the charnel house bedroom, and went back into the living room.
Monroe was already out on the balcony, leaning on the iron railing.
Nick went out and stood beside him, looking down at the concrete courtyard. A child’s plastic tricycle, missing a wheel, lay on its side next to a rusty charcoal barbecue grill. Monroe was frowning down at the barbecue as if he was hoping to find an answer there.
“Sorry about your friend,” Nick said. “Wish we could’ve...”
“You couldn’t,” Monroe said, his voice husky. “Because I didn’t get on this fast enough.”
“Not your fault, Monroe.”
Monroe shook his head. “Theoretically—no, it isn’t. But still...”
Nick nodded. “I know how you feel.”
“You know—you’re not a Wesen. That’s something you don’t know—what it’s like for us.”
It began to rain again, the first drops freckling the concrete below them. The smell of concrete in rainwater rose to meet them. A few steps down the balcony, Hank was calling the crime scene in.
Monroe cleared his throat, and went on, “See, Nick... an ordinary human being gets scared, they can go to the nearest police department, or the FBI, and they can get help. But not a Wesen—not if the danger is from other Wesen. Or...” He smiled sadly. “Or from a Grimm. Nothing personal, there, bro. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“But—you know what I mean... We got no place to turn, really. I mean, there are Wesen organizations but they can’t do much. And when it’s something like this...”
“Yeah. We’ll find a way, Monroe. We can’t save everyone. But we’ll find a way to take these guys down.”
Monroe shook his head. “Hard to see how. I mean—I smelled cat in there. A big cat...”
“Yeah, maybe. Balam, I think. Jaguar people.”
“More than one. Maybe two of ’em. Least he didn’t get cooked alive like that Drang-zorn. Daemonfeuer hunting people down ”
“You heard about that?”
“Smitty told me. This Icy Touch, it’s leaving messages, man. Messages for Wesen. Newspapers will say drug-crazed killer, or something, when they report on Smitty’s murder. Chainsaws or whatever. But Wesen will know...”
“Looks that way. I figure the Drang-zorn death was another message. ‘If we come for you, you play along or you die ugly.’”
Monroe rubbed his eyes. “Man! Daemonfeuer and now Balam. What’s next, Spinnetod? How many kinds of Wesen are they bringing into this thing?”
“I was thinking about that too.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Ambulances. Patrol cars. The body bag guys.
“That many types of Wesen—kind of says that this thing is big. And they plan to make it bigger...”
* * *
“So this guy Smitty said there was a tunnel, here?” Hank asked. He sounded doubtful.
Nick and Hank were walking along the dock under the massive freighter. It was still drizzling but they were used to it, and hardly noticed. To their left was the sheer black steel cliff of the freighter’s hull. The ship was called La Conquete. Above the ship towered the white painted cargo cranes.
“Not using those cranes today,” Hank said. “But it’s morning. There oughta be work getting done. And there’s containers up there to offload.”
“I thought that too. There could be reasons. But... yeah.” Nick replied.
No sound came from the ship at all, except a faint creaking. They could hear their footsteps echoing on the dock.
They walked
“Here’s the ID,” Hank said. He looked at the driver’s license photo and then at the head on the pillow.
“Monroe—don’t come in here,” Hank called. “But is the guy’s name Lemuel Smith?”
“Yeah...” Monroe’s voice sounded half strangled. “Smitty.”
Nick sighed. “Okay, let’s send for forensics, the body bag boys, and...” His voice seemed to trail off of its own accord. The vic was Monroe’s old friend. This was gonna hit Monroe hard.
Hank nodded and they turned away, grateful to leave the charnel house bedroom, and went back into the living room.
Monroe was already out on the balcony, leaning on the iron railing.
Nick went out and stood beside him, looking down at the concrete courtyard. A child’s plastic tricycle, missing a wheel, lay on its side next to a rusty charcoal barbecue grill. Monroe was frowning down at the barbecue as if he was hoping to find an answer there.
“Sorry about your friend,” Nick said. “Wish we could’ve...”
“You couldn’t,” Monroe said, his voice husky. “Because I didn’t get on this fast enough.”
“Not your fault, Monroe.”
Monroe shook his head. “Theoretically—no, it isn’t. But still...”
Nick nodded. “I know how you feel.”
“You know—you’re not a Wesen. That’s something you don’t know—what it’s like for us.”
It began to rain again, the first drops freckling the concrete below them. The smell of concrete in rainwater rose to meet them. A few steps down the balcony, Hank was calling the crime scene in.
Monroe cleared his throat, and went on, “See, Nick... an ordinary human being gets scared, they can go to the nearest police department, or the FBI, and they can get help. But not a Wesen—not if the danger is from other Wesen. Or...” He smiled sadly. “Or from a Grimm. Nothing personal, there, bro. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“But—you know what I mean... We got no place to turn, really. I mean, there are Wesen organizations but they can’t do much. And when it’s something like this...”
“Yeah. We’ll find a way, Monroe. We can’t save everyone. But we’ll find a way to take these guys down.”
Monroe shook his head. “Hard to see how. I mean—I smelled cat in there. A big cat...”
“Yeah, maybe. Balam, I think. Jaguar people.”
“More than one. Maybe two of ’em. Least he didn’t get cooked alive like that Drang-zorn. Daemonfeuer hunting people down ”
“You heard about that?”
“Smitty told me. This Icy Touch, it’s leaving messages, man. Messages for Wesen. Newspapers will say drug-crazed killer, or something, when they report on Smitty’s murder. Chainsaws or whatever. But Wesen will know...”
“Looks that way. I figure the Drang-zorn death was another message. ‘If we come for you, you play along or you die ugly.’”
Monroe rubbed his eyes. “Man! Daemonfeuer and now Balam. What’s next, Spinnetod? How many kinds of Wesen are they bringing into this thing?”
“I was thinking about that too.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Ambulances. Patrol cars. The body bag guys.
“That many types of Wesen—kind of says that this thing is big. And they plan to make it bigger...”
* * *
“So this guy Smitty said there was a tunnel, here?” Hank asked. He sounded doubtful.
Nick and Hank were walking along the dock under the massive freighter. It was still drizzling but they were used to it, and hardly noticed. To their left was the sheer black steel cliff of the freighter’s hull. The ship was called La Conquete. Above the ship towered the white painted cargo cranes.
“Not using those cranes today,” Hank said. “But it’s morning. There oughta be work getting done. And there’s containers up there to offload.”
“I thought that too. There could be reasons. But... yeah.” Nick replied.
No sound came from the ship at all, except a faint creaking. They could hear their footsteps echoing on the dock.
They walked
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