Read Online Strange Magic: A Yancy Lazarus Novel by James Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hunter
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, dark fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, Metaphysical & Visionary, mage, warlock, paranormal and urban fantasy, s Adventure Fiction, Fantasy Action and Adventure, Thrillers and Suspense Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Mystery Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Men&apos
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taking this shit serious before I decide to add a layer of red paint to the walls.” He pulled out a compact Ruger 9mm and set it nonchalantly on the table, safety off, barrel pointed in my direction. Guy was way too comfortable with a weapon.
“Listen,” I said, letting a hard edge into my voice, “I didn’t perform those hits—I don’t care who your source is, they’re wrong.”
He took another swig of his scotch, fingers beating out some unheard rhythm upon the tabletop. “I find that hard to swallow,” he said. “I got an insider on the force—”
Of course he did, and I had a damn good guess who that insider was. “Wait, let me take a stab here,” I interrupted, “is it Detective Alan Harley with CGHD?” That gave him pause, though not much. Damn good poker face.
“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “He’s informed for us before. Was working the case and came to me a couple of days ago—said this whole thing was a supernatural hit. Said he’d seen shit like this before. Gave me his word that there was reliable evidence implicating you—nothing to go to court with. Not with something like this—not that I’m the kind of guy who takes things to court anyways.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said. “What evidence did he give you? What overwhelming proof? Wait, wait, let me guess, nothing . Probably fed you some line about shadowy ‘supernatural’ sources, right?”
Morse sat motionless, the whirling buzz of on an overhead fan the only sound in the otherwise deathly quiet room.
“What else did he tell you?” I asked. “Did he give you Yraeta’s name too? Did he say Yraeta was the one pulling all the string?”
“Son of a bitch.” His tone was flat, mirthless, thoughtful. He pressed his lips together making a thin cut in his bearded face.
“Who put you in touch with the Rakshasa?” I prodded.
“The fucks’ a Rakshasa?” he asked.
“The thing you hired to murder me in New Mexico—the crazy, hyena-faced baddy who pumped my hotel room full of machine gun rounds.”
“I didn’t hire anything to kill you. I don’t contract out—not on something like this. I’m gonna be the one to put a bullet in the person responsible.”
“Why was your number in the Rakshasa’s throw-away cell phone?” I asked, a little fire in my voice.
“Got me. But I didn’t hire nothin’ to kill you.” I could tell he was on the level—he had no reason to lie. Son of a bitch, I’d been played. The Rakshasa must’ve been working for whoever was behind this whole clusterfuck. The crafty son of a bitch must’ve planted the disposable phone on purpose, knowing I’d go straight for Morse and either kill him or wind up dead myself. The Conjurer had done a bang-up frame job on me and had pulled the same trick with Morse. And I’d fallen for it hook-line-sinker like a giant moron.
“I’m new to all this freaky supernatural shit, ya’ know?” Morse said, breaking my thought. “Two months ago I didn’t know your name. Didn’t know about demons—or whatever the fuck’s been ripping up my people. Two months ago, I was worried about the ATF intercepting a gun shipment or the Aryan Legion moving into my territory. Fuckin’ monsters skinning people? Families dead? No, this is all new ground … I didn’t know what to think. When Harley came to me I didn’t have any reason to doubt him.”
The tat-tat-tat of Morse’s fingers was a little too loud.
“Let’s say I believe you,” he continued. “Most of my guys know you came in here—if I let you walk, it’ll make me look weak, soft. My position’s not secure right now, not with the loss of so many of the crew. I look like I can’t protect what’s mine. If I let you go, it’ll send the wrong message.”
“I can help you, Morse—I’m going to end this shit.” I looked him in the eyes. He glanced down at the table, unable to meet my gaze. I’m average in most ways, but not my eyes: faded and dusky blue-gray, sharp, searching, and
“Listen,” I said, letting a hard edge into my voice, “I didn’t perform those hits—I don’t care who your source is, they’re wrong.”
He took another swig of his scotch, fingers beating out some unheard rhythm upon the tabletop. “I find that hard to swallow,” he said. “I got an insider on the force—”
Of course he did, and I had a damn good guess who that insider was. “Wait, let me take a stab here,” I interrupted, “is it Detective Alan Harley with CGHD?” That gave him pause, though not much. Damn good poker face.
“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “He’s informed for us before. Was working the case and came to me a couple of days ago—said this whole thing was a supernatural hit. Said he’d seen shit like this before. Gave me his word that there was reliable evidence implicating you—nothing to go to court with. Not with something like this—not that I’m the kind of guy who takes things to court anyways.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said. “What evidence did he give you? What overwhelming proof? Wait, wait, let me guess, nothing . Probably fed you some line about shadowy ‘supernatural’ sources, right?”
Morse sat motionless, the whirling buzz of on an overhead fan the only sound in the otherwise deathly quiet room.
“What else did he tell you?” I asked. “Did he give you Yraeta’s name too? Did he say Yraeta was the one pulling all the string?”
“Son of a bitch.” His tone was flat, mirthless, thoughtful. He pressed his lips together making a thin cut in his bearded face.
“Who put you in touch with the Rakshasa?” I prodded.
“The fucks’ a Rakshasa?” he asked.
“The thing you hired to murder me in New Mexico—the crazy, hyena-faced baddy who pumped my hotel room full of machine gun rounds.”
“I didn’t hire anything to kill you. I don’t contract out—not on something like this. I’m gonna be the one to put a bullet in the person responsible.”
“Why was your number in the Rakshasa’s throw-away cell phone?” I asked, a little fire in my voice.
“Got me. But I didn’t hire nothin’ to kill you.” I could tell he was on the level—he had no reason to lie. Son of a bitch, I’d been played. The Rakshasa must’ve been working for whoever was behind this whole clusterfuck. The crafty son of a bitch must’ve planted the disposable phone on purpose, knowing I’d go straight for Morse and either kill him or wind up dead myself. The Conjurer had done a bang-up frame job on me and had pulled the same trick with Morse. And I’d fallen for it hook-line-sinker like a giant moron.
“I’m new to all this freaky supernatural shit, ya’ know?” Morse said, breaking my thought. “Two months ago I didn’t know your name. Didn’t know about demons—or whatever the fuck’s been ripping up my people. Two months ago, I was worried about the ATF intercepting a gun shipment or the Aryan Legion moving into my territory. Fuckin’ monsters skinning people? Families dead? No, this is all new ground … I didn’t know what to think. When Harley came to me I didn’t have any reason to doubt him.”
The tat-tat-tat of Morse’s fingers was a little too loud.
“Let’s say I believe you,” he continued. “Most of my guys know you came in here—if I let you walk, it’ll make me look weak, soft. My position’s not secure right now, not with the loss of so many of the crew. I look like I can’t protect what’s mine. If I let you go, it’ll send the wrong message.”
“I can help you, Morse—I’m going to end this shit.” I looked him in the eyes. He glanced down at the table, unable to meet my gaze. I’m average in most ways, but not my eyes: faded and dusky blue-gray, sharp, searching, and
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