The Demon Trappers 3: Forgiven Page 8

  ‘Aye. I’m guessin’ that’s the problem ya called me about this mornin’.’

  ‘Yeah. She came here and started wailin’ about what he’d done to her. As I see it, she brought it on herself.’

  One of Stewart’s silver eyebrows ascended. ‘Ours is not ta judge.’

  ‘The hell it isn’t,’ Beck retorted, the booze boosting his anger. ‘I figured she couldn’t get into too much trouble with Simon, but I never thought she’d sleep with a damned demon.’

  ‘A Fallen is not a demon. They were created by God himself, then took the wrong path. A lot of us are like that.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I never would have wasted my time with her if I’d known –’

  Beck realized he’d gone too far, been too honest, but it was impossible to take back the words.

  Stewart’s face turned stony. ‘This isn’t just about the Fallen. This is about yer wounded pride. Did ya ever think ta tell Riley how ya felt about her?’

  Beck shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Ya can lie to yerself, but not me. Paul told me how ya felt about the girl. I know all of it, so don’t try ta pull the wool over my eyes.’

  ‘Why do ya care?’ Beck snarled.

  ‘I have my own reasons,’ Stewart replied testily.

  Beck focused on the buzzing in his head. There was no reason for Riley to make a fool of him.

  ‘I did what I thought was right. She should have listened to me about Ori. Instead she goes off with him. I’m not responsible for that.’

  Stewart’s eyes narrowed. ‘As a master ya’ll be responsible for every one of yer trappers, no matter what mistakes they make, and no matter how much of an idiot ya think they are.’

  It was a rebuke and Beck felt it keenly. ‘I’m not makin’ master – we both know that.’

  ‘I’ll be the one making that decision, ya hear?’ the Scotsman retorted. He took a deep breath to steady his temper. ‘That reporter, the red-haired vixen. What is she ta ya? Are ya lovers?’

  He meant Justine. ‘Yeah, I’ve been seein’ her for a spell. So?’

  ‘Were ya with her when Riley called this morning?’

  Beck groaned and nodded. This guy could read him like a book.

  The frown on Stewart’s face could have been chiselled in stone. ‘Did ya tell the reporter anythin’ about the Fallen?’

  ‘I asked Justine about Ori a while back. I wanted to see if she could find out something, since nobody around here knew him.’

  ‘I see. Well, in the meantime, ya be careful what ya say around the woman, ya ken?’

  Beck’s temper grew. ‘There’s nothin’ wrong with Justine. She’s been straight with me all along.’

  ‘That may be true, but watch yer tongue. That’s an order.’

  Beck heaved himself to his feet, his head still spinning. He’d had enough of the old master. ‘Is that it?’

  Stewart rose as well. ‘Go talk ta Roscoe Clement,’ he said. ‘He tried ta purchase demons from Riley at a dear price, which meant he had a buyer all lined up, one that wasn’t legal. No need ta be polite with him. We need answers.’

  That sounded like a plan: Beck was in the mood to thump some skulls.

  To his astonishment, Stewart clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll make it out of this yet, lad. Now get sober. Stop tryin’ ta drink away yer problems. I been there and it doesn’t work.’

  ‘Then why do ya carry that flask of whisky all the time?’ Beck asked before he could catch himself.

  The Scotsman smirked. ‘Because it’s better than drinkin’ the whole damned bottle.’

  Chapter Ten

  Sitting on the kerb across from Roscoe’s shop, Beck waited for the store to close. He’d expected the place to stay open until much later, but apparently Wednesday evenings weren’t a big night for sales. As he waited he kept thinking of Riley, what it must be like for her to be with the hunters. Though Stewart had said they were treating her well, she had to be frightened. What if they found her guilty of some crime? What did they do to people like her?

  Beck ran a hand through his hair. No way I can handle all this. He forced himself to focus on what Stewart required of him. That meant working over the guy who owned the shop across the street.

  If a human could be lower than a cockroach, it’d be Roscoe Clement. It didn’t trouble Beck that the perv owned a shop that sold adult videos: people had to make a living somehow. What bugged him was that the guy held a demon-trafficker’s licence. Money had crossed palms for that travesty.

  There was another reason the sleaze was on his radar: When Riley had come to sell him a few of the smaller demons, Roscoe had hit on her, tried to talk her into starring in one of his movies. No matter how angry Beck was at Paul’s daughter, no one had a right to do that and keep breathing.

  A pair of employees exited, talking back and forth as they headed down Peachtree Street. If Beck was lucky, that would leave their boss alone. He had thought of using his steel pipe to get what he wanted, but that was anger talking. The sleaze was a coward: All he had to do was get in the guy’s face and Roscoe would squeal.

  When his quarry didn’t make an appearance, Beck put through a quick call to Master Stewart’s house and received the same answer he’d received two hours earlier – Riley was still in the hunter’s custody. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  Beck had barely hung up when his phone began to oink like an agitated pig. He snarled – one of the hunters had erased his Georgia on My Mind ringtone and sent him another message in the process.

  ‘Beck.’

  ‘You sound upset. What is going on?’ a soft voice enquired.

  Justine. ‘Nothin’ much. I’m out gettin’ some air,’ Beck said, ‘What’re ya up to?’

  ‘Missing you,’ she said. He smiled at that. ‘Did you like the article?’

  Ah damn. He was afraid she’d ask about that and he’d only managed to get through a few paragraphs and that had taken him forever. ‘Didn’t get a chance to read it,’ he fibbed. ‘It’s been kinda crazy.’

  She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I heard the hunters don’t know exactly what to do with Riley Blackthorne. Some think she is working for Hell, others aren’t so sure.’

  Stewart’s warning replayed in his head. Justine was too plugged in for Beck’s liking, though he shouldn’t have been surprised.

  ‘All I know is that they haven’t set her free yet,’ Beck replied.

  ‘Will I see you later?’ Her tone was more seductive now.

  Beck knew he’d like that. A lot. ‘Not keen to go to that hotel again,’ he admitted.

  ‘I make house calls,’ she offered.

  That was a no-go. He didn’t have girls in his place. Well, Paul’s daughter had been there, but that was different. ‘I’ll have to give ya a call.’

  ‘I see.’ Justine could execute a verbal pout with the best of them. ‘Are you tired of me already?’

  ‘No. Got somethin’ goin’ down.’

  ‘May I join you? I’d love to watch you trapping.’

  Before Beck could answer, a door opened and Roscoe stepped outside.

  ‘Ah, not a good idea, sorry. I gotta go. Things are heatin’ up here.’

  ‘Hope to see you later,’ Justine replied. ‘I am missing you.’ Then Beck was listening to a dial tone.

  Missin’ ya too, honey girl. Even if Stewart thinks yer not on the level.

  Beck was across the street before Roscoe finished the locking up. He purposely didn’t give the jerk a chance to turn around, but rammed him face first against the glass door. Luckily the impact didn’t set off the alarm.

  ‘Evenin’, Roscoe,’ he said, loading his voice with unspoken threats.

  ‘I don’t have any money!’ the man cried out, shaking. ‘I already made the deposit.’

  ‘I’m not here for money.’

  ‘Beck? Is that you? Why did you scare me like that?’

  If ya think that’s scary . . .

  Beck flipped the guy round and
got in his face. His nose wrinkled in disgust: Roscoe smelt of pungent aftershave, like he was headed to a date.

  ‘The Guild wants to know who yer sellin’ the demons to.’

  Roscoe blinked rapidly. ‘It’s . . . it’s all in my records,’ he stammered.

  ‘Not those, dumbass. The ones ya sell under the table.’

  Roscoe’s florid face went ashen. ‘I do everything legal.’

  Beck gave Roscoe a shake that rattled the loser’s teeth. ‘Wrong answer, try again. And, so ya know, I’m way past bein’ polite, Roscoe.’

  ‘Can’t say. Don’t dare,’ the man panted.

  What now? In the past a little more pain therapy would have done the trick, but this time was different. Maybe it was better to work on Roscoe’s mind instead of his bones.

  Beck backed off. ‘Well then, sorry it’s come to this,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sure to send flowers to yer funeral.’ He turned and began to walk away, hoping his gamble would work.

  ‘What do you mean? Hey! Stop!’ Roscoe called out.

  Beck paused and then took his time turning round. ‘I’m sayin’ that I was yer only chance. It’ll be up to the boys from Rome now. They don’t give a damn about who ya’ve got watchin’ yer back.’

  ‘They can’t touch me!’ Roscoe shouted.

  ‘They don’t care, man,’ Beck said, moving closer now. ‘If yer lucky, they’ll close yer little smut shop here. If they’re really pissed, ya’ll be six feet under and no one is gonna miss yer ass.’

  Roscoe’s face was sweaty now. ‘For God’s sake, don’t do this,’ he pleaded. ‘Tell them I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Can’t do that, Roscoe.’

  The man’s eyes darted left and right, looking for a way to escape.

  ‘Ya run, it’s gonna hurt, Roscoe. Talk to me. I can see yer in over yer head.’

  The shop owner stared up at him. ‘You know what’s going on?’

  ‘Some of it,’ Beck said, trying to sound reassuring, though he really didn’t have much of a clue what was really going down.

  Roscoe sagged against the door like his bones had turned to jelly. ‘This guy came to the shop and told me he’d pay a lot of money for demons. He wanted all he could get. Ones and up.’

  ‘What’d he look like?’

  ‘About your height with dark brown hair.’

  ‘That’s about every guy in this city. Ya gotta do better than that.’

  ‘There was nothing special about him,’ Roscoe complained. ‘I’d drive to a different place each time. Empty parking lots, mostly. He’d show up in a truck, take the demons and give me cash.’

  ‘Any idea where he went with them?’ A shake of the head. ‘How many did ya sell to him?’

  ‘Why does it matter?’ When Beck took a menacing step forward, Roscoe cowered. ‘About thirty of the Threes, a dozen or so Twos and a few Ones. I’ve heard some of the other traffickers sold the same amounts.’

  Beck whistled under his breath. ‘That’s a helluva lot of demons.’

  The system was always straightforward: the trappers sold the fiends to the demon traffickers. Both sides of the deal received paperwork to show it was all legal. The trafficker then sold the demons to the Catholic Church, in bulk. But trying to sell fiends without the proper paperwork earned you jail time and a huge federal fine.

  ‘Why would some guy pay way more than the goin’ rate for a buttload of demons? What is he doin’ with them?’

  ‘Don’t know. Don’t care,’ Roscoe said. ‘I need the money. You think running this kind of business is cheap? There’s lots of bribes to pay.’

  Beck took a quick look around. Folks were going about their business, like they didn’t care if Roscoe went down. ‘What about the fake Holy Water? What do ya know about that?’

  Roscoe frowned and shook his head. ‘Fake Holy Water? Why would someone do that? That’s dumb.’

  The sleaze didn’t know about the scam.

  ‘One last thing –’ In a heartbeat Roscoe was off his feet and rammed up against the door. The jarring impact set off the security alarm and drenched them in floodlights.

  ‘If ya ever try to roll Paul Blackthorne’s daughter again,’ Beck bellowed inches from the man’s ear, ‘I will feed ya to a Three, a chunk at a time. Ya got that?’

  Roscoe wilted. ‘No, no, I won’t do it again. I promise.’

  The moment Beck released him, the loser went into a heap on the ground, quivering in terror.

  Beck methodically wiped his hands on his jeans, like he’d touched something toxic. ‘Thanks, Roscoe. The Guild appreciates yer help.’

  ‘You’ll square it with the hunters?’ the man whined.

  ‘Sure.’

  If I remember to talk to ’em.

  When voices woke Riley out of a tormented sleep, she pulled herself up in the bed, disorientated. The room was dark except for a glowing red light on the ceiling. For an instant she thought it was a demon preparing to attack and eeped in startled surprise. Then felt foolish.

  You dork. It’s a smoke detector.

  The mental fog parted like a stage curtain: she was still at the Westin with the demon hunters. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand told her that it was nearly ten in the evening. She’d been their ‘guest’ for over twelve hours.

  After a knock on the door, a young hunter stuck his head in, his form outlined by the light from the hallway.

  Riley clicked the lamp on next to the bed. ‘What?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said in a noticeable German accent. ‘Now, please.’

  The urgency in his voice made Riley scurry to lace up her shoes, then collect her coat and backpack. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, trying to finger comb her hair.

  In lieu of a response the hunter herded her down the hall towards the fire exit. Another hunter followed behind them, moving with military precision. Voices crackled on their radio, echoing as they entered the stairwell.

  ‘Where am I going?’ No reply. What if they snuck her out of town without telling Stewart? Was this a one-way trip to Rome or somewhere else?

  After a quick march down countless storeys, they exited on to the street behind the hotel. One of the hunters sheared off, leaving her alone with the German dude. His dark hair was cut short and his nose had a slight bump in it like it’d been broken and reset.

  ‘Please, tell me what is going on.’

  His attention never left the street as he answered. ‘Near here there has been a report of an Archfiend.’

  That explained why the hunter was so wired. Riley had never seen one, but from what she’d heard from Beck they were only a step below a fallen angel when it came to power. An Archfiend had cost her father his soul. It’d been that or his life.

  That didn’t explain why she was outside the hotel. As Riley was about to ask that question, Captain Salvatore exited the building, talking into his radio. When he reached their position, he gave a nod to the young hunter who promptly backed off.

  ‘Is it really an Archfiend?’ she asked.

  Salvatore shook his head. ‘Someone with a macabre sense of humour. The fool dressed up in a devil’s costume and ran through the market in Centennial Park, setting off firecrackers and smoke bombs. People panicked. He’s in custody now.’

  ‘Wow. Fives are scary enough. I can’t imagine an Archdemon.’

  ‘Yet you stood up to a Fallen,’ Salvatore replied.

  ‘Ori didn’t seem so scary, at least until I told him he wasn’t getting my soul. He seemed . . . human, except for being too perfect, if you know what I mean.’

  A nod. ‘A decision has been made about your situation.’

  Riley searched the captain’s face for clues as to how this was going to go. He looked way grim. Not good.

  ‘They don’t believe me, do they?’

  ‘Not completely, but the inscriptions on your palms pleaded your case to Rome more effectively than your testimony. We have received permission to release you from custody.’

 
What? ‘You’re letting me go?’ she blurted. Why would they do that?

  The captain smiled at her outburst. ‘I’m as surprised as you. The decision came in record time: Galileo had to wait almost three hundred and sixty years for his reprieve.’

  Did he just diss the Church? ‘Then they’ve decided I’m not evil?’ she asked, still not understanding the news.

  ‘It’s more of a wait-and-see attitude. Apparently the Holy Father knows something about these inscriptions that we don’t. In the meantime, you are to be released to Grand Master Stewart’s care.’

  Riley cocked her head. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘Since he has agreed to act as your guardian in the eyes of the Church, you are the master’s responsibility,’ Salvatore replied. ‘If you do anything that leads Rome to believe you are acting on Hell’s behalf, you will be arrested and tried. So will Grand Master Stewart, which will create major diplomatic issues between the International Guild and the Holy See. If I were you, I’d try hard to stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Stewart must have been crazy to make such a deal.’

  Salvatore grunted in agreement.

  Why did the Pope free me? Could Heaven have told him what I’m supposed to do? There was no way to know.

  ‘So what does the priest think about this?’

  ‘Father Rosetti initially believed you were at the centre of Atlanta’s issues. After consulting Rome, he’s unsure. Still, he fears you may eventually pose a threat.’

  ‘What about the Nordic dude, the one with the attitude problem?’

  ‘Lieutenant Amundson is very displeased.’ Salvatore’s smile grew as if he was enjoying that fact immensely. ‘However, neither Rosetti nor the lieutenant dare contradict the Holy Father in such matters.’

  What should she say now? So long and thanks for not torturing me? You guys are awesome?

  Instead Riley went in another direction. ‘Why do you think someone was messing with Simon’s head?’

  Salvatore studied her more closely now. ‘It’s been known to happen after a traumatic event. Hell seeks to exploit your doubts when you’re most vulnerable. Just because someone is deeply religious doesn’t keep the temptation at bay.’