(eng) Marion G. Harmon - Wearing the Cape 1.5 by Bite Me Big Easy Nights

Author:Bite Me Big Easy Nights [Nights, Bite Me Big Easy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

I laugh in the face of danger. Laugh my ass off, usually. A good fight lets me work out my issues.

Jacky Bouchard, The Artemis Files.

* * *

I needed a supplier. Big Brother wasn’t always watching but he could always listen, so I’d made sure my emergency kit included a burner phone. As Artemis, they were all I’d ever used, and since I needed the information anyway… I placed a phone call to Leroy for some clarification, an address, and Darren’s number. MC had given permission after all, and even if I couldn’t trust him or Leroy with my safety there were some things I desperately needed.

When I called Darren to give him the list and find out what happened to Acacia’s kinfolk after he bailed them out, I half expected to hear they’d “disappeared.” Instead he gave me the address of a cheap hotel in the Warehouse District; one of them was still in traction at Tulane University Hospital and the other three weren’t leaving town until he was out. Cheerful as before, Darren was happy to do some shopping for me with an arranged drop. Something wasn’t right with that boy; how could a lawyer smile all the time? I could hear his shit-eating grin over the phone.

Making Masson Guns and Ammo my first stop, I picked up my first modified Desert Eagle and gave Bobby a few more anti-vampire tips to calm him down. The man was seriously thinking about getting his family out of town. Firing two boxes of rounds downrange to get the feel, I decided Bobby didn’t charge enough; the grip fit like an extension of my hand. The big gun felt awkward in its new shoulder-holster, but the heavy knife and spare clips counterbalanced it a bit. Most important, nothing looked too obvious under my leather jacket; just a little influence would keep people from noticing. After making sure Bobby knew how much I appreciated his work (really, the man was an artist), I headed out again.

Back in Chicago, I’d learned to never make a move unless I knew the ground, knew who I was dealing with. I’d picked the fights and the battlefield. Here I was the hunted, didn’t know the hunter, and didn’t know what he knew. Which meant, even ignoring a looming DSA decision, I couldn’t wait, had to push, had to find him before he found me. To do that I had to pull on the only string I had—and it was attached to a serious police investigation.

I was going to need help. Fortunately I knew where to find it.

The Hearst Hotel had seen better days. In fact any day must have been better—it had the look of a property where the owner had stopped paying for maintenance and was milking it for what he could get before the place got condemned; most of its business was probably hourly now, but even the hookers and their clients disappeared by witching hour.

Simple was best, and I’d planned on getting Dupree’s room number from the night desk guy, then knocking.

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