Forged by Fire (Angels at the Edge Book 1) Page 5

  No one walking past us gave us a second glance, so we were suitably anonymous. “By the way, in an effort to remain inconspicuous, do you mind if I call you Cleo? Cleopatra is a mouthful, and I never hear the full name these days.”

  She started, and I worried that I’d offended her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your name. Forget I mentioned it.”

  But she said, “That makes perfect sense. Call me Cleo, and I will call you Gabe.”

  Just like that, we got a little friendlier. Milton had picked me a terrific partner, at least it seemed so in the early going.

  Although it was well after dark, the mall remained crowded. Most of the people were moving from north to south. I suspected a Rockies game had just ended.

  We wandered down the mall looking for trouble, but not too much. “I think we should try a seedy bar,” I whispered.

  She thought back, You don’t need to talk in places where we might be overheard. I can read your thoughts and send you mine. Find a suitable public house, and when we make contact with suitable targets, visualize merging with one of them.

  Good plan for undercover work. Terrific, but remember, once you’re in someone’s mind, we have to continue acting like them or their buddies will get suspicious.

  A few blocks from Coors Field, we came across a rundown bar called Hitter’s Choice that blasted rap music and advertising two-buck beers. It was packed with people, so I grabbed Cleo’s hand before squeezing in. If I lost her, I’d have a hell of a time finding her again in this crowd.

  I tried to enter the bar, but a bouncer blocked my way. “IDs and a five-buck cover per person.”

  I reached for my wallet, and thank God, Milton had remembered to send it with me. Then I wondered about Cleo. How would a four-thousand-year-old angel get a fake driver’s license?

  She answered my unspoken question by pressing something into my hand. It was a California license with a San Francisco address. She’d kept up with the times after all.

  I showed both IDs to the bouncer and gave him a twenty. He glanced at the licenses and handed them back with my change.

  When we got inside, I took charge and pulled her behind me. I knew what she was looking for. The waitresses all wore skimpy black shorts and low-cut white blouses that showed plenty of cleavage. The walls were also covered with posters of hot women wearing baseball caps from various teams and little else. It wasn’t easy to pull my gaze away from one redheaded waitress with huge tits who grinned at me, but I had a job to do.

  Ordinary folks crushed around us, and I pushed our way through toward a corner where two white guys stood side-by-side facing the crowd. They were quietly selling drugs. Both men were bald and covered with tattoos.

  Cleo and I got close enough to touch them.

  “What are you looking for?” the tall one asked me.

  These two thugs seem like good prospects, I told Cleo.

  She nodded. I’ll merge with the tall one on three, and you take the other. One, two, and three.

  I followed her lead, and our bodies dissolved. I found myself sharing the shorter guy’s garbage dump of a mind. Cleo had done something to fog his thoughts, so he was in a daze for a few seconds. My thoughts remained clear, entirely separate from his. It felt like I was swimming in a pool of his memories and emotions, but I was separated by some kind of membrane. Almost like a scuba diver in a large tank at an aquarium. When he didn’t react to being invaded, I slowly relaxed. This might actually work.

  Cleo’s titter filled my mind. Of course. You think I haven’t done this before? I’ve merged with thousands of people and demons this way.

  When the guy came out of the fog Cleo had created, he continued selling drugs to the next person who walked up without noticing that I’d vanished right in front of him.

  That was only the beginning of the weirdness. My guy was partially stoned on oxy, and he was feeling like he was king of the world. A pretty black woman with amazing breasts approached him, and he got horny in an instant. “What’ll it be, gorgeous?”

  “I need two dime bags of meth,” she whispered.

  Was I expected to straighten out this scumbag? It didn’t seem possible. Two hours earlier, according to his hazy memory, he’d ground up five oxy tablets and swallowed them. All he cared about was making enough money to pay for his next hit.

  Just let him do what he wants unless he tries to attack someone, Cleo told me.

  That worked for me. We want to connect with whoever supplies these jerks with drugs.

  My guy’s name was Skip, and Cleo’s dealer was Jonesy. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it might take for these two weak links to lead us up the chain to somebody worth meeting. Skip’s memory told me his supplier was a guy named Ringo, but Skip had no idea who else was involved in the distribution network. The bottom line was, if we could get to Ringo, we might make some progress.

  -o-o-o-

  Tuesday, June 13th

  FOR AN HOUR, the two thugs doled out drugs as fast as they could grab people’s money. For a detective, the chance to share someone’s thoughts and memories was priceless. No more lies and refusing to talk. Dude, this is beyond fantastic! Think of all the secrets you’re going to uncover from every scumbag you can get close to.

  Cleo must’ve been reading my mind because she told me, Just remember—don’t get into any demon’s head until I’ve checked them out. If they’re strong enough to recognize you, they’re strong enough to annihilate you.

  That was a good thing to remember. Even so, I felt a thrill at the possibility of solving so many crimes and mysteries. I’d be a superstar investigator.

  For the moment, though, I didn’t glean much from the memory of the degenerate I was merged with. Skip and Jonesy had been paying the bar’s manager five hundred bucks a day to look the other way. They’d made that money back in a half-hour selling drugs to eager baseball fans, so everyone was happy. Except for me. It really stinks that these two can get away with spreading poison so easily.

  Cleo didn’t respond, so I assumed she was more jaded than me when it came to lawbreaking. She sure had lived long enough to become jaded.

  When Skip ran out of crack, meth, and prescription painkillers, he dialed Ringo’s number. “I need more of everything except angel dust.”

  “I’ll be in the alley behind you in ten minutes,” the supplier said. “Make sure you bring the full grand this time or I’ll cut you off.”

  Skip swore in his mind but didn’t say anything before hanging up.

  We might be finally getting somewhere, I told Cleo.

  Yes, we’ll go together. I don’t want to separate.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  My guy checked his watch to be sure of the time.

  A moment later, though, a short black-haired guy appeared out of the crowd and approached Skip.

  “Business good tonight, Skippy?” he rasped.

  My dealer froze for a second, and a feeling of panic zinged through him. This new guy was Trace, Skip’s former supplier. My guy owed him five grand.

  Skip whispered back, “Not now. Too busy.”

  “I can’t wait anymore,” Trace said. “If I go easy on you, all my other dealers will screw me, too.”

  “Just don’t have that kind of cash.”

  The bald supplier looked Skip straight in the eye. “You’re using again. You’ll never have the money to pay me back. It all goes for more oxy, doesn’t it?”

  Skip knew that was true but didn’t answer.

  “Pay me now or never,” Trace said.

  “Never!” Skip yelled and tried to bolt past Trace to melt into the crowd. Unfortunately, Skip was still half-stoned. He didn’t move as quickly as he needed to.

  Trace grabbed Skip’s right arm with one hand and reached out with a knife in his other hand. In an instant, he sliced open Skip’s belly from one side to the other.

  The pain was incredible, at least as bad as what I’d suffered during the fire. Skip shrieked and gurgled. Then he dropped
to the ground and writhed.

  So much hurting filled my mind. No room for anything else.

  Vaguely, like he was far away, I heard Jonesy yelling in Skip’s ear, “Get out now, Gabe!”

  Skip had already lost consciousness, a true blessing. I wasn’t so lucky. The sharp pangs intensified. With an effort I focused on those words.

  I willed myself outside of Skip’s body, and just that quickly, my agony ended. But I couldn’t move or sense anything around me. I was left without a body, cut off from all sensory perception.

  But I could tell that a sentient being was nearby, so I merged with it.

  She was kneeling over Skip. His blood and entrails had spread over the floor.

  Chelsea was her name, a maternity nurse at a local hospital. She and her boyfriend had dropped by the bar after the game to let the traffic to thin out.

  When she realized Skip was a goner, she looked around the bar. The crowd had mostly taken off, but dozens of people were trying to cram their way through the bar’s front door.

  Cleo, are you here?

  She responded immediately. I’m in the doorman now, coming your way.

  Within a minute, the only people left inside were two waitresses, Chelsea, her boyfriend, and the doorman. Skip’s spirit had already left his body. In the distance, sirens wailed and drew closer.

  What should we do? I asked Cleo.

  I’m afraid we lost our opportunity to meet Ringo. By the way, Skip is reincarnating into an egg just created by a tufted puffin. He will live his next life on a windswept island off the coast of British Columbia.

  Skip as a puffin? How could that happen? He was a human being.

  The doorman frowned at me. Puffins are actually remarkable birds, Gabe. He could’ve done much worse, at least by your standards. He was about to become a sewer rat in Tijuana. I hear the effluent there is particularly foul. I put in a good word for him with Milton, in the hope that your brief visit inside his mind improved his character.

  I had strong doubts about that, but anything beat being a sewer rat. Okay, fine. Are we going to stay here?

  We might as well. Milton is not going to give us another assignment until he reviews what went wrong this time. Unfortunately, he’s busy in Bangkok at the moment stopping a gang of devils from attacking an elementary school. He’ll meet with us as soon as he can finish there.

  It sounded like I was going to be dealing with scumbags a lot, so I tuned in as three cops entered the bar together with guns drawn. A minute later, four more show up, but they weren’t holding their service pistols.

  A police sergeant asked the nurse, “What happened?”

  She pointed at the guy still sitting on a bar stool sipping a beer. “My boyfriend and I dropped by because we know the doorman, Ed.”

  He raised his hand.

  “When did the fun start?” the sergeant asked.

  “About ten minutes ago,” Chelsea said. “Two guys were selling drugs in this corner of the room. He was one of them.” The nurse nodded at Skip’s corpse. “I heard him scream, and everybody started pushing toward the door to get out. When this part of the room cleared, I spotted this guy laying on the floor, still twitching. I ran over, but he had no chance. I didn’t see who opened him up or what happened to his buddy.”

  The sergeant pointed at a bloody knife in the corner. “Is that the murder weapon?”

  The nurse walked over to it but didn’t touch it. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the cutting, just the damage done.”

  By now, the smell was getting pretty nasty, a combination of blood, intestinal contents and fecal matter. I was used to it as a cop, and neither the nurse nor her boyfriend minded the odor. The doorman tossed his cookies, and that didn’t help the smell any.

  You okay? I asked my partner.

  Fine. Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many battles to count, even though I’m a peacemaker.

  Then I got an idea. I’m going to switch to the sergeant. He could be a good source of information about local demons.

  Sergeant Tom Radcliffe had been on the force for twelve years. He knew Skip from an arrest a few years before, but he didn’t know anyone named Jonesy or Ringo. There were so many drug dealers in Denver. Poor Tom hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting them all.

  He took down Chelsea’s contact information, and her EMT boyfriend’s, then he let them go.

  The coroner’s office bagged Skip’s mortal remains and removed him. I was still having a hard time swallowing the fact that he’d become a puffin in Canada. The immortal world was too weird for words.

  Tom interviewed the doorman, who’d only been on the job for a week, but he knew the guy who was managing the bar that night. The manager had cleared out with the rest of the crowd.

  Several crime techs showed up, and one of them photographed the knife and bagged it.

  This was pretty typical of the murders I’d investigated in Boise—one jackass sticking another over drugs and money. Hopefully a few years as a sea bird would straighten Skip’s mind out a bit, but I was doubtful.

  Everyone working in the room seemed to be methodically marching through the investigation. None of them seemed likely to remember Skip for even a full twenty-four hours.

  Tom checked his computer in his squad car and got an address for the bar manager, Tim Zander. Although the doorman didn’t mention the manager’s deal with Skip or Jonesy, Tom was no dummy. He understood immediately that someone at the bar must’ve been paid off to look the other way. The manager was the obvious candidate because he had the power to tell his entire staff to ignore the drug dealers.

  Tom left the murder scene with a couple of his team and headed for Zander’s residence. Within ten minutes, Tom and two of his team had arrived at the Capitol Hill apartment. Cleo came along with me, riding in the mind of one of the younger cops.

  Tom found Zander in the process of tossing an armful of clothes into the bed of a pickup double-parked in front of his apartment building. Tom rightly considered that conduct as clear evidence of culpability.

  “Kind of early in the morning to be moving, isn’t it?” Tom asked.

  “Uh,” Zander said, “I just realized Denver isn’t my kind of town. I feel this overwhelming desire to move back to Kansas City. And earlier this evening, I got this…feeling, a premonition, my mother might have cancer.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “She doesn’t know yet. I got a message from God. I have to help save her.”

  Tom knew this was BS, but he pretended to be interested in Zander’s story. “Has she been feeling poorly lately?”

  “No, but she’s due, in her sixties, you know what—”

  Milton suddenly yanked me and Cleo back to my bedroom at the ranch. I was disappointed not to hear the rest of the manager’s explanation. It had to be good for a few laughs, but I’d returned to my normal form. Cleo wore her wings and gown again.

  Milton didn’t ask us any questions but merely read our minds. “Not an auspicious beginning. You seemed to have made little progress.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I disagree,” she said, giving voice to my silent protest. “We made an important contact in the Denver Police Department, and we know the demons in this region are most active in Denver.”

  I tried to put things into context. “My experience with criminal investigations tells me it takes usually months or years to infiltrate most complex criminal enterprises. We should expect that the demons will protect their conspiracies at least as well, don’t you think?”

  He looked at me askance. “Perhaps. After all, you are the expert, not us.”

  Then he turned to Cleo. “You’re ignoring the cost in terms of suffering inflicted on your partner. Gabriel experienced considerable pain during the attack on the drug seller, and it’s reasonable to weigh that real cost against the benefits achieved, which are not apparent.”

  She glanced at me. “He hasn’t complained, not even in the midst of the attack.”

  “I’m okay,” I replied. �
��I’d love to find the arsonist who started the fire that killed me and so many other sentient beings. We seem to be taking the first step in that direction. I’m happy to keep moving ahead on the work if I can have Cleopatra’s help. She’s a terrific partner. She looked out for me while I was temporarily stunned.”

  Milton paused for a moment, then said, “If I were not truly desperate, I’d terminate this project now. I may still. In the meantime, focus your efforts more directly upon the immortal opposition rather than Denver’s petty criminal class.”

  He and Cleo vanished.

  Jesus! I would’ve been happy to go after the demons directly, but I didn’t happen to know any. We could only find them by hanging around the scum they controlled.

  -o-o-o-

  THROUGHOUT THE DAY, I helped Ellen fix fences and pondered what the old angel had said. Maybe it was futile to walk the streets of Denver hoping to stumble over a demon. They had to live a better lifestyle than the drug addicts and street pushers they bossed around. I kept asking myself, If I was a prosperous immortal monster, where would I hang out?

  Unfortunately, no answer came. The best I could do was to find a better class of criminals and hope they’d lead me to evil immortals.

  Chapter 6

  THAT EVENING, I researched the public information available about the search for the arsonist. Ellen sat with me in the office we shared. While I read news reports, I continued to wonder how Cleo and I could accomplish the task Milton had given us. The best idea I came up with was to focus on the activities that evildoers liked best. According to Dad, who’d given a lot of thought to Satan and his minions, they loved money, sex, and violence. One of Dad’s favorite expressions was, “Greed, lust, and rage never go out of style.”

  What that told me was Cleo and I should focus on more upscale entertainment options for the depraved.

  After Ellen went to bed, I told Milton, Ready to investigate again.

  I hoped he’d bring along Cleo so I could explain my plan to both of them.

  Instead he arrived with a large red-tailed hawk. “Are you prepared to heal humans?” he asked.