Powder Trade (Black Magic Outlaw Book 4) Page 12

  The bokor initiates shuffled nervously. Chevalier remained as steely as ever. I'd seen him under fire before and he didn't rattle. But he didn't take stupid chances either. I had to turn Connor's little show around before their resolve went out the window.

  "And you can't touch us either," I announced, hopping from the top container and rolling to my knees in landing. "Sure, maybe you can hurt the dead, but not us. Not as long as we don't deal with you." I pointed to the Russians. "It's only these wise guys we need to be worried about."

  The gangsters eyed me warily but kept their guns on the zombies. I took that personally, but I understood their concern. The zombie woman was nothing but charcoal now, but she'd put on a good show. Except now the last thing the Russians wanted to do was open fire. The bullets would spark more contagion.

  Connor shrugged noncommittally. "The secret of the jinn is out."

  I ignored the jibe and approached. My goal was to ease the concerns of the young bokors. "You can set fire to the dead," I mocked, "but you'll find us all but fireproof. Even if you had a flamethrower."

  The jinn stood and I stopped in place. We were ten feet from each other. The four Russians converged behind him and the crate, walling off the Bone Saints, leaving us time to chat.

  "Go ahead," I taunted. "Set me on fire. I dare you."

  Connor waited, letting me prove my point. I didn't turn into a roasted marshmallow and he didn't try. The young Bone Saints stood more boldly.

  "Fair enough, Cisco," concluded the jinn, crossing his arms. "You've made it abundantly clear that we can't directly hurt each other. But—and I hope you don't mind my asking—if we have no power over each other, what is it you hope to accomplish here today?"

  The shadows on the floor began to lose their definition. The sun was falling. Maybe Connor was stalling me, waiting for twilight to neuter half my magic.

  "The same thing I accomplished this morning," I answered. "And two weeks ago. And the week before that." I approached the jinn again, this time ignoring him and going for the wooden box. I picked up the crowbar that rested on top. "I'll mess up your deals, steal your stuff, and shrug off your army. Little by little you'll feel me taking back the streets. Weakening your influence. Day by day, I won't rest until I destroy your business interests in Miami."

  Connor put his hand to his chin to accentuate his frown. "Oh, dear. That sounds serious."

  I took the crowbar to the box. Pried the top off and slammed it to the concrete. The Bone Saints widened their eyes at the contents. Not an item, a magical artifact, or anything special, really. Just loads and loads of money. Like a solid bed of it. I couldn't even begin to calculate how much it was, but briefcases and duffel bags wouldn't put a dent in it.

  "Cash," I said, clenching my fist. Everyone around me tensed, friend and foe alike. It wasn't because anybody moved. It's just that nobody sees that kind of money and calmly blinks it off. Nobody except Connor, of course. He just watched and waited.

  "This isn't the merchandise," I said. "It's your money. Where is it?" I spun around, checking the waterfront again. Looking for more bodies or more containers. Looking for a boat. "What are you buying?" I demanded.

  Connor Hatch chuckled. "Not what. Who." The jinn's eyes flashed red. "I'm buying you, Cisco."

  Chapter 21

  For a moment, no one made a sound. Eventually the bewilderment on my face was too amusing. Connor stifled a laugh.

  "What's going on?" I demanded. "What kind of drug meet is this?"

  Yeah, I'm a little slow.

  The jinn spread his hands and smiled. "There is no meet," he said plainly. "We're here for you."

  "No," I said. "The Russians—"

  "Don't you get it, Cisco? You didn't find me. I found you. I laid the breadcrumbs on the floor—and maybe a family friend too—and led you right to me. I personally invited you to join us, in my own way."

  Chevalier gritted his teeth. His men backed up a step. They were getting the same sense I was: we'd walked into a trap.

  You see? I catch on given enough time.

  I growled and spun again, ready for anything. Connor relished my shock.

  "Oh, come on," he said with a hint of derision. "You didn't actually think this was the real meeting location, did you?"

  My head snapped to him. "So there is a real meeting then."

  His mirth evaporated, his face hardened. That confirmed it.

  My original intel wasn't bad. Connor Hatch was in town for a secret meeting with the Russians. Somewhere along the way, however, I got sidetracked with the Port of Miami. I was too busy chasing Hernan's attacker to truly look into the Agua Fuego deal. Chevalier's kids had heard exactly what Connor had wanted them to hear: that everything was going down here.

  Unless... I checked Chevalier's silver eyes. He watched me like a hawk. How much could I really trust him?

  But it wasn't possible. The bokor knew where I lived. Besides Milena, he was maybe the only person alive who did. If he was against me, the jinn wouldn't have gone to these lengths to get to me. He could've made a house call whenever it convenienced him.

  So this trap was devised. Maybe it was hastily planned after my successful strike in the morning. Maybe Connor had decided to take care of me face to face while he was in town, before his real business commenced. It suddenly made sense why we were all meeting right now when there was still sun in the sky. The real meeting would take place under the cover of night. That meant Connor was on the clock. Once he was finished here, he'd move on to the real thing.

  Connor shook his head and approached me. "Don't hurt yourself running the 'how' through your head. You should focus on the 'why.' This," said Connor, tapping the money. "This is why you're here."

  "That's a side benefit," I growled. "I'm here for you."

  "And I'm here to fix that. Ten million reasons to call off your crusade. One for every year of your service. Unmarked bills from twenties to hundreds. Very spendable. Pay the victims of the Covey. Leave town. See your every whim realized. You can have any life you want, Cisco. Think of this as reparation for the harm I accidentally caused you."

  "Accidentally?" I seethed.

  "Don't forget," he said. "Tunji Malu created you. You were the vampire's pet."

  "I was only on his radar because you set me up to find the Horn."

  He shrugged in agreement. "Hence my reparations. It's a lot of money. Take it."

  Chevalier stepped closer. "Split four ways," he said in a firm voice.

  Connor Hatch arched an eyebrow and turned to me with a smirk. "Friends, you say?"

  "What do we need to do for the money?" asked one of the young bokors.

  The jinn smiled. "Nothing," he answered. "Nothing at all." He studied me curiously. "It is the easiest thing in the world to let vengeance rest. All you have to do is not do anything. It is literally nothing. Stop gunning down my men. Stop stealing my drugs and my money. With this bounty, you won't need to anymore."

  One of the kids licked his lips.

  "Of course," added Connor, "I had no idea you'd bring friends. I wouldn't want anyone to feel they weren't getting a fair deal, so I'll let you keep the original amount and throw in an equal amount for the voodooists. That's twice the money to walk away."

  I sneered at him. "So it's a deal you want to make, right? Where have I heard that before?" I eyed the Bone Saints. "Don't fall for it. The second we agree to his terms, the second we take his money and shake his hands, he can hurt us." Chevalier grimaced but the kids still saw hookers and blow. "He's a drug kingpin. He's not going to give a few gangbangers all this money. He's going to talk trade until he burns you alive. He'll never even wipe the smile off his lips."

  The jinn had the audacity to grin even wider at that remark. Like he didn't care about the logical argument because he knew it would be ignored. That much money drove emotion, not constraint. It was like the heartstone all over again. I needed to get the bokors firmly on my side fast.

  "You're missing one thing," I told Connor. "
Why would we expose ourselves to harm from you? Why would we make a deal for the crate when we already have it? Without you, I count four Russians standing in our way. The money's already ours."

  Connor smiled. "How can you steal what is freely given? It is yours. You only have to take it."

  I swallowed, unsure what to say. Was this some kind of jinn loophole? If we took his money without agreeing to leave him be, that surely didn't constitute a bargain. But what the hell did I know? In truth, I had no clue what governed the limitations of the jinn.

  I looked over the faces of my companions. Of the Russians. I locked eyes with Connor. He was clever, I gave him that much. But I hadn't come here wholly unprepared either. The show of force was exactly that. A showing. The Bone Saints were backup to keep the others out of my way by threat of force. And if the Russians did want to throw down, I wouldn't be outnumbered.

  In my mind, everyone here besides me and Connor was set dressing. A poorly animated background crowd in our Street Fighter II championship match. Except I couldn't hurt Connor, and Connor couldn't hurt me.

  Reciprocity between jinnkind and man is uneven but equal. It was the jinn's law that prevented him from harming me, but it was his power that prevented me from harming him. But I'd figured out how to counter both those protections in one fell swoop. I would strike a deal with the jinn so that he could hurt me. But the deal he'd agree to would be to not blink away from my attacks. To remain and fight.

  "I've got a counteroffer," I said, stepping into Connor's face and giving my voice an edge. "You want a deal? How about this one? You and me. Right here, right now. No one else jumps in."

  Everybody watched quietly. Connor's cheek twitched as the full ramifications of my offer dawned on him.

  "That's right," I said. "With that bargain, you'd be able to hurt me. You'd get what you want. But you'd need to follow the terms. You agree to fight me like a man, face to face. None of that disappearing bullshit. I won't escape into the shadows either. We both stand our ground and do our worst to each other." I clenched my fist and dark wisps of shadow burned up my forearm. "We agree to finish this, here and now," I said. "That's my deal."

  The jinn's eyes burned, angry at being called out so plainly. It would've been so easy to agree. If he was as confident as he let on, he could have the Cisco Suarez problem wrapped up by dinnertime. But his eyes showed the fury of his impotence. Jinns didn't live a long time by taking useless risks. And they weren't so easily goaded.

  Connor chuckled after a moment, smiling ear to ear and adding levity to his voice. "You seem to be under the delusion that you're the one calling the shots." He pantomimed a look at everybody. "Is anyone else here the head of a Caribbean drug cartel? Anybody else fuck-you rich?" He played to the crowd and his men guffawed. When Connor finally settled his eyes on me, he was dead serious. "I don't play games unless I make the rules, Cisco. That's why I always win."

  I couldn't believe it. After all the damage I'd caused him over the months, he wouldn't take the chance to fight me. "So you're gonna back down, then? Tuck your tail between your legs and run like the coward you are?"

  "Such heated emotion," remarked Connor offhandedly. "Humans really are strange creatures. More heart than brains. Let me put it plainly then. I don't accept your terms. Accept mine, or die."

  The shadow flicked up my arm in waves. I was putting on my best show, trying to look as intimidating as possible, but I couldn't touch Connor so he didn't care. My only answer to the jinn was a low grumble. He sighed, and motioned his head to one of the Russians.

  The man in skintight black gear moved so fast the zombies didn't have time to react. He stepped forward and raised his gun, popping automatic rounds at my head.

  I slipped straight into them, through them, falling into the shadow and rematerializing right beside the startled goon. My shadow-cloaked fist rammed into his side so hard I felt ribs crack. He took flight, crashed headfirst into the wall of shipping containers, and crumpled to the floor.

  Because the other three Russians hadn't moved yet, the bokors and zombies held their ground. Another show. Another test. I wouldn't even call it a fight 'cause it was over within a second.

  "You're gonna have to try harder than that," I taunted.

  The three Russians began to laugh—guttural booms from deep within their bellies. They all looked above me. The top of the shipping containers, where I'd been. I followed their eyes. Another man dressed in combat gear. This one was short but broad like an oak tree. Bald head. Black beard. And a symbol tattooed over his scorn-filled face.

  "Vukasin Petrovic," I growled.

  The men laughed harder. Then the grunt I'd smashed into the container joined in, bellowing above the others. Even crazier. He stood and swiveled to me slowly. His face was malformed, not just ugly or beat up. There was something wrong with him. As he laughed, his face stretched. His jaw ripped open, revealing an elongated mouth with large canines. His ears pointed and his nose blackened and fur sprouted from his skin.

  "They're not Russians," I said to myself. "They're Serbians."

  Like Darko. Without the skull masks, I hadn't made the connection. I watched the whole contingent sprout new heads, bloody chunks of flesh falling away to reveal their real selves. The skull masks incarnate. I'd call them werewolves except it was only their heads that transformed. They panted in anticipation, fingering their assault rifles.

  "It's about time you figured it out, shadow witch," said Connor, pleased with the reversal. "You didn't think I led you into a trap without teeth, did you? Let me introduce you to the Vucari."

  Chapter 22

  It made sense now, what I was dealing with. These men, they were human, but they were cursed. Whether through spellcraft or infection, the result was the same. They weren't human anymore. Most people called them subhumans, but that wasn't accurate. That implied they were below us. And I knew from firsthand experience that these wolf men were way stronger than me.

  There went my two-to-one odds. Petrovic was only one extra man, but the subhuman factor changed the game completely. Zombies were inhumanly strong, no doubt, but that scrap with Darko had opened my eyes to what strength was. And he was skinnier than these five.

  Things were about to start hurting.

  Vukasin hopped to the floor. A hungry howl escaped his wolf jaws. His four companions growled deeply. And then all hell broke loose.

  Automatic fire laid into the zombies. The Vucari were afraid of the poison, but it was better than being ripped apart. Contagion didn't burst from the bodies of the charging horde, however. The two crews crashed into each other, fist against claw, blade against bite.

  And Connor? He was already gone.

  The Vucari I'd downed charged me. It was an easy thing to drift by him. I didn't go for another punch this time. I scooped up his dropped rifle and turned it on him. Holes shredded across his back. He yelped and rolled into the brawling crowd. I released the trigger. I couldn't risk firing upon the Bone Saints.

  For what it was worth, those guys were holding their own. The three bokors stood at the rear of their minions, intently gesturing silver fetishes and giving orders. A few of the thralls leaked where magazines had emptied into them, but the Vucari couldn't reload fast enough. The zombies closed the distance, swatting the empty weapons away. One particularly bright zombie used the rifle as a club, holding the barrel and smacking a wolf face with the stock.

  When my wounded opponent joined the fray, it was an even five-versus-five scrap. The zombies were rugged but the wolves were tenacious, and they were stronger to boot.

  I stood dumbfounded. Did everybody really just forget about me?

  I shifted through the shadow, to the center of the scrum, and emerged with my weapon pointed at Petrovic's head. A fist from behind forced me down. I rolled over to my back, wiggling away from stomping enemies. They all seemed too tall from this angle. To me, that meant they were excellent targets.

  Next to me, a Vucari grappled a zombie, using good technique and
superior strength to lift it above his head and howl triumphantly. I emptied my rifle into his belly. The Vucari buckled to his knees and dropped his prize, clutching his stomach. If landing on the cement was painful, the zombie didn't show it. It stood up and began bashing the vulnerable wolf's head to a bloody pulp.

  The Serbians rallied, knocking a couple thralls to the floor and ganging up. Two of them grabbed the stoutest zombie fighter and held him down, ripping his limbs asunder.

  I slipped away from an attack and grabbed another assault rifle. Empty. Another one close by had a bent barrel. I couldn't track the last. I would've been more relieved to confirm it was out of play, but it wasn't an immediate threat. And I had firepower of my own.

  My hand slipped through the cement on the floor, into the shadow, and emerged with a sawed-off shotgun. I usually kept it loaded with plain-old birdshot, but with this meeting in mind I'd slapped a shell of fireshot in there. Voodoo spark powder that burned hotter than normal fire. I aimed at the two Vucari and the zombie they tore apart and the shotgun boomed. A cone of fire swept over them like a wave.

  Both wolves lost their footing. One of them recovered quickly, without thinking. He flipped to his feet and growled at me. Then he realized he was on fire. He screeched, high-tailed it to the ocean, and dove in.

  His friend hadn't fared so well. The direct hit had opened him up. He rocked on the ground, in pain. The zombie also wouldn't take death for an answer. A stub of an arm scraped at the ground in a fruitless attempt to right himself. Neither of them were going anywhere for a while.

  The odds were starting to look better. Two remaining Vucari, Petrovic and a real ugly motherfucker. Sizing up their four zombie opponents, they weren't scared as much as enraged. Just as I had seen in Darko's eyes right before he bled out, these guys had no instinct for self-preservation. Their only instinct was for blood.