Hard Day's Knight (Black Knight Chronicles) Read online

  "I'm sorry," I said, holding out my hand and dropping into the hick accent I grew up with. "I think you must have me mistaken for somebody else. I'm Jimmy Black, assistant manager at the Monroe location of Joe's World of Tires. Can I help you with something?" I put a little sleazy twist on the something and ogled her chest, trying to make myself look like a slimy tire salesman. And there was a lot to be said for ogling her chest, anyway.

  "Really?" She said, and raised one eyebrow like she knew something I didn't. Then she went on to prove it. "There is no Monroe location of Joe's World of Tires, and you're no more a tire salesman than I am a private investigator. So why don't you cut the crap, Mr. Black and tell me what you and your little friend here are doing screwing up my investigation before I haul you both downtown and book you on obstruction of justice charges."

  I knew going legit and getting P.I. licenses would come back to bite me in the ass. And the irony of that concept is not lost on me. Having failed with Plan A, I jumped straight over the as-yet-undeveloped Plan B and went straight for the mojo. I looked her in the eyes (surprisingly easy since she was almost my height) and said, "These are not the droids you're looking for. Move along."

  "What are you babbling about? Are you on drugs?" I looked over at Greg, who was as flabbergasted as I was.

  "Huh?"

  "You are on drugs. Great, just great. Not only do I have a P.I. sticking his nose in my case, I have a stoner P.I. sticking his nose in my case. Get up, you two are coming with me."

  I looked at her again, and really tried to focus my will on hers. "No, we're not. You will leave here and forget you ever saw us. You came in, Joe Arthur was passed out drunk, he has nothing to do with these disappearances and you left. That is all."

  She looked back at me just as hard and said "You are a pain in my butt, and you are going to jail for interfering with my investigation."

  Since my vampire willpower wasn’t working, Greg stepped in for the save. "Sorry to disappoint, but we're not going anywhere with you. I'm sorry we've run into this misunderstanding, but it's just not going to happen. Now why don't you get in your car, go back to the station, and forget you ever ran into us this evening." Greg tried his best mojo on her with equally disappointing results. I'd never ran into anyone who could get past both of us before, but this chick evidently had a will of cast iron.

  She reached around to her belt and grabbed a radio, clicking it on as she brought it to her lips. "This is Detective Law, I need a wagon at Lucky Strikes for two passengers." She put the radio back on her belt and looked at us. "You two are going to spend the night in a holding cell while I figure out exactly what I'm going to charge you with. Unless you have a really good story and start sharing it with me right now."

  Greg and I looked at each other helplessly. This was so far outside the norm as to be really confusing. We'd been bespelling humans for fun and foodstuffs for the better part of two decades and nothing like this had ever happened before. We shared a look that said "you wanna hit her or you want me to?" and I had just decided to deck the pretty detective in front of about seventy witnesses when her radio crackled to life.

  "Law." She answered. She listened to the voice on the other end, which of course Greg and I could hear as well thanks to our super-duper hearing, so we had the benefit of both sides of the conversation.

  The disembodied voice said "Detective, we have another abduction. Marjorie Ryan was last seen leaving a school dance with three of her friends forty-five minutes ago. Her friends all arrived home, but Marjorie did not. We've established a perimeter between the school and the home, and we have a chopper in the air. What's your twenty?"

  "Lucky Strikes bowling alley. I was just about to question a potential suspect. Obviously he's not our guy, I'm on my way, should be there in fifteen."

  "Do you need a hand?" I asked.

  "No. As a matter of fact, you two are still under arrest. No way do I need you mucking around my crime scene and getting in my way. So gimme your right hands." She reached behind her and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. Greg and I looked at each other and I shook my head.

  "No way, Detective. You don't have enough to charge us with anything, and you're not going to handcuff us and leave us here." I thought if mojo wasn't working then maybe I could appeal to her sense of reason. "Look, my partner and I have a lot of experience in unusual cases. We could probably be helpful if you'd just let us."

  "Okay, maybe you would be useful." She seemed to relent, and reached out to shake my hand. Without thinking, I took her hand, and just like in a thousand bad cop movies, she slapped a cuff on it. The she reached over to the swivel chair mounted to the scoring station and locked the other cuff around it. "Now stay put. You, give me your keys." She said to Greg. He reached in his pocket and handed her the keys to the Pontiac.

  "I'm gonna get those back, right?" He asked, looking like a whipped puppy.

  "Sure. You can pick them up at the station downtown tomorrow morning. I'll be sure to have them there by nine." With that, she turned and headed for the door. I sat down with my arm twisted uncomfortably behind me and looked over at Greg, who took the other seat.

  "This would be a very good time to tell my you have a spare set of car keys." I said, glaring at him.

  "Under the back bumper, bro. No worries."

  "Okay, then I won't have to strangle you in your sleep."

  "I don't breathe, it wouldn't do you any good."

  "It would make me feel better."

  "Yeah, I can see where you might be a little disgusted with yourself for falling for the old handshake/handcuff switcheroo." He looked unbearably smug sitting there. I hate it when he's got the right answers for things, it messes with the natural order of the universe. "So, how you planning on getting out of there?"

  I stood up, spinning the chair around to free up the cuff and flexed my arm. The cuff groaned a little and I shoved the metal band further up my forearm until it was nice and tight. I flexed one more time, and all I got for my trouble was a red mark around my arm and a couple of stares from the neighboring lanes.

  "You know, man," Greg chimed in again, "You're gonna need a lot more muscle than that to break a police-issue cuff."

  "Yeah, I know. Time for Plan B." I said, reaching down and grabbing the back of the chair with my free hand. I worked the molded plastic for a minute, couldn't get it to give at all, and finally just ripped the whole seat free of the swivel and stood there in the middle of the bowling alley with a chair hanging from one wrist. "Let's go." I snarled at Greg, who was having trouble getting to his feet due to overwhelming laughter.

  I stalked out the front door, pausing long enough to tell the counter guy that the chair in lane nine was busted, and reached under the bumper of Greg's car. I found one of those magnetic key boxes, and slid it open, only to find a business card for Detective Sabrina Law. She had written a note on the back of the card saying, "Hide it better next time."

  Greg made it out to the parking lot in time to collapse in laughter again at the sight of a gangly six-foot-three-inch vampire stomping around the lot cursing inventively and swinging a plastic chair around his head by a handcuff.

  “Dude, hold still, let me get you out of that thing.” He said when I stopped swearing and he stopped laughing long enough to take a breath. He reached into a pocket of his utility belt and brought out a small folding saw, the kind they sell at sporting goods stores. I thought of about seventeen wisecracks but decided I valued emancipation from the bowling alley furniture over a good zinger right then and held my tongue. His little saw was surprisingly effective, and in a couple of minutes, I was free. Well, mostly free. I still had a handcuff dangling from my wrist, but there was no longer a giant hunk of molded plastic attached to it. Some nights you can only ask for so much, and this was shaping up to be one of those.

  “I don’t suppose you have another set of keys in that belt, do you?” I asked hopefully.

  “No, but I have the next best thing.” Greg replied. Before I could ask
what exactly that was, he reached under my arm, grabbed my Glock and walked over to where a young couple was doing what young couples do in the back lanes of parking lots. Greg tapped on the glass with the pistol, and then put his fist through the back passenger window. He pulled a skinny teenage kid out through the window, pointed the gun at his rapidly shriveling pride and joy, and hinted that the kid should run away. Then he leaned into the back window, smiled at the girl broadly enough to show a lot of fang, and laughed as she beat a hasty retreat out the other door. He tossed a t-shirt at her retreating, and naked, back, and reached into the floor of the back seat for the boy’s pants.

  “Subtle.” I said as I walked around and got into the passenger seat. Greg had retrieved the car keys from the boy’s pants by then and put the car in gear.

  “Sorry.” He said without an ounce of remorse. “I was under the impression that we were in a hurry.” He peeled rubber out of the parking lot and handed me back my gun. I tuned the radio to an oldies station and cranked some vintage Springsteen as we headed off to the site of the latest kidnapping. I wasn’t sure what our detective friend would think about our appearing at her crime scene, but I wasn’t too inclined to care. We only had about 48 hours to stop the summoning of a serious metaphysical beastie from taking place, and our opposition had just gotten one ankle-biter closer to their quota.

  Chapter 17

  That night would have been a great opportunity for bank heists, jewelry store capers or just knocking over liquor stores, because it seemed like every cop in the greater Charlotte area was camped out in a three-block radius between the latest victim’s school and home. Greg and I dropped the car a couple of blocks outside the ring of flashing blue lights and left the keys in the ignition. I’d rifled through the kid’s wallet on the way across town and found twenty-seven bucks and six condoms. Something to be said for youthful optimism, I suppose.

  We circled the perimeter until we found a young, scared-looking cop working a section of sidewalk alone. I walked up to him, smiling my friendliest smile (which I’ve been told looks like a cross between someone who’s just eaten bad sushi and Hannibal Lecter), and got close enough to see the color of his eyes.

  “Hold it right there.” The kid stammered, and put his hand on his gun. I hoped he wouldn’t shoot himself in the foot before I mojo’d him. “You’ll have to go around, sir. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

  “So am I, Officer. Now give me your handcuff keys.” His eyes went glassy and he reached around to the back of his belt and handed me the keys. I unlocked the cuff around my wrist, relieved to find that my mojo wasn’t on the fritz, it just apparently didn’t work on badass Amazon warrior princess cops. “Thanks, Officer. You never saw us.”

  Greg and I split up, and he headed towards the kid’s home to see if he could pick up anything there. Greg’s way more sensitive to psychic garbage than I am, so that was right in his wheelhouse. Since the odds of me picking up any “vibes” were pretty close to nil, I concentrated on what I do best, looking for things to hit and annoying pretty women. Towards that end I headed towards the center of activity in hopes of finding Detective Law. I used her business card and my P.I. credentials to badge my way into the mobile command tent they had set up in the schoolyard and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Lose these?” I asked, holding her handcuffs out dangling from one finger. The cops around us let out a couple of wolf whistles and I put on my best imitation of a rakish grin. It probably worked a little, because the next thing I knew, Law had me spun around with my hands cuffed behind my back.

  “You asshole!” She whispered in my ear. “You have the nerve to show up here at my crime scene. I told you not to get in my way.”

  “This is getting old. Why don’t you take me outside?”

  “Oh, I will. Mostly because I don’t want everybody to see me beat the crap out of you.” She stood me up and perp-walked me out of the tent. As soon as we were in some relative shadow, I stopped walking. She had to stop, too, because despite my skinny frame, she couldn’t move me. She looked up, confused.

  “You want to take these cuffs off of me now.” I said.

  “I don’t think so.” She spat.

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  She got right up in my face and was about to say something that probably would have accomplished absolutely nothing when I dangled her cuffs in front of her face. I had never bothered to give the other cop his key back, but it was worth petty larceny to see the look on her face. She got another look entirely as I crushed the handcuffs into a mangled mess of steel and dropped them at her feet.

  “Don’t bother trying that again.” I smirked. She reached for her gun but I stepped very close into her and caught her hand as she was reaching for it. “Don’t.” I said, keeping my voice low. “You’ll never make the draw, and it wouldn’t matter if you did. Now just ignore all this for a little while and let’s work together to get this kid back home safely.”

  I released her hand and stepped back. She stared at me for a minute, and if looks could kill, I’d have been dead all over again. But since they can’t, at least not from any beastie I’ve encountered, we just stood there scowling at each other. Finally she broke the silence. “I’m going to talk to the parents. You go check out the school and let me know if you come up with anything. My cell number is…”

  I held up her card. “I’ve got it. If you get a 704 number you don’t recognize, it’s me.” I turned and headed towards the school.

  “Hey,” she called out after me. “Wait a minute.” She took a couple of long strides over to me and leaned in close. “I don’t know how you did that little handcuff trick, but it’s gonna take a lot more than that to scare me. When we get done with this mess, I’m going to find out what your deal is. And if I don’t like what I find, you’re going to be very unhappy for a very long time.”

  I looked at her for a minute while I formulated a response. In a burst of inspiration I went for honesty. “I’ve been unhappy for longer than you can imagine. Without an end in sight.” I turned around and walked off in the direction of the school to see what I could find about a missing little girl.

  I kicked myself a little as I scanned the sidewalk for anything out of the ordinary. I’m not usually the brooding type, but something in her eyes just made me miss being human, just for a minute. I’ve gone whole years without missing the sun, but right then the prospect of never being able to wake up next to a beautiful woman and watch the sunlight play across her back and legs was enough to almost bring me to tears. Of course, even before I was turned the odds of me waking up next to a beautiful woman were pretty slim, so that part hasn’t changed. I had been lost in my thoughts for a minute or two when I caught a strange scent on the air. I pulled out my cell and called Greg.

  “Yo. Where you at?” I asked.

  “God, your grammar gets worse the longer you’re dead. I’m on the roof of the school. I found something funny up here. Where are you?”

  “Just about to hop the playground fence over by the swings. See me?”

  “Yeah. And fortunately for you I’m the only one who can see you. The cops assigned to the school are all out front and inside. Come up here and take a look at this.”

  “Alright, I’ll be up in a second.” I crossed the playground, trying to figure out what the smell was. It wasn’t quite sulfur, but it had a little of that acrid tang to it. I couldn’t place where I had smelled it before, so I took a running leap onto the roof and walked over to where Greg was kneeling looking at something.

  “What’s up?” I asked him. He was down on one knee in front of what looked like a protective circle. I’m no magician, but I’ve read a lot of comic books, so I know a magic circle when I see one. As long as the circle was drawn by someone with a taste for 1970s Marvel comic villains, that is.

  “This circle. It’s wrong.” Greg, however, had dabbled in magic when we were in high school, so he had a lot more actual knowledge of the mystical arts than I did. Of course, a retard
ed orangutan that has walked through a magic shop once has more knowledge of the mystical arts that me, but that’s irrelevant.

  “Nope, pretty sure it’s a circle, bro.”

  “Yes, I know that. But look at these symbols.” He pointed to several scribbles and squiggles around the inside of the circle. “These should be on the outside of the circle, so that whatever was summoned into the circle couldn’t scratch them out and alter the protection of the circle.”

  “What if you weren’t trying to pull something into the circle?” I asked. I really had no idea what I was talking about, and that was obvious from the odd way Greg was looking at me.

  “What do you mean?” He asked.

  “Well, couldn’t you cast the circle around you, then do your spell thingy so that whatever you summoned would be free to go get something, and you’d be safe. I mean, I guess it’s a crappy way to do something, and it’s probably not the safest thing in the world, but would it work?”