It doesn’t actually matter to me how unique de Blanco’s car is. I can hang back here in traffic and follow it anywhere. All I need is to listen to my future-sense.
“They’re going to take the next right,” I tell Harry.
When the light turns green three seconds later, they turn right.
“Straight up the block.”
At a four-way intersection, they keep going straight.
“Right again.”
At the stop sign, they turn right.
Harry chuckles low in his chest. “Show off.”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Hey, it’s not boasting if it’s true.
I’ve been keeping an eye on the traffic. Street to street, we’ve been moving away from the busy areas into sections with fewer and fewer cars. Where we are now there’s only a couple of houses, and hardly anybody on the road with us. Nothing but tall, skinny trees waving in the breeze. Nice. Quiet. Secluded.
Most people think Detroit is nothing but car manufacturing plants and steel skyscrapers as far as the eye can see. The truth is there’s a lot of undeveloped plots of land in Detroit, and parks, and grass, and suburbs. Driving most of the streets in Detroit, you’d think you were in small town America, instead of a major city.
There’s also a lot of places like this, where the houses are rundown or abandoned, where property values are next to nothing and the police hardly ever patrol unless there’s a call for help. Which is rare since the people who live here don’t call the police. They hide, or they deal with the issue themselves. When it comes to the Northside Demons, people hide. The Demons probably have a house up here somewhere loaded with gang members and guns, where they operate freely because no one dares to call the police on them. No way am I going to let these guys get to a place like that.
For what I’ve got in mind, I don’t think I’ll find a better spot than right here on this quiet street.
“Ready to grant another wish, Harry?”
“So soon, my lady? Are you sure you want to use your second wish already?”
“Yup. I think you’re going to like this one.” I check my mirrors again, and in front of the black suburban, and find the street still clear of traffic. “Okay. I wish all the tires on their car would go flat. All at once. Right…now.”
This time instead of a snap Harry claps his hands, a resounding slap inside the car. The motion he uses to grant each wish doesn’t really matter. I’ve seen him rub an earlobe and make things happen. It’s his intent that matters, and right now his intent is to disable that black car so it can’t go anywhere.
The reverberating, flatulent sound of all four tires having a blowout at the same time is followed by the screech of brakes and the grinding noise of those custom metal rims trying to roll on pavement. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a car that has had a catastrophic tire failure, but motor vehicles were never meant to run on their rims. It’s almost impossible to steer with one flat… but with four…well, let’s just say their car angled a hard turn to the right and ended up jumping the curb and planting itself hard on the lawn of a burned out house that’s been overgrown in weeds for a few years.
I smile smugly to myself. That worked even better than I’d planned.
“Now what?” Harry asks me.
My answer is simple. “Now, we do this.”
I pull Roxy up and around their disabled vehicle, front in over the curb. I don’t need to block them, so it’s more for dramatic effect. It’s not like they’re going to be driving away. What I’ve found over the years is that a little drama goes a long way to making your point.
“Harry, can you…?” I don’t need to finish asking him. I can feel it when he transfers himself back into the tassel. There’s a sort of weight to it when he’s inside. A pressure from it laying against my hip that lets me know Harry’s close by.
The three goons emerge from the suburban, one at a time, looking annoyed at the world.
Time to start this game for real.
“Hiya, guys,” I say as I step out. “Car trouble?”
They all stare at me as I come around Roxy’s front end, asking things to each other in Spanish like, Que te pasa? and Golpeas algo? even though I would think the answer to all that was obvious. I mean, even someone who doesn’t know much about cars knows what a flat tire looks like.
“Did you do this, chica?” de Blanco asks me in that too-high voice of his. “You break mi ranfla?”
His hand’s going for that gun again. Technically I didn’t touch his car, but I am responsible for what happened to it, so I don’t bother answering. I don’t stop, either. I march right up to them and as the twin thugs move in front of their boss to cut me off, I show them exactly what a real puta looks like.
“Stop right there or we’ll break your—ugh,” the one on my right starts to say, before the blade of my hand chops into the front of his neck, and into the soft cartilage of his Adam’s apple.
He sputters, and chokes, and backs away from me reflexively as his hands fly up to his injured throat. As someone who’s had that done to them before, I can tell you that it hurts. A lot. And with guys there’s a more pronounced laryngeal prominence—that’s the Adam’s apple. Easy target.
The other twin wasn’t expecting that move but it doesn’t take him long to figure out I’m more of a threat than I look. With a startled shout he pulls his fist back and throws it toward me.
Step back.
I see the punch coming and know where to be stand so it will miss.
He stumbles past me, his own momentum carrying him too far.
Uppercut to his midsection.
I can see the perfect moment when his body is stretched out right where I need it to be and my punch is already there and waiting for him. The guy’s gut is hard with muscle, but I’m no softy. My fist lands, and the air whoofs out of his lungs, and he doubles over onto his knees.
For good measure, I land a kick to his midsection that sends him flopping to the ground, moaning and curled up around himself.
Step left.
The other twin is back, still rasping for breath but ready to kill me if I’m too slow to sidestep the knife that he jabs at my back. Spin left. Duck. Throw my arm out to block his.
Each slash he makes with the knife misses me, although at least one got a lot closer than I wanted it to. Move right. Move right.
Spin.
Catch his wrist.
Using a move the Marines taught me, I pull his arm forward and under my armpit and twist my hips low which puts too much pressure on his elbow…in the wrong direction.
With a loud crunch, his arm hyperextends backward.
The knife drops point first into the dirt and sinks down to the handle. The crunch doesn’t necessarily mean it’s broken. I might have just torn a tendon or two. He screams, and I don’t mind telling you that I like the way it sounds. When he drops to his knees, I drive a hard kick to the side of his head. He doesn’t scream after that. Just faceplants onto the ground, knocked unconscious by the tip of my sneaker—
DUCK!
Of the three, de Blanco is the only one still standing. He thought he was going to come up behind me and slam the butt end of his .40 caliber automatic into the back of my skull. I saw it coming, because I’ve learned the hard way that cowards always try to attack you from behind. When I’m in a fight, I pay very close attention to my future-sense. It’s saved my life more than once.
By the way, I don’t suggest taking on three attackers who are stronger than you by yourself. Not unless you have an edge like mine. Or pepper spray. Or an assault rifle with an extended clip.
Crouched down on my heels I avoided his attack but unlike his thugs, de Blanco keeps his balance and comes back with the gun pointing down at me this time, finger on the trigger. My back is still to him, but I know what’s coming next.
With every bit of push I can manage, I spring backward, striking his chin with the top of my head.
One of the best ways to avoid being shot is to be inside the reach of the gun. When I hit him, his finger jerks reflexively, and the gun goes off, but now I’m standing flat against his chest and the gun is too far out to be pointed at me and the bullet ricochets harmlessly off the pavement and into a group of trees.
Damn, he’s got a hard jaw. My head instantly throbs from the impact of using my skull to punch him, but I don’t let that stop me. He staggers back, his eyes wide, momentarily stunned, but now I’m in front of his gun again. Blinking, shaking his head, he forces himself to focus on me and raises the barrel up…
“Harry!” I call out for him.
Instantly there’s a push of displaced air as my genie friend pops into sight between me and de Blanco. He’s more than a foot taller than the leader of the Northside Demons, and physically stronger by far, but the gun is still there, and that’s still a problem.
At least, it is until Harry simply jumps on the guy, and then rides him to the ground, and sits on his chest, and slaps him hard across his face. The gun and his sunglasses both go skittering off along the ground.
Just like that, the fight is over.
It’s almost anticlimactic, but I’ll take it. I’d say we got our point across at any rate. Don’t mess with me or my friends. Don’t call people nasty names in a restaurant assuming they can’t understand you. Basically, don’t be a bully. You never know when it’s going to be your turn.
“You got him, Harry?”
“Of course, my lady. He is nothing more than a fly. Say the word, and I will crush him.”
See, I know he’s lying. Harry won’t kill people. It’s actually one of his genie rules that he can’t kill people. I mean, push come to shove I think he might take someone’s life to save me, but that’s not the same thing. He won’t kill someone just for the fun of it, and not just because the jerk deserves it, either. I know that.
But de Blanco doesn’t.
“Get him off me!” he cries out, his scared tone very unmanly. Especially with the blood from his split lip staining his teeth. “Carlos! Cisco! Ayuda me!”
I’m assuming those are his two thugs he’s talking about, the ones lying prone on the ground not far away. “They aren’t going to be any help to you. Not for a while.” I sit down on the ground, up close to his head. I give Harry a passing slap on his leg. “Make sure he can breathe big guy, okay?”
Harry leans into de Blanco more and the man chokes and sputters and squirms uselessly. “Of course, my lady. We would not want him to die before he answers your queries.”
“My friend is upset,” I tell de Blanco, playing off what Harry just said. “He heard all the nasty things you and your buddies were saying about me in Dunkin’ Donuts. Why don’t you apologize and make him feel better?”
“Screw you,” is his gasping response.
Harry puts a single finger against the middle of de Blanco’s forehead, pinning his head in place. Very slowly, he says one word. “Apologize.”
De Blanco’s eyes go wide with a panic he can’t hold back anymore. “I’m sorry! Okay, you crazy—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
His voice cracks, and I swear his eyes are about to pop out of his head. Good. Now I think I have his attention.
“Thank you, Harry.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Now, Mister de Blanco. Let me ask you again. The Dachiana family had a necklace stolen from them. It’s something of great personal value, and they want it back. Hey. You listening to me?”
Pressed against Harry’s finger like that it’s hard for him to nod, but he does his best.
“Okay, just making sure. So. They had this necklace stolen from them, and they’ve been having all this trouble with you and the Demons. Sort of a turf war, I guess? I never will understand these things but that’s why I’m a private investigator, and you’re in a gang. So tell me. What did your guys do with their necklace?”
“We…didn’t…take it,” he says in between short gulps of air. “Didn’t…take it.”
Hmm. “You want the Dachianas out of here, right? Out of what you consider your territory?”
“’Course…we do.” He gulps, and now I can see his face is turning purplish red from Harry’s thick legs constricting the blood flow. Or maybe from lack of air. “Can I…get up…please?”
Harry looks at me with an eyebrow arched. I think about it, and then shrug. “Well, he did say please.”
Pushing his finger down hard on de Blanco’s forehead to remind him who is in control here, Harry slides himself back and then off. Getting to his feet he comes to stand with me, his arms crossed and the sleeves of his jacket tight around his biceps. He’s not even flexing.
De Blanco sucks in several long breaths until his naturally tanned color returns to his cheeks. He rolls to his side, and then up to a sitting position, but one glance from Harry keeps him from going any further.
His eyes move over to where his gun is laying but my future-sense tells me he’s going to sit right where he is. Good boy.
I cross my arms over my chest the same way Harry is, but I doubt I look half as intimidating. “All right. You were saying your little gang didn’t steal Dachiana’s necklace. Convince me.”
With a cough, and a sneer, he waves his hand dismissively. “Because we ain’t stupid. We’ll get rid of those rich, entitled cabrones our own way. We’ll drive them out. Only a matter of time.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I tell him, because I know what the Dachianas turn into in full moonlight. “But answer me this. Wouldn’t stealing from them be the perfect way to drive them out? Take stuff they value, threaten to sell it if they don’t leave. Or, promise to give it back if they pack up and go?”
Turning his head, he works up a gob of saliva and then spits it on the ground next to my feet. “Don’t even know what necklace you’re talking about.”
“All you had to do was follow them for a while and you would have seen it. And your gang has been following all of the family, haven’t they?”
He doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t have to. We both know it’s true. So they did know about the necklace. They would have seen it around Kurt’s neck. They would have followed it right to Molly’s apartment and then just waited for their chance to steal it.
“Still want to tell me you don’t have it?”
“Chica,” he says, “I’m a lot of things. I’m a drug dealer, I’m a gang banger, I’m a helluva fantastic lover, and I’m a real bad dude. But when I swear I’m telling the truth, you can take that to the bank. I swear, we ain’t going to waste our time stealing little pieces of jewelry from those rich folks. We’re going to get rid of them. Our way.”
An honest gangster. That’s one I would never have seen coming. Not even with a three second warning.
“My lady?” Harry asks me. “What do you make of it?”
Yeah. That’s a real good question. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Still don’t believe me?” de Blanco asks with a sneer. For a guy who just got sat on by a seven-foot-tall genie, he’s getting awfully cocky again. “Then let me ask you a question, chica. If we took this necklace like you think, all to get these gilipollas out of our turf, then where’s the ransom note, eh? If we went to all that trouble why wouldn’t we follow through? Eh? Tell me that. You think we got time to dick around just kicking back with some freaking necklace?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but that was actually a very good point. Nobody had contacted the Dachiana family to claim responsibility for the theft. I knew from Parker that nobody could pawn the Garoul Necklace. Not easily, anyway. Either way it would only work if the thief got a message to them to say what they wanted. The Northside Demons didn’t strike me as the patient sort of people. More like the act now, worry about consequences later type of people. They would have been all over using that necklace as leverage the minute it was in their hands.
And the other thing my mind had started to wonder about was this. The Garoul Necklace was a nice piece of jewelry to look at, but it certainly didn’t look expensive. Not when the Dachianas were wearing things like that chain of diamonds I saw around Ulva’s neck. That’s something a gang would steal to sell. But the only thing taken from them was the charm that Kurt needed to stay human.
Yeah. Whether I liked it or not, de Blanco made some very good points.
Looking down into his smirk, I consider kicking him the same way I did his buddy. I would get an immense amount of pleasure from seeing him with several less teeth in that stupid grin. It wouldn’t get me any closer to finding the necklace though, because I apparently hit a dead end with the Demons.
Which meant I was going to have to go back to the Dachianas. This time, I was going to start with Molly and Kurt. You know. The sane ones in the family.
“Let’s go, Harry.” I give another passing thought to kicking de Blanco in the face, maybe give him a black eye to remember me by, but again I take the high road. There’s just no reason to sink to his level.
“You just going to leave me here?” de Blanco blurts out. “Dude, you popped all the wheels on my ride. What am I supposed to do?”
“Walk,” I tell him without any sympathy. “You might need to carry your buddies, though. Or call them an ambulance.”
I’m almost to Roxy when de Blanco is up on his feet, yelling after me. “You can’t do this to me! I am Jorge de Blanco, and I will break you in tiny pieces for this insult! You hear me? I’m gonna tell every one of my gang to look out for you and your giant friend there and there’s going to be no place that you can hide from us!”
Harry and I stop, and turn back, and I don’t have to see my friend’s smile to know it’s there.
I pat the tassel on my belt.
Harry poofs out of sight with the smell of fresh flowers spreading around the spot where he had just been standing. He settles into the twisted braid of rope, making it swing and tap against the lip of my pocket.
De Blanco’s eyes go wide enough that I can see the whites all the way around. His jaw drops. He looks all around, turning in a slow circle as if Harry might have managed to pirouette behind a tree or something without him noticing. When he turns back to me, he makes the sign of the cross over himself—forehead, navel, left shoulder, right shoulder.
“Good luck telling all your friends to look out for someone who was never here, Jorge,” I taunt him. “What are you going to say, you were attacked by a girl and a ghost? They’ll never have a lick of respect for you ever again. Your own shadow won’t follow you after that, let alone your wimpy little street gang.”
Harry and I leave him there, still speechless, still with a car on its four rims, his buddies on the ground, and we simply drive away. I’ve got more important things to concern myself with then wanna-be bullies.