Chapter Fourteen

Iris

Dez eyed the woman gripping his crossbow. “I need that back,” he said.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. Behind her were a dozen or so patrons rushing around, beating the flames with burlap blankets, chucking handfuls of sand from gallon buckets. Evidently, this sort of fire happened regularly.

Motion from the woman’s left, Crosby striding toward Dez with a nasty-looking Bowie knife clutched at his side.

The waitress didn’t look at Crosby, but said in a level voice, “You touch him, Keaton will decorate the wall with you.”

Crosby froze in mid-step, his pale eyes widening. He opened his mouth, shut it again.

Black Jacket made a move toward Crosby. Dez noted the messy spiderweb of blood crisscrossing the huge man’s forehead. “Your dead friend smashed a plate over my face.” Black Jacket jabbed a finger at Crosby. “I’m gonna take it out on you motherfuckers.”

“You’re going to sit down,” the woman said in the same even tone. She nodded toward Crosby. “So are you.”

Gattis rounded on the woman, the glass-speckled mace clutched dangling from one big hand. “This sonofabitch started it.” He poked the mace at Dez. “He’s the one should be punished.”

Dez eyed the woman. Her royal-blue shirt was sleeveless and tight with a zipper at the throat, her eyes a notch bluer than her shirt. Her black hair was cut fairly short, but unlike most people’s hair these days, hers actually appeared to have been washed in the past month. It was glossy, parted in the middle so that it framed her face, which was fixed in a grim stare. Her pants were khaki and form-fitting, her boots faded leather. She was likely no more than five-five, but in the boots she was as tall as many of the men.

Gattis moved into her sightline and tugged on his mangy beard, which looked even worse now that it had been lopped off at a diagonal. “Look what he did to me, Iris. I guarantee you Keaton will have his head for this.”

“Or his dick,” Crosby said, his bullying grin reappearing.

“Hernandez,” Iris said. “Badler. Get these men to their seats.”

A pair of hulking figures left off the firefighting – the flames had been contained, but several spots in the carpet were still smoldering and breathing sour wisps of smoke – and approached Gattis and Crosby. Dez felt his pulse quicken. He had met one of the hulking figures before, but there was no time to linger on that now.

Gattis, who was no dwarf himself, looked childlike next to the pair of gorillas. The one named Hernandez crowded into Crosby, who looked like all the fight had gone out of him. Hernandez was maybe six-and-a-half feet tall and possessed a leonine mane of curly black hair. Though he wore a long-sleeve gray shirt and blue jeans, his muscles bulged visibly.

Gattis made a face. “Goddammit, Iris, I tell you it’s not fair. No way Keaton would put up with this.”

“He’ll be back soon enough,” the one named Badler said. He was slightly shorter than Hernandez but appeared even beefier, his shoulders broader than a doorway. “You behave now, you might live through the night.”

That was enough to persuade Gattis. He ambled toward his table and paused, his face expressionless. “It’s still smoking. So’s my chair.”

“Then find another chair,” Iris said.

Crosby joined Gattis and the young man with the piercings at their scorched table.

Hernandez jerked a thumb at Black Jacket. “You sit too. You’ve caused enough shit for one night.”

Black Jacket didn’t move. He gave up an inch or so to Hernandez, but he was nearly as wide. “I could do your job, you know.”

Hernandez squared up to Black Jacket, but it was Iris who spoke. “Drop it, both of you.”

The two behemoths watched each other a moment longer. Then, Black Jacket turned, grinning, and went back to his table.

Most of the patrons seemed to relax, but some in the general vicinity continued to watch Iris uneasily.

Dez said, “I’ll take the crossbow.”

Iris’s expression didn’t change. “Your guns.”

Dez smiled. “I’m attached to them.”

Hernandez took a step toward him, and Dez rested a hand on the butt of the Ruger.

From his right, Badler said, “You don’t wanna do that, friend.”

Dez stared at Badler, the noxious memories of their first encounter bubbling to the surface. Badler’s face broke into a grin. “Hey…I remember you.”

Dez’s grip tightened on the Ruger’s grip.

“Look around,” Iris said. “You see any guns?”

“You mean ones that are visible, or the ones they’re concealing?”

Iris stared back at him. He had the impression she was communicating something subtle, but that might have been imagination.

Hernandez and Badler drew nearer.

“When do I get them back?” Dez asked.

“You won’t if you’re dead,” Badler said.

Dez noticed the gleam in the muscular man’s eyes, wondered what manner of creature he was. There were several possibilities, but his size and robust health suggested Badler was a cannibal.

Hernandez loomed over him and snapped his fingers. “Gun.”

Dez gazed up into the man’s stygian eyes. Was Hernandez a cannibal too? It made sense. Keaton peddled human beings to the highest bidder. The two most obvious consumers were vampires and cannibals. Wouldn’t it be natural for Keaton to employ those sorts of creatures, the kind who wouldn’t scruple about his flesh trade?

No point fighting it, he decided. Besting a telekinetic was one thing; defeating a pair of brawny cannibals was another. Besides, it might have been dumb luck that had allowed Dez to thwart Erica.

As Dez unholstered the Ruger, he kept his eyes on Hernandez. He noticed Hernandez didn’t even look at the gun when Dez handed it over. Instead he stared straight into Dez’s eyes with a gaze that exhibited not a trace of human emotion. If Dez didn’t know better, he’d guess the giant man was from outer space.

“Any others?” Hernandez asked.

Dez thought of the Smith & Wesson on his ankle. His jeans weren’t especially loose. Did the gun show?

“That’s all,” he said.

“I don’t frisk people,” Hernandez said. “If I find out you’ve got another one hidden, I’ll gut you.”

“Then let’s hope you don’t find one.”

Hernandez’s indifferent expression slipped, but only for a moment. With a smirk, he turned and lumbered toward the bar. Badler watched Dez a bit longer, radiating a disquieting mixture of hostility and lunacy. He brought to mind someone who in the old world would have gotten his kicks by torturing cats.

Or humiliating people.

Eyes glittering, Badler followed Hernandez.

Iris was still watching him.

Dez nodded at the crossbow. “That’s not a gun.”

Did he detect the merest hint of a smile? “You’re not getting it back.”

“Where’s Keaton?” he asked.

She scowled, her eyes darting to the table where Crosby and the rest sat watching. “You need to learn caution.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice, with you stealing all my weapons.”

Her eyes flicked to his ankle, back to his face. Did she know?

“I’ll fix you a drink,” she said. “Then you have to go.”

He followed her toward the bar. “What if I like it here?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Then you’re dumber than I thought.”