THE LUXURIOUS BAYSIDE HOME OF Mrs. Janine Grissom, recently disowned by the New England Grissoms for her appalling decision to consort with …well, they weren’t entirely sure whom, but anytime you’re consorting it’s a step down, screamed stupid, vindictive money.
Ramses Jetstream, son of Hiram Percy and not of the False Prophet Buford as he’d been led to believe, had been born with the gift of reanimation.
It came at a huge cost and he was already thrice damned for it. In certain extremely rare but profitable circles he was known as Jesus Price.
Mrs. Grissom, her pitch to have her daughter returned to her completed in hushed, bereaved tones, waited for someone to say something.
Ramses considered. He slid hands into his pockets. “I won’t do this.”
“Wait now,” Milo said, looking from Ramses to Grissom.
“She committed suicide,” said Ramses.
“C’mere.” Milo led him off to a large indoor lemon tree. “The mother’s in the room with you. Keep that in mind.”
“I won’t do this. We a carny act now? She was a suicide.”
“I understand.”
“Is there a problem?” Mrs. Grissom asked, voice on a thin edge.
“Helluva big one, actually,” Ramses said before Milo cut him off. Milo shook his head reassuringly at the woman.
“I spark flesh,” Ramses whispered at him. “And whatever they had with them when they were alive,” this he said louder, directing the words over Milo’s head, “comes back with them.”
“None of the others asked you to animate them,” said Milo.
“None of the others were suicides.”
“That’s not good enough,” Milo said.
“It’ll have to be. Tell her.”
They wore their black, hooded trench coats. Black hooded trenches made them look mysterious while concealing the assortment of advanced technology they carried.
Milo went to the downfallen matriarch.
“You heard all that, I’m sure. Let’s be brutal with it. You don’t have very long to live, do you? I’d like this to happen same as you, but the only way that’s going to see light is if he’s satisfied.”
She held spider-veined hands delicately over her mouth to block medicinal odors that may have betrayed her. “She died unhappy…”
“We pretty much figured that,” said Milo. “We researched your daughter—” The woman’s eyes widened.
“I won’t take the chance she’ll find me,” she whispered to him. “Her note vowed she’d find me when I died. She was always full of poetry.” Her eyes welled. “And get me back! I’m her mother! No respect in life and no respect in death.” She let it trail.
Ramses walked slowly toward them, eyes on her.
“Janine, ineptitude irks the hell out of me. May I be blunt? I’ll be blunt. You drove your daughter to kill herself. This little skit was for the benefit of your truth. Bring your daughter back so you can escape in death; she kills herself again, you want me to bring you back? You have that rider written on a contract somewhere? Round and round? There are no pictures of your daughter anywhere. I see everybody but her. Milo?”
“Yeah?”
“End scene.”
“Do you know how hard it took me to find you?” she said. She pointed at a satchel of money on the floor as if it explained away everything. “One million dollars.”
“Blood diamonds in every single one of your jewelry stores, Ms. Grissom,” said Milo. “Homework is a beautiful thing.”
“You won’t get off these grounds.”
Milo almost sighed. Instead, he shook his head. “Janine, you don’t have a threat means half a damn to us. Ram?”
“Yep.”
“Walk with me.”
Milo picked up the expensive brown satchel and headed past Janine’s rooms upon rooms. She had given the staff the night off and had instructed security to remain outside the mansion. If she’d wanted she could have run to the front door screaming. As it was, Milo stepped out into the night, nodded amiably to a tall Italian whose partner glanced once at him and Ramses. As he and Ramses disappeared wordlessly into the night, the brothers split up.
By the time they got to the gate Janine would certainly have locked it.
They rendezvoused outside the estate’s ornate gates that they’d had no problem vaulting coming or going.
“We’re getting too old for this,” said Ramses.
“Playing Robin Hood keeps us grounded.” Milo tossed the satchel of money into the car. “I liked the touch of irony though. Spoiled rich zombies.”
“Irony is beauty. We’ve got a satchel full of money.”
“We don’t do it for the money, we do it to plant seeds.”
Bound for Atlantis by way of the Blank.