Uncanny Collateral

Chapter 6

The warehouse at the address Judith gave me was empty.

I stood just inside the open door of a truck loading bay and gazed across thirty thousand square feet of breezy concrete lit by morning sunlight streaming in through broken pane windows near the ceiling. Taking a quick walk around the open space, I found a bit of trash, plenty of dust, and no evidence that anything of substance had been stored here for some time. I returned to my truck and dialed Judith, who picked up on the second ring.

“I’m at the address you gave me,” I told her. “When you dropped off the money here, did you actually go inside?”

“I did.”

“Was the warehouse being used for anything?”

“I’m not sure. I just went up to the office on the left.”

I spotted a small staircase off to one side of the truck loading bay. It led to a windowless manager’s door. “Hold on for a moment, please,” I told her. I ran up the stairs and tried the knob. It was unlocked. I flipped on the lights. The room inside was just as empty as the warehouse. “Any other details you can remember?” I asked Judith.

“I gave them the money. They used one of those mirrors to give me that damn soul, and I left. I think there were three or four imps inside having lunch at the time. There really isn’t anything else.”

That’s all she knows, Maggie confirmed in the back of my head.

“Understood. Thank you.”

I hung up and called my friend at OtherOps. Justin and I go back longer than me and Maggie. I like to call him a desk jockey because he hates leaving the office, but he was a capable agent and third in command at the Cleveland OtherOps office. My call went to voicemail, but he rang back almost the instant I hung up the phone.

“Alek,” he said, “you get anything at that warehouse?”

“Nothing. Everything is unlocked, and the place is empty.”

He snorted and said, “I got in touch with the owner this morning. Turns out she rents to anybody willing to pay cash up front, no questions asked. Her last tenant was human, but she doesn’t have much of a description: male, six feet, blond hair.”

“That could be me,” I said flatly.

“Yeah, she wasn’t very helpful. She did say that they still have three months prepaid on the rent. Someone was there, but it sounds like they cleared out before you could reach them.”

Human, huh? Maggie said. So the imps definitely aren’t working alone.

Sure sounds like it. We just need to find out if this human is another henchman or the big boss.

You make it sound like a video game.

Don’t shit on the ways I keep my life interesting, I told her.

I said to Justin, “Any word on who hired that necromancer to rough me up?”

“Nothing,” Justin replied. “The kid won’t say a damn word to anyone at the station. I’ve got our sorcery specialist talking to him right now. Hopefully I’ll get a little more out of him at some point.”

“I appreciate it.”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. “You, uh, gonna tell me who you’re after this time? Is it teeth? You’re always chasing teeth.”

“I don’t actually do that many teeth these days. The Tooth Fairy is semiretired, and Jinn Enterprises has scaled back their Midwest operations.”

“Blood?”

“Nope.”

“So are you going to tell me?”

“Sorry, client confidentiality. But I’ll buy you a beer next week if you’ve got the time.”

“Deal.”

I hung up and stared at the warehouse, feeling more than a little annoyed. Ferryman was wrong about one thing: that souls didn’t have any value in this life. Judith had paid half a million for that secondhand shit. I had plenty of smoke – five dead imps and a half-dead lawyer – but no actual fire. Someone in town was running a very lucrative scam with Ferryman’s missing souls, and if Judith’s run-in with the imps was any indication, people were going to start turning up dead sooner rather than later.

You think they’re packing up business? Maggie cut into my thoughts.

Maybe, I replied. They abandoned the warehouse with three months’ worth of rent already paid. People don’t close up when business is good.

So either business is bad, Maggie said thoughtfully.

Or, I replied, they know that someone has caught on to their little scheme.

I tried to work through a dozen different angles. It could be someone inside one of the soul collecting businesses, maybe a disgruntled or ex-employee. It could be an Other, like Maggie, who had limited omniscience and smelled trouble. It could even be a reaper gone bad. There were too damn many possibilities. I cursed Ferryman for bringing this to me instead of OtherOps and got back in my truck.

Where to? Maggie asked. We’re kind of out of leads.

I looked at my hands on the steering wheel, running my eyes over my tattoos. The facsimile of Grendel’s claw on the back of my left hand made the skin itch, dormant sorcery wanting to come to life. I considered going back to visit Zeke. I owed him a slap for siccing that necromancer on me, and he might be able to nudge me in a new direction. There’s still one good option, I told Maggie.

What are you thinking… Oh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.

I started the car. I don’t either. But I’ve got a job to do, and Kappie Shuteye is the only one who might know what a bunch of imps are doing working for a soul thief.

Alek…

I cut her off. It’s my next move. If you don’t like it, go read a book.

The words came out a little harsher than I intended, but I still remembered her anger at the necromancer. I get bossed around so much by Ada that I really didn’t need it coming from Maggie too. This job was starting to give me tension headaches – not to mention that fact that it had already forced me to kill five people. I needed to move quickly and decisively.

Still, I wasn’t above admitting – to myself – that Maggie might be right. After all, Kappie Shuteye is the imp king who sold me to Ada twenty years ago.

The term imp king sounds more impressive than it actually is. It would be more accurate to say something like imp mob boss, and for some of the people who’ve inherited the term, even that might be generous. All imp kings operate a little differently, but most of them amount to little more than a union overseer for their kind in a certain region. Their underlings bow and scape and pay their membership dues, and in return the imp king finds them steady work in his own ventures or hires them out to whoever is willing to pay for a little sleazy muscle.

Kappie Shuteye is imp king of northeast Ohio, but that hasn’t always been his job. Back in the ’70s and ’80s, he sat on the board of directors of a company called Paronskaft. Their specialty was buying firstborn children in return for magical favors. In the reaper business, we call the children rumpelstiltskins, or skins for short. Paronskaft basically ran a slave trade until they were shut down in the late ’80s. As far as I know, I was one of the last children sold by Paronskaft before OtherOps shuttered them for good. Kappie was the one who arranged the deal.

The last time I saw him, I broke his nose.

I pulled off the highway at a place called Brecksville, and pretty soon I turned into the parking lot of an old, run-down elementary school in an overgrown part of town that had once been a community of trailer parks. It looked like the school had been crumbling for decades: most of the windows were broken, the brick facade was barely in one piece, and the parking lot itself could barely be called concrete anymore. Despite the empty look of the place, there were at least a dozen cars parked in the teacher’s lot around back, including a couple of flatbeds and an entire semitrailer. A team of imps loaded the semi with plastic-wrapped pallets of indeterminate origin. They all stopped to stare as I pulled up and parked.

I got out and leaned against the hood of my truck, letting the imps size me up for a moment. I took out my phone, pretended to scroll through it, and snapped a photo of the group, which I emailed to Nadine – a little insurance policy in case Kappie decided he wanted to rough me up for breaking his nose. “I’m looking for Kappie,” I finally called to them.

None of them moved.

“I’ll go find him myself if you want a stranger poking around,” I said. One of the imps drew a knife. He and three of his friends took a step toward me. I did a quick count of the cars in the parking lot and decided that if fifty imps came pouring out of the old school, I’d probably be in for a rough time. I tried to act bored with their posturing and held up one hand. “Tell your boss that Alek Fitz from Valkyrie Collections is here to see him. I’m a reaper, so put your goddamn knife away.”

Two of the imps broke off from the group and ran into the bowels of the old school while their aggressive friend put his knife away without an apology. He gestured dismissively toward me. “Go in that door there. Wait just inside.”

The door led to an old furnace room, which was recessed into the ground about two stories below me. There was a small, ground-level space just inside the door, and then a handful of catwalks that led above the boilers to the halls of the old school. I did a cursory look around, checking to see what had changed in the five years since I was last here – and if Kappie’s imps had rigged any improvised traps. Imps love making things that can hurt people accidentally.

What do you think they’re loading in that truck out there? Maggie asked me.

Drugs, probably. Can’t you sense them?

Nah. There are low-level wards all over this place to protect against scrying. I’d have to be there in person to see through them. Why doesn’t the city shut Kappie down? This whole setup is beyond obvious.

I’d guess that Kappie makes sizable donations to the mayor’s office and local police force. Ambition isn’t a common trait among imps. Ninety-nine point nine percent of them are vicious little creatures driven by greed and hunger, and they seldom have the ability to plan beyond the next fix, robbery, or minimum-wage paycheck. Imp kings are the remaining few who do have the ability to plan beyond those things.

The door at the other end of the catwalk suddenly opened, and a wizened old imp appeared. He was taller than most of his kind – probably five foot two – and wore a bright red zoot suit, matching hat, and wingtip shoes. The clothes, together with an imp’s stereotypically squat, ugly face, made him look like a Dick Tracy villain. I would have laughed at his appearance if I didn’t know that he liked to trick out that suit with a straight razor in one sleeve and a switchblade in the other.

“Alek Fitz!” he proclaimed in a gravelly voice, a salesman’s smile on his face. “My old friend! How long has it been?”

“We’re not friends, Kappie. The last time we saw each other, you took a swing at me with a straight razor and I broke your nose. How is that, by the way?”

“My face hurts every time it’s cold.”

I grinned at him. “It gets cold a lot in Cleveland.”

Kappie’s smile faltered. He took a step onto the catwalk, his head nodding slowly. “How is your lovely boss, Ada? She still working you to the bone?”

Keep cool, Maggie warned me.

“You know, I really wouldn’t mind breaking your nose again.”

“And I wouldn’t mind burying your body on the premises, but I don’t think you came here for either of those activities. How may I help you, Reaper Fitz?”

I rolled my eyes. “Got some questions for you, Kappie.”

Kappie licked his lips like a fat man eyeing a succulent desert. “Questions? Questions? Have you joined OtherOps now, Alek? If that’s the case, you should identify yourself immediately. Unless they’ve changed their handbook.”

“I’m not with OtherOps.” I resisted the urge to look around for a sink. Talking with imps always made me want to wash my hands, and Kappie was worse than most.

“Reapers aren’t in the business of asking questions,” Kappie rasped thoughtfully. “Unless you’re here to ask my help in finding a debtor. In which case, we need to talk about a fee first.”

“I’m curious if you know anything about a group of imps that wound up dead downtown yesterday.”

Where are you taking this, Alek? Maggie asked. Do you really want to tell him you killed five of his kind? He won’t let you walk out of here alive.

He’s not going to find out who did it, I assured her.

Kappie raised thick eyebrows. “Dead imps? I haven’t heard a word. Should I be expecting a visit from OtherOps?”

He’s telling the truth, Maggie interjected.

“I doubt it,” I said. “OtherOps doesn’t know they’re dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I kept my expression neutral. “What business would I have killing imps?”

Kappie lifted his chin, eyeballing me down the bridge of his nose. “Because you hate us. Or you think imps are stealing from one of your clients.”

“Are they?” I asked.

Kappie cocked an eyebrow, then leaned against the railing of the catwalk. “From your demeanor, I can assume that someone is. It’s the only reason you would come out here. Beyond breaking my nose, that is. If you told me the name of the client who was robbed, I might be able to help…”

“Just answer the question: Have you or your kin been stealing from a Valkyrie client?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

He’s telling the truth, Maggie broke in again.

You’re sure? There was definitely a part of me that had hoped Kappie would be involved in this mess so I had an excuse to bring Ferryman’s wrath down on his head.

Sure as I can spot a liar.

“If you’re lying to me,” I told Kappie, “I’ll rip your ears off.”

Kappie seemed unaffected by the threat. “Now, now, Alek, no need for that kind of language. I’m not stupid. If you’re out here asking questions, that means that OtherOps hasn’t been involved yet. But if you fail, they will get involved, and dead imps will mean that they’ll question me first. I’m the last person who wants that. I’m being entirely honest. Let me see here…” he tapped his chin. “Have you checked with my competitors?”

“You don’t have competitors,” I said cautiously.

“On the contrary – two of my former colleagues from Paronskaft have been pressing in on my territory lately. This region has proven very profitable for some of my side businesses, and I won’t let them have a cut.”

“Do you have names?” I asked.

“Leave me a card, and I’ll have one of my people send them over,” Kappie said. I gave him my card, and he pocketed it. He paused, then added, “Call any of your contacts over at OtherOps. There’s an imp turf war brewing in the Midwest. I’ve been trying to stay out of it, but my territory is at the heart of it. If some dead imps turned up, you can likely look toward one of the names I’ll send you later.”

I tapped my foot. I hadn’t entirely convinced myself that Kappie was involved, but I definitely hadn’t expected him to be so cooperative. “All right, send me those names. If you hear anything at all about stolen Other goods, let me know immediately.” I turned and left before I had to look at his stupid face for any longer. I headed back to my truck, where I spent a few minutes watching imps load their semi while I meditated on his answer.

So everything he said is true? I asked Maggie again.

Or at least he believes it’s true, she answered. He’s not responsible for Ferryman’s missing souls. Could it be one of his competitors?

Possibly, I said, but I’m not going to rule him out just yet. He was too straightforward. I’ve never met an imp that willing to answer questions.

Maybe he’s scared of the people moving in on his territory, Maggie suggested. If there’s a bigger, badder imp out there gunning for his turf, it might be in his interest to be honest with us.

An imp war. That’s the last damn thing we need right now. I started the truck, then opened the glove compartment, sorted through a handful of loose cigars – an old tip from Baron Samedi – and pulled out a bag of honey-roasted cashews. Snacking away, I drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway. “You Spin Me Right Round” came on the radio. I hummed along, thinking aloud at Maggie. I have my doubts that even an imp king is greedy enough to steal souls. Imps are involved – we’ve got a pile of their dead kin to prove it – but I have the feeling it’s going to lead back to something more dangerous than these little assholes.

What next? Maggie asked.

In answer, I dialed up Justin and listened to the ringer until his voice came on.

“Justin, it’s Alek. Quick question for you.”

“Hey! I was just about to call you. What’s up?”

I drove with my knee, cashews in one hand, phone in the other. “Have you heard any whispers about an imp war?”

“Seriously?” He laughed. “There’ve been whispers about an imp war for years. When they start turning up dead in large numbers, I’ll believe that one of those lazy asshole kings has finally decided to start something serious.”

I sucked the salty-sweet flavor off one of the cashews, deep in thought. This didn’t necessarily rule out the possibility that a war was coming, or that Kappie was afraid of one. But if Justin didn’t find the idea credible, I leaned toward believing him. “So,” I asked slowly, “if I were to send you some pictures of some imps, could you run IDs on them with no questions asked?”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. No questions.”

“Eh, nobody around here cares much for imps, and we still owe you for that thing with the bunyip. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks. I’ll buy the first two rounds next time we’re out. Oh, what were you about to call me about?”

“That necromancer kid.”

“He give you anything?”

“No, but our examiner finished with him. That kid is stupid powerful. We actually had to overnight special restraints for him so he wouldn’t have to be under personal guard twenty-four seven. I’m not sure if that actually matters or not, but I thought you’d want to know. If you hadn’t broken his fingers, he probably would’ve killed you in that Starbucks.”

I growled in frustration. I still needed to know who hired him. “Thanks for the info. I’ll send you photos of imps to ID.” I hung up and tapped the corner of the phone against my bottom canines to the tune of whatever was on the radio as I sought after one of those many niggling thoughts that had crept past me while talking to Kappie. I dialed Nadine.

When she picked up, I said, “Nadine, I need you to do a little hunting for me.”

“What kind of hunting, hun?”

“Something’s been bothering me about that thing with Judith Pyke. First, who would know that she lost her soul, and second, who would be in a position to know that she was disgruntled over the whole thing?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, I’m thinking out loud. Do this for me: call LuciCorp and see if you can get anything else out of her file – whether someone who works there happens to be friends with her, or if her old case worker might have gotten a windfall recently.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“I appreciate the help.” I hung up before she could protest further. I’d need to call Judith and ask her a few more questions, but that could wait until I had some more coffee in me. I was in a relatively rural area, and I despaired of having to wait until I was back to the freeway to find a Starbucks. Pulling up to a stop sign, I put away my cashews so I wouldn’t eat the whole bag in one sitting. When I sat back up, I saw a brief flash of metal out of the corner of my eye and heard Maggie scream in my ear.

Look out!

The world exploded in glass and twisting steel.