Part 14 (1/2)

The crowds were thinning, and thinning fast.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on building up a shout-not a vocal one, but a psychic one-in an attempt to draw Rose's attention. I gathered it up and sent it out, projecting it toward the drag queen and smacking her with it: Over here! Over here!

She blinked and recoiled, and spied me at my pillar. She gave me a scowl that implied very strongly that she believed I'd brought the suited men here, when of course I had not not, but I'd be hard-pressed to prove it in a shouting match across a still-considerably-loud club floor covered in people.

So I sent it again-Over here, G.o.ddammit! Now!

For some reason, it took. She jolted into action, not pus.h.i.+ng her way through to an exit, but grabbing the ironwork circular stairwell behind her and using it to climb the nearest banister. From that banister she skipped onto the rail, up above the people and with a far clearer path than anyone down on the floor could've managed. She moved so smoothly and with such strength, that within moments she was down to the other end of the floor and was forced to drop down in front of me. Her high heels crashed loud enough to be heard above the lingering exit music. She grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me forward.

”What the f.u.c.k is going on?” she demanded in her man-voice.

”I have no idea! But we need out of here, now now-” which was an understatement, because the floor was clear enough that, with a bit of shoving, the suited men were able to run toward us.

Still holding me by the shoulder, Rose shoved me forward and I let her. Nothing could be gained by fighting between ourselves, after all, and she she knew where we were going. I didn't. I asked, ”Is there another way out of here?” knew where we were going. I didn't. I asked, ”Is there another way out of here?”

”This way,” she said, propelling me face-first into a very large woman (or man?) who didn't like getting hit, but who was too drunk to do anything about it. I ricocheted off her (him?) and almost into another support pillar under the balcony, but I steadied myself and wiggled out from Rose's grasp. I was going to need more mobility than her vise-like handhold would permit.

”Which way?” I asked, and this time she shoved me back, around a corner, down into a very dark place that, after one more turn, was all but pitch-black.

She stumbled and I heard a shuffling sound that indicated she'd decided to jettison the shoes, which-let's be fair-was a totally great call. I didn't know how she could walk in the things, and I say that as someone who was running in four-inch heels. ”Where are we?” I wanted to know.

She said, ”Storage. Move it.” And she gestured with the shoes, which dangled from their straps in her hand.

”I can hear them behind us.”

”Thanks. Like I need the motivation.” She whipped back and took my hand, but they were getting close-very close. Close enough to be scrambling for a light switch somewhere behind us, only a few yards back.

So I said, ”No, let go.”

”I'm not backing us into a corner-it opens back here, to an alley.” And then she smashed against something hard, and it didn't move. I piled up behind her; I just couldn't stop in time, and I smacked my face into the back of her shoulder, earning me a mouthful of sequins and a moment of panic.

”It's locked!” I blurted.

”It shouldn't be,” she complained. ”From the outside, maybe?”

”They tend to be pretty well prepared,” I said feebly. Then I added, ”Work on it.”

She sputtered, ”What?”

”Work on it. Bash it down if you have to. I'll take care of these guys.”

”What if there are guys outside?” she asked, which was a perfectly valid question.

I said, ”We'll cross that bridge...oh, just work on the door.” As I ran back into the corridor without any lights, I added over my shoulder, ”We might not need it anyway.”

The first suit never knew what hit him. The darkness meant nothing to me, or next to nothing, and I cut through it quickly. I jumped at the last second, grabbed him by the throat, and twisted his head until his skeleton snapped and everything inside the suit ground to a halt. The man went limp and I picked him up, held him low, right around knee level, and flung him down the darkness like I was bowling for feds.

But by then the other three guys suspected something was amiss. I heard whispers going back and forth between microphones and earpieces, but my ears were badly bludgeoned by six hours of too-loud music, and I didn't catch anything but a collection of ferocious hisses. They were spreading out, and crouching down-I could tell that much.

I took the opposite approach and reached up for a set of pipes that ran above my head. I could see them in the blackness, slick as eels along the ceiling, worming through the building like veins. I propped one foot up onto the nearest crate and it jingled faintly, revealing that it was filled with small decorative bells, d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l. Might as well have been packed with exploding whoopee cus.h.i.+ons for all the noise it made. But with a shove and a jump I'd reached the overhead pipes and hauled myself flat up against them-just in time to dodge the blast of gunfire aimed at my great jangling f.u.c.kup.

One shot, and it could've been a nine-millimeter or a cannon in that dark, narrow storage room. But I was well out of its range, up there with the pipes clasped to my chest and my ankles interlocking to hold my full weight up above the floor.

Sister Rose barked, ”Raylene!” but I couldn't answer without revealing myself, so I didn't. And when one of the feds began a grim charge down the narrow thoroughfare, I swooped down and picked him up Batman-style: one hand over his mouth, one arm around his neck. I held him up off the ground and let him struggle while the third fed came scooting onto the scene. But hey, since I was holding this big heavy lug of a b.a.s.t.a.r.d (and if I were to be honest, gradually losing my feet's grip on the pipe), I swung him around like a pendulum-breaking his neck with an almost-accidental snap-and I clocked the incoming suit with his buddy's corpse.

Then I dropped down; I had to, my ankles were giving way and my shoes were on the verge of slipping off. I clattered down to the narrow walkway, landing heavily on the freshest fed. He squirmed and shoved me away, drawing up his gun and getting ready to fire it in my general direction, or maybe Rose's.

I didn't let him. I wrenched it out of his hand before he could squeeze the trigger and I used it to bludgeon him into stillness. Something broke and his skin began to leak, but the tang of blood was only a faint distraction. I willed myself to ignore it, because I couldn't be hungry and be aware of my other pursuer at the same time. This last guy was smarter than the first wave; he was hanging back and patrolling the perimeter as best he could-lurking out by the lights in the hall, where the doorway was open, letting the glare of the cheap bulbs cut sharp shafts of light against the darkness.

I could hear him whispering back and forth into the tiny microphones that were tucked into his s.h.i.+rt collar, and I could even pick out most of the words. He was calling for backup and debating the best approach, which was good. It meant that whoever was after us didn't know where I was, or what I was.

I hoped hoped they didn't know what I was. they didn't know what I was.

Behind me, I heard Rose's shoulder slam against the back door and then there was a pop as the thing flapped open, sucking a little of the dark out of the storage room. ”Raylene!” she cried out, and I still didn't answer but I was beside her in a flash, behind her and urging her outside, into the alleyway.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h b.i.t.c.h, you're fast,” she observed. ”I thought maybe they'd hit you.”

”Me? h.e.l.l no,” I a.s.sured her. ”But they'll be on us in a minute, so come on.”

”Where?”

Around us the alley was dark and nasty, cluttered with decomposing trash and pocked with puddles that were filled with something that was more eau de b.u.m p.i.s.s eau de b.u.m p.i.s.s than rainwater. Overhead, the moon was rolling slowly across the night sky, ducking behind a few thin clouds and peeping back out the other side. ”This way,” I said. than rainwater. Overhead, the moon was rolling slowly across the night sky, ducking behind a few thin clouds and peeping back out the other side. ”This way,” I said.

She asked, ”Why?” but she followed regardless, which I appreciated.

”My car.”

”You found a parking place out here?”

I would've responded but the back door smacked behind us and the last fed had found a friend, and they were on our trail. I ushered her forward and jammed her around the nearest corner, praying we hadn't been spotted.

If it'd just been me, it wouldn't have bothered. I'd have taken to the rooftops and been a mile away before their eyes adjusted to this new level of light. But Adrian deJesus was only human, and we had too many common interests and enemies to part company now.

She was barefoot and I was wearing high heels, which was a strike against the pair of us, but she moved easily and, just like she'd climbed the rail indoors, she grabbed a rain gutter and hoisted herself up. The metal tube creaked and groaned but held, and she swung her body over onto the Poppyc.o.c.k Review's angled roof.

”Come on!” she breathed, reaching down a hand.

I took the hand because I didn't want to push our luck by relying on the gutter, and I was impressed by how easily she lifted me. Underneath that skimpy drag garb, Sister Rose was built like a brick s.h.i.+thouse, and she moved smoothly to draw me up beside her.

She flashed me a military-style hand gesture that I didn't really understand, but I nodded and followed along. We were on her turf after all, and this wasn't my corner of town. For all I knew she hung out on the roof and ziplined around the city easy as you please, just for s.h.i.+ts and giggles.

I opened my mouth to ask, ”Where are we going?” because she'd started leading me at a leaning pace around the edge. But she smacked me in the mouth-more roughly than strictly necessary-and hissed a ”shh!” that could've cut tile. She pointed at my shoes and pretended to hold them by the heels. Who was I to argue? I played copycat and joined in the angled game of walking at a sideways lurch, heels dangling from one hand and bare feet sticking grittily to the s.h.i.+ngles.

”My car,” I whispered softer, at her back. Because I was confident that I could dodge her if she tried to smack my mouth shut again, now that I knew to expect it.

”Where?”