A Cold Day In Hell

Angel had regained control over his reactions. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. And I know the boy is in trouble. He fears a hunter.”

“Where are you getting all this?”

“Each of us has different talents.”

“I want to get Eileen and the boys home.”

Chuzah came toward him and Angel automatically got to his feet. The other man’s eyes were black, large, uptilted. And mysterious. But Angel saw no malice in him.

“Take them home,” Chuzah said. “But when you need me, I will be here.”

“Thanks. We’ll manage.”

“I will be here. And remember this. Out there—” He pointed both first fingers toward the outside. “Out there is an evil force made more fearsome because it has no discipline. What you face is a bitter desire for vengeance. I don’t know the reason yet, but I will. Do you know the reason?”

Did he? What was he thinking? This joker had practiced his act and what he said could mean whatever he wanted it to mean. What Angel didn’t know was what the man wanted from him.

“You’re off-base,” Angel said. “Thanks for looking after Aaron. But you’re deliberately talking in circles. Were there really shots? Or did he scare himself into a collapse. He doesn’t look as if he was wounded.”

Chuzah smiled. “Perhaps not. You’ll see. I may be off-base, as you say. Regardless, don’t let your guard down.” He stood still and his smile faded. He turned toward the bedroom and back again. “It’s important not to make a mistake. It would be disastrous to misread the signs.”

“What signs?” Angel said. “If you’ve got something I need to know, tell me.”

The haughty face was all sharp angles. “Until you are ready to trust me, I cannot be certain I read the signs correctly. Trust will take time. I understand. But you don’t have much time, my friend.

“I can tell you one fact,” Chuzah continued. “Today someone was supposed to die. The attempt failed, but there will be another attempt.”

“Someone tried to kill Sonny?” Angel said.

“When the trouble comes again, it will be when you don’t expect it. You must guard against what is least likely. One death may not come close to satisfying our killer’s appetite.”

6

Bucky Smith turned his head, tried to focus. Flashing lights. He fucking hated flashing lights. They never meant anythin’ good, or they never had for him.

He hated this town. If he hadn’t just about run out of places to be, he’d already be gone.

Cops driving down the side of Ona’s.

So what? Nothing to do with him. He just had to take a leak and he’d be out of here.

Nobody gave a shit about him. Never had.

Would you look at that? He was in the damn kitchen. What he wanted was the can, the can, dammit.

Where was everyone back here? Yeah, Ona’s Out Back. Tea room, she called it. Shit. He could smell the booze even if the place was empty. Empty, not a single piece of ass sippin’ tea.

The cop lights were out back.

Out back of Out Back.

Damn, he ought to be a poet or somethin’. He needed that can and another drink. If anyone was still workin’ around here.

The fryer smelled good. All those leftover bits of food bubblin’ in the fat. Best part of this nowhere, the food.

Bucky turned back, frowned. He must have passed the can on the way in here.

The side door to the outside slammed open and a guy came in—fast. Bucky turned his head the other way, blinked to look at him. Just a guy in a wet coat.

“You lost?” Bucky said. “Same’s me. Shit. You lookin’ for the can, too?”

The guy just stared at him, his hair dark and sopped, stuck to his face.

Bucky raised his palms. “Friendly, ain’t you? Well, fuck you.” He stumbled toward the passageway to Out Front.

He didn’t see the hand coming.

Fingers dug into his windpipe and he gagged, took a swing at the face that wouldn’t stay still. He clawed at the man’s chest.

Deeper the fingertips gouged. Bucky’s mouth opened. A shove and he fell backward. His skull hit something hard and he felt his bladder let go.

All he heard was the sizzle of the boiling fat.

7

Finn Duhon drove into the parking lot behind Ona’s restaurants. Emma had called him, whispered for him to come, but she wouldn’t say why.

A cream-colored Jeep passed him and the driver honked. Finn honked back but didn’t recognize the vehicle or the driver. Seeing someone drive by as though everything was normal didn’t make him feel any better.

He stopped his car and jumped out. The lights were on in both Out Front and Out Back. It wasn’t that late.

He didn’t see anyone in the lot and started to run past parked cars. He saw Emma’s Lexus and broke into a sprint. His left shoe scrunched on something and he paused to look down.

Car keys. He picked them up and knew immediately that they were Emma’s. Finn breathed through his open mouth. Heading for her car again, he punched the number pad on his cell, got through to the police station and demanded to speak with Matt Boudreaux.

He heard Matt’s voice and said, “Get to the parking lot behind Ona’s. Something’s happened to Emma. I think she’s been kidnapped,” then cut off.

The Lexus was empty, just as he’d known it would be. No wonder she’d whispered; she must have been in someone else’s vehicle.

Maybe she was in a trunk. Emma was no dummy. He could hope she’d find a way to put out a taillight to get air—or puncture the spare tire.

How long had she been in trouble before she could call him? Finn stared around.

He heard a siren and saw the reflection of flashing lights against the sky.

What should he do first? This wasn’t like jungle warfare—the only kind of warfare he knew about. He didn’t have the automatic reactions that would work here.