J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [247]
The Texas bastard was right. Downtown Caldwell after midnight was not Death Valley at high noon. There were folks around, and not all were of the drugged-out human variety. There were also cops. And civilian vampires. And other lessers. Sure, the alley was secluded, but it offered only relative privacy.
Way to go, mate, the wizard said.
“Shit,” Phury cursed.
“Yes, suh,” the slayer murmured. “I do believe that is where we be.”
As if on cue, police sirens flared up and grew closer.
No one moved, even when the patrol car swung around the corner and came barreling down the alley. Yup, someone had heard the shot when Phury and John Wayne-ette had been going at it, and whoever it was had let his fingers do the walking.
The frozen tableau between the buildings was spotlit by the police car as the thing heaved to a stop with a screech.
Two doors were thrown open. “Drop your weapons!”
The lesser’s drawl was soft as the summer night air. "Y’all can take care of this for us, can’t you?”
“I’d rather cap your ass,” Z shot back.
“Drop your weapons or we will shoot!”
Phury stepped up to the plate, willing the humans into a semi-dream state and making the one on the right duck into the car and turn off the headlights.
“Much obliged,” the lesser said, as it started to shuffle down the alley. It kept its back to the building and its eyes on Zsadist and its gun on Phury. As the thing went past the cops, it took the gun from the officer it was closest to, peeling what was undoubtedly a nine-millimeter right out of the woman’s unresisting hand.
The slayer leveled that gun at Z. With both arms busy, its black blood positively streamed out of its gut. “I would shoot y’all, but then your little mind-control games wouldn’t work on this here matched set of Caldwell’s finest. Guess I’m going to have to be good.”
"Goddamn it.” Z’s weight shifted back and forth on his feet, like he wanted to haul ass.
“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” the slayer said when it got to the corner the police had come around. “And have a good evenin’, gentlemen.”
The little guy was gone quick, not even his footsteps sounding out as he tore off.
Phury willed the cops back into their patrol car and made the female one call into the station and report that their investigation showed no altercations or public disturbances in the alley. But that missing gun . . . that was straight-up trouble. Goddamn slayer. No memory imprint could solve the fact that there was a nine missing.
“Give her your gun,” he told Zsadist.
His twin popped the sleeve of bullets out as he went over. He didn’t wipe the weapon before he dropped it in the woman’s lap. No reason to. Vampires left no identifying fingerprints.
“She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t lose her mind over this,” Z said.
Yup. It wasn’t her gun and it was emptied. Phury did the best he could, giving her a memory of buying this new piece and trying it out and tossing the clip because the bullets were faulty. Not a great cover. Especially considering that all the Brotherhood’s guns had the serial numbers removed.
Phury willed the officer who was behind the wheel to throw the squad car in reverse and back out of the alley. The destination? Station house for a coffee break.
When they were alone, Z cranked his head around and met Phury in the eye. “Do you want to wake up dead.”
Phury checked over his prosthesis. It was undamaged, at least for regular use, just knocked free from where it plugged in under his knee. It was not safe to fight with, though.
Pushing up the pant leg of his leathers, he reattached it, then stood up. “I’m going home.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. I did.” He met his twin’s eyes and thought it was a helluva question for the guy to ask. Z’s death wish had been his operating principle up until