Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [236]
Please—refreshing after hearing myself called bitch about a dozen times. “My pleasure,” I said and handed Edward’s hat back to him.
Deuce had looked up when I spoke, as if he wasn’t used to politeness in others either. The wand ran over me, and it beeped at chest level.
“Take the shirt off, bitch,” Simon said.
I untucked the shirt and started unbuttoning it. “My name’s Anita, not bitch.”
“Like I give a fuck,” he said.
Fine, I’d tried being nice. I handed the shirt to Deuce and his magic wand. It beeped, but when he ran it back over me, nothing. He laid the box gently on the ground, the wand on top of it, and started looking at the shirt. In less than a minute he’d found a small wire with a slightly thicker head sewn into the collar of the shirt. “Looks like a transmitter, maybe a homing beacon.”
Simon tossed the vest to Deuce. “Cut it open, find out what’s inside.”
Deuce pulled a gravity knife from his back pocket, did one of those quick wrist movements that spilled the blade open. He went over the vest with his hands first, eyes closed, then he started cutting. It was a longer wire, with a little box attached. “It’s a receiver. Someone out there is hearing everything we say.”
“Destroy the homer.”
Deuce crushed mine under his heel. When it was a little metallic and plastic slimy place on the porch, he smiled up at us as if he’d done a good thing. Deuce was a few bricks shy of a load. Funny how many people that Edward introduced me to were.
“Who’s out there, Undertaker?” Simon asked.
Edward had put his hat back on. It looked funny with the shirt gone, but he seemed perfectly at ease. If he was nervous, you couldn’t tell it.
“I am going to ask you this one more time nice, then it won’t be so nice.” He seemed to square his shoulders as if he were the one about to take a beating. “Who was on the other end of this wire? Who’s out there?”
Edward shook his head.
Simon nodded.
Rooster hit him in the back, and it must have been hard because it drove him to his knees. Something on the butt of the gun broke the skin in two small cuts. He stayed on all fours for a few seconds as if it had stunned him, then he got up on his feet and faced Simon.
“Answer the question, Undertaker.”
Edward shook his head, again. He was ready for the next blow. It staggered him, but he didn’t go down. There was a third small cut. The cuts weren’t anything, but they showed how much force was being used. He was going to be bruised all to hell come morning.
“Maybe she knows,” Mickey said.
“I don’t know who they are,” I said, and the lie fell smoothly off my tongue. “Edward said we needed backup. He found some.”
“You’d come into a situation like this with unknown people at your back? You don’t seem that stupid,” Simon said.
“Edward vouched for them,” I said.
“And you trust him?”
I nodded.
“You trust him with your life?”
“Yes,” I said.
Simon looked at me, then back to Edward. “She your squeeze?”
Edward blinked, and I knew that was him trying to buy time to think what answer would be the least painful. “No.”
“I’m not sure I believe you, either of you, but if we start beating up the bitch, and she gets too hurt to do the spell, Riker’d be pissed.”
“Why don’t you have Undertaker ask the backup to come in?” Deuce said.
Everyone sort of froze, then looked at him. Simon said, “What did you say?”
“If they can hear us, why not have him ask them to come up, hands up, that sort of thing.”
Simon nodded, then turned back to Edward. “Tell them to come up to the house. Hands where we can see them.”
“They won’t come,” Edward said.
“They’ll come or we’ll blow your fucking head off.” Simon put the short-butted gun to his shoulder, and put the barrel against Edward’s forehead. “Ask them to come into the house. Hands up. Throw their guns down.”
It was funny how Simon had never once thought