“Come and find out, cripple,” taunted Krysty.
“Good.” Baron Tourment sounded as if he were genuinely amused. “Two more on the account.”
At last he appeared, his head bent to avoid the low ceiling, the white-suited sec boss at his elbow. Both men were holding M-16s. The baron’s weapon was plated with gold, its stock studded with semiprecious stones. Mephisto’s rifle was comparatively plain and uncluttered, except for the head of a red-eyed cockerel, done in opals and rubies.
Krysty and Lori, licking their dry lips, stood beside the tables.
“How did they chill ’em?” asked Mephisto. Tourment shook his head. “Don’t matter. It’s the redhead. She’s got some real power. They got careless. They got dead. End of that story.”
He lifted the barrel of his blaster, covering both women. His eyes searched Krysty’s, until she felt he was somehow trying to suck her soul from her body.
“Go fuck a dead shark,” she said, trying to provoke him again.
“Perhaps I shall allow you that pleasure, girl,” he replied. “Or, perhaps a live gator. See how your power works on that. But I feel your power is exhausted.”
Krysty knew she was right the massive baron was a doomie. But he wasn’t able to see what she was thinking. Her mind was locked too tight for him to penetrate. She said nothing, staring him out.
“We should find out where they are,” interrupted Mephisto. “Get after ’em ‘fore dark. Ifn we wait, they could be anywhere.”
Tourment sighed. “Such haste, my dear sec boss. If they are in league with the snow wolf, they will have gone to his skulking place in the vid-palace.”
“Said we should have blown that apart.”
“Only last week one of our swamp-wags was taken by the little bastard. The time is not ready yet.” There was a snap in his voice that made Mephisto hastily step back.
Krysty could feel herself strengthening. She’d expended much more energy in destroying enemies far more powerful than the two sec men in the past, and hence her recovery would be quicker. Lori, at her side, stood straight and tall. Only the faintest trembling told Krysty how tense the young girl was.
“Enough of this. Come with us, and I’ll show you what happens to anyone standing against the anger of Baron Tourment, high priest of Lafayette, lord of Mardy, night-stalker and spirit-raiser.”
“And all round shit,” completed Krysty, relishing his hesitant stumbling toward her on the creaking frames. She saw the finger whiten on the trigger of the pretty M-16. “Come,” he said, gesturing with the gun. “See how the kin of the snow wolf, your friend, is treated.”
Outside, there were a dozen armed sec men waiting to escort them through the echoing basement corridors of the large motel.
His head bent to avoid some of the painted metal pipes that festooned the ceilings, the baron led the way toward steep iron stairs. He negotiated them slowly and with obvious difficulty, leaning, on Mephisto to steady himself. Krysty whistled, tunelessly between her teeth at the delay.
JAK LAUREN STALKED around the auditorium, the tiny pieces of metal sewn into his clothes glinting in the overhead lamp so that at times he seemed to be wearing a suit of dancing lights. They’d been talking for an hour, not even stopping when bowls of hot stew were brought in from the kitchen of a nearby house.
The meat was a light pinkish-gray, tough and salty, in a broth with fresh vegetables. Finn devoured his and asked for more. Only when he’d nearly finished the second helping did he ask what it was.
The woman with the scar across her neck grinned, but no smile could ever light up her stony eyes. “What’s your guess, Finnegan?”
“Some kind of bird. Or mebbe horse.”
“Nope. It’s gator meat. Killed this morning, so it’s real fresh.”
If she’d expected disgust from the fat gunman, she was disappointed. Finn laughed and held out the chipped dish for a third helping. “Day or so back one of them fuckers tried to fucking eat me, lady. Nice to know I’m getting my own back.”
The albino joined in the laughter, clapping his approval of Finn’s response. “Same way chill baron and all,” he said.