Anguished Luster: The Caldera's Vice Trilogy, #2

By Varden M Frias

Milton Romero, black demon, flees his disturbing past while building his future as a mob boss in Mayville's drug cartel. Asher Glassberg, young red demon, struggles between peaking into his deceased father's journey to enlightenment and his feelings for the man he loves. Meanwhile, Prohibition Agent Virginia Price is hot on the drug cartel's tail with the help of local detective Rand Riker, an enigmatic scoundrel with twisted motivations. All comes to a boiling head when a mysterious cult reveals its cruel intentions. Sordid lust of all kinds thrive in the Art Deco Lovecratian city of Mayville, ready to ensnare all who enter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Varden M Frias
• Release date: Aug 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201906443

Book preview

Copyright 2021 Varden M Frias

Cover art by Ben Mcleod

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Varden M Frias has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Acknowledgments: A special thanks to my cover artist, Ben Mcleod who created yet another extraordinary cover. An extended thanks to my family and friends who have and continue to support me. A final thanks to you for purchasing this book.

For the progenitor of my banality, the land of pine and tears.

You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: A Grave Return

Chapter 2: Shinterville’s Bowels

Chapter 3: A Beautiful Mutt

Chapter 4: Little Kingpin

Chapter 5: The Journal

Chapter 6: The 707

Chapter 7: Chasing Perps

Chapter 8: Moloch’s Barrier

Chapter 9: Sepulchral Ruins

Chapter 10: Secret Way In

Chapter 11: Flapper at the Orchiluxe

Chapter 12: Phantasmagoric Goddess

Chapter 13: The Harbor Master

Chapter 14: The Ferry

Chapter 15: Yokai and Police Scanners

Chapter 16: Manson Island

Chapter 17: Vampire Warning Taps

Chapter 18: A Crystal Plant

Chapter 19: Dolora’s Second Hit

Chapter 20: Sour Relations

Chapter 21: Plaza Divinita

Chapter 22: King of the Lon

Chapter 23: We Are All We Have

Chapter 24: Bela Orlok

Chapter 25: Ruined

Chapter 26: Shorty Romero

Chapter 27: Vanished Vanilla Bean

Chapter 28: Found Again

Chapter 29: Imagine

Chapter 30:  The Placo Dieco

Chapter 31: Chemist Exchange

Chapter 32: A Faint Piano

Chapter 33: Searching Through the Haze

Chapter 34: Grim Memories

Chapter 35: A Different Name

Chapter 36: Lighthouse on Land

Chapter 37: The Baroness

Chapter 38: Family Ties

Chapter 39: Pescimorphs in the Fog

Chapter 40:  Sanatorium

Chapter 41: Manson Tower

Chapter 42: Poisoned

Chapter 43: Dark Negotiations

Chapter 44: Daisy Chain News

Chapter 45: Cooper

Chapter 46: Garnet Manson’s Killer

Chapter 47: Mansons in the Morgue

Chapter 48: Looters

Chapter 49: It’s Mine Now

Chapter 50: Passing The Torch

Chapter 51: Bodies Washing Up

Chapter 52: I’ve Never Been Lucky

Chapter 53: The Possessed Tengu

Chapter 54: The New Boss

Chapter 55: Cutting Ties

Chapter 56: Broken

Chapter 57: Going Alone

Chapter 58: Final Lap of Business

Chapter 59: Kingpin Kicks It

Chapter 60: Venom

Chapter 61: You Are My Madness

Chapter 62: Tanithe

Chapter 63: Kidnapped

Chapter 64: Chasing Shorty

Chapter 65: Parting Promises

Chapter 66: The Race to the Pier

Chapter 67: The Prince’s Wish

Chapter 68: The Salvi Temple

Chapter 69: Hexagons and Spiraling Motes

Prologue 

Milton Romero was a demon as black as the nethermost regions of the abyss. His hair and skin were a coarse composition of the night. Only his sulphuric eyes burned bright in the backdrop of his inky flesh, below the shadow of his fedora, as they trailed to the splattered blood on the back wall of that grisly metal shed in Hellhole’s backwoods. 

He wore a grimace, flinching at the hatchet laid carefully to the side of the mutilated corpse strewn across the planks of the shack’s back porch. The sound of it sinking into Jake’s flesh echoed in his ears during long, sleepless nights. The wooden hardness of the hatchet handle clung to his muscle memory. The coppery odor of the blood remained on his body regardless of the showers he took. It was only four days ago, but somehow seemed much longer. 

In the darkest reaches of those sleepless nights, the faint screams of children echoed; their fingernails scraping the insides of his skull in their attempts to escape the blasphemous memorial nestled in the crux of his childhood’s subconscious. 

He opened the back door and entered the stinky abode, a wet dog and rotting fruit horrid amalgamation, and beelined for the glass vials cluttering the table. With one wide sweep, the empty vials crashed to the floor. In a second arc he filched those containing  golden fluids, grabbing what he could carry, and shoved the rest into his pocket before storming out the door.

***

Sunset colored the sky over the western side of the Moloch Caldera a blood red. Clouds rolled in from the west coast with the false promise of rain. The sharp freeze of the wind whipped Milton’s braid into a tizzy, an effect of the caldera’s crest elevation that he ignored in favor of the open grave with the body bag crumpled next to it and the object in his trouser pocket burning its demand to be shown into the back corners of his mind. 

The body was too small. Folded with the impression of limbs forming uneasy mutations in the materials’s mosk. 

Did you get the headstone I wanted? 

When he spoke, his breath was visible in the chilly air. He reached into his black suit pocket, a velvety glossy do up right proper for the occasion and one he’d bought earlier. The only nice suit he owned. The coroner was gone and in his place a common gremlin in a gray, faded one piece of a jumpsuit for working on cars complete with the oil stains. The name on the jumpsuit was faded but still legible. 

Gerald

Opal from the Cactus Cathedral, per your request,  Gerald snapped his fingers. In response, two smaller gremlins dressed in grittier attire slinked from the back of a 1922 Model A truck, carrying

a white opal headstone with chunks of cactus melted into the resin crevices. 

From behind a tree near the truck, a fledgling black demon peaked and Milton met its gaze. The sulphur yellow eyes matched his and its braided black hair twisted in the wind. He turned away, both to flick Gerald a cash wad from his silk pocket square but also to tamper down the bubble of screams threatening to reach his consciousness.

Milton slipped the square back into his vest pocket and watched the gremlins fix the tombstone over the open grave. Carved into the opal was:

Victor Williams

Endearing Friend 

1891-1924

Then his eyes wandered to the body bag where it sat in silence. 

You still sure you don’t want a traditional Soyala funeral? Gerald opined. 

We don’t belong there anymore, Milton said, then added in a lower voice that Gerald could not hear, We never belonged anywhere.

Milton let the sentence hang and the mourning wind whipped his braid so he caught a glimpse of the hexagon symbol at the end. Let me bury him, he said Leave us.

Don’t have to tell me twice, Gerald said, tipped his fedora You heard him, boys. Nothing to see here. 

Gerald and his colleagues piled into the Model A and drove off, his eyes trailing to the faint image of the black demon child. He looked for a few moments, only to find that the head was only the shadow of a grave cast onto the dead tree. 

Milton was alone with Victor’s body with only the wind as company. And the pain radiating from his chest, archaic and cold, creeping its crystalline fractals from the heart to spread the length of his blood vessels. 

He stooped over to the body bag and hoisted it into his arms, cradling the infantile package. An image of Victor’s body crumpled to a quarter of his true size imprinted into his mind’s eye, dimmed by the shack lantern’s amber glow. With quaking arms and labored breaths, he lowered Victor’s body into the hole and let it drop to the bottom of the six feet. 

The thud punched a hole in his chest. 

He moved to wipe his sweat when he touched and found the wind had already frozen it and it moved his braid into a tizzy, screaming the sound of the mourning souls. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to tell your family what happened to you.He stared at the body. His teeth clenched back a wave of tears. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t get there fast enough to save you from, he trailed off, terror threatening to break through the thickness of grief 

From Him.

The grave did not reply.

He shoveled the earth back into the grave’s cavity but stopped himself. The object in his pocket clouded his mind with the fog of distraction, demanding his attention, until he dug and brought it out. From it came a hexagon-shaped object, matching that in his braid that kept the braid in place. A talisman. 

He let it drop into the grave before he shoveled the rest of the dirt in, swaying to a rhythm as he added more dirt until Victor and the talisman were both covered. 

He let the shovel fall from his hands and again, he glanced around. No one else was at the graveyard, so he knelt down on his hands and knees until his face was near the fresh pile of dirt. 

Quiet, as though not to invoke the wrath of his ego, he spoke in the old Soyala tongue, the language of his and Victor’s people. 

Goodbye, old friend.

He remained until the horizon swallowed the sun.

Chapter 1 [Milton]

A Grave Return

Milton’s hands shook as he fiddled with his fedora in front of his apartment complex in the west side of Johnny’s Paradise, the slums of Hellhole’s already derelect city where the yellow fumes curled from factory smokestacks and mingled with the frosty night air. 

His hair swept back in a Soyala bun save for a single strand of braided hair with a symbol at the end which he twisted between his fingers. All of which obscured beneath his fedora bill that he put on. His shadow fell in the pool of the street light. 

A green Hudson Roadster rounded the bend of the corner curb he sat on. The driver was Ruth Stepford, a tall, sleek black demon-anthro hybrid  with ram horns and silvery, austere lizard eyes. 

Get in, she spoke through the open passenger window when he hesitated. 

Classical piano tinkled from the car radio when he got in. 

He shut the door and she sped off est towards the rest of town. It was a silent drive. Milton tapped his thumb on the side of the car’s door handle. The rusty tipped  vanadium steel still gleamed below the passing streetlamps.

Milton’s voice shook. 

How is he? 

Don’t speak to him.

They passed through the residential suburbs of the Boarder Zone where middle class demons and anthropomorphic creatures made their homes and businesses. The Hudson  climbed up the eastern hill into the opulent neighborhood of Mammon, then slithered up a dirt road away from the mansions and crawled onto a bald patch where it plateaued. 

They stopped at a Victorian mansion, one of Hellhole’s first and finest since the early days, with its backside overlooking the black sands of the Saddleback Dunes that sifted in the freezing breeze. 

Soft glowing lamps made a gauntlet up to the door from the small, dirt walkway. 

Instead of grass for a lawn, it was a grove of cacti and various spiny succulents all the way to the veranda wrapping around the dusty white hued abode. 

Ruth rummaged in a small handbag and brought out a ring of black iron keys and unlocked the door. 

They entered a lush, black parlor conjoined with a dining room. A plate of bacon grease, egg and biscuit crumbs was on one side of the long dining table. Fruit rinds and pink cream residue on the inside of a frilly glass ice cream goblet on the other end. 

Gaslight jets glowed throughout the room, most of which hung from the iron chandelier above. Ruth lead Milton across the blood red carpet towards the back of the room. 

Bottles of animal ligaments in formaldehyde dotted bookshelves. A head with missing eyes screamed its open mouth in silence at him before Ruth snapped her fingers. He turned. She gestured for the golden elevator in front of her and jabbed the button. 

The elevator was a soft hum of gears and not the shrieking madness of the headquarter’s elevator. It stopped in darkness, opening to reveal a single light at the end of a hallway. Musky dirt and a soil odor swept through the clammy sepulchral depths as they walked up to the door, which Ruth gave a few rattling knocks. 

Enter.

Milton gulped at the familiar, brusque cowboy twang. 

Ruth opened the door. 

It was a large room, but Milton’s eyes strayed to the right. A brass chandelier glittered from above and a single library lamp illuminated a desk feathered with paperwork and cigar ash. In the corner stood a four poster bed. 

What the hell is he doing here? Silas’ voice was a grumble of thunder. Milton turned to the room’s left side to find the kingpin. Beside a fireplace large enough to be a small room, sitting in a plush leather armchair, sat the kingpin trussed in a smoking jacket. He was a massive anthro, a crossbreed of minotaur and dragon right down to the bull horns and crimson scales. A cigar in one clawed hand and a thick book in the other. 

He’s useful, Ruth’s voice was a shrug. 

The kingpin stared Milton down despite remaining seated on the chair. 

He better be, Silas snarled but he didn’t move. 

I went back to headquarters, Ruth cut in quickly and slid into the armchair opposite of Silas. The leather piffed as she settled in and crossed her leg. 

Milton moved for the chair next to her. 

You stay right where you’re at, Silas snapped his finger and pointed to the end of the rug where he’d been standing. Milton cleared his throat but said nothing. Silas shifted his attention to Ruth.

How much did Officer Price take?

Her  raid destroyed all of the batches.

Silas’ wrath was a hot pinch, a burning needle prick of quick rage. 

Dammit. 

Milton dug into his pocket and took out a slip of paper but Silas prodded Ruth for more before Milton could comment on it. 

And the Vatrinos?

It’s only a matter of time before they retaliate. I had Japheth ask around and keep an eye out but there’s no sign yet. If we’re lucky, they’re still juggling for someone to usurp Rosario’s place on the throne. Ruth said. 

Silas shook his head, It ain’t no question, that damn son of his is gonna get it. Count us lucky, that blood sucker didn’t look much older than thirteen when I saw him when we raided the place.

Milton stilled at the words, his throat drying. The image of the young vampire, the sunken eye sockets and papery flesh burned a hole in his mind. 

He’ll have a Consigliere at the ready, Ruth’s voice brought him back. 

Milton cleared his throat, the paper crinkling in his hand, but the other two ignored him. 

A Consig ain’t gonna have jurisdiction over the royal heir.

He’s an impressionable boy who has no idea what he’s doing. The Consig is going to influence his decisions.

The slip of paper dampened beneath Milton’s sweaty fingers and for a moment as his memory flashed back to the Vatrino mansion in the hills. The face of the Vatrino son, a vampire boy no older than thirteen, whose black scleras and violet eyes haunted him. 

He knows I killed Rosario, Milton spoke with a constricted throat, not looking at anyone in particular They all know.

This got the attention of the other two. They looked at him at the same time. 

He’s right, Ruth was the first one to speak after sullen quietude dripped its apprehension over all three. If they’re going to send a hit, it’ll be for you.

His throat constricted. 

We’re sittin’ ducks after that raid and now their target is waltzing the streets like a pro skirt on Mardi Gras, Silas’s golden dragon eyes glinted at Milton with resentment,  I have half a mind to truss you up in the square so they can snuff you out right proper.

Ruth’s steely voice cut through Silas’ threat. 

We need something unique to sling if we’re going to climb back to our original numbers.  

Silas’ attention was back on her. 

Without a chemist, it’ll be a miracle to break even. Kemp Manson must’ve skipped town, ‘cause I can’t find a trace of him anywhere and Hunter can’t craft worth a damn. I swear Manson’s dead the minute I see him again.

We can migrate our business somewhere else, Milton said. 

The two paused to look at him again. 

The hell does that mean? Silas grunted. 

Milton licked his lip. Impatience brewed in his mind and bubbled to the surface. 

We start over someplace new.

You only suggestin’ that because you want to scamper on away so the Vatrinos won’t lay their hit.

Someone from Mayville gave us a tip, he said, angry now, thrusting the crinkled paper towards them. 

The two glanced at him and looked as though he hadn’t been there for the past five minutes. The black splotch in a coal gray world. 

He handed the slip to Silas who read it aloud. 

To Mr. Silas MaCallister

Pleasant greetings and salutations! This message will be brief, as you will be upset as to what I’ve taken from you. Your ledger containing the names of your drug dealings and the drugs themselves I’ve confiscated. Fear not. I’m willing to make arrangements for you to get it back if you answer my request. I’d like to work for you. More details will be discussed if you give me a ring at the number I’ve provided. I think you’ll value my input. 

Kind, pleasant regards

Detective Renshu Karasu of Mayville Police Department

The fire crackled to fill the silence before the possible storm as Silas folded the note in half. 

Sounds like a damn threatening note, he grunted and set the paper down. 

He’s a detective, he’ll know how to avoid the law best. We should let him in and expand our business into Mayville. Milton said. 

Ruth cast him a sidelong look, both the shadows and her indecipherable demeanor left it to question whether it was a threat or allowing him to speak. Silas looked at him. 

You suggestin’ we take him up on that offer?

Milton nodded.

We find the Diesel slingers and have him tip them off to the cops for a raid. We can use his expertise to lay low from the cops while we find another chemist.

Ain’t no chemist who did what Manson did and I been around long enough to know, Silas expelled a defeated sigh.

The Diesel slingers must have a chemist, Milton continued, Might make sense to snag theirs to come work for us.  

You better keep that mouth of yours shut, son. With what you did to Hank-

Milton dared to lunge forward and snap at the kingpin. 

It was an accident.

Silas was up in a matter of milliseconds, towering his full seven feet over Milton’s five, and jammed the ashen tip of his cigarette into the side of Milton’s neck. 

Milton screamed, clawing at his burning neck. Silas’ figure was a blur within the miasma of Milton’s tears as he stormed back into the chair. 

Interrupt me again and it’ll be plugging up your throat next time.

Ruth’s calculative voice steered Silas back. 

He killed Rosario for us, 

And you’re damn lucky you did, son, Silas snapped his finger at Milton who nursed the wound. 

The Vatrinos are just as weak as we are without him and their Tastees were destroyed, Ruth said They don’t have anything left to sling. 

We don’t either and those Diesel slingers got their product still going strong. Silas countered. Milton caught Ruth’s glance. Whether it was a warning or encouragement was left a mystery. 

Milton winced, tenderly flaking off the ash, revealing the shriveled oval of his burnt flesh. He winced at the effort of speech.

We can snag some Diesel and follow them to their headquarters, Milton said Karasu can tip off the cops. Before he calls a raid, we take all the loot we can get and ship it to Mayville to start fresh. 

But he’ll know about our workings. Supposin’ he runs and mouths off to the brass? 

We’ll kill him, Ruth said without a semblance of emotion. 

Alrighty, then, Silas nodded. 

What about Rosario’s son? Milton’s voice trembled, but the others ignored him. 

Ruth rose, I’ll drop a few wires.

Good’n.

Milton turned to leave, trailing Ruth, but Silas spoke to his back. 

Don’t think we’ve forgotten what you’ve done to Hank. That little bullet wound I gave you gonna look like a bug bite-

Milton turned, an abrupt move, to interrupt his employer. 

If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have known to level their supplies in the first place.

The room fell into a dangerous hush as the enormous kingpin walked over and stood over to breathe down on him. Ruth stood nearby, observing with cool apathy. 

Milton didn’t turn away, his throat was dry and his burn screamed on his neck when he touched it but it was the circular curve of a scar on the back of his hand that left him chilled to the bone. The curve of a bullet wound shot by the dragon man standing in front of him. 

Silas glanced to to that hand, to that scar, and met Milton’s gaze. 

You said if the raid was successful, I’d be working under Ruth, Milton spoke, struggling to control his terror. 

What the hell do you want? Spit it out before I wring you a new one.

I want my own business. In Mayville, we can have a partnership. Part of the earnings I make there, I can send back to you. 

It was quiet. 

You have big hands, little Atlas.

Milton repressed his smile. 

Do you agree?

Yes, but if you fuck up, it’s on your hands. 

Thank you, sir.

Get on out of here. 

Milton tipped his fedora and walked back towards the door. 

Ruth caught up to him and they walked out the door. 

***

The Hudson rode all the way to the business district in silence between them until Ruth stopped at a side street where a line of public teletalkies aligned  below a row of street lamp. 

Don’t turn on the camera, she told Milton. 

These ‘talkies don’t work that way, Milton opened the door. 

Cover the lens. 

Milton walked out, fiddling with the coins in his pocket until he reached the first teletalkie and shut himself in the glass casing. He used the teletalky rotary to dial the number on the note Karasu left for them. 

He thumbed the lens, an ocular set into the camera pavilion like an unblinking black eye and looked into the blank screen where the recipient’s face would show. The dial tone purred, then a pleasant  man’s voice answered. The teletalky screen from the other end was obscured as well. 

Renshu Karasu. May I ask who this is?

You don’t need to know my name.

How odd. But my guess is that you’re Silas MaCallister or an affiliate.

Maybe. You left us a note about a week ago talking about striking up a deal.

There was a smile in the man’s voice, That’s very possible.

Me and my associate want to meet up with you and discuss business.

Very well. I’m staying at an apartment complex in the Boarder Zone-

No. We’re meeting at Hard Joy’s Diner in the business district in half an hour. If you come armed, we’ll kill you. 

How pleasant your business is.

It’s what you wanted.

Milton hung up and walked back to the Hudson. 

He swung in, We’re meeting at Hard Joy’s.

His choice? 

She turned over the engine. 

No. I’m hungry.

She started the car and drove off further into the business district where  restaurants, grocery stores, and boutiques lined either side of the street in contrast with boarded up buildings and broken windows.  

Hard Joy’s buzzing neon sign gleamed red above the chrome wraparound parapets and the high glass window that illuminated the corner sidewalk of the twenty four hour automat diner. The diner’s horizontal sign written in angular deco lettering squeezed in a snug, chrome box that forced all light from the neon into a menacing brightness. The H struggled to keep lit, flickering like an irritated eye. 

They stepped through the double glass doors with smudged chrome handles and found the automat mostly empty. Clusters of tables and chairs made up the middle section of the diner and to the left were the window seat booths. A long chrome counter with knobs, windowed glass cubbies illuminating prepared food, and a band of lights spanned the back wall. 

Milton stepped towards the counter. 

We want the same thing. I don’t think this will be much of a conversation, he said. 

But we can’t give him the upper hand.

I didn’t introduce myself on the ‘talky and I intend to keep it that way, 

The arrangement was your idea.

He doesn’t need to know who I am. Besides, you’re used to talking to other members of the mob.

I have experience with negotiation, yes.

The faintest hint of a smile in her voice made him pause but when he looked at her, it was not there. 

How are we going to do this?

The selections ranged from entrees to desserts to snacks, all of which individually nestled into a glass shelf underlit by small electric bulbs and labeled above by a band of white light and black deco lettering. 

He reached for a Hellhole nickel in his pocket, eyeing the canned meat sandwich prepared by the robots behind the wall which he caught a glimpse of in the kitchens through the empty space in the cubby when he took the sandwich. 

Ruth followed, her eyes trailing to the drink fountain down the line. 

Discreetly.

Milton put his nickel in the slot, turned the chrome knob near it, opened up the glass window and took out the canned meat sandwich half wrapped in tissue paper. 

He moved along, glancing around the  empty automat. 

she made for the tea dispenser towards the other end of the counter. Milton hovered by the milk machine, grabbed himself a shiny tin cup, and pulled a silver lever, letting the milk trickle into his cup until full. 

While he filled his tin, he glanced over. Ruth filled two cups of tea into her tins. 

Two?

One for him, she took the steaming cups and walked away. 

Trying to impress? 

They walked to the tables and settled down at one near the window. They faced the entrance. 

Gain his trust, she sat next to him and pushed the second cup into the seat in front of them. 

With tea?

If he’s anything like I think he is, he’ll accept it, she blew on her cup, Now, shut up and eat. 

There was the barest of a smirk in her voice and he looked at her to find the ghost of it remained just before it faded into her usual frigid expression. A few seconds of panic surged in his heart at seeing her smile, in any form. 

Fifteen minutes passed. The robot staff cleaned tables or swept, their small electric engines buzzing the only sound in the automat as the two demons ate.  At eight thirty sharp the door opened, revealing a bird-like anthropomorphic Tengu in a fedora and black topcoat who looked around the automat. 

It’s him, Ruth’s voice was low. 

How do you know?

We’ve met.

Milton’s gaze caught the detective’s chocolate hued Raven eyes as it stopped on them. He looked away as the detective strolled closer to the booth.The Tengu’s pleasant smile exposed black razor avian teeth.  

Miss Stepford? 

His voice was a gentle, polite breeze masking the barest hint of a trickster. The nuance shifted Milton’s stomach into a state of unease. 

She nodded, Hello again, detective.

He looked around, two quick flicks dashing across the automat for validation. 

You’re in the right place, she confirmed for him, swiping the letter he wrote from her clutch purse, and flipped it up so he could see. 

Ah,so it seems my suspicions about you were correct in that you are Silas’ MaCallister’s secretary, 

My only lie that day was that I was a secretary.

His smile faded and flashed back quickly. 

I am his consigliere, his right hand.

May I sit?

She gestured for the seat in front of them and he settled in, then glanced at the tea. 

For you, detective, she gestured at it but her tone was indecipherable. He smiled. Milton noticed the quiver of his upper lip and finger as he reached for it. 

How very kind, he lifted his cup for a cheer gesture  and then blew before taking a sip. Next to Milton, Ruth was a statue. Patient and deific. 

His eyes flickered, a nuance so subtle a blink would make it invisible. Milton hadn’t blinked. 

You’ve served my favorite, he raised the cup again and winked Sencha green tea.

She didn’t say anything. 

And by the smell of it, seems you’ve done the same, he added. 

She nodded, her monotone made any emotion impossible to read, What a coincidence.

And you are the famed Silas MaCalister, I presume? He extended his hand for Milton to shake but Milton didn’t return it. 

You don’t need to know who he is, she set her cup down. Her long, black hands folded over each other with a  dainty etiquette despite the chill in her demeanor.

Karasu smirked, I suppose you were the one who gave me a ring. Too shy to speak in the flesh, Mr. MaCallister? 

Milton tensed. Karasu chuckled a Raven’s witty cluck in a way that irritated Milton to his core. Ruth resumed the conversation. 

What do you want, detective? 

The letter states it clearly, I think, he took another sip before setting it down and reaching into his peacock blue vest pocket. 

You want to make a deal, she reiterated the note’s contents in paraphrase. Any terms you want to expand on?

He withdrew a cigarette. A Kwix. 

I’m going to be frank.

Ruth waited. 

Your profit margins were substantially high in your mass gross index and exponentially growing, if I remember the tallies within your ledger correctly. From my modest perusal of the other companies in the area who exercise their business within the same, well-er-industry, I would say you’ve sustained a formidable competitive footing in the area

She said nothing. 

I would like to become a member of your business. My judicial expertise will become invaluable to you and after your last raid, it doesn’t seem like your company would be doing so well at the moment, he lit the Kwix and blew out a puff. 

Member of my business?

I can fill an auxiliary role, he waved the cigarette. 

Milton glanced over at his suave shoulder line, the cigarette stream curled in the air between them, and made the briefest of eye contact with the Tengu detective before looking away. 

Such as?

Legal mediation. I could keep you one step ahead of law enforcement-

We’ve already been doing that, Ruth eased back and took a sip of her tea. 

Until your recent raid.

There was a pause. The verbal jab tapped Milton’s sternum like a physical blow. He met Karasu’s sardonic gaze and saw the little gotcha smile. Milton braced himself for a possible retaliation from Ruth. 

Bad luck, she said. 

Precisely why I can help you, he lifted a black finger, pointing to the heavens with an emphatic air. 

Your motivation?

Renshu shrugged, What anyone wants in this business. The bread and butter of society. Or, to be more specific, a certain percentage of your kingpin’s particulars.

How large?

Ten percent.

Pocket change, Ruth crossed her arms. 

I’ve no wish to impose. 

His razor smile gleamed. 

Breaking into my colleague’s office and stealing pertinent, private information is a bit more than imposing, I would think.

There was no other way to make contact, Renshu lifted his palms in mock supplication,  Had I known that you were involved, I would have contacted you at your alleged secretarial position.

You’re lying, she cut him to the quick. 

He paused, chuckled his ravenesque cluck with both soft condescension as his eyes drifted to his fingers on the table in front of him that melted into a grave expression. 

It’s been my philosophy for many years that we are all born equal, 

Milton held back his surprise at the tonal shift, forcing himself to remain stoic, however the Tengu’s voice demanded his attention.

Each of us is born screaming into this world with a deck of cards. Some more vile than others.

Milton’s mind ceased to function and his breathing slowed to a lulling halt,lost in the ephemeral quotations of the demure mystic in front of him. 

We are all in pain from the moment we are born. It’s the dealings of those bouts of pain that separates us, he maintained the graveness, like he was much older than he seemed, and looked upon Milton, the brown eyes warm and inviting. Milton looked away, risking the betrayal of his aching heart for the one he’d lost. 

There was a pause. Karasu let the words hang in the air. 

Milton’s insides warred, processing the message with both vile hate and deep understanding. His stomach churned. 

Your drug kingdom is a business like any else and I’m curious, Miss Stepford, of how the other side of the law conducts this business, Renshu continued, retaining much more of the businessman quality than he had in those dire last seconds. He trailed off. It was my ploy all along to understand it. I, above all else, am a student at heart. 

And if I don’t give you the job?

Renshu wore a grave expression, Well, I’ll have no choice but to turn in my findings to the local law enforcement.

Then, we’ll have no choice but to kill you, Ruth quipped. 

A silent pause. Milto’s hand neared his lap where his loaded Colt  pistol was kept stuck in his suspenders. One quick move and it would be free to shoot. 

Renshu’s ensuing chuckle, the same Raven’s cluck, brought upon a sickening chill down Milton’s spine. 

Assume for one moment that your marksman is adept at his job. 

The hot jab got a rise out of Milton, who stiffened, and caught the Tengu’s perceptive eye. Milton backed down without the aid of Ruth’s rising hand. 

Continue, she said. 

There are telecams hooked to every corner of this building. My death, particularly the death of an innocent narcotics detective, will not go unnoticed.

He finished with a grin. 

Milton held still, fingering the pistol, readying himself for the word if need be. After a long silence, his supervisor spoke. 

You understand that this is an illegal business, detective, Ruth leaned back and folded her leg over the other at the knee. Her distance from the table allowed her this luxury. 

I understand that very much, yes, his grin started to fade. 

Then you will also understand that our profits outweigh our desire to keep you alive unless you bring indispensable value to the table. Which, so far, you haven’t. 

You forget the telecams, his grin sparked. 

You forget that you’re evading the law. The newspapers always mention OfficerVirginia Price is on the lookout for you. 

His smile faded into nothing, the black of his eyes swallowed up the brown. Ruth spoke the unspoken. 

You’re on the lam and looking for a means to jolt. We’re easy prey. Or so you thought.

Milton glanced at Renshu’s shaking fingers as he lifted the cigarette to take another drag.

You’re from Mayville, correct? She said after a short pause. Renshu looked up at her. 

Yes.

And you were a detective there as well, which means you have in depth knowledge of the legal system. All the ins and outs.

Renshu nodded.  

Yes.

She held the tea cup in front of her face so her eyes pierced at him over the rim, her tone was an emphatic flick. 

That’s information worth some bread and butter.

And what would you like with this information? His voice was a chirp. 

Legal immunity.

There was another pause. Milton gulped, staring at the two and the crust of his sandwich he left behind. 

Renshu’s grin shook, as did his hand as he reached up to take another puff. 

You’re asking quite a bit.

You exposed my entire product to the police force who had it destroyed. I have every right to kill you. Also, your pleasant facade is gratingly insincere.

His smile faded. 

We’ll shoot you and find the sleaziest lawyer to justify it if you don’t show me you’re useful.

Milton’s stomach hitched at his cue and shifted, ever so slightly, in his seat and moved for the handle of his Colt wedged into his suspenders. 

And granting you legal immunity will make me useful?

Ruth nodded, closing her eyes on the soft downswoop before opening them again. 

He gulped. Milton fingered his gun handle searching for the trigger.

Well, it seems I have little choice, then, Renshu shrugged.

You never did, she sipped her tea Opting to strike a deal with me was your first mistake. 

Renshu lifted his hands as if in surrender, I agree to your terms, Miss Stepford, but suppose I may go back to my hotel room to gather up the necessary-

He will accompany you.

She gestured to Milton.

Renshu rose, Milton followed. 

Yes, I suppose that’s proper.

They turned for the door. Ruth remained. 

Oh, and detective Karasu, Ruth said when they were halfway to the door. Milton paused but neither him or Renshu said anything. 

Give me back my ledger.

***

From the curb of a fancy  joint in Mammon, Milton squinted at the yellow bulbs reflecting off the gold art deco streamlined cornices at the Thompson Inn where he waited for Ruth and Renshu to return. 

He thumbed the tip of the vial he stole from Jake’s shack in the woods, and brought it out of his pocket to look at it beneath the light. Golden light played into the amber, the streamlined facade was bulbous in the viscous fluid. The silhouettes of patrons going in and out of the Inn’s entrance looked too much like writing bodies of Soyala children. 

A serpent of guilt uncoiled from his stomach’s molten pit. 

Voices he recognized jolted him to a start and a glance showed the Tengu detective and Ruth ambling down the stairs. Karasu’s effects consisted of two briefcases. 

My car is over there, the detective said and gestured for the black 1923 sedan in the gravel parking lot. Milton followed them to the car where the Tengu opened up the back compartment and swiftly tossed his belongings inside before slamming it down. 

The Tengu stopped shifting, glancing once at Milton in a pointed gesture to meet his eye, before rounding the bend to the front of the car.

Ruth appeared next to him and spoke one blunt phrase.

You ran the cartel routes. 

Milton met the Tengu's perceptive glance in the rearview mirror, listening like a gumshoe bird worth his salt.

He was silent. 

Coming along? Karasu called from the driver seat. 

Ruth continued in a lower voice. 

Where would someone pick up Diesel? 

I never slung it.

Use your common sense.

There was a twitch of a smile on his face. An image of Victor crept back into his mind, a fond memory of his beloved friend’s sardonic humor. His smile faded upon another memory that swept up any trace of mirth into the dark cellar of his subconscious. 

There’s a fueling station on the cusp of Johnny’s Paradise and the Boarder Zone that gets a lot of buys, he said. She nodded, a soft motion seen from the side of his vision. 

I’m driving, she told the Tengu who only chuckled politely in response before moving to the back seat. 

Ruth was already in the driver’s seat when he swung in the passenger. 

Conduct an exchange for Diesel, she spoke, soft as though to keep Karasu from hearing, and pulled back the stick shift. He held out his hand into the middle seat in the bench, palm upturned and fingers wiggling. 

In my purse, she directed. 

He went for the brown Victorian clutch bag between them, not much larger than his own hand, and rifled through it. Next to a wad of cash folded and fastened with a silver clip with the Hellhole drug Mr. Tastee logo was an object that caught his interest. 

Blindly curious, he went for it and not the cash and flipped it over to get a good look. It was a Soyala tribe symbol, the same as the one holding his braid together which made him instinctively touch it. 

Two dollars should be fine, he jumped at hearing her voice and looked over at her. She glanced, sidelong, keeping her attention on the road to the fueling station. He nodded, tucked the Soyala symbol and untethered the seventy five Hellhole dollars with the wrinkled face of the founder on it from the purse and clipped it shut. 

The fueling station had not changed from Milton’s last visit. She parked a street away. 

You have the money. You know what to do, was her terse remark. Milton grunted, barely audible, and exited the car. Cold air gripped him, forcing him to pull his jacket pieces closer, as he walked the street to the fueling station. 

He turned, glanced around at the bushes. There was a car in the queue, a red demon fueling up, ignoring him. A wind blew, in his trouser pocket sat the cash growing warm despite the freezing wind. 

He walked to the