Desolate Mantle (Street Games Book 2) Read online

  Kyra reached the stop sign next to the tiny park. It amazed her that anything of the sort existed within the boundaries of Abstreuse City. Not that it got much use from children. No parent in their right mind would bring their kids here. Not after dark, at the very least, and daylight wasn’t much better. The playground squatted in the darkness, no bigger than her hotel room, consisting only of two small swings, a rusted teeter-totter, and half of a monster truck tire for climbing. Not even a slide. Beside it, a small grassy area—perhaps half again as large as the playground—was probably the largest patch of green in the city, and poorly tended. Mostly a meeting place for deals and a campground for derelicts, she supposed.

  Kyra suspected this place beside the stop sign might be the best choice for implementing her plan, but she didn’t like it. The only streetlight around for blocks shone down beside the stop sign. Its red hue cast a blood-like appearance over the park. Of course the one time she had to do something that might draw unwanted attention to her would be in the most open space in the city. She couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that permeated the spot.

  Kyra had been doing this, hiding in the shadows and living a double life, for so long that paranoia had become a staple for her. It wasn’t healthy, but in a place like this, that didn’t matter. She had to feed the paranoia, to embrace it, if she expected to survive Abstreuse City.

  Upon reaching the stop sign, she turned right and crossed to the opposite side of the road where a large tree loomed. After a quick glance around to be sure no one skulked nearby, she folded her legs beneath her and settled down against the trunk to wait.

  Sure enough, roughly thirty minutes later, headlights appeared. Kyra got to her feet, moving to one side of the tree and hugging the trunk with her body, counting on her dark getup and the city’s natural shadows to hide her.

  It wasn’t until the car drew near that Krya realized it wasn’t the right one. Josie’s family would be in their yellow SUV, and they should be appearing any moment. This car was smaller. A sedan of some kind, she thought. Putting her face to the tree trunk, she waited for the car to pass. As it came abreast of her, pausing at the stop sign, she risked a glance at the driver. He idled twenty feet away, and it was dark, but the red light overhead, shining down into the front seat of his car, gave her a surprisingly clear view. His hair looked dark, and pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and his profile showed an aquiline nose.

  Kyra barely suppressed a gasp and chills tingled unpleasantly up and down her spine. It was him. The same man who’d been following her earlier. Who’d peered into the alley before disappearing. What on earth was he doing here? No possible way he could have followed her this far, right? Yet here he was, too great a coincidence to ignore.

  He paused at the stop sign, swiveled his head in both directions, then peered ahead of him into the darkness, as though looking for something. Kyra hunched closer to the tree trunk, heart hammering.

  The man sat back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and not moving. Could he be searching for a particular address? Doubtful, in the middle of the night in the Carmichael District, or any part of the Slip Mire, for that matter. The longer he sat at the stop sign, the more nervous she got. This had moved beyond mere persistence. She didn’t like things she couldn’t get a handle on. In Abstreuse, that could be deadly. Kyra had a terrifying thought that maybe the man knew she hid there, and was watching her out of the corner of his eye, undecided. That was impossible, though. Wasn’t it?

  After another minute of indecision, he turned on his blinker and pulled to the left, peering in both directions as he did. Kyra put her gaze straight ahead of her, on the trunk of the tree, and held statute-still until the sounds of his car faded in the distance. Only then did she breathe more easily, though her heart didn’t stop pounding. Figuring out that man’s identity was her next priority.

  Not five minutes after the sedan disappeared, more headlights appeared in the distance. As they drew closer, it became apparent that these were the right ones. The car was the right shape and size. It drew nearer still, and Kyra could make out the pale yellow color. Pushing thoughts of the relentless stalker in the sedan away, she told herself to focus on tonight’s task. She couldn’t afford distraction.

  Huddled beside the tree, she allowed the darkness to camouflage her as the SUV pulled up to the stop sign. Inside, the two children played and shouted loudly enough for Kyra to catch snippets of their voices, though the windows were all rolled up. The man driving pulled up to the sign, looked both ways despite the street being deserted, while his wife in the passenger seat turned to lecture the children.

  Then, to Kyra’s surprise, they turned right. Last week, she’d seen them at the stop sign from a distance, but they’d turned left. She was sure of it.

  Yet, the SUV went right and kept going. They didn’t make a U-turn or do any kind of round-about. Kyra sighed, watching the taillights dwindle, then turn left three blocks down. She’d been afraid of this. Someone like Josie, cautious enough of his family’s safety to only have them visit him in the dead of night, would be stupid to allow them to take the same route home every time. It only seemed like the same route because, up until this point, it had been. Turning a different way now could only mean the route would different for the rest of the way each week. No point in following any further, then. Kyra needed somewhere she could count on them being with certainty. It would have to be between Josie’s house and here.

  Kyra surveyed the stop sign and park anew, making plans. It would have to be here, at this exact spot. There was nowhere else far enough from Josie’s that she wouldn’t be seen. No other spot that would give her the opportunity. And no place more dangerous for it.

  For ten minutes, she walked the site, running over every detail with her eyes. Then she went left, the same direction the sedan had gone. The next step would be to approach Clyde. He’d do anything for the right price, and had a flare for the dramatic. He’d eat this job right up. She just needed to be sure he wouldn’t ask any questions or gossip about what she asked him to do.

  For the next half hour, she moved stealthily through the Carmichael district, hiding her passage in the shadows of silent warehouses and vacant, condemned former businesses. Windows of all kinds gazed down on her. Some yawned open, while others sat closed. Some broken, others boarded up. They all felt the same, though. Like eyes shut so long they’d become encrusted that way, peeking open to watch her pass. Her. Kyra. The one discerning spot on the opaque landscape of the Slip Mire. The one thing that didn’t belong, that wasn’t like the rest. She wasn’t here because circumstances landed her here, or because she had no other choice, or because she’d grown up a certain way and knew no other way of life. No, she was the one person, the one traveler through this alien land, who stayed because she chose to.

  As she reached a particular street corner, she paused to glance up at an example of the ubiquitous graffiti that decorated the walls of the Carmichael district, just as it did most everywhere in the Slip Mire. This was a picture of a lizard of some kind—a chameleon, perhaps—topped with graffiti words she had no hope of deciphering.

  “This way, folks. Just follow Lenny and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  Kyra jumped, and slowed as she neared the corner, straining to hear. The voice was male, jovial, and not far away. Strange. She’d purposely stayed away from streets like M and K that bustled with activity. She’d wanted quiet to think on her way back to her hotel. Not much moved in this part of the Carmichael district at this time of night.

  Kyra peered carefully around the corner, and got the second surprise of the night. Across the way, a massive warehouse loomed. She couldn’t see how far back it stretched, but what she could see was extensive. Half the size of a football field at least. Two men ushered a group of Mirelings in through a side door. One of the men was tall with buzzed hair, a hooked nose, and tattoos peeking up from the neck of his dark colored shirt.
It was Jenkins, Josie’s right hand man. He wore what appeared to be dark jeans and a black leather jacket, a different costume than what he wore when he hung around Josie. The second man had more hair, but was skeleton-thin, with eyes too large for his face. He wore apparel identical to Jenkins’.

  The people they ushered into the warehouse had to be junkies. One and all they walked with totem-thin frames, ragged clothing, and had gaunt, haunted eyes. Kyra counted six, though some might have gone in before she’d peered around the corner.

  Leaning back out of sight, Kyra tapped a finger silently against the brick wall inches from her face. So Jenkins, one of Josie’s top thugs, was involved in something inside that warehouse. Interesting. Yet, she didn’t know what to do with the information tonight. She couldn’t exactly walk up and ask him what he was up to. She willed them to hurry into the warehouse. That way she could prowl around and do some investigating. She could also check in with several of her contacts tonight. See if they knew about any deals going down in the Carmichael District. Sadie might be a good source to consult for this too. But all of that was contingent upon these people leaving the street so she could get past them. The six junkies moved more slowly than children.

  Kyra waited, resisting the urge to tap her toe.

  “You think that’s enough for tonight?” she recognized Jenkins’ voice.

  “Probably,” a second voice answered. Had to be the skinny one.

  Another anomaly. These were exactly the kinds of junkies who were beneath the gang’s notice. Good customers, when they had the revenue, but most were too far gone and couldn’t afford the high or mid-grade stuff anyway. So what was Jenkins doing with them? And did Josie know about this little operation?

  “Probably? We need to be sure, Dorner.” Jenkins said.

  “Manny says if there’s at least a dozen a night, we’re good.”

  Kyra froze, her heart stopping for a full five seconds. Had he just said Manny?

  “Fine, then. If you’re sure.”

  Kyra whipped her head and shoulders around the corner, not caring if they heard or saw her. She caught sight of the skinny one—Dorner?—disappearing through the door. It shut behind him with a resounding thud. Kyra studied the warehouse, thinking.

  It couldn’t be, could it? Surely plenty of men in the world—even in Abstreuse City—had the name Manny. What were the chances of her happening upon a random conversation about the very person she was searching for, in the last place she’d have thought to look?

  Kyra moved back around the corner and leaned her head against the cool brick of the wall. Actually, in her experience, very likely. Kyra didn’t believe in coincidence. Everything happened for a reason. If you put enough time and effort into anything, eventually you couldn’t help but achieve it. And not necessarily by your efforts, alone. Human beings constantly attracted like-minded things to themselves. If she searched long enough and hard enough, sooner or later she’d draw her brother to her. She believed that completely. And now she’d heard his name.

  Peering around the corner again, she studied the warehouse, trying to take in details and draw conclusions. She wasn’t prepared for this. She needed to do some recon and figure out what was going on in there. Just the buying of substances, or something more?

  A row of narrow windows up near the roof were the only ones the warehouse sported, and they were all dark. Kyra emerged from her hiding place, walking the length of the warehouse from across the street. Nothing. No movement, no people, no guards. If she’d arrived five minutes later and not overheard the two men talking, she would have thought this just another abandoned warehouse, like all its neighbors.

  Then something caught her attention. In the far corner of the warehouse, a tiny thread of light came through one of the high, narrow windows. Wondering why light would show through one window and not the others, Kyra moved closer. It wasn’t as if each window represented a different room, after all. Even if there were divisions inside instead of one huge space, there should still be several windows to each division. When she stood directly under the window, she peered at it for several minutes, trying to decipher what she saw. The light didn’t shine through the entire window. It was more like a concentrated beam. A laser or penlight, perhaps?

  Her mind jumped to understanding all at once, as it became clear. Something covered the window—paper or a tarp, perhaps—but it had a hole in it. Light came through the small hole, spilling hints of the warehouse’s nighttime secrets into the street.

  Kyra ran her eyes along the line of windows. Probably all of them were covered to give the illusion of vacancy. In reality, lights were on in there. Activity of some kind. Based on what the two men said to the junkies—we’ll get you taken care of—probably drug deals. Jenkins worked for Josie, who worked for the Sons of Ares. So Manny being connected to this was actually a likely possibility.

  Leaning forward, Kyra put her palms against the side of the building. She didn’t know what she expected to feel. A good feeling, perhaps, about exploring more? She didn’t feel warmth, or peace, or even a drive to move forward. Only cold and shadow emanated from the brick.

  A dark, foreboding feeling stole into Kyra’s chest. Drug deals she could handle. Manny was a part of the drug world even before he disappeared. He was also a good man. She had no idea if the Manny Dorner mentioned was her Manny. If he was, there couldn’t be anything worse than drug deals going on in there. Manny wouldn’t be part of anything sinister. She didn’t think enough time had passed for him to be very high up in the gang hierarchy, so perhaps this really wasn’t him. If it was, it gave Kyra a kind of hope. The business side of things would be what Manny would be drawn to. He was a smart guy—smarter than she’d ever been in school—and he’d more likely to be part of something like that than the more base, violent aspects of the gang.

  Stepping back, Kyra rubbed her forehead, unsure what to do. She couldn’t just leave. No, she needed to be sure. She had to go in, investigate.

  “No time like the present, Roberts,” she muttered to herself. Resolutely, she began circling the warehouse again.

  Chapter 2

  Gabe had never been to prison. Not as a prisoner, at any rate. He worked the opposite side of the law, but sometimes he thought he might as well be in a cell with the amount of paperwork his job shackled him to.

  “Aw man. How can it already be this busy?” Tyke’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he rifled through papers on his desk. He wore jeans and a t-shirt decorated with a fox chasing its tail. No doubt a gift from his kids.

  Gabe spared a glance for his partner before going back to the report in front of him.

  Though the comment was loud enough to hear, it had been more mutter than anything else. Probably rhetorical. Tyke wasn’t wrong, though. Already the station bustled. Cops and detectives moved in and out, sometimes escorting handcuffed citizens. Phones rang. Floor fans pushed the close, stale air around, but didn’t cool the station at all.

  Shaun had been throwing Gabe significant looks since he’d arrived half an hour ago. Gabe had ignored them so far, hoping to get some work done before his boss roped him into something that would eat up all his time.

  Not that it was Shaun’s fault. Despite the coming of winter—a time when the crime rate should be diminishing because of the colder temperatures—violent crimes were up. The Scavengers were up to something. Every cop Gabe talked to agreed that they were behind the crime spree—they were always in or conveniently close to the crimes—though no one could connect them to anything concretely or say what they were up to. And the Sons of Ares were unsettlingly quiet, which could only mean the calm before a storm. Gabe sighed. He had the feeling they were in for a miserable winter in Abstreuse.

  When someone came to stand in front of his desk ten minutes later, Gabe looked up into his boss’s face and sighed. He went back to the report in front of him before speaking. “Got a call for me already?”

  Shaun’s gaze was so serious when Gabe glanced up again, that his hand f
roze over the paper. “What?”

  “We need to talk, Gabe.”

  Gabe set his pen down, moving the pit bull paper weight his mother had given him for Christmas to sit on top of the reports, and squared his shoulders. Shaun’s face rarely looked this solemn.

  “What is it?”

  “The cross.”

  Understanding filled Gabe’s chest and he took a deep breath. As usual, on the anniversary of his brother disappearance—six weeks past, now—someone who Gabe believed to be the man who’d taken Dillon, had sent a string of rosary beads. This year they’d been made of plain wood. For the sake of thoroughness, Gabe always sent them to the lab to be tested for fingerprints, DNA, and trace evidence. Nothing ever turned up. They weren’t part of an active case, not priority samples, so it often took many weeks to get the results back. Because the results came back the same every year—that was to say, nada—Gabe had no right to be disappointed, but he always had to prepare himself.

  If the results were the same as usual, Shaun would have just told him that, with nothing more than a regretful expression. Standing there, tree-trunk legs planted wide and boulder-sized arms crossed over his chest, gazing down at Gabe over his thick, handlebar mustache, Shaun looked downright disturbed.

  Planting his feet, Gabe straightened his legs slowly, pushing his seat away with the backs of his knees. “What’s wrong? They didn’t…actually find something?” It was only half a question.

  Across from Gabe’s desk, Tyke’s blond head snapped up from his work and he stared at Shaun with rapt attention.