As the sound of the slayer's boot against that gas can faded, Qhuinn moved down and sat on the SOB's legs. The bastard might have gotten one kick in, but he was not getting a second chance.
Outside, the human cops gathered around the shed.
"It's locked," one of them said as the chain rattled.
"I have shell casings over here."
"Wait, there's something inside... phew, man, what a stench."
"Whatever it is, it's been dead at least a week. That smell--I'd take even my mother-in-law's tuna casserole over that."
There was a ripple of agreement.
In the darkness, John and Qhuinn locked eyes and waited. The only solution if the door got popped was to dematerialize and leave the lesser behind; there was no way of moving the weight of the slayer through thin air. But none of these policemen could possibly have the key--so that left shooting their way in as their only option.
And chances were good they'd assume a quick pop just to get into the shed was not worth the paperwork.
"Only one shooter, according to the nine-one-one call. And he can't be in there."
There was a cough and a curse. "If he is, his nose is falling off from the stank."
"Call the groundskeeper," a deep voice said. "Someone's gotta get that dead animal out of there. Meantime, let's head into the neighborhood."
There was chatter and footsteps. A little later one of the cars drove off.
"We gotta off him," Qhuinn whispered over John's shoulder. "Take that knife and let's do him and get the fuck out of here."
John shook his head. There was no way he was losing this prize.
"John, we're not leaving with him. Kill him so we can bounce."
Even though Qhuinn couldn't see his lips, John mouthed, Fuck that. He's mine.
Letting this source of information slide was not going to happen. If anything, the human police could be dealt with mentally... or physically if it came down to it.
There was the smooth sound of a knife being unsheathed. "Sorry, John, we're outtie."
No! John yelled over his shoulder soundlessly.
Qhuinn's hand locked on the collar of John's jacket and dragged him off balance, so it was a case of either letting go of the slayer's neck or snapping the fucker's head off his spine. Since an incapacitated lesser couldn't talk, John released his hold--and caught himself by planting his palm on the cold cement.
No fucking way was he going to let his buddy cheat him out of this.
As he lunged at the male, all hell broke loose. He and Qhuinn wrestled for control over the dagger, knocking into a lot more than a gas can, and the lesser rolled free and sprang for the door. As the cops started hollering, the slayer pounded to get out--
The next sound that made any impression over the din was a gunshot. The chaser of which was a metallic ringing.
The police had blasted off the Master Lock.
From down on the floor, John whipped his arm around to the small of his back, and as he pivoted on his knees, he and Qhuinn threw their knives in sync, their blades traveling end over end across the shallow space.
The penetrations were of such force that even though they went into the slayer's torso between the shoulder blades, clearly one or both hit home: In a flash bright as lightning and with a sonic boom loud enough to make ears bleed, the lesser went back to his maker, leaving nothing but a smoky stink... and a hole the size of a refrigerator in the shed door.
With adrenaline running so high, neither he nor Qhuinn could dematerialize, so they leaped up and back-flatted it on either side of the gaper, staying put as first one gun muzzle then another eased inside.
Forearms were next.
Then profiles and shoulders. And flashlights.
Fortunately, the humans stepped fully inside.
"Psst. Your fly's down." As the cops turned on Qhuinn's smart ass, John unsheathed both his SIGs, and with a quick cross-strike on those heads, CPD's finest were seeing stars and sinking down onto the floor.
Which was precisely when Blay showed up with the Hummer.
John jumped over the policemen and hightailed it down to the SUV with Qhuinn right behind him, those New Rocks the fucker insisted on wearing positively pounding the earth. John gunned his way for the rear door, which Blay had popped, catching the handle and flipping himself inside as Qhuinn slid into the backseat.
As Blay took off, flooring the engine and blasting out of there, John was glad they'd had to tango with only one set of cops--although sure as shit the other two badges would be back ASAP.
They were heading north toward the highway as John clawed his way into the backseat... and relocked his hands around Qhuinn's throat.
As they went back at it, Blay shouted from up front, "What the fuck is wrong with you two?"
No time to answer that. John was busy squeezing and Qhuinn was trying to give him a black eye--and succeeding.
Sixty-something miles an hour. In and around downtown. With a possible ID on the Hummer if either of those cops had come to enough to focus his peepers while Blay got them out of Dodge.
And a brawl going down.
Later, John would realize that of course there was only one place Blay could go.
By the time the guy pulled into Sal's parking lot--in the back of the restaurant, where there were no lights--John and Qhuinn had both drawn blood. And the fight ended only when John was yanked out of the door by Trez--which suggested the redhead had phoned ahead. Qhuinn was handled with similar muscle by iAm.
John spit to clear out his mouth and glared at all of them.
"I believe we'll call this a draw, boys," Trez said with a half smile. "What do ya think?"
As John was released, rage made him shake. That slayer could have been the one thing they needed to crack the locale... the story... the anything. And because Qhuinn had insisted on wasting the bastard, they were no closer to where they had to be. Plus there was the fact that the lesser had died so easily. Just a prick in the heart cavity and he was home free--or at least back to the Omega.
Qhuinn wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "For fuck's sake, John! You think I don't want to find her? You think I don't give a shit? Christ, I've been out every night with you, looking, searching, praying for a break." He pointed his finger straight out. "So get this straight. The pair of us getting busted with a leaking lesser by a bunch of humans is not going to help us. You want to tell Wrath how you rolled with that one? I don't. And if you ever put a gun in my face again, I will fuck you up no matter what my job is."
John didn't trust himself to respond. One thing was clear, though--if he didn't have the hope of something turning up at Benloise's St. Francis place, he would have been tearing shit up no matter who tried to stop him, Shadow or otherwise.
"Are you hearing me?" Qhuinn demanded. "Am I clear to you?"
John paced around, hands on his hips, head down low. As his temper started to cool, the logical side of him knew his buddy was right. He was also very aware he'd temporarily lost his damn mind in that shed. Had he really put a forty in his friend's puss?
His sudden clarity made him sick to his stomach.
If he didn't stitch it up here, he was going to have more problems than a missing female. He was going to end up dead, either because he was sloppy in combat or because Wrath gave him a serious case of boot-up-the- ass-itis.
He looked over at Qhuinn. Man, the hard expression on that pierced face was right close to an edge a friendship couldn't go back from--the kind of thing that didn't have to do with Qhuinn being a tough guy, but rather John being the kind of asshole no one wanted to hang out with.
He walked up to the male and wasn't surprised when Qhuinn held his ground in spite of the throw-down in the car. When he stuck his hand out, there was a long pause.
"I'm not the enemy, John."
John nodded, focusing on that tattooed tear beneath the guy's eye. Retracting his palm, he signed, I know that. I just... I need to find her. And what if that slayer was the way?
"Maybe he was--but the sitch got critical and you're going to have to choose yourself over her sometimes. Because if you don't, there's no way you're ever going to find out what happened. You can't search for her from inside a coffin."
He couldn't find a way to argue with that.
"So listen up, you crazy fuck, we're in this together," Qhuinn said softly. "And I'm here to make sure you don't wake up dead. I get the drive, I do. But you've got to work with me."
I'm going to kill Lash, John signed in a rush. I'm going to hold his throat in my hands and I'm going to stare into his eyes as he dies. I don't care how much it costs me... but his ashes will be sprinkled on her grave. I swear on...
What did he have to swear on? Not his father. Not his mother.
... I swear on my own life.
Anyone else might have tried to placate him with a shitload of have- faith, you-gotta-believe crap. But Qhuinn clapped him on the shoulder. "Have I told you how much I love you lately?"
Every night you come out with me to help find her.
"It's not because of the fucking job."
This time when John put his palm out, his friend used it to pull them into a hard embrace. Then Qhuinn shoved him away and checked the watch on his wrist. "We should head over to St. Francis Avenue."
"You got ten minutes." Trez put his arm around the guy and started walking for the back door into the kitchen. "Let's get you two cleaned up. You can leave the Hummer in our receiving dock and I'll switch the plates for you while you're gone."
Qhuinn looked over at Trez. "That's really fucking nice of you."
"Yeah, I'm a prince, all right. And to prove it, I'll even tell you all I know about Benloise."
As John followed them inside, the fact that he hadn't gotten anything out of the slayer focused him, steeled him, resolved him further.
Lash wasn't going to leave Caldwell. He couldn't. As long as he was head of the Lessening Society, he was going to go toe-to-toe with the Brotherhood, and the Brothers weren't budging from the city--the Tomb was here. So although the civilian vampires had scattered, Caldie remained the focal point of the war because there would be no winning for the enemy if the Brothers still breathed.
Sooner or later, Lash was going to slip up and John was going to be there.
But goddamn the waiting could wear a guy out, it really could. Every dragging night with nothing new and nothing really to go on... was a forever in hell.