Target Rich Environment

  There was an unholy scream. Cowley turned to see that Johnny Bones had flanked them. The Shard ripped his claws free from an officer’s belly, then he came at Cowley, grinning, his skull flowing and twisting under his skin. Terrified, the agent broke open his revolver, punched out the empties, and tried to reload with numb, shivering fingers. Johnny Bones aimed his Thompson at Cowley.

  Then it was as if someone had thrown an invisible lasso around the Shard and yanked him sideways. Johnny flew through the air and collided violently with a light pole. The Tommy gun clattered away. The Shard got up slowly as his bones returned to their normal shape. “Kill the Heavy!” he ordered.

  The parolee, Sullivan, burst through the window and rolled through the snow as a wave of force tossed the criminals every which way. Sullivan rose, cutting down his enemies like an avenging angel, wielding a giant black rifle that ripped an unending stream of thunder.

  “The big one’s on our side!” Cowley shouted.

  Sullivan ducked. The wall above him was instantly frosted over. Even from across the street Cowley could see the ice particles striking the Heavy, but the Icebox was behind cover and he didn’t have a shot. But cover didn’t matter to Sullivan. Grimacing through the frostbite, he focused in on the Icebox’s position and Snowball Maplethorpe fell into the sky. Sullivan calmly shouldered his machinegun, like a sportsman shooting waterfowl, and blasted the Icebox out of the air.

  “Mikey!” Jonny Bones shrieked as his brother was riddled with bullets. Sullivan must have cut his Power, because Snowball dropped back to the Earth, to lay crumpled, staining the snow pink. “You son of a bitch!” Bones took a few steps forward, then realized that the rest of his gang was in a bad way. The Shard turned and ran down the street.

  Sullivan dropped his now-empty machinegun and took off after Johnny Bones. Cowley closed the cylinder on his Smith & Wesson and aimed at the fleeing Shard. “Stop,” Sullivan ordered, and as the big man ran past, he said, “We need one alive.”

  He’d fought a Shard in Rockville once. Just another punk with a chip on his shoulder, thinking that if he could off the toughest guy on the block that would somehow make him king. Sullivan had ended his life, just like all the idiots before him, and all that came after, but it had been a valuable learning experience.

  Shard magic worked on a biological level. Their skin was remarkably tough and elastic, their bones could change shape and density as they desired. They were rare, and loathed by the public, considered disgusting freaks . . .Sullivan felt bad for them, but that was still no excuse for kidnapping. Disfiguring magic or not, Johnny Bones was done.

  A police car roared into the next intersection, sirens blaring. Johnny slid to a stop in the middle of the street. He looked around, but there was nowhere left to run. He saw Sullivan coming with .45 raised in one hand. Desperate, Johnny spread his arms wide. “I ain’t got no gun. You gonna shoot me down like a dog in the street, Heavy?” His breath came out in a cloud of steam.

  “Where’s Arthur Fordyce?”

  “You killed my brother!” Johnny struck himself in the chest. “Come on, finish it. I ain’t going to Rockville and I ain’t going to the chair.”

  Sullivan’s Power had just been burned too hard for him to do anything fancy with it. He didn’t dare try the trick he’d done to Hauptmann. He’d probably just accidently splatter Johnny all over Detroit. “Tell me what you did to him.”

  Johnny Bones started walking toward Sullivan. “If you don’t got the balls to shoot me down like a man . . .” The Shard’s fingers were suddenly twice as long as normal and ended in points like needles. “I’ll just take you with me.”

  Sullivan sensed that there were G-men coming up behind him. “Hold your fire and stay out of this,” Sullivan ordered, and even though he wasn’t in charge of these men in any way, when he used his sergeant’s voice, men knew not to question. None of the cops said a word as Sullivan put his Colt back in the holster. “I’ll kill you clean, Johnny, but not until you tell me what I want to know.”

  The Shard swung. His Power-fueled body was a killing instrument. Sullivan ducked away, narrowly avoiding the claws. Johnny slid sideways as Sullivan twisted gravity, but his own Power was overheated and scattered. It lacked force, and Sullivan couldn’t risk giving him a good spike without killing the man. Sullivan raised his fists and the two Actives circled, looking for an opening.

  Johnny came at him with a flurry of potentially lethal jabs. It would have been intimidating to anyone else. Calm, Sullivan timed it, cocked his fist back, and slammed the Shard square in the face. Johnny’s entire skull seemed to squish to one side. He reeled away and Sullivan saw his chance. He slugged Johnny again and again. The Shard wasn’t the only one with a magically hardened body, but Sullivan’s came from years of exercising in increased gravity until his bones were dense as stone, and now he used them to beat Johnny down.

  He pressed the attack and drove a fist deep into Johnny’s guts, knocking the air right out of his opponent. “Not used to somebody who can fight back, huh?” When Johnny went to his knees, Sullivan circled, came from behind, wrapped one arm around Jonny’s throat and used the other to pin the Shard’s elbows to his side. Sullivan hoisted the much smaller man into the air and choked the shit out of him. “Where’s Fordyce?” he shouted in Johnny’s ear.

  There was a sudden piercing heat through Sullivan’s left forearm. He grunted and let go, stepping away as the bone spike pulled through his muscle. Blood came gushing from the wound and splattered the snow. Johnny raised his arm. A narrow shard had extruded from Johnny’s elbow and it was painted red. Sullivan looked at the hole in his arm. “Haven’t seen that before.”

  “You killed my brother, you bastard . . .” Johnny gasped, blood running freely from his nose and down his shirt. He charged and Sullivan struck him square in the throat. Johnny hit the ground with a gurgle.

  “Yeah. Your Power don’t do much for the soft bits. . . . Where’s Fordyce?”

  Johnny Bones’ face was purple as he staggered to his feet. “I don’t know who you’re yappin’ about. You keep saying that name. Means nothing to me.”

  “The Healer you kidnapped.”

  Johnny stopped and started to laugh like Sullivan had just said the funniest thing ever. “Him? You think I took him?” The laugh grew harsh and desperate. Johnny knew his time was up. “You been played, Heavy. Check my boys. We ain’t had no Mending . . .”

  The man he’d shot in the factory . . . His arm had been in a sling. Hauptmann had been walking with a bad limp. This crew had never had a Healer . . . Sullivan had played the chump.

  People had come out from somewhere into the street to see what was going on, kept back only by the circle of lawmen. They stood there, two Actives, having fought like gladiators for the crowd. Sullivan surveyed the cops and the witnesses, sighed, and let his injured arm hang limp at his side.

  The Shard faced him, eyes desperate, seething with Power as more stabbing chunks of bones stretched his skin. Nothing left to use, he was going to burn it all. Misshapen and jagged, Johnny no longer looked human.

  “Stand down, Shard. It don’t have to be like this.” Sullivan drew his .45.

  “Maybe before you used my brother as skeet . . . Ain’t got nothing to live for now.”

  Johnny Bones bellowed as he charged. Sullivan extended his hand and fired three times.

  Sullivan gave the BI his statement. He got read the riot act by Special Agent in Charge Price, who was more upset about having to talk to the bloodthirsty press than he was that three police officers had been severely wounded. It was going to take some spin to say that a running gun battle in the streets was a good thing, but at least he did have a pile of dead gangsters to show for it. Surprisingly, Agent Cowley stuck up for Sullivan, said that they’d been unprepared for how much firepower the Maplethorpes had brought to bear, and that they shouldn’t have driven right into a bullet storm.

  Sullivan was kicking himself for calling the BI to begin with—he should have just
handled it himself—but he was even angrier that he’d been set up. They plugged the hole in his arm and wrapped it in a bandage. Just a new scar to join the constellation of old scars . . . There would be no fancy Healings on the taxpayers’ dime for some dumb Heavy.

  Cowley had come up to him at one point and thanked him for saving his life. Sullivan wasn’t used to gratitude from official types and didn’t really know what to say in return. The exhausted agent took a seat across from him. “Sure has been one heck of a night. Not just for us, but all over town . . . Sounds like one of your local gangs decided to clean house, too. One of them Purples got hit. Abe Something-witz.”

  “Horowitz?”

  “That’s the name. Tough guy from what I was told. Had to be an inside job since they got him at home. No sign of forced entry, so he let them in. Pow. Single bullet right in the back of the head. Found him in the kitchen with a bottle of wine open and a glass in each hand.”

  Sullivan clammed up on the topic. Cowley thanked him again for saving his life and left to send a report to his superiors. Then after another few hours of answering the same questions over and over again, Sullivan was free to go.

  About damn time. He had questions of his own that need to be answered.

  “Mae found your body. You owe me twenty-five bucks and a present.”

  Sullivan was in a phone booth not far from the police station. “Dead or alive?”

  “Not just dead, but sliced into pieces dead,” Bernie answered. “That’s why it took Mae so long to find him.”

  Sullivan groaned and rested his forehead on the cold glass. It had all been for nothing. “Where?”

  “All over the city. Five, maybe six different places so far. Maybe more she hasn’t found yet, but I told her that was good enough. Mae found the first piece in a deli uptown. She says most of him had already been eaten.”

  Chopped into pieces and . . . “Did you say eaten?”

  “Yeah. Of course. People ate him.”

  What kind of sickos was he dealing with here? “Bernie, you’re telling me somebody chopped up Arthur and ate him?”

  “Yeah . . . Why’s that so weird?” Bernie chuckled. Sullivan didn’t see what was so damn funny, since there was a gang of cannibal lunatics on the loose in Detroit. “Huh . . . Arthur. That’s a funny name for a porker.”

  “Porker?” Fordyce hadn’t been fat.

  “Porker. Pig. You know, oink oink, pink with a curly tail . . . Oh . . . Wait . . . Mae says he was one of the white with brown spots kind.”

  The blood in Fordyce’s car . . . He hadn’t given Bernie any details about the case, just asked him to find the body that the blood had come from. “Thanks, Bernie,” Sullivan mumbled as he returned the earphone to the cradle.

  The Fordyce home was the nicest one on a very nice street. The sun hadn’t been up for very long when Sullivan arrived, left arm bandaged and throbbing, to bang on the door. The butler tried to shoo him away, but Sullivan pushed his way inside and told the man in no uncertain terms what would happen if he didn’t get Mrs. Fordyce. The butler threatened to call the police. Sullivan said good.

  After being escorted into the study, he took a seat on an overstuffed couch and waited, reading the spines of the hundreds of books on the walls. The collection made him envious. Emily Fordyce joined him a few minutes later, still tying the waist sash of an oriental silk robe. Her hair was undone and hung to her shoulders.

  “Late night?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve just been so worried.” But they both knew that’s why she hadn’t gotten much sleep. “Have you any news?”

  Sullivan shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, lady.”

  Emily stopped. “Why . . . whatever do you mean?”

  “You can drop the act. I know I’m not the one that did all the killing last night. So how long have you known Horowitz? Must have been long enough that he wasn’t scared to turn his back on you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You sent me to Horowitz. He sent me to Bones, who was such a rabid dog that you figured there was no way he’d be taken alive for questioning. Horowitz wanted him gone and Bones was as good a scapegoat as you’d ever find. Then you shot Horowitz because the only way two people can keep a secret is if one of them’s dead.”

  The shocked expression that briefly crossed her lovely face said that he’d gotten close enough. She tried to play indignant. “How dare you accuse me!” She pointed at the door. “Get out!”

  Sullivan stayed planted on the couch. “Why the pig blood?”

  “How—” She caught herself too late. Emily’s arm fell. “If you knew Arthur, you’d know that the pig was appropriate. Well, I do say . . . You are smarter than you look.”

  “Just a bit,” Sullivan said. “I’m assuming you had Horowitz stage the crime scene. You don’t strike me as the type that likes getting your own hands dirty.”

  Resigned, she walked around behind the ornate desk and flopped into Arthur’s wide rolling chair. “Not usually . . . The authorities had to declare that Arthur was dead before I could collect his insurance. I wanted to be elsewhere at the time for an alibi.”

  Sullivan looked over at the giant painting of Arthur Fordyce hanging over the fireplace. “So, where’s your husband?”

  She shrugged. “Argentina, I think. He’s run off again with one of his many mistresses. Again. The man’s seventy-five with the libido of an eighteen-year-old sailor. He does this all the time. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months, before he crawls back, begging forgiveness.”

  It was actually more surprising that he was alive than that he was a philanderer. “But why make it look like he was dead if he’s coming back?”

  “Timing, Mr. Sullivan, timing. I had to be ready to act as soon as he ran off again. Arthur is declared legally dead. I get the insurance money, which is significant—let me tell you—I clean out the accounts and I leave the country. The jerk comes home to find out he’s dead and broke. Serves him right.”

  “If you hated him so much, why didn’t you just leave him?”

  “I married that old fool for his money. I just didn’t realize how awful long a Healer can stick around.” She rolled her eyes. “I divorce him, I get nothing. It’s hard to poison a Healer slow enough to make it look natural. They just keep making themselves better. Believe me, I thought about just shooting him in the night and blaming it on robbers. The kidnapping was Abe’s idea.”

  “How’d you know Horowitz?”

  Emily was looking around the desktop for something, suddenly she swept aside a book to reveal a small revolver hidden beneath. “Aha!” she shouted as she reached for it. She’d shoot him, say it was self-defense or something . . . but Sullivan’s Power had recovered from last night’s escapade. He slammed multiple gravities down on the little gun. Emily tugged on it, grunting and pulling, but she couldn’t budge it. “Damn you, Heavy!”

  “Unless you’re secretly a Brute, you’re not going to lift that piece . . .” He took out a smoke and struck a match. “So how’d you know Horowitz?”

  Red faced, she gave up. “I was a dancer in one of his joints. That’s how I met Arthur . . . Arthur met lots of girls through Abe. I was just the first one sharp enough to catch him. Ugh . . . I can’t believe I’m admitting that.”

  “I can see why. You do put on a great show.”

  “Five years later, the old bastard was still kicking so we hatched this little plot . . . Timing was perfect, Arthur left again, and there was a crew that Abe wanted gone anyway, to blame. Plus they were too stupid to get taken alive, and even if they denied it, nobody would believe a filthy Shard. Should have been perfect.”

  “Arthur didn’t recommend me at all. Horowitz did.”

  “Sure, you and Arthur were in the same unit, but he didn’t know you from Adam. Abe couldn’t tip the cops off without implicating himself. He said you had a killer’s rep and you were motivated to keep the G-men off your back. Two birds, one stone, he said.??
? She gave the revolver one last pensive tug. “So what now?”

  “I decide what do with you.”

  Emily was thinking hard and that was dangerous. “Abe got greedy, but once the insurance comes in, I’ve still got his share.” She rose from the seat and walked over to Sullivan while untying the sash on her robe. Stopping in front of him, she let the silk hang open, revealing that she wasn’t wearing much of anything underneath. “Poor little me . . . Defenseless against a big strong man like you. Oh, have mercy, Mr. Sullivan . . . I can make it worth your time.”

  “I bet you could. . . .” Sullivan blew out a cloud of smoke as he examined the dancer’s body. Emily waited, smirking. This was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. He stood up, gently took the edges of her robe in hand, appeared to think about it for just a second, and then covered her back up before stepping away. “But that would’ve been more tempting if you’d tried to seduce me before you tried to shoot me.”

  “You no good—”

  Sullivan looked toward the ceiling. “Mae! It’s time to go.” There was a sudden blast of wind as something stirred in the room. Emily’s hair whipped wildly and she had to struggle to keep her robe shut. The fireplace popped and sparked as something flew up the chimney and disappeared.

  “What was that?”

  “That’s Mae, a disembodied spirit. I brought her with me. Sweet girl, considering what she looks like. I had her record our talk and she’ll be able to show it to anybody with a Finder.”

  “But . . . No judge will allow that. No jury is going to take the word of a demon, you idiot. You’ve got nothing. I’ll deny this whole thing. You’re a felon and a stupid Heavy. I’m somebody now. Nobody will believe the likes of you!”

  “I’m not going to show it to the law, girl. I sent her to the Purple Gang . . .” Those two words hung in the air like the smoke from his cigarette. “I’m sure they’re mighty anxious to know who murdered their admiral.”