All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(56)

“In the room in the back,” I said.

Lawayne threw his head back and laughed. “You’re kidding, right? That place is all make-believe. It’s just fun for some dirty old men who like to tie up and spank or else be tied up and be spanked. Yeah, I bet the city council would pitch a royal fit if they knew about it, but nobody ever got hurt back there.”

The memory of that room, of the screaming, of the pain, washed over me, and a shiver ran through me. “Something terrible happened in that room.”

Lawayne’s eyes narrowed. Tap, tap, tap went the gun again, and he leaned forward, propping his chin on his fist, as though he were seeing me for the first time. It was a dangerous look, and it made me think of a man on safari, like he had seen something terrifying and new and was wondering whether to shoot it or put it in a cage.

“You never told me,” he said, “how you got tangled up with Tony and that dead girl.”

“Her name’s Samantha, you motherfucker. You got her pregnant.”

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Lawayne leaned forward, chin still propped on his fist, and even though the shift in his posture was small, suddenly he seemed to fill the whole room. Tap, tap, tap.

“You never said,” he continued, his voice dropping low and hard, “why you were so sure, so goddamn sure, that Tony didn’t kill those girls. Who are you, Vie Eliot, and why do you know things that other people don’t?”

“Do we have a deal? Information about River for the gun?”

For a moment, it seemed like he would press the question. All of his weight was forward, and he was coiled to leap. But then he slouched back against the work table. He eased his hand free of the pistol, and it clanged against the metal surface.

“River?”

“River Lang,” I said. “He was at Jigger Boss last night.”

“Vie Eliot, we’ve got a deal.”

He reached forward to shake my hand, and he was looking right at me. His eyes widened, and then there was an enormous pop behind me. A red stain blossomed across Lawayne’s chest, and he slipped back on the stool. He teetered there for a moment, his eyes so huge it was almost comical, and he patted at his chest. His fingers came away crimson and shiny as he sprawled backwards onto the white tile floor.

I dropped from my stool, throwing myself towards the back door. Somehow, I got it open and I burst out into the night. There was another pop and the sound of shattering glass. I glanced backwards as I ran. The last shot had blown out a window, and through opening, I could see into the building. Salerno, still dripping with baby oil and gold chains, drew a bead on me and fired.





The sound of the shot chased me across the empty parking lot which was, now no longer empty. A black sedan sat parked across three spaces, and behind the tinted glass sat the woman I had seen before with Lawayne, the woman with the helmet of perfect blond hair. When she saw me, the engine roared to life, and the headlights flared. I stumbled, blinded by the sudden brilliance, and another shot rang out. This time I heard metal as the shot clipped the car. Were Salerno and the woman working together? I had no idea, and I wasn’t going to stay to find out. As I reached the edge of the small lot, I darted left, into an alley.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really. Not considering how everything had gone today, from the minute I woke up until now. I sprinted ten feet, then twenty, in a blaze of adrenaline. I was going to make it. I’d clear this block, and then the next, and I could disappear in the maze of streets. I could—

But there it was, at least fifteen feet tall, cutting off my escape: a brick wall. I spun back, and the headlights from the sedan made a wall of white light at the mouth of the alley. I still had a chance. I started back the way I’d come, and then I stopped.

Framed by that wall of fuzzy light stood a stout shadow. Gold necklaces glinted around his neck. Salerno.

The alley’s walls pressed in tighter as Salerno paced towards me. His footsteps rang out on the asphalt. Instead of the wind and the river and the muddy banks, the smell of tanning oil and rotten garbage choked me. And Salerno kept coming. It was a slow pace, a leisurely pace. All of the sudden I thought of his memory, the memory I’d seen. He’d picked up a rock and he’d smashed that girl to pulp and he’d liked it, and he was liking this right now. It was in the way his shoulders rolled, like he were standing on a yacht with a martini in one hand, it was in the way he held his head, too alert, too high, but mostly it was in that slow, leisurely walk, like he had nowhere better to be and he didn’t want to rush this.

“You want the gun,” I said. “I’ll give you the gun.”

No answer.

“You already did Lawayne. I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

Still nothing.

Then something was howling. The sound came from within me, from the bottom of my brain, but it also came from outside, from some far away. It was basic, animal, and it had huge teeth and it gobbled up everything else: my fear, my frantic thoughts, the last feeble flicker of hope. Then there was just the howl: lonely and terrible and mad. And I felt that howl rushing toward me, rushing through me, and then I howled, the sound coming from deep within my chest and tearing my throat. This is how they talk to each other. The thought came from outside, but it was clear as a bell. This is how they know they aren’t alone. And I kept howling.

At that moment, Salerno stepped into a cone thrown by the headlights, and his thick features twisted in disgust. “Fucking lunatic,” he said, raising a gun. The gold chains sparked like it was full noon.