Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 10

The Chilltern Banks waterfront was easily the most dangerous part of the Fen.

Controlled almost exclusively by mafia and crooked cops, the wharfs and alleys and warehouses that lined the lakeshore were the heart of many of the Montagnese family's oldest and most profitable rackets, from smuggling to hijacking to fencing stolen goods. Most visible of all was prostitution. For those looking to buy, the waterfront offered the lowest prices with the least chance of being recognized. The clientele were a mixed bunch—businessmen from out of town, longshoremen from the wharfs, working men from the Comstock Brewery or the Lothian Motors plant. And, of course, the police officers and made men, who usually didn't feel the need to pay.

The working girls—or "hookers," as Lilac Hudson seemed to prefer—had always been friendly with me, so I tried not to interfere in their business if they weren't in danger. A lost customer—even a rude, disgusting, pushy customer—could lead to a beating from a pimp, and the pimps all had the protection of the mafia regimes even though they themselves were never made men. Most of the girls had made peace with the life. Some had even deliberately sought it out to escape something worse. But, when they actually sought out my help, I wasn't going to turn them down.

The girls arrived at the dead end alley right on time. I was perched high on the crooked fire escape, both for dramatic reasons and because with a six million dollar price on my head, it was important to be able to make a quick getaway if this turned out to be a trap. I was still coming down from the high I got from my visit to Charlie's Bar and Grill. Not to sound too spiteful, but making mafia associates cry was one of my favorite things. As my contacts drew nearer and it seemed like everything was on the level, I swung down to a lower landing of the twisted fire escape, put away my staff, and took a closer look at my appointment for the evening.

The oldest—and the leader of their little embassy—looked to be in her forties, and that was being generous. She was still pretty, but her makeup was doing much more work than the others'. Her hair was dark, and she had a slightly aquiline nose. The youngest was standing next to her, and I would have sworn in court that she was fourteen at the most. She was mixed race, with short, curly hair and big eyes. Of the five, the only one I recognized was Lilac Hudson, who I'd met at the council in Murraytown when I went after Josie Connelly. She was about my age, and so was the dark-haired boy who stood a little to her right. He kept biting his lip and looking down at his feet, like he was embarrassed to be there at all. The last member of the group, who stood on the far right, was obviously Hmong. She had a round face and black hair in a long braid, and she kept a switchblade folded surreptitiously in her right hand.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who was on my guard.

There was a moment of awkwardness as they stared up at me and I looked down at them, and we both wondered who should begin. Then their leader started to speak in American Sign Language, and the teenager to her right interpreted for her.

"Thank you for coming, Nightwrath. My name is Rosie Scargill, and I speak for our group. We need your help. Three nights ago, a woman wearing a copper mask attacked and killed Ralph Lockhart with a baseball bat. Maddie Wolf, one of Lockhart's girls, tried to stop her, and she was also killed. Ordinarily, an outrage like this would invite immediate action by the Montagnese family, but so far, they have done nothing. We don't know why. It is rumored that this inaction is an order from the very top—from Don Montagnese himself. We are afraid for our own safety. Something must be done."

Well, apparently I had a name sign. That was exciting. Otherwise, though, this was all bad news. It wasn't like the Montagnese family to let a rogue freak interfere with an important source of income like this. I couldn't figure it. Either they had something to gain from someone killing pimps and hookers, or... what? There was no angle that made sense. Clearly it was time for a little good old-fashioned detective work, and that wasn't exactly my strong suit.