Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 16

The penthouse was almost completely dark—the guests having nearly all left for their favorite drinking establishments or returned to their posts. At first, I pretended that I was just wandering around in search of a bathroom like a clueless teenager. I knew there was a vault somewhere in the Montagnese penthouse, and that seemed like a good place to start snooping. However, before I even made it to the end of the hallway, I heard familiar voices out on the terrace. Abandoning any pretense of normal behavior, I crouched down and crept over to the open door to listen in. My curiosity was immediately rewarded.

"The whores are scared," Frankie Markopolos was saying. "It's cutting into my bottom line."

"The order still stands," said Dalton Reaves, leaning against the balcony edge. "Frankie, I'm telling you. It won't do any good."

"It doesn't make any sense," said Frankie, throwing up his hands and starting to pace. "A rogue freak getting in the way of business and we can't touch her. Maybe I should just arrange an 'accident' and then ask for the Don's forgiveness."

"I wouldn't, Frankie," said Dalton seriously.

"Then tell him not to be surprised if things keep getting worse on the waterfront."

"I'm sure he won't be," said Dalton, his sunglasses glistening dangerously.

Well, that confirmed it. The mobsters really were leaving Tourniquet entirely alone. What Don Lucian had to gain from letting a rogue freak terrorize one of his oldest rackets was anyone's guess. I wondered for a moment whether this new vigilante was actually on the Montagnese's side, and her killing spree was an attempt to get my attention and lead me into a trap. What had she said when I'd found her at the Rail Spike? Something about us meeting earlier than we were supposed to? I still had no idea what that meant. Hopefully next time, I'd get my hands on her long enough to take a peek under the mask.

My thoughts about Tourniquet were interrupted by the approaching click of high-heeled feet on polished marble. Thinking fast, I ducked behind a large potted plant and held my breath. A young brunette in a smart black dress strode past my hiding place and leaned out onto the balcony. I found out later that she was Billie Stroud—J. Anton Murray's very personal secretary. Ick.

"Mr. Reaves?" she said. "They're waiting for you."

Dalton and Frankie shared a meaningful look, then Dalton followed her back into the apartment. Something was going on. I watched from my hiding spot as they crossed the landing and went up a different staircase that seemed to lead to the roof. I suddenly remembered something I'd overheard earlier in the evening about a zeppelin cruising low over the Deco District. There was a docking mast at 220 Hayes Avenue, and maybe one of the guests had decided to drop in on the party in style. Was that where they were going? Keeping as quiet as possible, I followed Dalton and Billie Stroud up the stairs to the roof of the penthouse. As I stepped out into the chilly night air, I found myself in the hulking black shadow of a sleek gray airship.

It was hundreds of feet long, and I could see the Galt Foundation's name and logo emblazoned along its hull. That piqued my curiosity. I hadn't seen anyone from the Galt Foundation at the party, but whatever this meeting was that Dalton was going to, they must be hosting it. I waited until Dalton and the secretary were about halfway up the mooring mast before I climbed up after them, clinging to the outside of the structure like an insect. Once I was about forty feet up, I took out my grappling gun and aimed it at what looked like a safe anchor point on the airship's control car. This was risky. I'd be dangling hundreds of feet in the air, and if my hands slipped or the grapple line gave out, I was finished. One long horrible fall to my death and then splat. But I had to know what was going on in that zeppelin. So I steadied my hand and pulled the trigger, and watched as the grapple line soared through the air and secured itself on the underside of the airship. A perfect shot. Checking that it was secure, I said a quick prayer, closed my eyes, then took the leap.