Revenant

Chapter 15

Shopping for a gun at the pawn shop was a bit of a disappointment. Unbeknownst to me, one of my favorite shops had been forced to close down sometime since my last visit a few months back. Usually pawn shops did reasonably well during recessions, or 'economic downturns' like the one we were in, but I'm not familiar with all the facts that govern the profitability of the pawn shop industry.

It was too bad, really. Quoon's guns were top quality, and he'd always had at least a dozen or so 'lost' guns that he'd allow to disappear from his store if the price was right. If I'd known he was going out of business, I would have done a bunch of shopping there first.

As it was I had to settle for my backup pawn shop, picking up a forty-caliber Smith and Wesson with only a little bit of trouble. It was the only gun there that looked to be well taken care of, which was a shame, because once I was ready to head back to my building I'd probably just end up tossing it into the ocean anyways.

Of course, that wasn't the only thing that was a bit of a disappointment. There was also the piano shop itself.

I'd directed the taxi driver to within about two blocks of the place, paying him in cash and tipping him well, but not so well that he might remember me for it. That done, I headed in a random direction until he was out of sight, and then turned around and headed for the piano shop. It wasn't long before I was standing in front of it, feeling even more disappointed than I'd been at the pawn shop.

Gutted. The whole store was freshly gutted from a fairly recent fire, it looked like. I could make out the black calligraphic lettering that spelled 'Willenskraft and Sons' on the badly damaged wood. The entire front of the building still had evidence of fire damage that the rain hadn't yet been able to wash away, including black soot stains directly above all the windows. Most of the roof was gone near the front. Window panes were empty holes, and the door had vanished as well, with no effort made to keep anyone out of the building or protect its contents. I wasn't an expert on such things, but it looked like the fire itself had been a few weeks ago. No more than a couple of months, tops.

I sighed, and stood on the road just staring at the building for a while.

I'm not a detective, okay? I mean, sure, I'm good with logic and I can figure stuff out when I need to. Laying a good trap for someone or coming up with an elegant solution for a problem is sometimes necessary in my line of work, and I do well enough. Mostly though, I'm handed a whole bunch of information that's been gathered by a bunch of people who were much more detective-like than I am, and I'm told, "Here's everything you need to get the job done. Go to it."

That being said, I do have my detective-like moments.

So, standing there in front of this recently burned-out building, it occurred to me that there was probably a link between this building and my junkie. Connecting a burning building to organized crime didn't require a whole lot of mental gymnastics, and I got a very strong feeling that the burning of this particular building was somehow connected to everything that I was being asked to take care of.

Too much of a coincidence, when you stop and think about it. Same last name, building catches fire, junkie goes berserk and kills a bunch of guys who have been known to burn down the occasional building from time to time. Not too many lines needed to connect those dots.

I was also beginning to realize that stumbling upon all these little bits of information that had been 'left out' of the file I'd been given . . . well, it was starting to piss me off. More than a little.

Here's a tip, and yes, I already know it seems obvious. It's simply this - do not piss off a professional killer if you're able to help it.