Devil's Gate Page 27

  It was odd. At times in his past, Kurt had felt a sixth sense telling him he was under surveillance. He didn’t even feel that here. It was more like they’d been shunted off to a siding and left there to rot, like a railcar rusting to pieces in waist-high weeds.

  He began to wonder if he’d been fed bad information.

  And then the double doors across from him opened and a trio of men came in. Two hulking bodyguards. With dark-tanned faces and square jaws, they looked more Samoan than Malaysian.

  In front of them was a smaller man, mostly American-looking with some Malaysian features. He had soft eyes, relatively smooth skin. Short dark hair spiked with gel stood atop his large round head, one that seemed way too big for his narrow-framed body. The slightest touch of gray could be seen at his temples.

  From his clothes and casual manner he might have been able to pull off mid- to late thirties, but Kurt knew him to be older, pushing late forties by now.

  “Ion,” Kurt said, standing.

  The man turned upon hearing his voice. He focused on Kurt from a spot between his two bodyguards. Recognition took a few seconds, and then a smile washed over Ion’s face.

  The smile was false and forced, and it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. A sign that could mean only one thing: trouble.

  43

  IN THE SWANK CONFINES of the White Rajah, the man who called himself Ion took a step backward. His new position placed him between and behind his guards, who stiffened, and focused their attention on Kurt like a laser.

  As Kurt studied them, all he could see was a World Wrestling tag team ready to start body-slamming him and Joe if either of them made any false moves.

  Now feeling safe, Ion spoke. “Standards must be dropping to allow someone like you in here, Austin. I must complain to the management.”

  “No need for that,” Kurt said. “Give me a little bit of information and I’m gone like the wind.”

  “Information costs,” Ion said. “With inflation the way it is, the price gets higher every day. But tell me, what are you after? And how much are you willing to pay?”

  “You owe me,” Kurt said. “What I need will square us.”

  “I owe you nothing,” Ion insisted.

  Kurt had expected as much. “In that case, I offer you the right to keep your reputation. You’ll have to decide what that’s worth.”

  “My reputation?” Ion said. “What are you babbling about, Austin? And make it quick, I have reservations.”

  Kurt’s chest swelled, but he made no other outward move. “I explain the consequences that will face you once I wipe the floor with your bodyguards and pound the information out of your overly large, egg-shaped skull.”

  He waved his hand around the room. “I can only imagine how that will damage your standing among these good people.”

  Ion’s face showed the exact reaction Kurt had hoped for: anger, but coupled with a hint of fear and calculation. Maybe he would listen. And then again . . .

  Ion took a hurried breath, puffed himself up for a few seconds, and spoke to his bodyguards.

  “This man is a threat,” he said. “Deal with him.”

  A wall of Samoan muscle flexed and began moving toward Kurt. One man pounded a fist into an open palm, and the other twisted his neck to the side, cracking it loudly and smiling. Apparently, they were ready for battle.

  Kurt realized the one advantage he still had: both men were staring at him and only him. Ion had said, “This man is a threat,” not, “These men . . .” He hadn’t realized that Joe, in his sharp-looking clothes, had anything to do with Kurt.

  Kurt’s hand found the coffee mug behind him. As the big brutes reached a distance of five feet, Kurt swung it toward them.

  The piping hot liquid splashed across both men’s faces. The coffee was not hot enough to scald or scar, but the surprise and sting of it snapped the heads of both men to the side, eyes shut tight.

  In that instant Kurt charged, lowering his shoulder and hammering it into the first guard’s torso just below the sternum. It felt like crashing headlong into a tree, except the man stumbled backward as Kurt drove through him, legs pumping hard. It was a perfect tackle that would have made any linebacker in the NFL proud, and it sent both men crashing into a table and onto the floor.

  Even as Kurt attacked, Joe was springing into action. He hopped to his feet, grabbed a barstool, and slammed it across the shoulders of the other guard. The man crumpled and groggily began to crawl away. Joe let him go and turned to see if Kurt needed any assistance.

  Kurt had landed on top of the bodyguard he’d tackled, but the man was far from out. Eyes half opened, he shoved a hand into Kurt’s face, catching him under the chin. It was a jarring blow, but Kurt shook it off and dropped an elbow hard between the man’s neck and shoulder, hitting the pressure point.

  The man’s head tilted back in pain, offering a perfect shot at his jaw. Kurt fired a right cross with every ounce of strength and adrenaline in his body. It slammed the man in the chin, snapped his head sideways, and put him out like a light.

  It all happened so fast, the patrons of the restaurant had only enough time to register shock; gawking; drawing back, and looking horrified. A couple had made it out of their chairs but still held their drinks. This wasn’t the kind of club that needed bouncers, so no one appeared ready to throw Kurt and Joe out, though the bartender now held a Louisville Slugger in his hands.

  Kurt stood slowly, and the crowd began to relax. Some looked upset at having missed all the fun.

  Kurt turned back to Ion, actually surprised at how well it had gone.

  Ion’s gaze went from Kurt to Joe to each of his beaten men. He looked horrified at first, and then disappointed, and then he locked his gaze on Kurt and shrugged his shoulders as if to say “Oops.”

  And then, just when Kurt thought the man would give in and talk, he spun like a cat and raced out the door.

  “Damn,” Kurt said.

  Caught off guard by Ion’s flight, Kurt scrambled over the unconscious Samoan and rushed outside. Joe was right behind him.

  “There,” Joe said, pointing

  Ion was on their right, racing down the street on foot. They took off after him, running along the empty sidewalk.

  Kurt might have expected Ion to go for a car, but most likely he didn’t drive himself here, the Samoans drove. And even if he had the keys, a man like Ion wouldn’t self-park, he’d use the valet. And not wanting to get caught and pummeled while the kid at the valet stand went looking for his Maserati or Mercedes, Ion had no choice but to hoof it to wherever he was going.

  That suited Kurt just fine. Catching Ion in a footrace didn’t sound too hard. At least, that was, until it started to rain.

  On the one hand, the rain cleared the sidewalks of the few remaining pedestrians; on the other hand, it reduced the visibility sharply. And when Ion cut to the right, dashing off the sidewalk and into an alley, Kurt almost missed him.

  He whipped around the corner and saw Ion fifty yards ahead, passing under the veil of a streetlight. He and Joe raced on as the rain poured down harder.

  “I can’t believe this little guy can run so fast,” Kurt shouted.

  “He must know who’s chasing him,” Joe said.

  Kurt guessed that adrenaline would play a part in it, but he doubted Ion could stay at full speed for as long as he and Joe. And all those laps, at home, in the gym, and on the Argo, were about to come in handy.

  Ion glanced back at them and quickly turned in to another alley. Kurt and Joe chased. As Kurt made the turn, Joe slipped on the wet pavement and went down hard. He slid across the sidewalk and crashed into a large concrete planter. He bounced right back up, barely missing a step.

  His shirt was torn and bloody at the elbow now, his slacks shredded at the knee, but he kept on running.

  “Remember what I said about our next adventure being somewhere dry?” he shouted. “I mean it.”

  Kurt tried not to laugh; he needed all his breath. At the
end of the alley was a fence, which Ion scaled like an acrobat, dropping to the other side. Kurt went over first, and Joe landed on his feet a second or two later.

  Now that they were in a park of some kind, the visibility was even lower. Hiding might have worked for their quarry, but the rabbit continued to run, and when Kurt spotted him he sensed Ion slowing.

  After racing across the wet grass and past some manicured trees, Ion hopped another fence and went back out onto a narrow side street filled with shops.

  Ion stumbled, and turned right on another street.

  Kurt pressed harder, summoning every ounce of extra speed his body had in it. This was their chance. But when he reached the street, Ion was nowhere to be seen.

  Kurt skidded to a stop, looking around. “Where’d he go?”

  “He definitely came in here,” Joe said. “I saw him take the turn.”

  Kurt blinked away the rain and looked around. There were crevices in this particular section of town. They came in the form of doorways and alcoves for the little row of shops. There were also a couple of parked cars, sitting stoically as the rain pelted them and made them shine. Despite a streetlight at each end of the row, the wet blacktop seemed to be absorbing all light.

  “That little rat has to be hiding,” Kurt said. “You take that side of the street, and I’ll walk this side. Go slow. He’s here somewhere.”

  Joe nodded and crossed the road. As he began moving down the right side of the street, Kurt began to recon the left side. He checked under cars and inside them, but he saw no one hiding in the backseats or beneath the frames.

  The shops had doors recessed in alcoves. Kurt checked each niche, ready for a surprise attack, but found nothing.

  From across the street Joe shook his head.

  A car drove past in the wet. Its headlights brightened the street for a moment, throwing off a blinding glare. Kurt saw a woman in the driver’s seat but no one else. The car had come from so far off, Ion would have needed a Jetpack to have gotten to it and hidden inside.

  The lightning flashed again, and this time a slight rumble of thunder was heard. The rain was falling harder, and Kurt stepped back into the alcove behind him. He was all but ready to admit Ion had escaped when the lightning flashed again.

  Looking down, he noticed wet footprints on the mostly dry concrete of the alcove’s floor. His own prints were obvious, but the others swung wide and then back, in places Kurt had not stepped.

  Remaining still, Kurt reached behind him. His fingers found the doorknob and closed around it, but he didn’t need to turn it.

  Even from that slight touch, the door moved freely.

  44

  A CHILL RAN UP KURT’S SPINE that had nothing to do with the soaking wet conditions. He stood forward, careful not to react. With one hand, he waved Joe over.

  “You find anything?” he asked a little louder than necessary.

  “Nothing,” Joe said. “He’s gone.”

  Kurt nodded his head toward the door behind him. Joe glanced at the door, which was slightly ajar. He nodded. He understood.

  “All right,” Kurt said, “let’s get out of here.”

  But instead of getting out, he put his hand back on the round knob. Taking a deep breath, he shoved it open with a snap of the wrist.

  There was a sudden squawking and the sound of scampering and skittering feet, but no one was there. Kurt saw a cage filled with toucans and some other brightly colored birds he didn’t recognize. Behind them another cage held a huge iguana the size of a thirty-pound dog.

  As the birds settled down, a few feathers floated through the air.

  “So much for the element of surprise,” Joe mumbled.

  Kurt had to agree, but seeing more wet tracks on the floor told him for certain they were onto Ion’s trail.

  “Some kind of pet store,” he said, although he couldn’t imagine taking the giant iguana, which looked like a small dinosaur, for a walk.

  He glanced back at the door. The wooden frame was broken and splintered where it had been kicked in. Ion must have pushed the door shut once he’d gone inside, but damaged the way it was, it couldn’t be latched again.

  Kurt’s eyes moved upward. A sign read “Rare and Exotic”—apparently, it meant the animals.

  There were two aisles in the long narrow store. In the center stood a row of stacked cages; on the sides were larger enclosures, some with bars, others with clear plastic walls and doors.

  Kurt pointed to the right, and Joe moved toward that aisle. Kurt took the other one.

  As he moved down his aisle, Kurt saw a Komodo dragon sleeping under a dim light. Lemurs and monkeys and a sloth slept in large cages in the center. A caracal, a wild cat with tawny fur and black ears, occupied a medium-sized cage beside them.

  Treading softly, Kurt listened for movement. He heard noises, but they sounded like the snores and shuffles of the animals as far as he could tell. Then he heard a clink like metal on metal. Silence followed and then another metallic sound.

  Footsteps came next, but not two at a time. There were four.

  They stopped, and Kurt heard a low growl. Suddenly, there was a hiss and a roar and the crashing of cages.

  The monkeys woke in a start and screeched and banged the bars of their enclosure, and another roar went out from some larger cat.

  Kurt lunged around the corner to see Joe squashed into the thin space between the top of the monkey cage and the ceiling. A juvenile leopard swatted at him, with its teeth bared and its ears flat against its head.

  Kurt grabbed what looked like a bowl of food and threw it at the leopard, hitting the animal in the shoulder. It turned his way in shock, let out another growl, and then ran the opposite way toward the front of the store. Kurt watched it until it slipped out through the gap in the open door.

  “Remind me to call animal control when we’re done,” he said as Joe clambered down.

  Before Joe could answer, a shadow moved near the back of the store. This time, it walked upright.

  Kurt ran that direction. Ion had made it to the rear exit and was pulling on it with all his might, but the steel door was locked tight. And unlike the front door, it was designed for security, not looks. He pulled and then pounded on it with his shoulder, and then turned and stared at Kurt.

  Desperate, he tried to race past Kurt, but Kurt grabbed him and flung him back into the door. He darted for the other aisle, saw Joe, and stopped.

  In a last desperate act he pushed a fish tank off a shelf toward Kurt. It crashed to ground and exploded, sending glass, water, fish, and a flood of tiny blue pebbles across the floor.

  Somewhere in the tank, Kurt guessed, there were piranhas or some other kind of tropical fish, but he didn’t care at the moment. He jumped back. Avoiding the main impact, he looked up in time to see Ion making another break for the front door. This time, Kurt lowered the boom, clotheslining the elusive little man and body-slamming him to the floor.

  Dazed and defeated, Ion looked up, surrounded by blue gravel and flapping fish.

  “This could have been so much easier,” Kurt said, grabbing him by the lapels and yanking him to his feet.

  “I’m not going to give you anything,” Ion said.

  “You don’t even know what I want,” Kurt replied.

  “You want Andras,” Ion said. “I know you’re looking for him.”

  Maybe that’s why he’d been so resistant.

  “He’ll kill me if I talk to you,” Ion explained.

  “Not if I kill him first,” Kurt said.

  “You’ll never kill him,” Ion said. “He’s always been ahead of you.”

  “You’d better hope you’re wrong about that,” Kurt said. “Because you are going to tell me where he is.”

  “Whatever you do to me, it won’t be worse than what Andras will do,” Ion said.

  Kurt realized that was probably true. A handicap of being a decent human meant that, barring the worst circumstances, he wouldn’t stoop to the darkest levels of inhumanity.
And that meant people like Ion would always be more afraid of someone like Andras than they would be of him.

  Glancing at a bleeding abrasion on Joe’s arm that matched the claw pattern of the leopard, Kurt suddenly had an idea. There had to be something in this “Rare and Exotic” pet store that was a little less evolved.

  He grabbed Ion by the neck and dragged him across the floor.

  “Where shall we put you?” he mumbled, stopping in front of one cage after another. “The monkeys are too smart for you. The sloth might mess you up, but we don’t have all night.”

  With Ion looking at him as if he were crazy, Kurt dragged him up to the Komodo dragon’s enclosure. The giant lizard had not moved a muscle despite the commotion.

  “Now, this guy might do,” Kurt said, putting his hand on the door and working the double-levered latch.

  “What?” Ion shouted. “Are you crazy?”

  As Kurt managed to get the door open, the lizard’s tongue flicked out and sampled the air. A single eye opened, but it didn’t move.

  Ion tried to squirm out of Kurt’s grasp, but Kurt grabbed a collar off of the shelf beside him. It had a long stick attached to it. It looked like some kind of animal control device that allowed the keeper to either push or pull the animal as needed, especially designed to keep a dangerous mouth away from a trainer.

  In his own way, Ion had a dangerous mouth, but Kurt needed it to open.

  He pulled the collar over Ion’s head and onto his neck and shoved him forward with the pole, pressing Ion up against the open door.

  “I don’t know if this is the right choice,” Joe said.

  Kurt looked back at him.

  “I mean, the dragon,” Joe said.

  “No on the dragon?” Kurt asked.

  “Something about their bite,” Joe said. “It’s poisonous. But not like a cobra. They bite and then leave their victim to die. It takes days.”

  “Huh,” Kurt said. “You’re full of surprises, Joe. Since when do you know about lizards?”