The Devil Is a Gentleman Read online

  The Devil

  Is A

  Gentleman

  by

  J.L. Murray

  Copyright (c) 2012 by J.L. Murray

  All Rights Reserved.

  Kindle Edition published by Hellzapoppin Press, Honolulu Hawai’i.

  First Printing, May 19, 2012

  Cover art by Ronnell D. Porter

  http://www.wix.com/ronnelldporter/design

  For my mother,

  who never gave up on me,

  even when I deserved it.

  S volkami zhit’, po-volch’i vyt’

  (To live with wolves, sometimes you must howl.)

  —Yuri Polzin

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  Normals walked through the dingy fog, not aware of the creeping dampness that turned my stomach. The wispy, ethereal forms of humans shuffled around inside it, wandering with hollow expressions. Lost and without purpose. Of every place I’d been in the city lately, they seemed most numerous on my street.

  The spirits had changed lately. I used to be able to talk to them, help them. Only now they couldn’t cross over. God knows I’d tried. It seemed the longer they stayed, the more they forgot, and the more they forgot, the more desperate they were when they sensed me. They must have flickered with hope, but when they realized that I couldn’t help, their despair returned.

  Ever since Sam hired me to track an escaped demon, the spirits stopped crossing over. This was bad news for me. As far as I knew I was the only one that could see them. And not only that, strange behavior got you noticed. Sam had gotten me off the Registry, but I wasn’t so sure he could keep me off. To New Government I was just another Abnormal. It didn’t help that my father was the notorious Alexei “Sasha” Slobodian, either. As far as anyone else knew, he was dead, sucked into Hell in an attempt to save my life. But that wouldn’t stop the powers-that-be from noticing me acting strangely while dodging unseen obstacles on the street.

  I was parked halfway down the block, a thick, muddy fog between the car and my front door. If I looked closely, I could see each dead-eyed face. I took a deep breath and prepared to make a run for it. I swung open the car door and hurried down the sidewalk, trying not to look at them. I could see the big green front door of my apartment building. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t look, I told myself. If I looked, they would know I could see them. When the first touch came, though, my stomach clenched and I winced. Something about their touch made me want to scream and gnash my teeth at the same time. Every inch of my skin felt like it was crawling and my hair stood on end. There was a collective mutter that ran through their ranks. She’s here, she’s here, they whispered. It was pointless to pretend after that. They came, invasive but without matter, their hands grabbing at me, running through each other to get at me. They became one big dark cloud of souls, all wanting to be near me.

  They kept coming, the cloud enveloping me, choking me, their hands sinking through my flesh as one, like I was the one without substance. I could feel their limbs inside my body, feeling around for something to grab onto, if only for a moment. I fought the waves of nausea that their touching brought. I focused on the door. Only a few steps more. My body shuddered involuntarily in the miasma. I couldn’t help them. There were too many. I started to run, but that seemed to make them more determined to reach inside me. I thought of the Dark then, a scratching, scraping parasite clawing around inside of me. I almost vomited.

  They cried in frustration with one moaning voice when they realized that they wouldn’t be able to hold me, just as I reached the door, my shaking and sweaty hand clutching at the knob. I slammed it behind me, and the ghosts stayed on the other side. I gasped for air, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.

  The apartment was empty again. Sofi had reluctantly agreed to visit her niece Karen in Connecticut. I didn’t envy her. Karen was something of a nightmare. But I would have done anything to have my Baba home right now, even if Karen came with her. The apartment was too cold without her. I wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge me. The best thing about Sofi was that she didn’t have any expectations. There was no hidden agenda. Just love. I missed her terribly right then.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and warmed some soup on the stove. I ate it while standing at the sink and then rinsed my bowl. I went into the bathroom and took a scalding hot bath. As the heat relaxed me, making my skin flush, the clammy feeling started to dissipate. I closed my eyes and stayed in the water until it began to cool. I dried off and dressed, feeling much better. The nausea had gone with the soup, and the bath had refreshed me. I was just about to strap on my gun when there was a knock at the door. I set the holster on the kitchen table and walked across the living room to answer it.

  “Nick Slobodian,” said the man in the hall. His eyes twitched in their sockets, his head moved back and forth as though he couldn’t keep it still. “I know he lives here. I need to talk to Nick Slobodian.”

  I looked him over. He was around 50, with silver hair that hung in his eyes like greasy worms, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He wore a suit that looked like it had once been expensive, but it was now rumpled and stained with smears on the front of the dark fabric, the jacket ripped at the shoulder. He looked as though he had once been thin as a rail and then gained weight in all the wrong places. He was paunchy and gangly at the same time. He was also missing his shoes. His big toe peeked out of hole in his black sock.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m Niki Slobodian,” I said. “Who wants to know?”

  “Niki?” he said, his twitching subsiding in his surprise. “A woman?”

  I looked at his feet. “Doesn’t look like you’re in any position to judge,” I said. His eyes focused on me. He nodded.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I need help. I heard you know about these things. I need to come in, though. It’s not safe out here.”

  “From my end it looks like I’m a hell of a lot safer with you outside my apartment than in it,” I said.

  “Please,” he said. “I’ve never done this before. I’m an important man. I can pay you. A lot. I don’t know what your rate is, but I’ll pay you five times the amount. But you have to let me in.”

  “I don’t need your money,” I said. “You look like you’re coming off a bad trip, buddy. Maybe find somewhere to sleep it off, huh?” I started to close the door.

  “My name is Frank Bradley,” he hissed. “Please, I’m begging you.”

  I let the door swing open again. “Frank Bradley,” I said. “Like Frank Bradley the congressman?”

  “Not like him,” he said solemnly. “I am him.”

  I frowned and looked at his face. “Oh, yeah,” I said, recognizing him. “I always thought you’d look more evil in person. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Please just let me in,” he said. He glanced down the hall again.

  “Christ,” I said. “Fine. Why not? But I’m not agreeing to anything. You’re the reason for a lot of trouble, you know.”

  He nodded jerkily. “I know.”

  I let go of the door to let him in. For an instant, I remembered Na
z’s words. An old proverb. Trouble never comes alone, he had said. But this wasn’t some Hellion. It was just a man.

  Bradley shambled in and sat down on the couch, his head twitching. “You okay, buddy?” I said.

  He shook his head, hitting himself in the temple with the heel of his hand. “I can’t make it stop,” he said. “My brain, it’s going so fast I can barely keep up. I don’t know what to do.” He looked at me again. “Look, miss, please help me. I can pay you a lot of money.” He reached out a hand to touch me, but I backed away, looking at the kitchen table.

  “Lot of people I care about would kick my ass if they knew I was even talking to you,” I said.

  He nodded, only twitching a little. “I think I’m in a lot of trouble,” he said.

  “Good. You’re a piece of shit.” He started at my words, but nodded after a moment.

  “I guess I deserve that,” he said. “The Registry, though, it wasn’t just my idea.”

  “Why would you come to me?” I said, sitting in Sofi’s chair and putting my elbows on my knees. “You must have known I wouldn’t want to help you. I’m an Abnormal, remember?”

  “That’s why I wanted you,” he said. “They say you’re good. You killed that Abaddon thing.”

  “You know about that?” I said.

  “Of course I know about it,” said Bradley. “I know everything. Well, almost everything. You were good, Miss Slobodian. You have some very powerful people damn nervous. That’s why I thought you could help me. If they’re afraid of you, then you must really be something. I was hoping I could convince you. Maybe if I begged, I thought.” He looked at me and he was so pathetic that for an instant I did feel sorry for him. But this was the guy that started the Registry. And after it became what the papers called a success in our state, every state in the nation slowly followed. Then Britain, then nearly every country in Europe. This guy had ruined lives, he’d ruined my life. I wasn’t feeling sympathetic for long.

  Technically the Registry made it illegal for Abnormals to work and collect government benefits. But in reality, if your name popped up on that list, it took away everything. Restaurants could refuse you service, police could harass you, and every civil right I’d taken for granted in the past was a luxury that could be taken away in a second. Lately there had been a rash of hate crimes against Abbies. One family had even been beaten to death in their home, parents and two children, and the crime was not being investigated because the father was on the Registry. And Bradley had started it all.

  He fidgeted under my stare. His hand went to his stained shirt pocket and pulled a pack of smokes out of it. He pulled a cigarette out and put it in his mouth.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said. “You are not smoking in my house.” He put it back in the pack with a hangdog look, then began pounding his head with his hand again. “Sorry,” he said. He shut his eyes tight.

  “Just sit there,” I said, “I’ll make some more coffee.” I needed time. I went to the kitchen and filled the empty carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir. I dumped the old grounds, pressed a new filter into place, filled it with coffee, and started the machine. I could hear Bradley muttering to himself in the next room. I unclipped the gun from its holster and put it in my pocket. When the pot was still filling I poured two cups and gave one to Bradley.

  “Thanks,” he said. He took a sip, grimaced, then set the cup on the end table. “I never should have done it,” he said. “I wasn’t supposed to. They’ll be after me when they find out what I did.” He seemed calmer, but his talk was just as crazy.

  “Who will?” I said.

  “Hm?” said Bradley, apparently unaware he had spoken aloud.

  “Who will be after you?” I said.

  “No one,” he said.

  I sighed. “Look, I don’t know why you think I can help you, but if you don’t tell me what the hell you want, then I’m going to call the cops.”

  “Don’t do that,” Bradley said, suddenly alarmed. “They’ll know for sure if you tell the cops. They’ve got people everywhere.”

  “Who does?” I said, getting very irritated. “Who are you talking about?”

  “The Blood,” he said.

  “Blood?” I said.

  “Oh, poor Gina,” he said, his voice soft and far away. “She didn’t deserve it.” He put his head in his hands and his body started shaking. “She was so sweet,” he moaned thickly.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said. “You’re crying, aren’t you?”

  “No,” he said.

  I sighed and sipped my coffee. It was satisfying in a morbid way that Frank Bradley had gone off the deep end. But after watching him for a few minutes, I started to get bored with the whole thing. He slowly recovered from his crying jag, and finally looked up at me, his eyes red but dry. He ran a hand through his hair, which only served to make it stand up in odd angles on his head.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “There’s something wrong with me,” he said. “It comes and goes, but, it’s bad.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “What comes and goes?”

  “The sickness.” He got up and started pacing in front of me. He was getting twitchy again. I put my hand back in my pocket and felt the cool metal there. I shouldn’t have let the guy in. What was I thinking? I looked toward the phone and wondered how fast the cops could get here. I looked back at Bradley, who was hitting his head again with his hand.

  “I think you should go,” I said.

  He turned around to look at me, seeming surprised to see me there. Like he’d forgotten me already. “I stole the vial and now I’m paying for it,” he said, suddenly so still it was eerie. “The angel was right. It changed me.”

  “Angel?” I said.

  “Yes, he was right.” Bradley’s eyes narrowed. “I think I killed her. She was so sweet. Like a flower. I could smell it, though. I had to do it.”

  I clutched the gun in my pocket and got slowly to my feet. I backed away toward the phone, taking the gun out of my pocket, hiding it in my sleeve. “Who did you kill?” I said, making my voice stay calm. “Maybe she’s not dead.”

  He hunched forward and cried out in pain, making me jump. “I want you to help me,” he gasped. “You’re the only one I know. Abnormal. Make it stop.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said, trying to keep him talking. I was almost to the phone. Ron Smithy could have someone here the fastest. Ron was the chief of police, and maybe the only honest cop left in this city. He was also an old friend from my P.I. days. Bradley was now bent over, gasping for breath. I thought there probably really was something wrong with the bastard. Something that wasn’t just the crazy coming out.

  “Blood,” he said, his voice an odd croak. “I know why they’re called that now. I can smell it. I can smell you right now. The Morrigan told me you’d smell like her. Couldn’t save her, though.”

  My hand touched the receiver just as Bradley looked up. His eyes had changed. They were darker. I couldn’t tell the color, but they reminded me of something. His nostrils flared and he breathed in the air like he was smelling a fine wine. “Yours is different,” he said. “Stronger. Spicier.” He straightened.

  He was so changed it was hard to believe that just seconds before he had seemed pathetic. His paunchy belly had smoothed out and he moved like a wild creature, his movements smooth and precise. His eyes burned into me, and his mouth opened to reveal his teeth growing longer in his mouth. Not sharper, just longer. I raised my gun at him. He laughed.

  “A gun?” he said, his voice almost a hiss. “Really, can’t you get any more imaginative than that?”

  I shrugged. “The thing is,” I said. “I’m not really sure of all the things this Makarov can do. It was a gift from my father. You know who he is, don’t you? Alexei Slobodian.”

  “The Summoner,” hissed Bradley, taking a step back. He narrowed his eyes at the gun.

  “You nee
d to stop right there,” I said. “What are you?”

  He stopped for a second his eyes on the gun. “Don’t know,” he hissed, but there was something more human about him now. A touch of fear. “It was the angel. It burned like fire.”

  “Angels again,” I said. “And I’m the unimaginative one?”

  Whatever spark of humanity I’d seen on Bradley’s face disappeared. “Stupid filthy girl,” he hissed. “They’re all around you. I can smell them. Watching, waiting. Did you think demons were the only things that wriggled through the cracks?”

  “Who’d you kill, Bradley?” I said. “What’s her name? Was it Gina?”

  His face lost its predatory gleam, and for an instant he seemed to catch his breath. But the moment passed and he smiled. “I’m going to rip you open and drink you dry,” he said. He ran at me, his legs moving impossibly fast. He was a blur racing toward me. I squeezed the trigger. And then squeezed it again. Two kill shots, both straight into the heart. He stopped, looking down at himself. He was a foot from me and he could have reached out and grabbed me if he wanted to. But he seemed confused now. He looked at me as if he couldn’t fathom why I’d shot him. He looked at my face and his eyes went back to dull blue. His features slumped back to normal. His teeth crawled back to their natural length. Then his confusion turned to fear.

  “What have I done?” he said. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back, looking down at the red stains spreading on his shirt. He touched himself where the blood was coming from. It looked strange, though. It appeared to be steaming. He looked back at me. “Why doesn’t it hurt?” he said. There was the distant wail of a police siren and Bradley started. He sniffed the air. His eyes darkened slightly, then went back to normal again. He seemed to be fighting the transformation. The blood was bubbling out where I’d shot him like it was boiling. He suddenly turned and ran, his motions a blur. He stopped to open the door, coming back into focus, and looked back at me. “I’m sorry,” he said again. And was gone.