Thing was, there was no good news to share with the Omega, and he was the one whose Levi's were on the line.
"Take this thing back to the Lowell Street house," he said as a pale blue minivan full of backup eased down the alley. "When it comes around, let me know. I'll see if it can tell us anything about the one we're looking for."
"Whatever you say, boss." Boss was pronounced like ass**le.
Mr. D considered taking his switchblade and skinning the son of a bitch where he stood. But after already offing one slayer tonight, he forced himself to sheathe the blade and put the weapon back in his coat. Thinning the herd was not a great idea right now.
"I would watch your manners, boy," he murmured as two lessers got out of the minivan and came over to pick up the civilian.
"Why? This isn't Texas."
"True enough." Mr. D froze the large muscle groups of the slayer, grabbed the f**ker by the balls, and twisted those family jewels like taffy. The slayer screamed, proving that even if you were impotent, a man's soft spot was still the best way to get his attention.
"There still ain't no reason to be rude," Mr. D whispered as he looked up into the guy's scrunched face. "Din't your mama teach you nothing?"
The reply that came back could have been anything from the Twenty-third Psalm to a blonde joke to a grocery list, for all the sense it made.
Just as Mr. D was releasing his hand, every square inch of his skin started to itch.
Great. The night just kept getting better.
"Cage that there male," Mr. D said, "then get back out here. We ain't done for the night."
By the time the minivan took off, he was ready to take a sheet of sandpaper to himself. The incredible tickling itch meant the Omega wanted to see him, but where the hell could he go for an audience? He was downtown, and the closest piece of property the Lessening Society had was a good ten-minutes drive away - and considering he had no news to share, he didn't think any kind of delay was a good call.
Mr. D jogged up Trade and checked out the blocks of abandoned buildings. In the end, he decided he couldn't run the risk of taking an audience with the Omega in any of them. The human homeless were into everything downtown, and on a night like tonight, no doubt they'd be a-lookin' to get out from under the storms. The last thing Mr. D needed was a human witness, even a drugged-out or drunk one, especially considering he was going to get a whuppin'.
Couple blocks farther and he came up to a construction site with a ten-foot fence all around it. He'd been watching the building go up since this past spring, with first the exoskeleton rising from the dirt, then the skin of glass wrapping the girders up, then the nervous system of wires and piping getting roughed in. The crews had stopped working at night, which meant he was pig-in-shit for what he needed.
Mr. D took a running jump, two-handed the upper lip of the fence, and vaulted his ass over the top. He hit the ground in a crouch and stayed put.
No one came at him and no dogs rushed his way, so he willed a couple of the caged lights off and scooted through the shadows toward a door that was - score - unlocked.
The building had the dry smell of Sheetrock and plaster, and he went deep into the center, his footsteps echoing around. The place was standard-issue office space, a big, open stretch that would someday soon be filled with cubes. Poor bastards. He never could have handled a desk job. For one, he weren't book smart, and for two, if he couldn't see the sky he felt like he was going to scream.
When he was thick in the middle of the building, he got down on his knees, took off his cowboy hat, and settled in for one hell of a tongue-lashin'.
Just as he opened himself to the master, the newest storm got serious about coming in, its thunder rolling into downtown, then echoing as it bounced off the tall buildings. Perfect timing. The Omega's arrival sounded like just another thunderclap as the master broke through into Caldwell's version of reality, busting out of thin air as if he were leaping out of a lake. When he'd fully arrived, the background of the construction site wobbled like it was rubber snapping back into shape.
White robes settled around the Omega's ghostly black form, and Mr. D got ready to pull the trigger on a whole lot of we're-doin-the-best-we-can.
But the Omega spoke first. "I have found what belongs to me. His death was the way. You shall give me four men and you shall procure necessaries and you shall go to the farmhouse to ready it for an induction."
Okay, that was not what he'd expected to come out of the master's mouth.
Mr. D got up and took out his phone. "There's a squadron on Third Street. I'll tell them to come here."
"No, I shall pick them up there and they shall travel with me. When I return to the farmhouse, you shall assist me in what transpires, and then you shall provide a service."
"Yes, master."
The Omega extended his arms, his white robe unfurling like a pair of wings. "Rejoice, for we are strengthened tenfold. My son is coming home."
With that, the Omega up and disappeared, a rolled scroll falling to the concrete floor in the wake of his depature.
"Son?" Mr. D wondered if he'd heard that right. "Son?"
He bent down and picked up the scroll. The list was long and kind of gruesome, but not exotic.
Cheap and easy. Cheap and easy. Which was good because his wallet was darned slim.
He put the list in his jacket and his cowboy hat back on.
Son?
Across town in Havers's underground clinic, Rehv waited in an examination room with no patience whatsoever. Checking his watch for the eight hundred and fiftieth time, he felt like a race car driver whose pit crew was made up of ninety-year-olds.
What the hell was he doing here anyway? The dopamine had kicked in and the panic had faded, and now he felt ridiculous with his Bally loafers dangling off the end of a doctor's table. All was normal and under control, and for chrissakes, his forearm would heal up eventually. The fact that it was slow probably meant he just needed to feed. A quick session with Xhex and he'd be good to go.
So really, he should just take off.
Yeah, the only problem with that was the fact that Xhex and Trez were waiting for him in the parking lot. If he didn't come out of here with some mummy wrapping over his needle marks, they were going to scramble his ass like eggs.
The door opened and a nurse came in. The female was dressed in a white shirtwaist dress, white hose, and white soft-soled shoes, a right-out-of-central-casting routine that was all about Havers's old-fashioned ways and standards. As she shut the door, she had her head buried in his medical chart, and though he didn't doubt she was checking on whatever was written there, he was well aware that the added bene was that she didn't have to meet his eyes.
All the nurses did that when they were with him.
"Good evening," she said stiffly while flipping through pages. "I'm going to take a blood sample, if you don't mind."
"Sounds good." At least something was happening.
While he took off one side of his sable coat and shrugged out of his jacket, she bustled around washing her hands and snapping on gloves.
None of the nurses liked dealing with him. It was female intuition. Even though there was no mention in his chart that he was a half-breed symphath, they could sense the evil in him. His sister, Bella, and his former flame, Marissa, were the only notable exceptions, because they both brought out his good side: He cared for them and they sensed it. As for the rest of the race, though? Anonymous folks meant absolutely nothing to him, and somehow the fairer sex always picked up on that.
The nurse came at him with a little tray of vials and a rubber tourniquet, and he rolled up his sleeve. She worked fast and didn't say a word as she drew the blood then hit the door as quickly as she could.
"How much longer is it going to be?" he asked before she could get away.
"An emergency's come in. It's going to be a while."
The door clapped shut.
Shit. He didn't want to leave his club alone all night. With both Trez and Xhex off-site... yeah, that was no good. iAm was a hard-ass, for sure, but even ruff-tuffs needed solid backup when they were facing a crowd of four hundred f**ked-up humans.
Rehv popped open his phone, dialed Xhex, and fought with her for about ten minutes. Which wasn't fun but helped kill some time. She wouldn't budge on him pulling out, but at least he got her to agree to go back to the club with Trez.
Of course, that was only after he direct-ordered the both of them.
"Fine," she snapped.