Urban Enemies (Cainsville 4.5)

"I'll get right on that," Fontaine said, buttoning his shirt. "Remind 'em, I need the bounty money on this side of the universe. Uncut gems, gold bullion, American cash if they can swing it on short notice. Let's talk about gear. I hope you brought your entire goodie basket; something tells me I'm gonna need it tonight. Oh, and do me one favor?"

"Name it, boss."

"Once we start huntin', run out and buy me a hat. I can't--" He gestured at his hairline helplessly. "I just can't work with this."

11:17 p.m.

September rain cloaked the streets of Detroit in an icy mist. Dismal gray fog clung to lonely streetlights, wreathing pale yellow bulbs like the remnants of lost souls. Dead spirits with nowhere to go. Broken pavement crunched under Fontaine's shoes. He balled his hands into fists, shoving them deep into his overcoat pockets. Rache hustled along at his side, lugging a fat aluminum-sided briefcase, her short legs pumping to match his long, smooth strides. He'd sent her out of the morgue just long enough to make a quick phone call in private. That, and to reiterate his request for a hat. Irving said he'd see what he could do.

"So you wanna do what I do for a living," Fontaine said. "Why?"

"Heard I could get paid for hurting people. I told the recruiter she had me at 'hello.' "

"Little more to the job than that." Fontaine paused at a corner, squinting in both directions, then led the way down a quiet side street. "What we do is important. The Chainmen are the first and last line of defense against the enemies of hell. We don't just enforce infernal law, we embody it."

"Oh, shit," Rache muttered, "an idealist. Bet you're fun at parties."

"Not an idealist, darlin', just practical. Nobody ever teach you history? We tried rule by chance and anarchy, way back when, and those were dark days indeed. Lucky we survived at all. The law keeps everybody in line."

"Keeps the princes in power, you mean."

"Mmm-hmm." Fontaine paused beside a parked car, an old Buick speckled with rust spots like a bad case of the measles. "And they're our best-paying clients. Everything circles around again."

"What are we doing here, anyway?"

"Stealing this car." The side window shattered under Fontaine's elbow, shards of broken glass glittering as they clung to the gray wool of his overcoat. He wrenched the door open and brushed more chunks of glass from the vinyl seat down onto the pavement at his feet. "Hell's law is sacred. Human law? Break as necessary. Just don't get caught, and never get exposed. Nothing worse than a nosy human who figures out that demons are real. Once they do that, they start figuring out how to hurt us. C'mon, hop in."

"Where to? And why'd you take this bounty, anyway? The terms suck."

Fontaine crouched down. He pried open the plastic panel under the steering wheel, giving the exposed wiring an appraising eye.

"I called an informant of mine. She's got the scoop for us. As to the second question, I need a lot of money and I need it fast. 'Fast' as in 'before the sun comes up.' Got the kind of debts that won't wait."

"Gambling?" Rache asked.

"Something like that."

They didn't have to drive far. A rusty bell jangled over the front door of an all-night diner. The place had been built from a pair of old train cars, vintage steel, with electric lights buzzing behind art deco sconces. Fontaine wiped his shoes on the mud-caked mat. Outside, the drizzling mist slowly turned to a cold shower.

"That's my girl," he murmured to Rache. Rache followed his gaze to the woman, midtwenties, sitting in the back booth. Her hands were cupped around a mug of steaming black coffee. Her mascara was a raccoon mask, black puddles around her eyes, face shadowed under the peak of a gray flannel hoodie. Rache sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose.

"A human? I thought nothing was worse than--"

"An informant. And a damn good one, too. Rule number one in this job: intel is the coin of the realm. Let's say hello."

The woman rose as Fontaine approached, giving Rache an uncertain eye. She raised her open palm. Fontaine did the same. Their hands brushed, fleeting, and they stood close.

"I used to be able to surprise you," he said.

"How many bodies have I seen you in?" She put a finger to her face, tapping one eyebrow. "Your eyes never change. You . . . didn't come alone."

"Right, right. This is Rache. New apprentice. Rache, meet Ada."

"Thrilled," Rache said.

They sat. Ada kept her hood pulled low, leaning over her coffee like she was trying to read the future in the steam.

"So does this--" she started to say.