John Miller - Death Draws Five

“What in the bleeding Hell?” he asked aloud.

He and Angel stared at each other, then gazed around the lobby. It was deserted, except for a couple of bodies laying in pools of blood. Some were moving feebly or groaning, most were not.

“We’ve got to help them,” Angel said.

Ray grabbed her arm as she started forward. “First we have to find out what the Hell is happening,” he said. “Split up. Look around outside. I’ll check the lobby. Don’t go far, and if you see anything that might explain this, for Christ’s sake, come and get me.”

Angel nodded. “Don’t blaspheme,” she told him.

“Right.” He grabbed her by the upper arm. “And whatever you do, be careful.”

She smiled briefly, dazzling him, and was gone. He turned and headed for the shops lining the lobby.

The only person in the first one he went into was a gray-uniformed security guard who was bravely defending the deserted store from non-existent looters. The guard was a badly shaken youngster with badly shaking hands. Ray was glad he didn’t have a gun or else he would have shot someone, probably himself, out of fear-induced ineptitude. He flinched when Ray marched up to him and tried to duck under the counter by the cash register, but Ray hauled him up.

“Get a grip, Howard,” he said, reading the kid’s name off his tag above the fancy badge pinned to his shirt pocket. He reached for his own identification wallet, flipped it open, and shoved it into the kid’s face. “My name is Billy Ray. I’m a federal agent. You got that Howard?”

The kid stuttered a frightened, “Y-y-y--yes s-s-s-sir,” that Ray almost interrupted three or four times out of sheer impatience.

“What’s going on out there, Howard?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the kid said. “But there’s dead men out there in the lobby. Some of them are security guards.” He said that as if it were the most shocking thing imaginable, and started to cry. Ray shook him by the collar until his teeth rattled.

“Snap out of it, goddamn it,” he said. The Allumbrados had come after them. Again. It had to be them. The persistent bastards. But no one would believe the story if he told it the way it really was. He let go of Howard’s collar, took out a pen and scribbled a name and a phone number on the back of a card he took out of his wallet. “I want you to call this number,” he said in clear and precise tones. “Tell them Billy Ray told you to report to Nephi Callendar. Tell him that a gang of aces are trying to assassinate ex-President Leo Barnett under the guise of robbing the hotel. Tell him to get help out here, pronto, or else the Secret Service will have a dead ex-President on their hands. You got all that Howard?”

The security guard nodded.

“What’s my name, Howard?”

“Uh. Leo Barnett?”

Ray slapped him once across the face, fairly hard, then grabbed his shirt before he could fall down. “Wrong, Howard. My name is Billy Ray. It’s on the other side of the card. The man I want you to call is named Nephi Callendar. I’ve written his name on this side of the card. Now, what’s the story?”

“Uh, Leo Barnett is, uh, robbing the hotel, and—”

Ray sighed. “Just tell them Billy Ray said to get their asses down here or else there’ll be a dead ex-President on the five o’clock news. You get that right, and there’ll be a promotion for you. You fuck up, Howard, and I’ll hunt you down myself and kill you. You got that?”

“Yessir,” Howard managed.

Ray sighed. It was the best he could do. If he made the call himself they’d only want him to stay on the other end of the line and answer useless fucking questions. The odds were, anyway, that help wouldn’t arrive in time. Whatever was going down here was going down fast. But there was always the slim chance that the Feds could show up in time to be useful.

Now, Ray thought, to collect Angel and get up to Barnett’s office, fast. That was where the bad guys would be headed, after the kid who was ensconced in Fortunato’s suite on the floor below Barnett’s HQ. If Barnett, or Fortunato, or somebody was on the ball, they’d have already stopped the elevators, maybe catching some of the bad guys in frozen steel cages. He couldn’t count on that, though. He could count on the fact that the Cardinal probably sent a shit load of bad guys on this little adventure. He was probably really pissed by now.

Ray cut through the lobby at high speed, closing his ears to the cries of the wounded civilians he passed. No time for you now, he thought. Just hang on, hang on and we’ll get to you ASAP. If we can.

He spotted Angel just outside the tall glass doors leading up to the lobby’s main entrance at the top of the set of marble stairs. She was looking out into the courtyard in front of the hotel and the surrounding parking lot.

“Angel—”

She turned to him, and silently gestured outwards. In the courtyard were the Witness and Butcher Dagon, both. They were surrounded by armed goons. Alejandro Jesus y Maria C de Baca stood on the lowest step of the marble stairs, looking up at Angel.

Ray grinned his crazy grin. “Alejandro,” he called. “Now’s your chance, kid. Let’s see your stuff.”

Alejandro nodded slowly. Behind him, the Witness and Butcher Dagon approached, though the gunmen kept their distance. Alejandro did or said nothing until the two aces joined him. He looked at them and nodded, then he looked up at Ray.

“It’d be best if you just gave up, Billy. I don’t want to see either you or Angel get hurt, and I’m afraid you’re pretty well out-numbered.”

Ray frowned. His pulse beat with sudden anger. “Why you little bastard,” he said. “I always thought that you were too polite.”

Alejandro shrugged. “I’m sorry to hear that. I am a great admirer of yours.”

“Yeah, well, I never liked you.”

“He gave you good advice,” Witness said. “You’d better take it. We have to join the party inside. If you let us pass, we’ll just let you go. If you try to slow us down, we’ll kill you.”

“How’s your knee, you prick?” Ray asked. “Still walking with a limp?”

Witness scowled, but Dagon grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Alejandro shrugged again. “As you will, Billy.”

“Call me ‘Mr. Ray,’ you traitorous shit.”

Alejandro turned and looked over his right shoulder, a frown of concentration on his youthful features.

Angel lifted her arms to the Heavens. “Save my soul from evil, Lord,” she intoned, “and heal this warrior’s heart.” Her sword appeared as always, a roaring flame in her hands. She smiled at him. He was happy to see that her smile was without the taint of fear. “Stand with me, Billy,” she said. “‘One sword at least thy right shall guard.’” she semi-quoted.

Ray grinned crazily. “‘One faithful heart shall praise thee,’” he responded in the same spirit. “With all due respect to Thomas Moore.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why, Billy. I’d never guess you went in for poetry.”

“Stick around, babe. I’m full of surprises.”

“I believe I will,” she said, nodding.

From the parking lot came the sound of ancient stone groaning.

“Oh, crap,” Ray said.

The statues of the three apostles that stood in front of The Angels’ Bower climbed down creakily from their daises and approached the lobby entrance like arthritic giants.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

John Fortune could no longer sit on the bed without the sheets smoldering. The glow of his halo was so bright that it made Fortunato’s eyes ache. Downs, at his side, stared at the boy with a gaping mouth. The reporter was so stunned by the unexpected turn of events that he didn’t even ask Fortunato any questions.