Брайан Макклеллан - Uncanny Collateral

It was time to get to work and find out.

My first move was to find myself a better lead. “Someone in the Great Lakes area is stealing souls” wasn’t going to be very useful. I considered putting a few of our company skip tracers on the job, but I didn’t even have a name to start them off on. And since Ferryman had stressed discretion, that meant I was on my own. Anyone I told about this thing had to be trustworthy.

I stopped by an ATM before hitting the hour-long drive to southern Akron, where I found a busy, pothole-pitted street and parked in front of a corner pawnshop with a sign above it declaring Zeke’s Pawn and Charity. A green neon lotto sign in the window blinked on and off.

A bell rang as I stepped into the shop’s cool darkness. The establishment was devoid of customers and overwhelmed by piles of junk on every available surface. Some items had handwritten price tags, while others were stacked on shelves labeled Best Offer. The place smelled of dust and salami, and I fought back a sneeze as I looked over a glass case full of jewelry and wondered how much of it was stolen.

I don’t know why you always come here first, Maggie said. Zeke is a weirdo.

I rolled my eyes. I come here because Zeke finds out everything going on around town faster than just about anyone else I know.

So? Shouldn’t you boycott his services? I thought that’s what decent people do.

Just because you don’t like him ?

Yes, she answered without a trace of irony.

Zeke gets me results. Results get you to the beach next week.

Point taken.

I suppressed a smile, then went to the glass case of knickknacks at the very end of the room and banged on the top. “Zeke, you have a customer! Stop watching soaps and get out here!”

“Hold on, hold on,” a voice answered from the back. There was a crash followed by a litany of swear words, and then a short, balding man with tufts of black hair sticking out from the sides of his head emerged from the back room. He wore a dirty X-men T-shirt and carried a coffee mug that reeked of bourbon from six paces away. I frowned and squinted.

That’s new, Maggie said.

“Zeke?” I asked.

“Heya, Alek! How are you doing this fine day?” he answered cheerfully, slamming the coffee cup on the counter top so hard that I was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. “I was just about to give you a call.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, and gave him a long, hard look. “Zeke, why do you look like Danny DeVito?”

He stared at me like I was an idiot for a moment before smacking his head. “You haven’t seen me since I changed last, have you?”

“The last time I saw you, you were taller than me. And Indian.”

Zeke is a retired angel. A cherubim, to be exact. He claims he stood guard outside the Garden of Eden and all that jazz, but even with Maggie in my ring, I don’t trust his stories. I knew that he changed looks every few decades so that the locals didn’t get suspicious, but I’d never actually seen him do it.

“Right,” he responded, leaning across the table and whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Look, if anyone comes in here looking for Zeke, just call me Fred. I had to change a little early this time because I got in deep with some loan sharks in Canton.” He straightened and grinned. “So ‘Fred’ bought out Zeke’s Pawn and Charity.”

“And Zeke fled the country?” I guessed.

“Exactly.”

I told you he’s fucking weirdo, Maggie whispered.

“Why Danny DeVito?” I asked.

Zeke cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s Danny DeVito?”

Oh, lord, Maggie said. He’s not kidding around. He has no idea who Danny DeVito is .

I sighed. “You picked this look by accident?

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Ever heard of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia ?”

“Sounds familiar.”

“How about Taxi ?”

Zeke’s eyes lit up. “I think I’ve got that on VHS somewhere around here!”

“Give it a watch. Now, what is it you were gonna call me about?”

Zeke looked at me askance and waved a finger. “No, no. You tell me what you came in here for first. Let’s get business out of the way.”

I didn’t have patience to play games with him, so I took a brown envelope out of my pocket and tossed it on the counter between us. It landed with the weight of a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills. I like to talk a lot about how cheap Ada is, but she never skimps on a bribe.

Zeke let out a low whistle, using one finger to open the end of the envelope and peek inside. “Who are you after this time? Bloodbag? Bone donor? Faust? I’ve got a lead on a guy in Columbus who supposedly owes Baron Samedi over thirty grand in Cuban cigars.”

“Nah,” I responded. “It’s something a little different.” I paused, looking up at the security camera blinking at me from one corner of the shop. “Turn that off.”

“Eh? That’s for my own personal safety, you know.”

I laid one hand over the envelope of money. “Cameras off.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Zeke shuffled into the back room. The light on the camera went dead, and he returned a moment later carrying a salami sandwich. He took a bite and sat on a stool opposite me. “Lay it on thick, brother.”

“I need discretion,” I said.

“You know I’m the very model of discreet,” Zeke replied, looking hurt.

“ Real discretion,” I repeated. I pulled another envelope out of my pocket and tossed it on top of the first. For a moment, I thought Zeke’s eyes would pop out of his head.

“Frickin’ A, Alek. You have my discretion,” he said.

“Good. There’s a rumor that a couple hundred souls have gone missing. I need to know if you’ve got a line on anything like that.”

Zeke’s eyes didn’t leave the envelopes of money. He rubbed his chin. “Souls, huh? I’ve never heard of the Lords of Hell misplacing any of their gains. I didn’t even know it could happen.”

“So you haven’t heard anything?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, raising an eyebrow and flicking his eyes between my face and the money.

He’s lying, Maggie told me. He knows something, but I get the sense it’s not that much.

I shook my head at Zeke. “I’m not adding a penny to that pile unless you give me something really damn good.”

Zeke’s lips pursed stubbornly. “Whatever happened to some good, old-fashioned haggling?”

“I’m on a deadline,” I told him.

For a fraction of a moment, I thought I saw the air around Zeke shimmer, and the vision of a tall, multiheaded, golden-skinned alien creature wafted behind him like a mirage. It was gone when I blinked, but I knew I had him. His disguise always wavered when he was about to relent.

“Okay,” Zeke said, “I may have heard a thing or two. Nothing concrete, though. Just a tiny bit of hearsay.”

“What kind of hearsay?” I asked.

Zeke said, “Supposedly there’s this executive downtown who sold her soul for fame and power and all that. She paid her debt up front and has been living the high life ever since.”

Paid her debt up front meant that she handed over her soul upon signature. Most people put off that part – they think if they keep their soul for twenty years then maybe the Devil will forget they exist or they’ll be able to buy it back or something stupid. It’s an easy negotiating point for my clients, so they let the sucker hold on to that soul and then don’t pay nearly as much for it.

“What does this have to do with missing souls?” I asked.

“I’m getting there. Supposedly , she started to have her doubts about the whole heaven and hell thing last year, and get this…” Zeke paused dramatically. When I narrowed my eyes at his theatrics, he sighed and continued, “She bought herself a secondhand soul.”