Dead Harvest

  I'd better be right about the girl, I thought, because if I was wrong, the horrors of this existence were nothing compared to the torment I had in store.

17.

"Sam, what the hell was that back there?"

  Kate glared at me, her face flushed from anger and cold both. The abandoned munitions factory towered overhead, its long shadow hiding us from the damning glow of the street lights and protecting us from prying eyes. The lot beside the loading docks was cracked and overgrown, maybe four decades of detritus littering seemingly every inch – beer bottles, fast-food wrappers, yellowed scraps of newspaper. At the far end of the lot, a tattered baby carriage sat on its side, one wheel spinning in the chill breeze. The chain-link fence around the property had gone up long ago, topped with barbed wire, but the padlock on the gate was rusted through, and a few good whacks with the tire iron did the trick. Anders and Pinch were inside with our guest. Kate, it seemed, had other plans.

  "Look, Kate, I don't have time for this right now."

  "The hell you don't. You said we were going there to watch, and instead we fucking snatch the guy? And what's with the kid? You make like you don't know what's going on, and next thing I know, he's in the goddamn van! You sent him, didn't you, you son of a bitch? You sent him, and you just decided not to tell me!"

  "If I'd told you," I asked, "would you have let me do it?"

  "Of course not," Kate replied. "He's just a kid, for God's sake!"

  "You think I don't know that? You think I would've sent him if I had any other choice? If I'd gone to the door myself, I wouldn't have lasted ten seconds – they'd have dragged me in there and torn me limb from limb. That whole free-will clause doesn't apply to me – my fate was sealed a long time ago, and that means I'm fair game. No, for this to work, I needed someone human – someone innocent. Obviously, I couldn't send you, since you're the one they're looking for, and half the fucking demon-world saw Anders and me together when he helped me back to Friedlander's. That left the kid."

  "Still – you just sat there and deceived me."

  "I couldn't run the risk you'd wig out and botch the job. This isn't a game we're playing, Kate. If I let them take you, there's a good chance that this world is over. If that happens, that kid and everybody else are in for a life of suffering and agony, so if I've got to make a tough call or two, that's fine by me. My only priority is to keep you safe."

  "Even if it means lying to me?" Kate asked.

  "Yes."

  "And Anders? Did he know?"

  I paused, considering a lie – before reluctantly settling on the truth. "Yes."

  "So it's just me that you don't trust."

  "That's not it at all, Kate. Anders knows the kid. I don't. For the plan to work, I needed Anders to go talk to him, get him on our side – and someone had to prepare this place ahead of time for our arrival. If I could have left them out of this, I would have. But this I couldn't do alone."

  "Hey, guys?" Anders said, poking his head out the door beside the loading dock. "This really isn't the best time. You maybe wanna come inside and talk to the angry demon?"

  "Just give me a minute," I replied. Anders ducked back inside. "Listen, Kate, I appreciate your objections – really, I do. But whether you like it or not, Merihem is the closest thing we've got to a lead, which means we've got to know what he knows. Now, if that means I've got to hurt him, then so be it. If you can't be around for that, I understand. But we're too deep in this to look back now."

  "You think he knows who killed my family?" Kate asked.

  "He might."

  "You think he's gonna talk?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "If he doesn't," she said, "I'll kill the bastard myself."

Candles flickered in the cold expanse of the factory, throwing shadows – of girders and machinery too cumbersome to have been removed – across the dirtstreaked windows and graffiti-tagged walls that surrounded us. Merihem sat duct-taped to a wooden chair in the center of the room, his mouth still bound. The chair – which we'd, uh, borrowed from the dining room of Kane and Anders' restaurant hideout – was propped against an I-beam that jutted upward from the uneven concrete floor and disappeared into the darkness above. Between the chair legs and the Ibeam lay a scrap of two-by-four maybe three feet long, into which I'd wedged a half a dozen shards of ceramic, all pointing skyward. A length of nylon rope, looped around the chair's back legs at one end and clutched in Anders' closed fist at the other, spanned the seven or so feet between us. If Merihem tried anything, Anders just had to give the rope a tug and the chair would fall. If that happened, Merihem was gonna get a back full of goodbye. To his credit, he seemed to know it. Though his eyes glinted with cold, animal fury, he sat as still as death.