The max porter box set, p.54
The Max Porter Box Set, page 54
“All I’m suggesting here is that we take a breath to think this through. There’s a lot of darkness here. We’re all feeling it. Do we really want to get that brick and give it back to the coven? If this is the feeling we get from Grandma Mobley’s spirit being in a brick, what’ll she be like with it in her body? That’s all. I’ll follow what you want to do, but please listen to me for once and give this some thought.”
The energy from the walls radiated against Max’s skin like heat from a broiler. He looked into Sandra’s eyes. Determination and surety gazed back at him.
To Drummond, he said, “Even if we agree with you, we can’t leave it here.”
“Why not?”
“Eventually, the Goodman hunters will find it. And while I won’t mourn the loss of a coven in the world, I can’t really wish death upon Grandma Mobley or Lena. I mean, it’s one thing when they die in the midst of attempting to harm others, but this — this feels like murder.”
“That’s a bit extreme. Don’t forget, these witches are the enemy. Like Hull and the Magi group, they all want to gain power over others. We’re at war with them, and in a war, killing the enemy is not murder.”
Max gestured to Sandra as she bent to the ground and, using a stick, drew a casting circle around herself. “You going to kill my wife because she casts spells?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But if she keeps learning about magic, keeps expanding her ability, then she’ll essentially be a witch. I’m not too keen on it, but she wouldn’t be hurting people and I think we both can agree that she’d use magic to stop other witches.”
“You answered your own question. It’s the greedy and evil witches we’re after.”
“What about the other coven witches that died? Was Candace evil? Or Laverne?”
Drummond shrugged. “We didn’t kill them.”
“But we don’t know. We can never know truly unless we catch them in the act of doing bad. I mean, we saw with our own eyes the Goodman hunters murder Candace and kidnap Laverne. They’ve done crimes we witnessed. But what about the coven? We’ve seen nothing. The worst we can point to is that Grandma Mobley has lived an unnaturally long life. That’s not magic I’m willing to murder someone over.”
Turning his head away, Drummond said, “Look, I understand the position you’re in. You’ve got to be in favor of witches because of your wife, but —”
“Wow. Really? You’re going to blame this on her? I’ve spent the last several days yelling at her because I don’t want her doing magic. Hell, in the past I’ve been tortured by witches, drugged by them, had my life spun out of control by them, and most recently, I’ve been cursed by them. Don’t you dare start thinking I’m all in favor of witches. For that matter, you were in love with a witch once. And she was in a coven.”
“That’s why I kept telling you two to back out of this case. I’ve got experience in these matters.”
Sandra stood. “Both of you, shut up. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m casting this spell, and we’re taking the brick. Max is right. We are not murderers, and Drummond, you know it. I know this case has gotten under your skin, but acting like a belligerent ass is not going to make it end any quicker.” Sandra cocked her head to the side. “Who’s that?”
Max whipped around to see a bald man with a flaming cross tattoo. The man started at the sight of them and dashed back around the corner of the building. To Drummond, Max said, “Watch her. There might be more of them.”
“You got it.”
To Sandra, he added, “Do the spell. Get the brick. I’ll be right back.”
She reached out for him. “Let him go.” But Max had already started running.
Over his shoulder, he said, “Can’t. He knows where the other brick is.”
Chapter 24
MAX TURNED THE CORNER. The man had rushed down a full block before slowing to a normal walking pace. Though there were few pedestrians, Max still had to be careful. Plenty of cars and store owners were around. He couldn’t apprehend the man in front of endless witnesses.
But he refused to let the man escape.
Though still walking, Max quickened his pace in an effort to close the distance. The man neared the crosswalk. Max’s calves burned from the unusual gait required to keep from running. He wondered if the man had been listening to his argument with Drummond. But this man had caused enough hurt for a lifetime. For now, this was the real enemy.
The tattooed man stood at the crosswalk as cars zipped by. A bell dinged over and over. Red flashing lights of the railroad crossing signs kicked on and barrier arms lowered. Somewhere behind Max a locomotive blew its horn to signal its approach.
The thought hit Max — a lucky break. The man was stuck until the train passed. Except no — the man simply crossed the street and continued parallel to the tracks. With plenty of distraction as the freight train rolled by — boxcar after boxcar after tanker car after tanker car — the man broke into a jog.
Max gave up all pretenses. He dashed forward, closing in as fast as he could manage. The man glanced back, saw Max, and sprinted off across a gravel parking lot next to a tiny Mom-n-Pop diner.
As Max followed, he saw a thin area of trees with a few buildings peeking through. But he didn’t see the man. Which meant he should have checked behind —
The man blitzed forward with his fist overhead. Without thinking, Max bent to the side and twisted away. This saved him from being clobbered in the head, but he still took a hard blow on the shoulder blade. He stumbled a few steps. With his adrenaline pumping, he whirled around, bringing his fists up, and setting his feet in a fighting stance.
“Aw, yeah,” the man said with an odd accent Max couldn’t place. “Let’s have us a fistfight.”
The man’s muscular physique backed up his confidence, but Max had been learning how to hold his own. He knew he might not win the fight, but with his limited training, he might be able to hurt this man.
The man growled and cracked his knuckles. Max did not flinch. He put a light bounce to his legs, getting ready to move at the first sign of action.
Baldy — Max thought up the simple tag that instant — threw a few light jabs, not intended to hit but merely to get his distance and see how twitchy his opponent was. Max smirked. Not too twitchy at all — though inside, his nerves rattled like a frightened dog.
Again, Baldy jabbed. He grinned with such malice that Max knew the man had begun his career of pain by torturing ants with a magnifying glass as a kid, probably worked up to “disciplining” the family dog, and if he had somehow conned a woman into marrying him, she had suffered through a blackeye or two as well. Baldy shifted his feet and sent off two more jabs. Again, not seriously attempting to make contact.
But for all his swagger, Baldy had already made a mistake. Max noticed that right before each jab, the man lowered slightly as if he had to dip into the punch. The next time Baldy made that motion, Max acted.
Using one of his favorite moves from training, he blocked the jab with his forearm, striking from the outside inward. This knocked Baldy’s jabbing arm aside and opened him up as an easy target. Max followed through the block, turning his body around to plant a solid back kick straight into Baldy’s chest.
Max and Baldy paused, both astonished by the successful move. Then Baldy bared his teeth as his head flushed with anger. He roared as he barreled forward. But this did not deter Max. He stayed calm and focused like a matador facing a charging bull. When the enraged man reached out for a tackle, Max sidestepped and aimed a punch for the man’s lower ribs.
“We can stop this anytime,” Max said, unable to suppress an arrogant roll of the shoulders. “I got a few questions, and I don’t want to keep hurting you.”
Spitting off to the side as he reset for more fighting, Baldy had lost the blind rage. He now approached like a seasoned fighter respecting his opponent. He kept inching closer, circling, waiting.
Not good, Max thought. It was easy to land hits against a man underestimating the fight. But with this change, Max knew Baldy would not go down with ease.
Baldy dipped as he launched into another attack, and Max stepped forward to block. Only this time, Baldy had faked the attack. He had baited Max into action and took full advantage of knowing where Max would end up.
The punches came fast and hard. Three to the side that lifted Max slightly off his feet and one to the face that left Max’s head ringing. A tingling wave crashed through his body. He weaved backwards like a drunk, and Baldy rushed in for another strike. This time, he hit Max in the gut.
But martial arts training had taught Max a crucial lesson in fighting — fighters get hit. There was no way to avoid it. Max had spent enough time sparring that he had learned how to take a blow to the body and keep going.
When Baldy moved forward, Max snapped a sharp fist into the man’s chin. Stunned by the unexpected attack, Baldy lost his momentum. Max followed up with a flurry of combinations — punches and kicks and whirling back into an elbow strike. Ending with a loud yell, Max stood tall as Baldy dropped to one knee and waved his hand.
“Okay, okay. Stop,” Baldy said.
Before Baldy might look upward, Max closed his gaping mouth. He had won his first fistfight, and though he knew luck had played its part — a huge part — he still felt a touch of pride flowing through his veins.
“Over here,” Drummond yelled to Sandra before darting over to Max. “Will you look at that? You sure kicked this guy in the rear.”
Max winked at Drummond but kept at the ready in case Baldy decided to take a chance at escape. Sandra hustled toward them, the worry on her face dissipating with every step closer. A hint of a smile grew on her lips that Max had never seen before — and he thought he had seen them all.
“Any luck?” he asked.
She opened her purse and pulled out a brick. “Not hard at all. Didn’t even need our friend to get it out. It practically popped out on its own.”
“No practically about it,” Drummond said. “I saw the thing respond to her touch. It wanted to come out.”
When Baldy saw the brick, he bowed his head and laughed. “What is it with you people and those bricks?”
“Keep quiet,” Max said, “or I’ll have to hit you again.”
“Good. I want you to.”
“Huh?”
Keeping his head low — in fact, Max swore the man took care to cover his mouth in the crook of his arm — Baldy said, “I let you beat me. Don’t you get it? I need you to hit me so I can pretend to be knocked out. Then you take me away in a car. Take me someplace safe, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Though the thoughts in Max’s head swirled in a typhoon of gray cell connections, he also knew that he needed to act first. He’d make sense of it later. To Sandra, he said, “Get the car.”
Baldy made a show of stumbling to his feet. “You’ll never win!”
A bit over-the-top, but it gave Max all he required. With a swift motion, he clocked Baldy on the chin. This time, when the man fell over, Max lost all sense of accomplishment. He would keep training, but he could see by the dive the man took that he had much to learn.
Chapter 25
THEY DROVE BACK TO THEIR HOUSE and sat Baldy on a folding chair in the middle of the garage. Sandra wanted to interrogate him at the office, but Max warned that an office called The Porter Agency would be easier to find than their house address which would be listed with all the other Porters. He knew the argument sounded weak, but he didn’t want Sandra catching PB carrying out his assignment, so he had to steer her away from the office.
At Drummond’s insistence, they tied Baldy’s hands behind his back. Baldy, whose real name turned out to be Bill Corte, did not resist. After they had him bound, Max said, “Time to talk.”
“They told me about you folks. Told me you’d be trying to stop us. You’re usually on the right side of things, but you’re really working for witches. That’s screwed up. Why are you trying to stop us from saving people from witches?”
Drummond snapped his fingers and pointed at the man. “That’s a good question.”
“If I’ve learned anything here in the South,” Max said, “it’s that oftentimes you’ve got to deal with one group you don’t like in order to stop a more powerful group that means to do serious harm — if you even have a choice in the matter, at all.”
Bill sneered. “But you work for Mother Hope and the Magi.”
“We don’t work for them. We have an arrangement. That’s all.”
“If it’s anything like the arrangement I’m stuck in, you’re a sorry sucker like me.”
Sandra opened another folding chair and sat. “Tell us about your arrangement. Why are you working for the Goodman hunters?”
Bill’s eyes widened. “It’s not like that. I never even heard of Goodman and all that until a month ago. Shit, all the Goodman hunters never heard of the Goodman hunters until a few months before that. And I swear I never even knew witches were real. Honest. They recruited me and a few others, said they were getting the Goodman Witch Hunters back in action and needed young blood to do the fighting. I said I don’t fight for free and they threw a lot of money at me.”
“To go fight witches?”
“That’s what they said. The kid running the thing comes from real money, and he tosses it around to get things done. I’ve roughed up guys for loan sharks before. I don’t mind playing the muscle. And I didn’t care if it was for imaginary creatures — as long as the money was real.”
“But then you found out the witches were real, too.”
He nodded, the growing fear of his new reality evident in his shocked eyes. “First couple times, I thought it was all a trick. Some weird way of keeping us all in line. But then I saw what happened to that one in the Science Center. I didn’t sign up for that bullshit. All I wanted was to get paid for scaring a few ladies and a little vandalism. Next thing I know, I’m seeing actual magic spells going off in front of me. Last thing I heard, they’re telling me ghosts are real, too. Can you believe that one?”
“Oh, I can,” Max said as Drummond hovered over Bill.
“Then there’s this.” Bill pointed to his flaming cross tattoo. “When we joined, they threw a party, gave us beer and toasted our success. Turned out the beer had been drugged. When I woke, I had this tattooed on me. The boss came in and he warned us that we were now all cursed. If we ever told anybody about this stuff, if we ever told you guys specifically about this, then the curse would go off.”
Sandra said, “But aren’t you telling us now?”
“I didn’t believe in any of this until the Science Center. I just want out, and no way are they letting me out. I figured, since witches and ghosts and all that is true, then maybe you all are true, too. They say you’ve faced down witches and worse, and you’re still here, so I’m guessing you know what you’re doing. Don’t really have a choice, anyway, do I?”
Drummond floated a circle around Bill’s head, staring down at him the entire time. “Y’know, I think this fella might be telling the truth. You should get every last bit of information you can from him.”
“Tell me something,” Max said. “How bad do you want out?”
“I don’t want anything to do with any of this. The man can keep his money. I’ll leave town if that’s what’s necessary. I’ve seen more than I ever want to.”
“We can help you. But we need you to answer a few more questions.”
“Anything. Ask away.”
“Who’s running the Goodman hunters?”
Bill bent forward and winced. Max thought perhaps he had broken the man’s rib, but then Bill took a sharp breath and straightened. “Grant Felder. He’s the head of the hunters.”
“Who the heck is Grant Felder?” Drummond asked.
Sandra glanced at Max, and he shrugged. He said the name several times in his head to remember it. More research for later, perhaps. Don’t be stupid, Max, he thought. He had the perfect prime source sitting in front of him.
“Tell us about Grant Felder.”
Bill said, “He’s a card shark that I knew for a few years. Never was great at it, but he managed to get by. His dad or granddad or whatever was part of the Goodman hunters and the old man had plenty of cash. Felder, he brought me in on all of this. Found me at a bar, got me drunk, and said it’d be perfect for what I’m good at, said the rest of the old timers were gone, but he wanted to bring it all back for his dad. Something like that, anyway. I was drunk.”
“Seems a lot of bad things happen to you when you drink.”
“Yeah, I’ll look into AA right away. Meanwhile, I think I’ll try not to die from a witch and her gang. You going to help me or what?”
“What witch?”
“I told you already — they cursed me with this tattoo.”
“You said that Felder did that, meaning he’s got a witch.”
“Why would Felder work with a witch? He’s leading up the Goodman Witch Hunters. As in hunt and kill.”
“Bill,” Sandra said, her voice soft, calm, and full of menace. “I’m a witch. And I’m capable of a lot you don’t want to see. So, stop jerking us around and start explaining things. Who are you talking about?”
Bill looked up and Max offered only confirmation. The bald man’s face dropped and his eyes glistened with tears. “Grant is the money, but really he’s nothing but a middle man.”
“Then who’s the real man behind the curtain?”
He swallowed dry and winced as if the name caused him pain. “Leon Moore.”
“What?” Max blurted out. “You’re telling me that Leon Moore of the Magi hired you?”
“Yeah. Big black fellow. Works for a witch. He’s the only one we’ve dealt with but I heard stories about her and the Magi.”
Sandra walked next to Max. “Leon Moore restarted the Goodman hunters?”
“That’s right. He told us the truth about witches, told us about this one group of them, this coven, and he showed us how to properly destroy the bricks so that they’ll be killed.”
