Raw Deal

5. Stand With Me, Brother

5Stand With Me, BrotherBack in the bedroom, Soren filled the cups. He gave one to Conn then sat opposite him on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to say more.

The sky split again. This time, the lightning flash was accompanied by marble-sized hailstones. They bounced off the window ledge and hammered against the glass, some making it through the opening at the bottom and scattering on the floor of the room. Both men stared as they slowly began to melt, dotting into little dark pools.

To Soren’s relief, the temperature had plummeted with the onset of the storm, and he found his breath coming a little more easily, though the cold water he’d splashed on his face now felt boiling. He wanted to ask about Hell but couldn’t, worried that his tears would begin again, so he forced out other words to push away the stopper in his throat. “You think this place is a s**t-hole?”

Conn grinned and nodded, “I’m thinking the only reason there are no cockroaches is cos they packed up and moved.” He grinned wider. “You always did like ‘character,’ Hux.”

The hotel was a converted thirties mansion house set way off the Strip in the old area of town. It was in the district where the mob used to hang out back in the sixties. Just the sort of place Soren liked, classic and classy; history sounding with each rattle of the window pane, and seeping up between the cracks in the linoleum.

Conn stretched both arms above his head, and for the first time, Soren saw deep wounds in his wrists and around his jawline. It looked like someone had hacked at him with the sharp end of a potato peeler. The wounds were still fresh: deep purple, some crusted yellow, or with blackened scabs. One place, around his right ear, oozed fresh blue blood. He must have dislodged the scab when he squeezed Conn’s neck.

He retrieved a towel he’d earlier hung over the back of a dining chair, and dampened it at the bathroom sink before giving it to the demon. “You’re bleeding.”

Conn took it and dabbed at the wound. “Sure, I cut myself shaving this morning, so I did.” He winked.

“What happened? Those don’t look like fight injuries.”

“Well, I can tell you, Hux, but don’t you be getting all guilty on me again.”

“I said, I understood. But I’ll be guilty til my dying day.” Soren refilled their cups, noting the additional bottle in the cupboard. Good. They’d need two. “Tell me, man. What happened? Where have you been?”

“Hell. In the red zone. Cells of Permanent feckin’ Incarceration, to give them their proper title.” Conn knocked back the whiskey too fast, and an amber bead splashed onto his chin. He gathered it onto his finger and sucked. “Was hauled out of the Red River and shoved in a cell. Shackled—neck, wrists, ankles—just waiting for a chance to get out. I got it, finally, but had to wrench myself free from the metal.” He indicated the wounds around his neck, and pulled up the legs of his jeans to show deep gouges in his ankles. “Made my way topside.”

“You got out of Hell?” Soren looked at him sideways.

“It wasn’t easy, man. I can tell you. But I couldn’t do nothin’ could I? I fought my way out, so I did.” Conn’s eyes glittered ice blue against the green.

Something wasn’t right with this explanation, but Soren decided not to push. Not now. Not with him. He had no right. He’d never heard of anyone escaping Hell before, but then, they weren’t Conn O’Cuinn—a four hundred-year-old Soldier demon. If anyone could, it was him. But he felt he’d been lied to.

“Then what?” He topped up their drinks for a second time, shaking the final drops into his, and crossed to the cupboard for the second bottle.

“Then, nothing. Decided to track you down. Get back to Detroit. Take a stand against these feckin’ Risings. Tipping Point’s nearly on us.”

“Tipping Point?”

“When the number of demons up here outnumber humankind. Most of them scum-demons, Leeches and the like. Crawling up and out of their disgusting underground pits.” Conn’s face screwed up as he spoke. If they’d been outside, Soren had no doubt he would have spat on the ground.

“How do you know? So many cities are still not taken.”

“I know. Ear to the ground.” He blinked at Soren, light blue eyes holding his gaze.

They both took big gulps of whiskey. “Give us another, there, Hux. Been a long time since I had a good gargle.”

As Soren refilled the cup, he said, “Not business as usual then, back in Detroit?”

Conn leaned forward in his chair. “I’m heading that way, but nah. There’s a bigger plan brewing. That’s why I came to find you. Get you on board.”

“What plan?” Soren’s stomach clenched. He sensed that whatever Conn said next would change everything.

“It’s easy, Hux. I want you to stand with us. Stand with your Unit, man. Stand with the Soldiers.”