Page 85 of Shrapnel

The homeless man twitched. His thin lips were barely visible under his unruly beard. “I used to know the place,” he affirmed. “It’s haunted now.”

Jamie’s lips quirked. “By a demon?”

The man was old, but he moved fast. His hand shot out from the shroud of blankets. He clasped Jamie’s ankle, cold fingers in a vice grip.

Jamie had his gun out and pressed against the man’s forehead before he could take a breath. The cold steel of the barrel nudged the white bandages. “Let go.”

“The white-eyed demon! He lurks in the dark and takes those who won’t be missed. He takes them and breathes hellfire into their lungs.”

Elijah laid a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Hellfire?”

Hellfire into the lungs sounded a lot like how their victims were killed. Someone was taking the homeless and killing them the same way as the Mesa victims.

So far they only had the two dead homeless at the convenience store. They had a Mesa knife, and their death was similar, but not completely the same. The ME said the Mesa victims would have died almost instantly, but the homeless men would have taken a few days. A lower concentration?

Or…were they the experiment? Did the killer take the homeless as a trial run?

Jamie returned the gun to his holster, kicking the grip off his ankle. The old man was chewing on the inside of his lip, hands shaking with tremors. From palsy or drugs, Jamie didn’t know.

Elijah pulled out a wad of cash, dropping it into the bowl before pulling out his phone. No doubt to text Noah about missing or dead homeless.

“Thanks,” Jamie grated out. His skin was crawling from where the man had touched him. He turned, following Elijah.

“Be careful,” the man rasped. “Even the boy spat from the flames isn’t safe from demons in the shadows.”

Jamie froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and he shivered, turning to look back at the homeless man. He was staring down at his feet, hands fluttering around the bowl, trying to find where the money was.

His hand drifted to the scar on his belly. “What did you just say?”

“Jamie,” Elijah called from behind him. “I’ve got an address for The Cleft.”

Suppressing a shiver, he backed away from the crazy old man.

They say urban renewal is a program for land redevelopment to address urban decay. The thought is to clear out blighted areas, slums, and poor areas, to create opportunities for higher class housing and businesses. A way to clean up the ‘bad’ parts of town.

And, make no mistake, the West side was the bad side of town. The kind of place that cops dread responding to, and politicians carefully allude to in their speeches. A few years ago, the local government got the go ahead to clean up the streets. They started by kicking the tenants out, buying up the land for dirt cheap. Eminent Domain, they called it. Where the government can force someone to sell their private land in the name of public use.

Jamie thought it sounded an awful lot like stealing. But he was just in the business of stealing and murder. What would he know?

Driving from Our Lady of Peace towards the west side of town felt like stepping through a portal. One moment it was all sunny, bodegas with milk crates propping their doors open to let in the fresh air. The next block was a ghost town. Nothing but trash collecting in corners and shuttered windows. The shops and homes had all been looted years ago. Now the only people wandering around were kids looking to get their rocks off by smashing windows and spray painting the walls.

The Cleft was in relatively good shape. On the corner, its blacked-out windows had been replaced by thick pieces of plywood and plastic garbage bags. Elijah parked on the street, taking a moment to look at the place.

Jamie didn’t want to admit it, but he was still rattled by the homeless guy. It was probably all bullshit. Chaotic ramblings from a man with a brain so fried he probably didn’t recognize Jamie from a piece of salami.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Elijah muttered.

He’d been pensive all day. His pleasantries were forced, and he had been distracted. Jamie knew Elijah was still blaming himself for losing the perp.

“Why not?” Jamie asked, tapping his fingers on the passenger window. “I know girls are not your thing, but you never know until you try.”

Elijah inhaled. “You wouldn’t have missed.”

“Maybe. But I probably wouldn’t have super manned off a car onto a fire escape like you did. Boy Scout, listen, beating yourself up won’t fix this. But going in there? Doing our Scooby-Doo thing? That’ll help.” Probably.

With that, he pushed open the door and stepped onto the street. The sun had gone down, and the wind was brisk. Jamie pulled his gun from inside his jacket, thumbing across the textured grip.

Elijah didn’t do anything wrong. He never did. But Noah had a way of getting into his head. Anything involving that spoiled little lordling and Elijah got all bent out of shape. Jamie wanted to be mad, but how could he? When he saw how Elijah looked at him, how Noah looked at Elijah?