City of Heretics by Heath Lowrance Page A

it to the boss. Vitower took it without looking at the man. He threw it down his throat and handed the glass back. He was having a hard time holding it together, but the drink seemed to help.
    Crowe said, “Why me, Marco?  I mean, I understand why now , with him being transported, but why have me do it, and not one of your people?”
    He grinned darkly. “For one thing, I’m looking forward to being able to say you are one of my people. For another, there’s a little bit of heat on at the moment.”
    Chester said, “Wills.”
    Vitower said, “Right. Eddie goddamn Wills. Sheriff’s Department detective. Been giving me grief ever since the Old Man kicked.”
    Crowe said, “A cop, Marco?  Since when has a cop been able to give you any trouble worth talking about?”
    “Since Eddie Wills. He’s trouble. One of the cops other cops don’t like. Hard-ass, follows the rules as loosely as possible without losing his job. And he’s got a hard-on for me.”
    Crowe grinned at him. “What did you do to the poor fella?”
    Vitower smirked. “Damn if I know. But the fucker keeps picking up my people on any minor charge he can—he even busted Maurice here for littering once. Threw a cigarette wrapper on the street, fucking Wills shook him down.”
    One of the proto-Vitowers, Maurice, Crowe guessed, nodded, and that was about all he had on the subject.
    “Whatever his damage is, he’s been snooping around, making himself a nuisance. Thanksgiving, the sonofabitch was even parked outside my house. On Thanksgiving!”
    Chester said, “Maybe he’s just thankful for you.”
    “Right. Whatever, I wish the bastard would just go away. In the meantime…” 
    Crowe said, “Murke’s being transported by the Sheriff’s Department in an armored vehicle. What do you think we can possibly do about that?  He’d be pretty damn near untouchable.”
    Vitower straightened his collar, which didn’t really need straightening, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Pretty damn near,” he said. “But not entirely. You find a way, Crowe. You find a way to kill that motherfucker before he makes it to Jackson.”
    Crowe said, “The odds, Marco, aren’t good.”
    “I know. That’s why I want you to do it. Here’s the thing. This is a shit job, and I don’t want to risk any of my long-time people on it. I don’t really believe that you’ll be able to pull this off, not without getting killed or caught.”
    Crowe said, “You need someone expendable.”
    “No, that’s not it. I’m giving you Chester, and as many of my boys as you need, and none of them are expendable as far as I’m concerned. What I need is someone to take the heat if it all goes south. That would be you.”
    He smiled, and it wasn’t the easy-going, leadership seminar smile this time. It was the predatory smile of a reptile. He said, “All my resources will be at your disposal. Like I said, you’ll have Chester here as your right hand. You do this, Crowe, and you can consider yourself back in the fold. That is what you want, yes?”
    Crowe nodded. What he really wanted, Vitower couldn’t afford.
    But he said, “Fine, Marco. Consider Peter Murke dealt with.”
     

That night he dreamed about the Ghost Cat, although he didn’t know at the time that’s what it was.
    It had all the surreal logic of any nightmare: alone, in a tangle of forest tainted an unnaturally dark green. Rain pattered on the canopy of leaves overhead and drizzled down in misty silence. But it wasn’t him, exactly. He was small, and had the physical sensation of being a young boy.
    A cat— the cat—came out of the dark green undergrowth and nuzzled against his ankles, purring. He reached down to touch it and it lifted itself up on hind legs for a moment to meet his palm with a narrow head before rubbing against his ankles some more. The cat was sleek and jet black, with a blue-ish sheen, well-cared for. A white spot on its forehead formed an almost perfect cross.
    But something felt