Mortal Danger by Eileen Wilks Page B

wife, unpaid bills and unfinished dreams.
    The only empty spot was at the bar next to a middle-aged man with a mustache the color of weak tea and excellent teeth. He was trim but not athletic, looking rather like an accountant who was as tidy with his body as with his clients’ money. Though he was a little older than most of the others, he didn’t really stand out. Yet the space on his left remained empty despite the number of customers vying for the bartender’s attention. And no one seemed to notice.
    They didn’t notice the squeaky voice that came from that open spot, either. “Did you see the breasts on that blonde?”
    Patrick Harlowe heard the voice. He ignored it.
    “Cantaloupes,” that voice said dreamily. “Big and firm. Maybe you could get it up with her.”
    Damned little monster. Why didn’t the music drown it out? He leaned across the scarred bar and shouted his drink order at the bartender.
    “You had a little trouble with the last one, but this blonde could make a dead man rise. Get it? Make his cock rise.” That was followed by a girlish giggle.
    Patrick had barely heard his own voice over that miserable excuse for a band, but he heard every word from the creature at his side. “Shut up.”
    “Ha! You shut up. You’d better, or they’ll think you’re nuts, talking to yourself.”
    Patrick looked down. He saw a short, squat something with slick orange skin—lots of skin, because it was both hairless and naked. It stood on two legs shaped more like a beast’s haunches than human limbs. The tail and the forward tilt it imparted made the creature vaguely resemble a stubby kangaroo. The arms were human enough, though, with five-fingered hands; the head was round with no visible ears and a wide slit of a mouth.
    “Stinking hermaphrodite,” Patrick muttered. “Why are you looking at breasts, anyway? Play with your own.”
    “I do. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like playing with hers.” The little demon winked at the blond woman who was chatting with her friend a few feet away, oblivious.
    Forget it , Patrick told himself. He might have to put up with the ugly little bugger for now, but it was temporary. So was hanging out in dives like this. Purely temporary.
    That didn’t mean he’d forgotten the chink bitch who’d caused all his problems. She’d get what she had coming. His lips curved up. Oh, yes, she’d pay, and he was the one who would deliver the bill. He’d been angry at first because he wasn’t allowed to kill her, but this would be better. This way she’d be paying for a long time.
    “Maybe you’d better stick to blondes. The brown-haired ones remind you of Her, huh?”
    Patrick’s mind went white. His heart kicked in his chest so quick and hard that his heartbeat swallowed everything else—thoughts, memories…
    He wouldn’t think about it. He didn’t remember it very well, anyway. Didn’t have to. She was in hell, and he was here. He was fine. “Stupid little shit. You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s Chinese—black hair, not brown.”
    “I’m not talking about that one. I meant—hey, watch it!”
    Patrick had brushed that slick orange skin with the staff, sending just a trickle of power through it. He smiled. It was satisfying to see the little shit jump. “Whoops.”
    “You’d better watch it with that thing! You fry me, you’re gonna be in big trouble!”
    “I’ll be more careful,” Patrick assured it solemnly, letting the demon see how little he meant that. Time to remind the creature who was in charge. “You’ll be careful, too, won’t you?”
    It rubbed its shoulder—which was smoking slightly— and grumbled under its breath.
    Patrick turned away, feeling better, and noticed the way the man closest to him was looking at him. As if he was crazy.
    Better fix that. He smiled and stroked his index finger along the staff. The man—a cowboy type whose mustard yellow shirt strained over a beer gut—relaxed and smiled back. He said