Chapter 1
The rain pounded down on him from above. As if Heaven was angered. A driving torrent to wear down the sinner. Fine, he thought. Let Heaven be angered by what he was about to do. He could accept being the prodigal son for a while. The cause was just, so let the punishment fit the crime.
His long black coat was soaked through already. Three more blocks to go in this pounding cascade. His fedora had a constant stream of run-off as he bent his head down against the storm and kept moving. It had been a long time since he'd been where he was going. It was part of a past life he thought he had given up. That he actually had given up, until last night.
There were few people out on the streets of Memphis at this hour, in this weather. Those few souls who had to be out this early gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk when they saw him coming. They could sense he wouldn't be moved. It was possible they sensed something else about him too. Something less tangible, something darker.
In short order he stood at the mouth of the alley between a Chinese restaurant and a Kosher deli. Both were closed, waiting to be opened later, at a decent hour when decent folk did their decent business.
There was nothing decent about the business he was here for.
He took a slow breath and then sighed it out. Slogging through a shallow puddle he went to the back of the alley, where a shabby green-painted steel door was set into the brick wall. A weak light shone down from the bare lightbulb over the door, illuminating little in the heavy rain. But it was bright enough to see the security slot in the door at eye-level. He rapped the back of his knuckles against the door, twice, pause, three times more. The pattern was a code that would be recognized by the person keeping watch inside.
A few seconds later the eye-slot slid open. He could see the dark eyes of a man staring back at him. Nothing more. “Well now, ain't y'all up early this mornin',” the man behind the door said in a loud drawl. “Now what you think you want here?”
He lifted his head up then, showing the man his face. “Tell Al'Gamesh that Ransom is here.”
The eyes behind the slot widened. It was a long moment before the man spoke again. “Ransom, y'all know you can't be coming here. There's rules we got. You make an appointment, then you come back. Appointment only.”
“Tell Al'Gamesh that I'm here,” Ransom repeated.
“Shoot, your listenin' skills busted? We done got rules. You ain't been gone so long you forgot about that.”
“Hang your rules, and hang you. Tell Al'Gamesh I'm here.”
Ransom forced himself to unclench his fists. He didn't know this guy. But it was clear the man knew who was knocking on his door, and Ransom could tell the man was nervous about it. Not just because Ransom was here demanding entry, either. Ransom was putting the man in a spot. Rules were rules, all well and good. But getting caught between a rock and a hard place usually only leads to getting dead.
Ransom was the hard place in that particular analogy.
“No sir,” the guy finally decided. “I ain't going to tell no one nothin'. You go and make your appointment. Then y'all can come back and we'll see—”
“Enough,” Ransom whispered, more to himself than to the man with his rules. From under his coat he drew a dagger, turned it handle out, and struck the door with the blue-jeweled tip.
The door immediately quivered and warped like it would melt, then vanished from sight. Ransom walked through the empty space the door had occupied, pushing the man back. He stepped into a long entry hall, lined with dark-colored stones that led up to a curving ceiling overhead. The place was just like he remembered it.
Behind him, after he was inside, the door appeared again with a "pop" of displaced air.
The man, muscular, bald, with uneven teeth and dark tattoos scrawled across one side of his
The rain pounded down on him from above. As if Heaven was angered. A driving torrent to wear down the sinner. Fine, he thought. Let Heaven be angered by what he was about to do. He could accept being the prodigal son for a while. The cause was just, so let the punishment fit the crime.
His long black coat was soaked through already. Three more blocks to go in this pounding cascade. His fedora had a constant stream of run-off as he bent his head down against the storm and kept moving. It had been a long time since he'd been where he was going. It was part of a past life he thought he had given up. That he actually had given up, until last night.
There were few people out on the streets of Memphis at this hour, in this weather. Those few souls who had to be out this early gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk when they saw him coming. They could sense he wouldn't be moved. It was possible they sensed something else about him too. Something less tangible, something darker.
In short order he stood at the mouth of the alley between a Chinese restaurant and a Kosher deli. Both were closed, waiting to be opened later, at a decent hour when decent folk did their decent business.
There was nothing decent about the business he was here for.
He took a slow breath and then sighed it out. Slogging through a shallow puddle he went to the back of the alley, where a shabby green-painted steel door was set into the brick wall. A weak light shone down from the bare lightbulb over the door, illuminating little in the heavy rain. But it was bright enough to see the security slot in the door at eye-level. He rapped the back of his knuckles against the door, twice, pause, three times more. The pattern was a code that would be recognized by the person keeping watch inside.
A few seconds later the eye-slot slid open. He could see the dark eyes of a man staring back at him. Nothing more. “Well now, ain't y'all up early this mornin',” the man behind the door said in a loud drawl. “Now what you think you want here?”
He lifted his head up then, showing the man his face. “Tell Al'Gamesh that Ransom is here.”
The eyes behind the slot widened. It was a long moment before the man spoke again. “Ransom, y'all know you can't be coming here. There's rules we got. You make an appointment, then you come back. Appointment only.”
“Tell Al'Gamesh that I'm here,” Ransom repeated.
“Shoot, your listenin' skills busted? We done got rules. You ain't been gone so long you forgot about that.”
“Hang your rules, and hang you. Tell Al'Gamesh I'm here.”
Ransom forced himself to unclench his fists. He didn't know this guy. But it was clear the man knew who was knocking on his door, and Ransom could tell the man was nervous about it. Not just because Ransom was here demanding entry, either. Ransom was putting the man in a spot. Rules were rules, all well and good. But getting caught between a rock and a hard place usually only leads to getting dead.
Ransom was the hard place in that particular analogy.
“No sir,” the guy finally decided. “I ain't going to tell no one nothin'. You go and make your appointment. Then y'all can come back and we'll see—”
“Enough,” Ransom whispered, more to himself than to the man with his rules. From under his coat he drew a dagger, turned it handle out, and struck the door with the blue-jeweled tip.
The door immediately quivered and warped like it would melt, then vanished from sight. Ransom walked through the empty space the door had occupied, pushing the man back. He stepped into a long entry hall, lined with dark-colored stones that led up to a curving ceiling overhead. The place was just like he remembered it.
Behind him, after he was inside, the door appeared again with a "pop" of displaced air.
The man, muscular, bald, with uneven teeth and dark tattoos scrawled across one side of his
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