Out of This World (30 page)

Where'd she get that knife?

“Make a move,” Donalita says to the rest of the pack, “and he's dead. I'll get at least one more of you, and Cory's good for two. Who dies next after this one?” She smiles. “La-la-la. The ones that are the bravest, of course.”

The dogs growl. Their human counterparts glare. But not one makes a move.

Cory sits on his haunches beside Donalita.

“Last chance,” he tells the leader. “Play nice—like you should have in the first place.”

Donalita adds a little more pressure and I have to look away for a second.

“You're out of your territory,” the dog man says, speaking carefully out of the side of his mouth with that knife still at his throat. Strings of filthy spit reach across his lips as he talks. It's gross, dude.

Cory shakes his head. “Don't play that game. We're neither five-fingered beings nor animals. Every territory belongs to every cousin.”

“Not this one. He made this place.”

That makes no sense to me, but Cory nods.

“Who are we talking about?” he asks.

“I can't say.”

“Can't or won't?”

The dog man just looks at him. Cory reaches out and touches the tattoo on the dog man's bicep.

“Because of this?”

Still no response, but Cory nods again. “What are you supposed to do with us?” he asks.

The dog man glances from Cory to Donalita and back again. Clearly, it's almost impossible for him to talk with the knife's edge about the break the skin.

“Easy, cousin,” Cory tells her and I see the dog man's neck muscles relax as she puts less pressure on the knife. Still, she holds it in place, ready to draw blood.

The dog man swallows. “Normally, nothing. It's easy to get in, but there's only one way out. We just let you go your own way unless we get the order to run a hunt.”

“But today?” Cory asks.

“Today we're supposed to round up whoever we find and take them in to see the boss.”

“Okay, then.” Cory stands up. “Let him go, Donalita.”

She says “What?” and I say “Dude!” at the same time, with the same disbelief.

“They're going to take us to see the boss,” Cory says. “I want to look him in the face, this cousin who puts such a binding on members of the Canid Clan that they don't show even a modicum of respect to their kin.”

Donalita holds Cory's gaze for a long moment, then shrugs. She flows to her feet. I catch a glimpse of a leather sheath at the small of her back as she slips the knife back into it. Then she's standing beside me.

The leader gets carefully to his feet and wipes the spittle from his face with his sleeve, eyeing Donalita the whole time. Then he puts his hand on his throat and looks at the palm, but there's no blood. Donalita never broke the skin. Finally he turns back to Cory.

“The boss takes a dislike to you,” he says, “you don't survive.”

“He's not going to do anything to me,” Cory says, his voice cheerful. “Why would he? I'm just a little Coyote wannabe.”

The dog man's gaze slides away from Cory's.

“But the thing about my great-grandfather's bloodline,” Cory goes on, “is that it doesn't matter what you do to us. We always come back. We're the story that never ends and our memories are long.”

“We're just following orders,” the dog man says.

“I know,” Cory says. “So follow your orders. Take us to see the boss.” He starts walking in the direction that the pack came from.

The leader looks at us. Donalita bares a mouthful of sharp teeth at him, then takes my hand and we follow Cory, trailing a dozen or so feet behind him. A pair in dog shape lope ahead to flank Cory on either side. The rest of the pack falls in behind us.

“What did he mean by that?” I ask Donalita. “That thing about always coming back?”

“The story goes,” she says, “that you can't kill his ancestor— the original Coyote. Or rather, you can, but he just shows up again, good as new. The whole Coyote Clan are supposed to carry that ability in their blood.”

“Good for him. But if they kill us,
we're
not coming back.”

She smiles. “Thoughtless little shit, isn't he?”

“Enough talking!” the leader of the dog men says from behind us.

Donalita lets go of my hand. She turns so that she's walking backwards, facing the dog men.

“What about singing and dancing?” she asks. “Are they taboo, too?”

“Just shut up and keep walking.”

Donalita's smile gets bigger, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Those have gone dark and cold.

“I can still kill you,” she says, her voice sweet and friendly. “Without even breaking a sweat. Or maybe I'll just cut out your tongue so that
you'll
shut up. What do you think about that?”

We're outnumbered two to one. When those other dog men had us treed in the palm, she was worried about the odds of taking them on. Now she just doesn't seem to care. Maybe that's why she's able to face them down. Or maybe it's because they saw how fast she took down their leader, but not one of them meets her gaze.

“Yeah, I didn't think so,” she says. “Anybody have some gum?”

Remind me to never get on her bad side.

She turns around again so that we're walking side by side and gives me a nudge with her elbow.

“So, dude,” she says. “What do you think of the otherworld so far?”

I try to match her upbeat mood.

“Pavement quality sucks,” I tell her.

“These people are a bunch of douchebags,” J-Dog says.

I nod. “Can't argue with that.”

We drove over to city hall in a beat-up Toyota that we borrowed from Tall Boy's sister. Now standing in civvies, we watch workers putting the finishing touches on the stage that's been set up in front of city hall. A big “Humans for Humanity” banner hangs above the back of the structure. I wonder if the mayor sees the irony of hosting a rally that wants to see so many of his constituents put in camps. I guess since we're too young to vote, he doesn't care.

“So why are you giving them backup?” J-Dog asks.

“Remember when I did your time in county?” I say.

“Well, sure. Like I'm ever going to forget how you—”

I wave off whatever he's going to say. “Stuff happened in there. Everybody knew why I was inside—whose time I was doing.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I got props for being a stand-up guy. Not just from our crew, but from the Kings that were in there, too. Hell, even the
skinheads let me be, which is almost the same thing as respect for them.”

“Because they knew I'd put a bullet in their head if they messed with you.”

“No—because they understood about having somebody's back. I got respect for doing your time. I didn't make friends, but nobody took a run at me.”

“Your point being?”

“Some of these douchebags aren't actually douchebags.

They've got my back and I have to do the same.”

“Okay,” J-Dog says. “I get that.”

“The real question is, why the hell are
you
helping out?” I say.

I let the pissed-off look start to build before I laugh, letting him know I understand.

“Asshole,” he says.

We go back to scoping out the area.

“Well, the old lady's already got her troops on site,” J-Dog says.

I nod. I've seen the crows watching from trees, telephone poles and the roof of city hall. And there are more dogs around than you'd expect. Yeah, call me paranoid. I checked them for brands and they came up clean. But that doesn't mean I trust them.

We spend another half hour on site, walking the perimeter of the grounds in front of the stage. We note the cheap fencing that's been erected behind the stage, creating a corridor to a door on the ocean side of city hall.

“What's that supposed to keep out?” J-Dog asks.

I shrug. “Considering it'll be crawling with Secret Service, it should do the job of keeping the crowd away.”

“I could be through that flimsy piece of shit before they'd even think about drawing their guns.”

“Yeah, but we're not here to take on the Secret Service. We're working with them, even if they don't know it.”

“Huh. We should tell Grandma—give her something to be proud about for a change.”

“You want to start that conversation?” I ask.

He chuckles. “You mean, start with you being able to change into a mouse? Hell, yeah.”

I roll my eyes.

“Which reminds me,” he goes on. “When do I get to see this happen? I've got some cheese back at the crib if you're looking for incentive.”

I take the high road and ignore him.

We plan out where we'll put the boys to get the widest coverage of the crowd, then finally head back to the car. Halfway there, we're met by Matteson and Lalo.

“Well, no one's going to let you into their country club,” Matteson says, “but the pair of you clean up pretty good.”

I can feel J-Dog getting annoyed beside me, but I take Matteson's comment for what it is: a little friendly ribbing. This is Matteson doing his best to work with us.

“How're things going on your end?” I ask.

Matteson frowns. “Tomorrow's shaping up to be a real clusterfuck,” he says. “I just found out that Householder's team is busing in hundreds of people. We're probably looking at double the crowd we planned on.”

That's not good.

“Did you check out the security behind the scenes?” I ask.

“You mean, are any of them Wildlings? How the hell would
I know? Is there even a way to tell?” He gives me a hopeful look, but even if there were a way for regular people to spot us, I wouldn't tell. That'd be all the ammunition they'd need to round us up.

“Only if you're a cousin yourself,” I say. “Can you slip me or Lalo back there?”

He shakes his head. “But we've run down everybody on the security detail and nothing's jumping out. Al and I and that dickwad Danny Reed have been assigned to liaise between the Secret Service, the sheriff 's department and our own people, so that's good. So long as Reed doesn't screw things up.”

“Who's Reed?” I ask.

“One of you. I think he's some kind of antelope.”

“And he's a freakin' FBI agent?” J-Dog asks.

Matteson ignores the implied insult. “Nah. More like a consultant. But maybe he can check for other Wildlings back there.”

“Probably,” I say, “but what do you know about him?”

Matteson shrugs. “Not much. I don't like him, but he's been working with us for a while now, and the chief wants to keep him.”

“What if he's the assassin?” Lalo says.

“Then we take him down,” Matteson says, “but I don't see it. He's not smart enough—has one of those faces that can't hide what he's thinking. And anyway, he doesn't have the balls. The important thing is, some of us are behind the scenes. Al's talking to the sheriff right now.”

I look back at the stage.

“So now we wait for tomorrow,” I say, “and hope the whole thing doesn't blow up in our faces.”

As soon as Nanuq's hand closes on my shoulder, I know I'm finished. It doesn't matter what anybody does in retaliation, Nanuq's going to kill me first. He can snap my neck without even trying. It's like that moment just as you're wiping out on some huge wave—you know you're coming down hard and there's not a thing you can do about it. You just go limp and hope nothing gets broken.

But there's no way I'm going to survive this.

I hear Canejo yell something, but my blood's rushing in my ears and I can't focus on what he's saying.

My whole awareness is narrowed down to those rock-hard fingers on my shoulder.

God, I wish Chaingang was here with a big gun in his hand.

Or that Josh would show up and tear Nanuq into little pieces the way he did Vincenzo.