Free Dark Legion by Rob Cornell Page A

play an important role.”
    “Come on, Marty. Quit wasting my time. You said you had an address for me.”
    Marty slapped the table. “Right to business then. So much for our nice meal. I see you hated the lamb.”
    “I didn’t—”
    “You can’t bullshit a shaman, brother.” He stood and retrieved a pen and pad of paper from a drawer. The pen looked like a sewing needle in his hand. He sat back down and scribbled on the pad, tore the top sheet off, and handed it to Lockman.
    Lockman took the paper. Marty’s penmanship was surprisingly neat. New Orleans address. “What’s this?”
    “Teresa rented an apartment down there to launch her search for her sister from. She told me about some pretty disturbing things going on around the Quarter.”
    “Let me guess. Organized vampires.”
    “And a lot of fresh turns.”
    Lockman chewed on his lip. “She told me about that, too. I think she was hoping her sister might be one of them.”
    “Strange thing to hope.”
    “She’s desperate. She wants to see her sister up and walking, not as a blood-drained meal tossed in some alley.”
    “Well, if her body were tossed in an alley, it would have been found by now. Probably they burned it or shredded and scattered it.”
    Lockman snorted. “You tell Teresa that?”
    “No. I told her ‘Good luck with your search,’ gave her the gear she wanted, and minded my own damn business.”
    “See? How come you can never do that with me?”
    Marty stood and collected their plates, easily reaching across the table to get Lockman’s. “Because you’re special.” He smirked, took the dishes and set them in the sink.
    Lockman didn’t bother commenting. Nothing he could say would convince Marty that his prophecy was a load of ogre dung.
    When he turned back from the sink, Marty leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
    “There is one thing.”
    “I hope you brought your big wallet. This economy, prices have gone up.”

    Marty led the way to one of the many storage units he rented around the city. He drove one of those gas-guzzler SUVs, a shade of green that nearly matched his skin, all the windows tinted. A strange mix of incognito and flash. Marty could do nothing small…except for his wife.
    Before they loaded Lockman’s trunk with a choice selection of weaponry and ammunition, Marty took Lockman by the elbow. “You driving down I assume?”
    “Make for an interesting day if I tried to check this stuff as baggage.”
    “I can hook you up with a car, you don’t want to mess with the rental.”
    Lockman thought about it. Would definitely make things easier. “How much we talking?”
    “Consider it a donation to your cause.”
    “That’s not like you.”
    “Teresa’s good people.”
    “You want to donate the weapons, too?”
    “Don’t push your luck.”
    Marty pulled out his keys and unlocked the storage unit next to the one Lockman had picked his gear from. He rolled the door up and the sun gleamed off the car’s platinum paint job. A sleek machine, the make and model of which Lockman had never seen. It looked like a cross between a BMW, a Corvette, and a spaceship.
    “What the hell is that?”
    “One of a kind. And loaded with extras.” He pointed at the windshield. “Bullet proof glass. Built in satellite communication system. GPS. All voice activated, of course. Laser cannons in the headlights.”
    The expression on Lockman’s face must have been priceless. Marty pointed at him and laughed. “That was a joke, brother.”
    “I feel like I’m in a fucking Bond movie.”
    “Well, it don’t fly and it doesn’t have any weaponry. But it’s built like a tank. And that shiny paint? Flecks of silver in that.”
    “Oh, nice.”
    “Plenty of compartments to stash weapons. You get pulled over, cops can search all they want, they’ll never find a thing.”
    Lockman shook his head. Unfuckingbelivable. “You sure you want me to have it?”
    “It’s a damn