Kiss of the Blue Dragon by Julie Beard Read Free Book Online

and off, on and off. I looked back at the ball. The glow was steady, clearly not a reflection.
    I walked toward it, stopping at the edge of the round, velvet tablecloth where it sat in a black stand. Curious as hell, I reached out and touched the glass globe.
    “Ouch!” I yanked my hand back. It was hot. Not enough to burn, but enough to surprise me. Hell, did Lola have this thing hot-wired to impress her clients?
    I reached out again, this time letting my hand smooth over the ball. It was definitely warm. I sat down and pulled the ball and its small black tripod stand closer. No wires. I put both hands on the globe. Suddenly I heard her voice. Help me. I didn’t mean it . Her voice was in my head. The glass burned hotter in my palms. I looked down and saw Lola’s face in the ball. She was crying. Then someone hit her. I heard words I couldn’t quite understand. English, Russian, French, Chinese? All or none of these? Or just words played in reverse, comprehensible in a different direction.
    I recoiled and pulled my hands away just as Marco entered the room. He drew back the curtain with a whoosh. Light from the living room flooded the parlor.
    He looked damningly from me to the ball. “Does fortune-telling run in the family, Baker?”
    Short of a snappy comeback, I was momentarily speechless. What if it did? No , I thought as I wearily rubbed both hands over my face, collecting myself, no it couldn’t, because Lola was a fake .
    “What if I did inherit psychic abilities?” I finally managed to reply sarcastically as I stood. “You’re a shrink. Aren’t you supposed to appreciate the powers of the mind?”
    “I’m also a cop. I appreciate the ingenuity of grifting in all its forms.” He cocked his head over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. The body has gone to the morgue. The evidence has been bagged. We’re the last ones out.”
    “Look, uh, Marco, would you mind if I took this home with me?” I motioned nonchalantly to the crystal ball. “You know it…well, it has sentimental value.”
    His mouth tugged in a cynical line. “Yeah, sure, what the hell. It’s against the rules, but you bend them all the time, don’t you?”
    That stung, but I smiled sweetly. “Think whatever makes you happy.”
    “Go ahead. Maybe you’ll actually be able to see your mother in that thing and tell us where she is.”
    “Ha, ha,” I said, forcing a laugh. That would be a hot one. As hot as a crystal ball burning beneath my hands. I had no idea what just happened to me, and I might never know. But one thing was sure. I was going to find out who had kidnapped Lola and murdered this poor innocent victim. If I didn’t take a stand, who would?

Chapter 6
    Wicked Witch of the East
    L et me tell you something about the Russian Mafiya Organizatsia. The foot soldiers in the R.M.O. are some bad, bad asses. While they call themselves Sgarristas, an Italian word for foot soldier borrowed from the Cosa Nostra, they make other Chicago mobs look like wimps.
    Capone had his tommy guns, John Gotti had cement shoes, but these guys had unrivaled ruthlessness born of relentless suffering in a failed communist economy.
    Efforts by U.S. politicians to rein in the R.M.O. largely failed because no campaign finance reform laws were strong enough to keep mob money out of the democratic system. Not that the police are eagerto go after the R.M.O. Not only are such encounters usually fatal for Chicago’s finest, but the arrests made rarely end in convictions, at least not for the mob kingpins, because the Mafiya maintains a careful balance of legitimate businesses and criminal activities.
    I’ll never forget seeing the R.M.O. slaughter four Chicago police officers who’d thought they were invincible with their SMART uniforms. Sgarristas torched the officers. The flames danced right through the cops’ invisible bulletproof shields. They had all died of burns. And that was old technology. The Sgarristas were said to have new weapons not