Flesh Circus by Lilith Saintcrow Read Free Book Online Page A

wrist.
    “Hang on, catkin.” I bounced to my feet and stalked for the door. A convenient table on the way gave me a gun; I checked the
     magazine as I slipped cat-footed down the hall and toward the front door.
    Nothing. Not even a tingle. A series of raps—
human,
I decided, since they didn’t have the odd too-light or too-heavy edge that meant something else. I slid up to the door.
    Breathing. Slightly asthmatic. A human pulse, just a little elevated. I jerked the door open, the locks parting like water.
    A skinny Hispanic teenager smelling of Corona and refried beans stood on my front step. He wore 51 colors, a red bandanna
     knotted around one thin bicep. Beneath the edge of a hairnet keeping his dark, limp hair back, he had a face that belonged
     on an Aztec codex.
    Or at least, his proud, bird-beak nose did. Sallow, pitted skin and a pair of dead, empty eyes showed why he’d never be handsome.
     I recognized him a split second after I realized what he was standing there for.
    He had the look.
    Oh, no. Not now.
“What the hell do you want?”
    Gilberto Rosario Gonzalez-Ayala blinked once.
“Hola, bruja.”
    “Hello,
Señor
Gonzalez-Ayala. I repeat, what the bloody blue blazes do you want?”
    “Took me a while to find your house.” A ghost of good humor slid through the bottom of his dark, shark-flat eyes.
    You’re not packing a .22, are you?
I eyed him, taking in the flannel shirt, the torn jeans—and there it was under the stark flatness of his expression.
    I knew that look. It was hunger.
    Crap. I knew I hadn’t seen the last of this kid.
“There’s a reason for that,” I said finally. Behind him, the street was empty. The warehouse is on the wrong side of the
     tracks, of course. I spent the first half of my life trying to get away from the wrong side, and now it’s where I spend most
     of my time. I barely have any idea what it’s like over on the decent side of town, unless I’m working a case with its tentacles
     up among the rich and powerful.
    I think that’s referred to as
irony.
    He kept quiet, watching me. The sun was going down, dusk dyeing the west in bright pink and orange scarves. It was almost
     time to get ready for the night. Which would mean racking in more ammo and dropping by Galina’s, since she had another load
     of blessed silver for me. Before that, I had to do some quiet digging, starting with the file on Avery’s victim from the last
     night—
    “You know why I’m here,
bruja.
” His eyes were fixed on my face. “I owe you a beer. And we got business.”
    Yes, I do know why you’re here. You still have to say it.
“What kind of business? I’m not involved with petty gang warfare.”
No matter how useful you guys were last time I had big trouble in town.
My heart squeezed down on itself, thinking of a grave and a coffin, and a good cop laid to rest.
    My fault. If I had known…
    But you never do. I brought myself back to the present with a conscious effort.
    The boy on my front step shrugged. “I ain’t here for Ramon. We got other business.”
    “Like what, Gilberto?”
Go away while you still can.
    “
Bruja
business. With what you do.”
    I held his gaze for a long fifteen seconds, feeling Saul appear behind me, a silent presence. My nostrils flared. It was there,
     too, the flat odorless reek of desperation with the burnt-sugar edge of wanting.
    He didn’t quite break, but he did pale the slightest bit and step back, as if my mismatched eyes had somehow changed. I knew
     they hadn’t—there was none of the dry burning that would tell me my blue eye was doing funny things. But even the bravest
     tend to get a little weirded out when I stare at the bridge of the nose. The gaze grows piercing when you do that, especially
     if you just soft-focus, and you begin to look like you’re staring through someone’s head, riffling through their most intimate
     memories.
    It’s a tough look to pull off while covered in dry sweat, rucked-up in a T-shirt and leather