City of the Lost by Stephen Blackmoore Page B

what birds she’s talking about and what trees. If I’ve got admirers, it’d be nice to know before they come after me.
    “Maybe later.” She pulls a brilliant white calling card from her handbag, hands it to me. Samantha Morgan and her phone number in florid script.
    The change is abrupt. She’s almost businesslike. “Just a second ago you were all for me coming home with you.”
    “Still am,” she says, “but I think those gentlemen might have other ideas.”
    I turn my head. Big guy in a black suit and tie that, no matter how well tailored, isn’t covering the fact that he could probably lift a boxcar. Buzz cut, pretty boy face. He could make it in movies if he weren’t built like the poster boy for roid rage.
    I didn’t hear him come up behind me. Or smell him, for that matter.
    He’s holding something in his hand. Takes me a second to realize it’s a leash. The midget on the other end pops his head out from behind his handler’s tree-trunk legs.
    Twisted body, rheumy eyes. But the resemblance to the giant holding him is unmistakable. Brothers? Father and son? They’re even wearing the same suit.
    I turn back and she’s climbing off the barstool. Gives me a flash of thigh and that American sweetheart smile.
    “Miss Morgan,” the gorilla says, nodding his head at her.
    “Archie,” she replies. “Take care of yourself, Joe,” she says to me. She leans in to kiss me on my cheek. Her lips close to my ear. “And don’t believe everything you hear,” she whispers. She steps away from the bar.
    Not so fast. I’m not done with my questions. Maybe they’re together. They obviously know each other. But the vibe is different. She doesn’t like him. But she’s not afraid of him, either.
    I get up to block her path, and Archie is suddenly standing in front of me.
    “Mr. Sunday,” he says. “We need to talk.”
    “I’ll get to you in a second,” I say. I start to step around him, and the midget jerks in front of me and to the side, his leash pressing against my ankles. He snarls at me, showing needle-sharp teeth.
    “I’ve been looking for you,” Archie says.
    I step over the leash, ready to punt the midget into next week. “So I’ve heard.”
    Samantha disappears between the curtains to the exit.
    “Nothing sinister, I assure you,” Archie says.
    “All things considered, I doubt it.” If I hurry I can get to her before she gets to the parking lot.
    “You’ve eaten the heart of at least one person tonight, Mr. Sunday. Don’t you think that’s something worth discussing?”
    That stops me dead. “What?”
    “A heart,” he says. “Some unfortunate stranger I hope. It would be a tragedy if your condition manifested itself around your loved ones.”
    “How do you know about that?”
    “My employer,” he says. “He’s a doctor. He can help you. He’s familiar with your condition.”
    “If you know so much, then you know I don’t need a doctor.”
    “Mr. Sunday, tonight you were filled with a burning need you couldn’t control. Do you think it’s not going to happen again?”
    “I was kinda hoping, yeah,” I say.
    “It’s going to get worse,” Archie says. “A lot worse. And soon. Come with me, and he can help you. Or don’t, and you know what will happen. It’s your choice. I really don’t care either way.”
    My choice. Right.

Chapter 11
    I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. The hell made me think this was going to be a free ride? I take a deep, empty breath.
    “We can help you,” Archie says. The midget behind him nods his head vigorously.
    What the hell. It’s not like he can make it worse. I follow them outside where they lead me over to a white Bentley in the club’s parking lot. Leather trim, wood paneling.
    Archie opens the back door for me. I start to get in and stop. “What’s with the tarp in the back?”
    “Sorry about that,” Archie says, reaching past me to pull it out. “We weren’t sure what condition you were going to be in when we found