Procession of the Dead by Darren Shan Page B

it so far because of Sonja. She wants to see me doing well. You know how big sisters are.”
    “Can’t say I do.”
    “Don’t have any?”
    “No.”
    “Brothers?”
    “No.”
    “You’re an only child?”
    “Obviously.” I glanced at him. “Why the interest?”
    “You never talk about your parents, old friends, school or anything.”
    “I don’t?”
    “No.”
    I scratched my head. “Didn’t know you were so interested in my history. Let’s see, I was born in…” As I thought about what to tell him, I noticed movement and stopped. “We’re in business,” I whispered, tapping his arm and pointing. Four men had stepped into view and were heading toward us. Vincent coughed and signaled for us to join him.
    They reached us and stood looking, three or four feet distant. Johnny Grace was small, light-skinned, but muscular. I didn’t look at his feet to check if Vincent’s story was true or not.
    “Who the fuck are you?” Johnny snapped.
    “Capac Raimi. This is Adrian Arne and Vincent Carell.”
    “Where’s Tasso?”
    “I’m Mr. Tasso’s representative.”
    He spat into the dust. “Fuck. You hear that?” His three men nodded seriously. “I come here, ready to do business with a man I respect, and get a fucking flunky. You think I’m a nobody? You think Johnny Grace wastes time on fucking boot-boys?”
    “Let’s go,” I said to Adrian and Vincent. I turned my back on Johnny Grace, praying he wouldn’t stick a knife in it.
    “Hey! Where are you going?” His voice was startled, uncertain.
    I half-turned. “If you’re not prepared to deal with me and my colleagues, we have no business here. I’ll relay your dissatisfaction to Mr. Tasso and maybe next time he’ll come personally.” I smiled thinly. “To sort things out himself.”
    Johnny twitched and looked at his gang. They were all uncomfortable now. I waited. “Shit, no need to get your feathers ruffled,” he said in the end. “I was just disappointed, you know? I thought he’d come himself. But he’s busy, he’s got commitments, I know what it’s like. Guess he couldn’t make it, huh?” I said nothing. “OK, fuck it, I’m sorry,” he shouted. “I apologize, all right?”
    “You want to talk?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good.” I started back. “I think we should begin with—”
    Someone dropped from a nearby fire escape. A shadow fell by Johnny’s feet, an arm slashed at him, then the shadow was among the other three Grace Brothers. More slashing hands, shouts, confusion. Then all three men were lying in the dirt, silent, still. Their assailant rose lithely to his feet.
    Johnny was staring at me, eyes wide, mouth open. I stared back, stunned. His hands were over his throat but I saw blood pouring through the cracks between his fingers.
    The man who’d dropped from the fire escape turned Johnny around. Johnny’s hands fell by his sides. He tried to say something, to express shock, hatred or fear. But he couldn’t. Johnny Grace was beyond words.
    The man drove a knife into Johnny’s stomach, held it there a second, withdrew, let the body drop, walked past and stopped in front of Vincent.
    Vincent gulped deeply, his face ashen.
“Wami,”
he croaked.
    “You know me?” the stranger asked. He had a smooth, mocking voice.
    “I recognize the snakes,” Vincent said. “I’ve heard stories.”
    “You work for… ? ”
    “The Cardinal. Ford Tasso. I’m with Tasso.”
    “Then you may live.” The man sheathed his knife and smiled. “Carry a message to Ford. Tell him I’m back. I’m here for my own reasons, but if he wants me, he knows how to get in touch.”
    “I’ll do that. I’ll—”
    The assassin brushed by Vincent and looked at Adrian and me. He was black, one of the darkest men I’d ever seen, about six feet tall, moderately built, completely bald. He had no facial hair but sported a tattoo on either cheek, colorful snakes which streaked down the sides of his face, came up under his chin and met in the center