Daemon Persuasion Read online

  The man was gone. He had vanished into the flames as though he’d never existed.

  Son of a bitch.

  Apparently, Johnny was better connected than she thought. Or someone was. Greta had a lot of enemies and since no one could get near her, it made sense they would go after her employees.

  Checking herself over, she was relieved to find that she wasn’t badly hurt, just a few scrapes and bruises. She started the long walk home, already plotting her revenge.

  Nervously, Mackenzie tapped her foot, waiting for her mother to appear. She shifted in the hard plastic chair trying to get comfortable. She hated this place with the cold stares from the inmates and the prison guards watching her every move. She hated the smell of body odor and disinfectant, and the way the sunlight played against gray, dingy walls. Mostly, she hated the fact that her mother had to be here for the next twenty years.

  Annie, her mother, had no memory of the night Ray died. When the police arrived, she had been lying next to Ray. She’d not said one word to Mackenzie in the half hour it took for the ambulance and police to arrive.

  The police had asked her over and over how could she have stabbed Ray fourteen times and not remember the act. She hadn’t answered them either.

  Her lawyer had called it self-defense, the judge had called it murder one. All Mackenzie knew was that Ray had gotten exactly what he deserved and her mother was being punished for it.

  Annie finally appeared, her face pale and drawn. Her blonde hair, so different from Mackenzie’s own dark curls, hung limp and unwashed. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones jutted out, making her face appear hollow and gaunt. She moved like a woman twice her age, although she was only thirty-nine. Shuffling towards the table, her eyes lit up when she saw Mackenzie.

  “Baby, how are you?” she said, clutching her hand.

  “I’m fine, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “No, I have everything I need,” her mother, replied. She stared at Mackenzie, drinking in the sight of her daughter.

  “Mom, don’t do the staring thing.”

  “You look great. How’s school?” she asked.

  “School’s great,” Mackenzie replied. At least it was the last time she rode past it. She had tried the school thing for about half a semester, but it hadn’t worked out. She just pretended she was still there to keep her mother happy.

  “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

  “No. I’m concentrating on school.” It bothered her sometimes how easily she could lie and how convincing she could be. It was a useful skill at work, but she hated lying to her mother.

  “Good, that’s good,” Annie said, patting her hand. “What’s that?” her mother asked, pulling back her sleeve to reveal a scrape she gotten when her motorcycle went out from under her.

  “It’s nothing.” Mackenzie said, pulling her arm away.

  “Did someone do that to you?”

  “No, I had an accident. I came off my motorbike.”

  “Motorbike? Your daddy used to ride a motorbike,” she said.

  “He did?” Her mother never went into any detail about her father. Her mom didn’t know she was pregnant until after he was gone.

  When Mackenzie was younger, Annie would lament about their summer together but she never gave any useful information. All she knew was that her father’s name was Sebastian King. She had done a few searches online for him but had never found any matches.

  “Yes. I remember he was fixing it when we first met. It broke down outside the bakery, where I worked. He was so handsome.”

  “Why did he leave you?” Mackenzie asked. In the past when she would ask questions, her mother would shut down and refuse to answer. Lately, though, she seemed to have trouble discerning fantasy from reality and she was talking more and more about him.

  “He was in trouble. He was only in town to visit Mr. Black”

  “Mr. Black?” Mackenzie said, trying not to push.

  “He owned a pawn store. Sebastian was only planning to stay for a couple of days, but he was there for three months.” Her mother’s eyes clouded over, caught up in the memory.

  That was more information than Mackenzie had ever heard. She wondered if this Mr. Black knew where her father was. She had often thought about him over the years, where he was now, whether he even knew about her.

  “The bakery you worked in, was that in your home town?”

  Her mother nodded, “Yeah, it’s this tiny little town. When I was younger all I wanted to do was come to Los Angeles, but now not a day goes by that I don’t wish I was back in East Falls.”

  East Falls. She finally had a name, somewhere to start.

  “Maybe we can go back there when you get out,” Mackenzie said.

  Her mother realized what she had said, “You wouldn’t want to go there honey, it’s nothing like LA and I know you. You’re a city girl.”

  “I wouldn’t mind roughing it for a few days,” she replied.

  “No, Mac. The past is the past. Leave it where it is.”

  Chapter 2

  Mackenzie caught the bus back to the club to pick up her money. Rick, the bouncer, let her in the back door.

  “Hi Rick, how’s tricks?” she asked.

  He put one of his huge fingers to his lips. “The cops are here,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, “I’m not sure but O’ Donnelly’s here.”

  That was not good. Justin O’ Donnelly was a homicide detective who had been after Greta for years. He was a pit bull, but so far, he hadn’t been able to pin anything on her. The question was though—who had died? Mackenzie moved to the doorway to listen in. O’ Donnelly was standing in front of Greta’s table. He was six foot three and cut an opposing figure. His hair was cut short, framing a long face with penetrating blue eyes, which no doubt broke many a suspect in interrogation.

  Mackenzie could make out a well-defined chest under his navy, tailor-made suit.

  His partner was a small, dumpy looking woman in her forties in an ill-fitting burgundy pants suit that made her pasty white face even paler. Her red hair was tied back in a tight, but sloppy pony tail, pulling her face in an unattractive grimace.

  “You really out did yourself this time. There was hardly enough body parts left to identify him,” he said.

  “I assure you Detective, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Greta replied.

  “You’ve had feelers out on Beckman for days. We found his head in a dumpster, one arm turned up in an elementary school playground, and who knows where the rest of him might be. What kind of psycho do you have working for you now?”

  Mackenzie felt sick. Johnny was dead? Ripped apart like that? Sure, he was a jerk, but no one deserved to die that way. She immediately thought of the Shadow. Did it kill him? She was under the impression she had it under control but what if it was acting on its own? What had she been thinking? It was getting too easy to call on the Shadow to take care of her problems. She had to stop.

  O’Donnelly and his partner left with threats that they would return. Mackenzie stepped out of the back.

  “Murphy, here’s your pay,” Greta said, handing her an envelope. She seemed shaken but was doing her best not to show it.

  “Thanks. I heard what O‘Donnelly said,” she admitted.

  “Murphy, when you left Beckman last night...”

  “He was alive,” she replied, adamantly.

  “Good. I believe you, but it might be a good idea if you were to get out of town for a few days. Put some distance between yourself and this situation.

  “Yeah, I can go and stay with a friend,” Mackenzie said.

  “Sure, take the rest of the week then. I‘ll call if anything changes.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Returning home, she packed a few things into a bag and called her friend Rhonda in San Francisco.

  “Hey, girlfriend, what’s happening?” she said in greeting.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhonda rep
lied.

  Mackenzie pictured her, bleach blonde hair, puffing away on a cigarette.

  “Why do you think there’s something wrong?” Mackenzie said.

  “You’re too cheery. Are you knocked up?”

  “No, of course not. I just need a place to crash for a few days.”

  “That depends. What kind of shit are you bringing my way?”

  “None, I promise. I would never put the kids in harm’s way. I just need to get away from here for a while. I can explain when I get there.” Rhonda used to work in another one of Greta’s clubs as a lap dancer. When Mackenzie first met her she was addicted to crack and when she wasn’t going home with some jerk-off from the club, she slept on the floor of a dingy motel.

  “Okay, Angel, I’ll be waiting for you then,” Rhonda said.

  Mackenzie hated the moniker, but it was something that had stuck after she helped Rhonda get through rehab and the court case to get her kids, Valerie and Peter, back.

  “I appreciate it, see you soon.”

  After she hung up, Mackenzie went downstairs to check her mail. Mrs. Bainbridge, the building supervisor, was sorting through boxes from the cupboard she used as storage under the stairs.

  “There you are, I found a box of yours under here. What do you want me to do with it?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked. She pointed to the biggest box at the foot of the stairs. Mackenzie looked inside and found all her old law textbooks. Once upon a time, she had ambitions of becoming a lawyer, and doing what no other lawyer had been able to do. Get her mother acquitted. She understood the work but as the months went on, she ran out of money. It was a fool’s dream anyway. There was nothing she could do to get her mother out. Three failed appeals proved that.

  “Bin it,” she told Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “If you say so,” Mrs. Bainbridge said, dusting off her housecoat.

  There were a couple of fast food flyers and a letter in her mailbox, mailed locally, the address handwritten in a shaky scrawl. She turned it over for a return address but there was none. At least it didn’t look like a bill. That made a nice change.

  “I’m going to be leaving town for a few days,” she said.

  “Don’t forget your rent is due,” Mrs. Bainbridge warned.

  Mackenzie considered skipping out and paying when she got back but knowing Mrs. Bainbridge, she would probably rent her room out to someone else the second she left. Sighing, she counted off some bills from her pay and handed them to her. Mrs. Bainbridge made sure to check it in front of her. The woman was insufferable.

  Mackenzie shook her head and went back upstairs. Her one bedroom apartment was hardly a palace but it was nice enough compared to some of the dives she’d been in. The living room/kitchenette/ dining room took up most of the apartment. The bedroom and bathroom finished up the rest. She had decorated it in warm reds and terracotta. Having an actual home of her own was still a new concept to her.

  Mackenzie used her ivory handled switchblade to open the letter. She sat down at the kitchen table to read it.

  Dear Mackenzie:

  It has been years since we last spoke, I hope you are well. We parted on bad terms and I know that it was mostly my fault. I want to see you one last time to make amends. I am very sick—dying and I hope you will grant me my last wish. My phone number is below; I would really like to see you,

  Love Dad.

  Mackenzie stared at the letter, rereading it again and again. Bile rose up in her throat and her hands began to shake with rage. How could he? After all this time, he had the balls to write asking for forgiveness. And he signed it, dad. Henry Ellis was not her father. He was the scum who fostered her when she was fourteen. He was so much like Ray it was scary, with the drinking and the arguing. His wife Wendy didn’t want children; they only took her in for the money. Henry’s vice was more than just hitting her. He would burn her arms with cigarettes.

  Just before her fifteenth birthday, when Wendy was out getting loaded somewhere, Henry had called her into the garage. He was sitting at his workbench, playing with a switchblade, flicking it open and shut. She had been wary, watching for the lit cigarette. She could have called the Shadow on him, maybe she should have. If anyone deserved it, it was him, but something stopped her. Rage built up inside her. After being pushed around all her life, she was sick of feeling weak. There was something about Henry’s fat face that made her stay silent. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “You know, you’ve been leeching off us for nearly a year now,” he said, staring at her as she moved into the room. “Don’t you think it’s time you started giving something back? Earning your keep.”

  Wondering where he was going with this, she said, “I can do more chores.” Despite the fact, she did them all already.

  “I’m not talking about chores. You do the chores for your mother, but what do you do for me?”

  Even at fourteen, she knew this conversation wasn’t leading anywhere good.

  “I think you could do some special chores for me. Couldn’t you?”

  She shrugged not knowing how to respond.

  “Come over here,” he said, patting his knee.

  “I should get back to cleaning the dishes,” she said, edging towards the door.

  “No. You come over here now,” he snapped. He slammed the knife into the desk for emphasis. He wasn’t kidding around.

  Moving forward one step at a time, she tried desperately to think of a way out of this. If she ran, she could get out the door before he caught her, but where would she go? He would simply call the police and they would bring her back here. It was time to stop him once and for all. Make him believe he couldn’t harm her again.

  As she came closer, he lowered the knife onto the table. He put a hand out, touching the hem of her skirt. He didn’t see her grab the knife.

  “We’re going to have a lot of fun,” he whispered, his sweaty hand creeping up her leg.

  Flicking open the knife, she pressed it into his fat throat. He actually laughed at her.

  “What are you going to do, Mac? Kill me? You don’t have the balls, little girl.”

  She slashed the knife across his cheek, not deep enough to cause any lasting damage but enough to draw blood.

  “Trust me,” she said, “I do. If you ever touch me again, I will cut your throat. And when I’m done I’ll go to the cops and I’ll tell them everything you’ve done to me.”

  “You don’t scare me,” he said, wincing as the blade dug in.

  “Yes, I do. I’m going to leave now and you’re not going to stop me. You’re going to contact Social Services and tell them you don’t want to foster me any longer. Do you understand?”

  He glared at her, “I wouldn’t want a psycho bitch like you living in my home anyway,” he spat. Like all bullies, he was a coward at heart. He would never risk going to prison.

  Mackenzie backed up, keeping the knife between them. She got to the door and ran, never looking back. She took the knife with her. For her, it was her reward and symbol for finally having the guts to stand up for herself.

  She crumpled the letter and threw it across the room. It landed in the wastepaper basket she kept in the kitchen. What the hell was he thinking? Twisted, son of a bitch. Masquerading as her dad, meanwhile her real father was out there somewhere.

  Grabbing her bag, she went to the door, but hesitated before opening it. What if someone in East Falls knew her dad? Or at least where he was?

  There was no harm in visiting the town. If Mr. Black was still around, he might have a forwarding address. The remark her mother made about them being alike had gotten to her. Here was an opportunity to find a family of her own. A connection. She couldn’t turn down that chance.

  Chapter 3

  East Falls was just as her mother had described. Small, rural and devoid of anything remotely 21st Century, with a population of just eleven hundred. There wasn’t even a Starbucks for crying out loud.

  The Taurus she rented had eaten into her pay but she didn’t have a
choice. Her bike was in the shop and would be indefinitely, until she could come up with the money to fix it. She drove slowly down Main Street.

  Before leaving Los Angeles, she had called Rhonda and told her she would be delayed. If this didn’t pan out, she would head on to San Francisco.

  She didn’t see a pawn store anywhere as she circled the town centre. She pulled over outside a diner called Sal’s and put the car in park.

  “What am I doing here?” she sighed. It had been twenty years since her father had lived here. Even if she found Black, it didn’t mean he knew where her dad was, or that he would tell her if he did. She should be back in LA tracking down that guy with the amulet. She started the car again, and then switched off the ignition. She was here now, she might as well ask around.

  Sal’s was brightly lit with a retro feel to it. It had red vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner playing a Buddy Holly song. It was past noon and still the place was full and every one of them looked up when she entered. She suddenly regretted the leather pants and the AC/DC shirt she had put on this morning.

  Ignoring the stares, she went up to the counter.

  A waitress, Florence, according to her name tag looked to be in her fifties. She sported a bad haircut and even worse red henna dye job. Her large, horse-like teeth snapped a wad of gum as though her life depended on it. She flipped open her notepad, “What can I get you?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone. Mr. Black? He owns a pawn store.”

  “Ed Black?” She paused, her jaws resting a moment to study Mackenzie. Deciding she didn’t look like a mass murderer, Florence said, “He still lives in town but he hasn’t owned the pawn store in about twenty years. Not since the fire.”

  “Fire?”

  “The whole store went up. Ed was in it at the time. He was badly burnt.”

  “That’s terrible. Do you know where I can find him?” she asked.

  Florence, her jaws working the gum again, took another look at her. “Why you asking about Ed?”