No Dominion: A Novel
Charlie Huston
Language: English
Pages: 272
ISBN: 0345478258
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Joe Pitt’s life sucks. He hasn’t had a case or a job in God knows how long and his stashes are running on empty. What stashes? The only ones that count to a guy like Joe: blood and money. The money he uses to buy blood; the blood he drinks. Hey, buddy, it’s that or your neck–you want to choose? The only way to lay his hands on both is to take a gig with the local Vampyre Clan. See, something new is on the streets, a new high, a high so strong it can send a Vampyre spazzing through Joe’s local watering hole. Till Joe sends him through a plate-glass window, that is.
So it’s time for Joe to gut up and swallow that pride and follow the leads wherever they go. It won’t be long before he’s slapping stoolies, getting sapped, and being taken for a ride above 110th Street. Someone’s pulling Joe’s strings, and now he’s riding the A train, looking to find who it is. He’s gonna cut them when he finds them–the strings and the hands that hold them.
Gears and the law and the press may just chalk it up to a PCP freakout, but there are other people who will hear about it. And some of those people will want to check it out. And I don’t want those people around. Not down here. Not in my neighborhood. So I jump on the guy’s back. Figure I’ll get him to the floor, put a sleeper hold on him and drag him out of here. Make up some story for the crowd about how I know him and I’ll take care of it. Get him out before the cops come; get him someplace
details. —How’s that? He frees the grinning Poncho from the enormous hat. —Cuz I was mad drunk. —So tell me what parts you are clear on. He tosses the hat to the end of the couch. —Is this what you wanted to ask me about, man? My origin story? —I just like to know who I’m talking to. —Not like I know that much about you. —Said I have a rep. —A rep, sure. —What is it? —Depends who you talk to. Out on the street, in the bars, they say steer clear. But they also say if a person’s in real
turned out. It’s well after sundown by the time we’ve finished the last of it. Every name is checked off the list, Hurley licking the tip of a pencil as he draws a line through each one, one by one. They’ve all been gotten rid of, mortal, or not so mortal, remains tucked away. Hurley’s behind the wheel now. He bums one of my smokes and takes a huge drag. —Keerist, but dat is lovely. I nod, smoke my own. —Got some place you want ta be, Joe? —Just drop me back at headquarters. I should have
saying, some of that? I could do some of that. Poncho slaps the top of his head. He looks up at her. —There’s plenty to go around, baby. No worries. I grind some sleep from my eyes. —How’d she go for you getting cut loose? —Terry Bird to the rescue. After you took off to deal with Tom, Terry did some additional interrogation. He convinced Lydia, in a way where she was kind of thinking it was her own idea, that keeping me around was best. Double agent they could use to send false information
in the neck. —And you wouldn’t know where to start. For a few minutes, it’s like with The Spaz at Doc Holiday’s. He spins and shakes and foams a little. Finally he falls on the floor, jerking and twitching in time to the spasms in his muscles and the visions flashing through his brain. Addicted at a deeper level now. Addicted to this experience. Helpless in it. The bad dose, he said. I hope it sucks as bad as the old lady said it does. I find a little picnic cooler under the sink and fill it