Dead Mann Walking by Stefan Petrucha

of the picture. But what the hell happened to Turgeon? Anything about him on the news?”
    She shook her head no. “Do you think he’s all right?”
    I shrugged. “At best they’d paid him off; at worst the body just hasn’t been found yet. Forty million is a lot of money. Enough to start a war in some parts of the world. Should be easy to get a few people offed for that much.”
    â€œBut they’re family . . . .”
    I tried not to laugh. “There’s no enemy like a blood enemy.”
    Some species eat their young, but siblings can do even worse. I didn’t have any myself, as far as I knew. Oh, my father liked to scare me by pretending I once had a brother who’d gotten out of line and had to be dealt with permanently, but I’m pretty sure he was kidding. Point being, while I didn’t know if the Boyles were behind this, I knew they sure as hell could be. Hell, do you even call it murder when the victim’s dead to begin with?
    â€œWe’ve got to call someone, tell them what we know.”
    â€œYeah, if only we knew a detective.”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.”
    â€œI’m not hurt. I haven’t dealt with this kind of thing since I was alive.” I struggled to my feet and started pacing. “The cops won’t help. They wouldn’t listen to me, wouldn’t care about Boyle. But if Turgeon’s in danger . . . Misty, didn’t he leave . . . a . . .”
    â€œPhone number? Yeah, there was one on his card, I think.”
    I snatched it from my desk and struggled to punch the numbers on my cell. Chakz don’t have the same dexterity in their fingertips. At least I didn’t. It was like trying to dial with heavy work gloves. That’s why I never text.
    After a few awkward seconds, Misty looked like she wanted to grab the phone out of my hands. “Do you want me to . . . ?”
    â€œI got it,” I snapped. Now I knew how Max, Lenore’s grandfather, felt whenever I tried to help him up the stairs.
    I somehow managed, but it was a worthless effort. Turgeon’s phone number took me straight to voice mail. His recorded voice pronounced his name like nothing was wrong. I left a message saying something was, and he should get in touch ASAP.
    The fact that he didn’t answer meant nothing. The battery could be dead, he could be dead, or he could be on a flight to the Bahamas with his share of the take. I hoped it was the battery.
    What next? Could I let Frank Boyle’s killers go without doing something? As for Turgeon, I didn’t particularly like him, but I owed him. The odds sucked royally. Liveblood millionaires and a chopped-up chak. It would be the hakkers all over again, only this time my opponents would be intelligent, so it wouldn’t be a fair fight. I wouldn’t hear them coming.
    Tell that to my roiling guts. Even if I tried to let it go, I doubted it would let go of me. I’m not exactly a starry-eyed idiot, but I really thought Frank might build that home, and maybe I could get myself a room. That alone could drag me to feral city. I was going down one way or another, sitting or standing. So I grabbed my coat and headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œI’ve got some things to do.”
    She cut me off in the hallway, forced her face in front of mine. Brave girl, given my kisser.
    â€œHess, are you . . . okay?”
    She knew I wasn’t. That wasn’t the real question. What she wanted to know was whether I was going to keep it together or do the wild thing. I was her lifeline as much as she was mine. If I went down, so did she.
    It wasn’t multiple choice. There was only one answer I could give. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    I looked around, trying to think of some proof. I stared at the paint peeling on the walls, watched a rat scurry off with a piece of hamburger bun in its teeth. Its hunger, at least,