Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,85

shadows as I approach.

A few rats scurry around. Trash is strewn everywhere. The thumping soca rumbles along. He must be so close, watching.

“Carlos.” Riley’s voice in my head startles the shit out of me, and I almost drop my cane. “You there?”

Not like I can respond. I make sure to keep my concentration fixed on whatever imminent attack awaits and halfway listen to Riley. “You were right. Sasha was at her place, and now your girl’s on the move.” My girl. That jackass. He wouldn’t say that if we were in the same room. Okay, he probably would. “She just left her building and is going north on Ocean. I’m keeping a distance cuz I assume she can spot ghostly motherfuckers like myself.”

My eyes scan overflowing trash barrels, a rusty old Dumpster with two smashed televisions sitting in front of it like attentive manservants, a darkened streetlamp, a flicker of movement that turns out to be more rats, a whole repeating collage of colorful posters for upcoming dance parties, a dimly lit billboard.

“Something else . . .”

A little farther down the block, a piece of metal clatters wildly against the pavement and splashes into a puddle. As I whirl around toward it, I catch movement in the corner of my eye. It’s very close to me—something stirring in the shadows. I’m unsheathing my blade as the giant rumbles out of the darkness, knocking me onto my ass.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this, Carlos.”

I have no idea what Riley’s ambling on about, but I have more important things to deal with right now. I swift kick Moishe in the gut as he closes on me, but it does little to hold him back. He growls and drops forward onto his knees, his hands stretching toward my neck. I roll out the way just in time not to get strangled, but he catches my ankle.

“It’s Sasha . . .”

I fwap my cane across his face and batter it against his arms. He holds tight. Fine. I unsheathe and chop off his hand. Moishe roars, a guttural, inhuman noise that chills my bones. I stumble to my feet and turn around. The giant’s already up. Blood trickles languidly from his stump of a wrist. He looks at me and howls with rage.

“She’s pregnant.”

The giant charges.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Pregnant!” I yell it so loud that I actually startle the giant for a second and he loses his momentum. Not that I’m in any position to take advantage. I just stand there gaping like an asshole. He lunges. I manage to sidestep only just enough so I get shoulder checked instead of full-body demolished. I lose my grip on the blade, and it goes clattering off into a pile of garbage. The sound knocks me out of the daze—I stumble backward and clear out of the way of his swinging fists.

My blade is out of reach. Running is useless because one of the giant’s strides equals four of mine. So I grab the nearest trash can and thrash him with it as hard as I can when he dives for me. It catches him full across the face, which stuns him just long enough for me to bring it down on his left knee. When he crumples, I hit the same knee again, and this time I hear it snap pleasantly. He moans, and I crack him across the face again.

Okay. (1) I need my blade back, and (2) pregnant?

What? I can consider Thing #2 as I deal with Thing #1, but still . . . it gives me pause. The giant groans and rolls over. I know he won’t stay down long, even with the solid thrashing I gave him. Plus, I’m a little dizzy from whatever damage he did on me. I stumble toward the trash pile that my blade clattered into.

I think Riley said Sasha was pregnant. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. It makes sense, I suppose. A season has passed. She’d be showing. But where’s my fucking blade? Panic churns the emotional confusion that’s already prickling my brain. There’s a million crumpled up soda cans, shredded candy wrappers, Chinese food containers, all devastated and scattered about like some decimated city after a hurricane.

But no blade.

I hear something behind me and spin around. The giant is gone.

“Hey, Carlos. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to drop a bomb like that and then disappear. It’s just . . . there’s a lot going on out here.” No shit. I hate not being