The Devil to Pay (Shayne Davies Book One) by Jackie May

The Devil to Pay (Shayne Davies Book One) by Jackie May

Author:Jackie May [May, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy
Publisher: Bluefields
Published: 2018-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

When I get scared or nervous, I talk a lot. Whistling in the dark. So I’m driving us east on Gratiot Ave., and I’m saying, “Seriously, if I had known we were going from Breakfast Club to Suicide Squad, I would have put my muscles on this morning. I don’t work out like you guys, but my legs look good in jogging shorts. And I could have brought a gun. A big one. Bigger than your guys’s.”

But Brenner says he doesn’t know what The Breakfast Club is, or Suicide Squad either (wtf), and Hillerman only ignores me from behind her blackout sunglasses. She strikes her usual pose in the passenger seat, only now her little foot up on the dash doesn’t say, “Hey, I feel cozy here, as though I could curl up in this seat with a book and a cat shirt.” It now says, “I give exactly zero effs about books or cats, and especially not shirts. Look at my boobs.”

Chain necklaces cross below her collarbone. One chain is black iron; the other is silver, and keeps a row of various teeth of all sizes and shapes. One tooth definitely looks canine; two of them I would guess to be the eyeteeth of a vampire; others are made of wood. All the teeth are dirty and yellow, as though they’ve been ripped from the living. Like wearing roadkill.

“What’s that necklace?” I ask her, holding back a joke about witch doctors. Not surprised when she doesn’t answer, I move on to Brenner in the rearview mirror. I motion toward my neck. “What about those tattoos? Are those chemical formulas? That’s a drug thing?”

“It’s more of a poser thing.” He tries to give a smile, but it dies halfway, turning painful. “My time in Narcotics, I had to blend in on the street.”


He tilts his head at the memory. “Mostly, I was really good at being a convincing loser, the wannabe, you know. Stupidest guy in the room, one too many hits to the head.”

“That takes some real talent. Method acting, all the way.”

“I didn’t have to try too hard, I guess. Should’ve went back to school. That’s…” He pauses, swallows hard. “That’s what I was told.”

By your sister, I’m guessing. Before his memory was restored, he mentioned her name easily, eagerly. Since getting the memory back, he hasn’t said her name once. “So you’re less of an interview-the-witnesses-with-my-amazing-bedside-manner detective, more of the infiltrate-the-underground-fight-club detective. There’s no school that can teach that.”

Super Agent Hillerman lifts a finger to point out the window. “This is it?”

I’ve taken us off Gratiot into the neighborhoods on the outskirts of East Side. You have to imagine this part of town as a sort of target with three rings, and each smaller ring takes you deeper into Hell. The bullseye at the center is Grandy district.

“This is the start of it,” I say as we pass by houses that are still livable, but half covered with overgrown yards and rusted chain-link fences. We approach a


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