Strange Magic: A Yancy Lazarus Novel Read Free

what in the hell he was talking about. I had received a call from an old friend out in California, but I hadn’t taken on any kind of contract. My buddy told me there was some bad shit coming down the pipe—I had reluctantly agreed to go out and take a looksee. That was it. “Do you guys validate parking too? ‘Cause that might be a deal breaker.”
    Silence filled the air, uncomfortable and telling.
    “And if I say no?” I asked
    “My associate,” Mr. H & R said, nodding toward Thugzilla behind me, “will shoot you in the head and dump your body in the swamp where you will be eaten by alligators. It is highly unlikely you will ever be found given both the high rate of disappearances here in New Orleans and the transient nature of your lifestyle.”
    Huh. Damn good plan as such things go. Quick, efficient, brutal, and highly practical. Apparently, Mr. H & R was the Sith Lord of Mafioso bureaucrats. Lots of people do go missing down in the Big Easy. New Orleans is a huge city with the problems that go along with any big city, only worse. Take the problems of most major-metropolitan centers and then introduce those problems to crack, and you have New Orleans. The violent crime rate here is twice the national average and the murder rate is nearly ten times higher. Absolutely no better place in America to make a man go missing.
    “You’re a man of considerable talents,” H & R continued, “with many connected friends. We would much rather prefer you take us up on our offer, but if your convictions compel you to say no … business is business.” He shrugged.
    “Thanks, but no than—” The world exploded with sound as the Colt aimed at my head belched an unbelievable roar.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    TWO:
    Gun Fight
     
    Gunshots are really, really loud, even if you are well acquainted with firearms. There are, of course, a few exceptions—little .22 caliber handguns for instance—but the Colt 1911 is not one of them. The abrupt and startling crash of noise was more painful than the shot. I’d prepared for the ambush shooting, of course, but I had failed miserably to account for the damn gun going off half-a-foot from my ear. At least I wasn’t dead. Like I said, I have the Vis, and that gives me a tremendous hand up over most folks, even professional thugs who are clued into the supernatural side of things.
    Also, this is not the first time someone has tried to shoot me in the head. Surprising, I know, considering my overwhelming tack and agreeable personality.
    I’d been preparing my minor deflection construct from the moment we stepped out into the alley. Though it’s not terribly difficult to stop incoming bullets outright, it is difficult to do from such close range. So instead of conjuring up some gaudy and overt construct, I created a thin invisible barrier between Rent-a-Thug and myself; a barrier which absorbed the kinetic energy from the bullet and redirected it, causing the round to careen past my face and into the wall on my right.
    Thankfully, the walls of the bar were thick slabs of concrete and brick, which stopped the round cold without any further ricochets.
    Man, I wish I had a Polaroid of the shooter’s face. It’s not every day that a pro thug misses a shot from so close. I bet he looked like a bully who had some bigger bully steal his lunch money. Classic.
    I turned and rolled out left, not expecting the shock of missing to last long. In short order, the Colt would fire again and I wanted to make my move before the shooter got his bearing or his chance. I came up in a crouch and took a slow, measured breath, drawing deeply from the Vis. I could feel energy course into me, thrumming and pulsing in time to the beat of my heart. I was afraid, but that was no good right now. I needed stillness and focus to work. So I breathed out , expelling my fear, anxiety, and anger in that short pause—those were things for later, acquaintances I couldn’t afford right now. I inhaled power, force, raw