Page 86 of Finders Reapers

Jamal bit back a laugh. “I’m British.” He reminded me again. “Not African American.”

“Are we going to go to the bar, or are we going to chat on the porch all evening?” Fletcher groaned. “Don’t get him started on this whole thing. He once had an argument with someone in Walmart for like an hour.”

Jamal rolled his eyes. “Sure, Fletcher. Your wings are more important than anything else.”

“I’m glad you see things my way.” Fletcher nodded staunchly and pulled out his phone. “Uber’s due in like a minute.” He said as he walked back to the end of the path and looked down the street.

Jamal and I exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

The Red Dog’s windows were completely whited out with giant crimson bulldogs painted outside. The words BAR – RESTAURANT – DANCE lined the tops of the windows, and aside from the menu stand outside of the door, there was no sign the place was even open.

Fletcher held open the door for me while Jamal thanked the Uber driver. We all walked into the bar together. I was apprehensive, but it was evident that the guys that been to The Red Dog before.

The hostess greeted us, and although we didn’t have a reservation, she offered to seat us at the bar straight away.

Katy Perry’s ‘Hot and Cold’ pumped out of the sound system, even though the place looked more like a biker bar than anywhere that knew the likes of Ms. Perry and her debut album.

I had no idea what I wanted to drink, but Fletcher obviously remembered my order from back at the Bellagio because he ordered a mojito for me and two draft beers for him and Jamal. It wasn’t until we were settled in our stools that Jamal’s phone beeped.

I groaned. “Don’t tell me. Someone died?”

Fletcher snorted. “The app notifications sound a bit like a church organ. I think that was a regular notification.”

“It’s a text.” Jamal clarified, taking his phone out and frowning at the screen. “More information about Antwan. None of it good.”

Fletcher took a sip of his beer. “That’s the second victim, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I read the article, and his wounds looked the same as mine.”

“Purger bite.” Fletcher glanced at me over the rim of his pint glass. “The humans think it’s a serial killer. They’re calling themthe Pin Prick Killer.”

I shrugged. “Does two victims’ class as a serial killer deal?”

Jamal and Fletcher exchanged glances.

I sighed and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “If you two know something, tell me. Please.”

Jamal’s lips pressed together.

Fletcher put down his pint glass. “It’s not the first time this has happened. Marks like that have been found on quite a few dead people this past year,” He said and then glanced at the bar, distracted. “My wings should be here soon.”

“We don’t have any idea what’s really happening, but it seems to be confined to Vegas,” Jamal admitted with a wince, brushing his thumb against his plush bottom lip.

“The Pin Prick Killer,” I cut in. “Do you think it’s a rogue purger?”

“Yes and no.” Jamal shook his head and adjusted his glass parallel to his wrapped silverware. “We’ve had a few problems in the city. We’ve had deaths that haven’t been showing up on the app, and then when we try and find the soul, they haven’t been showing up at HQ. They haven’t been passing on to hell, heaven, or anywhere in between.”

“Rome said that Antwan had a soul contract with the devil like I did?” I picked up my drink and took a sip. “Does that mean that every other victim of these rogue purgers was another person that had soul contracts?”

Fletcher nodded, eying the door to the kitchen with an impatience akin to a child waiting for Santa to arrive. “We think so.”

“This is what Maddox didn’t want me to know,” I said, rubbing my hand over my face with slow realization. “What is happening to those souls? Where did they go? What used to happen to those contracted souls before the devil went missing?”

Jamal whistled. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Rome said the same thing,” I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s not my fault. This is all new to me.”

Fletcher cleared his throat. “HQ might look organized now, but until a few months ago, that place was a mess. Mr. Bub stayed in his castle in Gluttony and didn’t give a fuck if souls made their way into Hell. The whole rehabilitation system was going to shit, and the rulers of hell didn’t care too much.”

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