Page 23 of Heart and Soul
Hillerman makes a fist. The tangle of ghosts are sucked back into Ruby’s body like a retracting tape measure. He sags into the seat, flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat.
Pulling the hookah upright, Hillerman offers him a tube. Ruby takes a greedy pull, pinning her with bulging, wary eyes.
After allowing him a moment to recover, she asks, “Didn’t what?”
“Didn’t decline. When she came to me, I agreed to meet. But I didn’t accept her offer! I swear, I heard her out, is all. A demon summoner, that’s like nobility. You don’t brush them off. Got to show proper respect.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“Ages. Gotta be ten years ago, maybe more.”
Hillerman seems to like that answer. She nods. “What was her name?”
“She didn’t say, and even if she did, I can’t name names, and you know it. I do that, and my kind will do much worse to me than exorcism. So just go ahead and cast me out!”
“Relax.”
Ruby chomps nervously on the hookah tube, like a baby with a pacifier. Hillerman has completely broken him. She’s right—Arael Moaz was a much tougher cookie, and he was already half dead from cancer.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” she asks.
“Lying?”
“To get me off your back. Telling me what I want to hear.”
“But, I said it’s a woman. Is that right? The summoner you’re looking for?”
“50/50 guess it’s a woman. Not good enough.”
“She didn’t give me a name, I swear!”
“Fine. As it turns out, there’s something about her that’s just as good as a name. Something you could only know if you saw her face.”
Brenner goes on alert. Knee bouncing. “Her face?”
“I saw her face,” Ruby says, “but she was wearing sunglasses and a hoodie!”
“Wouldn’t matter, trust me,” Hillerman says.
Brenner interrupts, blurting, “Her chin.”
Hillerman’s face whips around. Her mouth is caught half open. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen her to genuine shock.
Encouraged, Brenner says, “A black stripe, starting at the bottom lip, running down the chin and all the way down the neck. Is that right?”
Hillerman’s only answer is to close her mouth. That would be ayes.
“We need to talk,” Brenner says.
Just like that, the encounter is over. Hillerman pounds twice on the roof of the car. Behind me, a tinted window rolls down to reveal an FBI agent in the front seat. Out the windshield, glittering in the alley, is a silver luxury car that I could only describe as a giant diamond on wheels. Ruby’s eyes bulge, and he spits out the hookah pipe with a sputter of shock.
“Bugatti Veyron Super Sport,” Hillerman explains. “Estimated value, 1.5 million. Confiscated during the rollup of an organized crime family in Miami. Free and clear, no strings attached.”
“No strings?” Ruby repeats. His face shines with the glow of love at first sight. Can’t pull his eyes away from the car.
