Sweet Poison Wine Read online

  “Ah, good thinking. Friends?” The man’s tone was mild.

  And the monsters peeled away from the walls.

  There were six of them, men and women with snakes where their hair should have been. Those snakes were coiling and hissing, mouths open, fangs gleaming. Francesco froze. One of his men yelped, and another started praying in sloppy church Latin. The woman with the gun finally stepped out from behind them, moving to stand next to the man in the glasses. She was a pretty thing, and she, at least, had hair instead of serpents.

  “Don’t run,” said the man. “It never ends well, when you run.”

  In no time, the four men were tied to chairs, and the man with the glasses was pouring out the bucket of liver in a rough semi-circle around them. Francesco struggled vainly. It did no good; the ropes were fast.

  “I have money,” he said.

  “We want the wine,” snapped one of the snake-women.

  “It’s in the office, okay? Just don’t hurt us.”

  “And where’s the office?” asked the man with the glasses.

  “Back wall, nearest the water.”

  “Fran?”

  “On it,” said Fran, and turned, heading off into the warehouse with one of the snake-people at her side. The others stayed where they were, watching their captives with flat, inhuman eyes.

  “How can you do this?” demanded Francesco, looking at the man in the glasses. “We’re human beings, man. How can you side with monsters?”

  “Oh, is that what you are?” The man straightened, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “I thought you were the sort of fiends who would throw an innocent man to river hags. My mistake.”

  Francesco’s mouth went dry. “Arturo sent you. That bastard.”

  “‘Sent’ is a generous word.” The man with the glasses finished pouring out his livers. “He merely told us that you might know where to find the missing wine. I was very sad to see your abuse of the local ecosystem. River hags are not toys, Mr. Russo.”

  “That’s what this is about? The frog bitches? Mister, you’re insane.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” The man in the glasses straightened and smiled as Fran and the snake-man came walking back. She was carrying a case of wine bottles. He was carrying two. “I thought it was a single case of Medusa?”

  “Now, Johnny. Don’t you think we should have something to drink on our honeymoon?”

  “You have what you came for,” snapped Francesco. “Untie us.”

  “Oh, no, I’m very sorry, but that isn’t going to happen.” The man in the glasses picked up his bucket and started for the door. “You see, I feel very strongly about interference with the local ecosystem. Those river hags won’t be able to return to their customary feeding grounds for months, thanks to the salt your men used to contaminate the shoreline. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He turned to walk away. The woman and the snake-people followed.

  Francesco looked around the emptying warehouse, and the dark circle of viscera on the floor, and frowned. Something wasn’t right here... “So?” he demanded. “What does that have to do with you coming in here, messing up my place like this?”

  “River hags have got to eat, Mr. Russo,” said the man.

  “And they love liver,” added the woman.

  They shut the front door behind them as they exited. But the rear door, the door to the waterfront, remained open. It wasn’t long before Francesco Russo and his loyal men heard the sound of wet, webbed feet against the boards.

  The screaming started soon after that. But it, like most such unpleasant things, didn’t go on for very long.

  The bodies of Francesco Russo and his three most trusted bodyguards were never found.

  “You think Arturo will be able to meet the demand, now that he’s running liquor for the Carmichael?” Fran reclined in the pillows, holding a wine glass delicately with one hand as she watched Jonathan uncorking a bottle out of the cases they’d pilfered from Russo’s warehouse.

  “I think he’ll try very hard,” Jonathan said. He smiled. “More wine, Mrs. Healy?”

  “I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Healy,” said Fran. “I really don’t mind at all.”

  Jonathan refilled her glass, and his own, before joining her on the bed. “I’m truly sorry about all that unpleasantness.”

  “I’m not.” Fran took a mouthful of wine before kissing him, and smiling. “It wouldn’t have been a honeymoon without a disaster to enjoy.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” he said, and kissed her back, and for quite some time after that, there was no conversation in the room to speak of. It was their honeymoon, after all.