A Plain-Dealing Villain (18 page)

“Come again?” I said, wobbling a little as the limousine rumbled over a pothole. “I must be going deaf, since I
thought
I just heard you say something about me taking out Nicky. And that’s crazy talk.”

“Think about it.” Angelo sounded like a used-car salesman. “He trusts you. Not a lot of people get one-on-one face time with the man these days. You could get nice and close, maybe without those fucking creepy bodyguards of his hanging around. Tough guy like you, yeah, you could bring him down.”

“That’s the means and the opportunity,” I said. “I’m waiting to hear my motive.”

“Learn from history. Regime change is a messy thing. If we have to go to the mattresses with Nicky and his crew, it might be over quick but it won’t be clean. And you and your fellow freaks might wanna play Switzerland and stand on the sidelines, but do you
really
think that’s gonna be an option?”

“Collateral damage is a bitch,” Sal said.

“People get hurt in the crossfire.” Angelo shrugged. “People die. Maybe innocent people. Or hey, maybe people you know.”

Sal dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled photograph. He shoved it in my face, giving me a good look: me and Jennifer, walking out of some taco joint on Charleston Boulevard, taken from a long-range lens.

“Like this broad,” Sal said. “Jennifer Juniper? Now what kind of fuckin’ name is that? She ain’t gonna be no Switzerland, will she?”

“No, hey, good point.” Angelo got wide-eyed, pretending he was just figuring this out. “Yeah, this lady right here, she’s one of Nicky’s top earners. Now, if we have to play this the hard way and muscle our way into Vegas, I’d say it’s more likely than not that some of Nicky’s people are gonna get hurt. Wouldn’t you agree, Sal?”

“Inevitable,” he repeated, resting the photograph on my lap. “I mean, we try to be reasonable guys, but accidents do happen.”

I took the photograph. Gave it a long, hard look.

“There’s something else,” I said softly, “something that Nicky understands and you don’t.”

Angelo tilted his head. “Yeah? What’s that?”

I locked eyes with him. I spoke slowly, making sure he heard every word.

“You don’t ever threaten one of my friends.”

Angelo let out a surprised laugh and held up his open palms. “Hey, don’t put words in my mouth, now! I’m not threatening anybody. I’m not a threatening kind of guy. Ask anybody.”

“He’s a teddy bear,” Sal said.

“I’m just talking about actions and consequences,” Angelo explained. “We
are
taking Vegas, Dan. This is as inevitable as time and tide. And it can happen one of two ways: with a long, drawn-out war and blood on the streets, or with a single bullet at close range. You’re the one man who can fire that bullet. Only you. So if you care about that lady, and all the other people who might end up hurt in the fallout, I think you know what you’ve gotta do.”

“We just wanna be friendly,” Sal said. “And if you don’t wanna be friendly with us, well…we ain’t got much use for you either, do we?”

My deck of cards grew hot in my hip pocket, responding to the anger roiling the pit of my stomach. No fucking way was I playing the triggerman for these scumbags. Nicky and I had bad history, but he’d been a stand-up guy when it came to taking down Lauren Carmichael, and more importantly—with the exception of his little feud with Jennifer—he left my family alone. Angelo had just guaranteed the Outfit
wouldn’t
. I wasn’t having that.

That said, I didn’t think Angelo would take my refusal kindly. I needed an exit strategy.

I had to figure he was strapped. I knew Sal had a gun—I could feel it bumping up against me, under his jacket, but at this angle there was no chance I could grab it without giving Angelo a shot at me. Then there was sullen Kirmira, looking at all three of us like he was picturing our heads on stakes. If my hunch was right and he was a rakshasa like Naavarasi…well, I’d seen Naavarasi transform into a five-hundred-pound Bengal tiger in the space of a breath. I didn’t want to think about what kind of damage Kirmira could do inside the back of a limousine.

I glanced toward the driver’s compartment. The chauffeur held the wheel steady, rolling up on a big four-way intersection.

“There’s two other ways this could end,” I said casually. Half my mind focused on tapping the threads of my power, stroking the cards in my pocket to eager life.

“How do you figure?” Angelo asked.

“Third option is you back off, forget all about Las Vegas, and learn to be happy with what you have. Personally, I find that focusing on the good things in life is an important part of being a healthy person.”

“That ain’t gonna happen. What else ya got?”

“Well, I could always kill you and your buddies here as an object lesson, along with any member of the Outfit who sets foot in Vegas, along with anyone who even thinks about looking cross-eyed at one of my people. Is your dad a reasonable man, Angelo? I mean, give me a rough estimate. How many bodies will I have to drop before he backs off? Or should I just go straight to the top?”

Sal’s hand eased into his jacket. Angelo’s lips curled as he straightened in his seat. Kirmira didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe.

“You leave my old man out of this,” Angelo whispered.

“Just you, then,” I said. “Fine. Let me bottom-line this for you, Angelo. Chicago is yours. Don’t be greedy. Stay the fuck out of Las Vegas, or I
will
kill you. There’s not going to be a war. There isn’t even going to be a discussion.”

“Damn right there isn’t,” Angelo snarled. “Sal, shoot this piece of—”

I triggered my spell, a crackle of force lancing down my spine and out across my arm as I flung my hand upward, curling my fingers in a
C-
shape. The playing cards leaped from my pocket, riffling toward my hand in a steady stream. Instead of catching them, though, I angled my cupped hand and sent them flying. A whirlwind of cards whipped through the limousine, diamonds and spades lashing in all directions, bouncing off the windows, swarming in the men’s faces like clouds of stinging gnats.

Kirmira threw himself over Angelo, pushing him to the floor of the limo and shielding him with his body, while Sal batted at his face and howled as a card winged past and sliced open his cheek. The chauffeur, blinded in the sudden storm, slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel hard to the right.

I tumbled from the bench seat as the limousine crashed into a parked car, a car alarm shrieking over the sound of crumpling metal and breaking glass. I hurled myself against the door, shouldered it open, and rolled out onto the cold, hard street. I clambered to my feet and ran, hearing shouts at my back, bracing for a gunshot.

The bullet never came, though—Sal was smart enough not to open fire on a crowded street, at least not from inside his boss’s car. I veered left, heading up a residential road where old two-story brownstones stood shoulder to shoulder, and ducked down a long side alley.

I ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like aching jelly, steadying myself with one hand against a cold stone wall while I tried to catch my breath. I was pretty sure I’d lost them, but all the same, I figured I should stay out of sight.

Once I could breathe again, I took out my phone.

“Hey,” I said, panting, “next time you find out that a major crime syndicate wants to take over Vegas, maybe let me know
before I go to the city where they live?
Send me a letter, maybe? Send up some smoke signals?”

“Wait, what?” Nicky said. “The Outfit came after you in Texas?”

“In
Chicago
, Nicky. Where the
job
is. The job you set me up for.”

“Hey, I didn’t know that! How could I know that? All I knew was Cameron Drake had a thing, and Drake lives in Texas.”

“Fair enough.” I took a deep gulp of breath, leaning hard against the wall. “But you’re still an asshole. Chicago wants to make a play for our town, and you didn’t think that might be useful information?”

“I’m handling it.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re handling it. You’re handling it so good that the don’s kid just tried hiring me to kill you.”

“Yeah?” Nicky hesitated. “How’d that work out?”

“They didn’t like my counteroffer.”

The line went silent for a moment.

“Gotta ask you something,” he said.

“Is the question ‘Are you really pissed off right now, Dan?’ Because yes. The answer is yes.”

“No, I mean,” he said, hedging, “if they asked you to take me out, they might be asking other people. Locals. Do you think, maybe…”

He left the question unfinished. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a headache coming on.

“Nicky, goddamnit, the
second
I get back to Vegas you, me, and Jennifer are having a sit-down. This paranoid infighting was bad enough when we only had the feds to worry about, but if Chicago’s serious about muscling in—and believe me, they looked pretty damn serious—we’ve
got
to work together.”

“She won’t even answer my phone calls.”

“She will if I ask her to,” I said. “I’ll be back in town tomorrow night. Until then, sit tight and don’t do
anything
.”

I hung up and tried calling Jennifer, but it went straight to her voicemail.

“Hey y’all,” her voice drawled. “Can’t talk now. Leave your digits and I’ll call ya back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Hey,” I said, “it’s me. I’m still on that business trip. Just found out a competing firm is interested in some local Vegas holdings, and they’re contemplating a hostile takeover. Their headhunters definitely have your name, so just be aware they might try to contact you. I’ll tell you everything in person, tomorrow night. Take care.”

I poked my head out of the alley long enough to jump in a taxi, slinking low in the backseat as we headed for the Four Seasons. Back at the hotel, priority one was gathering everyone in one spot so I could fill them in. I barely got started, though, before I realized the whole room was giving me weird looks.

“What?” I asked, looking around.

Margaux looked over at Bentley and Corman. “Really? You’re gonna make
me
point it out?”

“I’m just,” Bentley said, “I mean, I don’t even know what you’re—”

“You’ve got a big ol’ hickey on your neck,” Corman said.

Caitlin sat primly and smiled, looking pleased with herself.

The next morning, I woke with the dawn. I’d spent the night restless, couldn’t quiet my brain enough to sleep, but I knew the airplane-sized liquor bottles in the minibar would only leave me groggy and hung over. I needed to be sharp. Sharper than Royce, Nadine, and anything they could throw at us.

Caitlin drifted into the bathroom as I finished shaving. She stood behind me, one hand gently resting on my shoulder.

I’d started noticing, more than usual, her casual little touches.

“Ready for our big day?” she asked.

I splashed on some aftershave that smelled like fresh cedar, running my thumb over my smooth cheek.

“No. But that’s okay. It’s the times when I think I’ve got it made that everything goes sour.”

We gathered everyone together for one last run-through. First, though, I took Pixie aside. She handed me a folded slip of hotel-room notepaper embossed with the Four Seasons logo. The only thing written on it, in neat, tight handwriting, was an address.

“This is it?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. I pulled the geotag from the video Damien Ecko sent you. Then I did some local recon to make sure. That’s a warehouse on Printers Row, just off West Harrison Street. That’s where the video was recorded. That’s where Coop is. I pulled the property records, and Ecko owns it under his own name. He doesn’t even try to hide it.”

“Until today, he never needed to. You did good, Pix.”

She stood there, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“You know what happens now,” I said.

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft. “This is the part where you send me home.”

I reached out and touched her arm. She stared at my hand. I put it down again.

“You promised,” I said, “that when the time came to save Coop and settle accounts, you’d leave the rough stuff to me.”

“I did. Just don’t forget what you promised me.”

I looked to the windows. Out on the waters of Lake Michigan, the sun’s reflection glittered like a chunk of fool’s gold.

“Right about now,” I said, “I imagine Stanwyck’s sitting down to eat his last meal. Hope he picked a good one.”

“I’m counting on you. For Coop.”

“We’ll make things right,” I said.

Pixie bundled her laptop under her arm and walked to the door. She looked back at me, something sad in her eyes.

“You never ‘make things right,’ Faust. The best you ever do is damage control.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes that’s the best anyone can do.”

As she walked out the door, I wondered if some part of her hated me, just a little, for sending her away. That was okay if she did, if that was the price for keeping her at arm’s length. I could have used another pair of hands for this job, and part of me—part of me I didn’t like much—said I should have given her what she wanted. Brought her all the way into my life and let her find out exactly how it felt to get bloodstains on your hands.

In the end, though, I’d rather Pixie woke up tomorrow morning hating me instead of hating herself.

*     *     *

I had one call to make before we left.

“Damien Ecko speaking.”

“It’s Faust,” I said. “One question: are you going to the tournament at the Bast Club today?”

“Ah, Mr. Faust, this is an unexpected pleasure. I was beginning to think I’d never hear from you again. Just as well, I’m starting to enjoy spending quality time with your friend here. I’d hate to lose him.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m bringing you the coin and the dagger, tonight. Get ready to hand Coop over.”

Ecko chuckled. “Please. You had plenty of time to lay your hands on the coin, while it was barely guarded, and you couldn’t do it. Do you honestly think you’ll steal it from a crowded room, right from under its owner’s nose?”

“My plan
depends
on having a crowd around.” I was lying, but it sounded good. “Here’s the thing, though: you need to stay away from the club today. If you’re here when the theft goes down, there’s a good chance you’ll be implicated. I can’t have that.”

“Such concern for my well-being.”

“Don’t get it wrong. It’s concern for
mine
. If Royce thinks you were involved in the theft, don’t even pretend you wouldn’t give me up to save your own skin. Helping you get away clean is my best chance of survival. Promise me you won’t come to the tournament.”

“Hmm,” Ecko said. “Very well, I wasn’t all that keen on the spectacle in the first place. Here’s a thought. Perhaps I’ll spend the day with your friend. Make no mistake, Mr. Faust, if you don’t follow through, and the dagger and the coin aren’t in my hands by sunset, he and I will most certainly be having an exciting—and very
long
—night.”

“Wait for my call,” I said and hung up on him.

One obstacle down. Only a few hundred to go.

When we got to the Bast Club, just shy of ten in the morning, cars already overflowed the parking lot and clogged the curb outside the building. Lots of rental cars and out-of-state plates, cars from New York and Florida, with windows tinted black as obsidian.

From the moment we’d checked out of the Four Seasons, leaving at carefully staggered intervals, our united band had become a handful of splinters. Bentley and Corman went first, fifteen minutes apart, and even they wouldn’t say a word to one another until the tournament was over. Then Margaux headed out, leaving Caitlin and me as the only couple in the crew.

“The one thing I’m worried about,” I told Caitlin as we crossed the parking lot, “is that Royce saw everyone’s faces back at the airport when you first landed. He still might put two and two together, if he’s paying attention.”

Caitlin smiled. “He’ll be a
bit
distracted. And if we play our parts capably, even more so.”

“True. So let’s go give him something to worry about.”

The club’s parlor was standing room only, packed with eager spectators and would-be contenders, and my head flooded with psychic chatter. The energy flowing through the room could have powered a small city, and from a quick look around, only half the crowd was identifiably human.

The rest, like Caitlin, had very good disguises on.

I caught frantic waving out of the corner of my eye. Freddie, drink in hand, reclined on one of the plush red divans. Halima sat in the chair beside her, her knees tight together and shoulders tensed.

“Freddie, Halima,” I said as we walked over. I nodded at Freddie’s glass. “Starting a little early, are we?”

“It’s a Bloody Mary,” she said, swinging her legs down from the divan and patting the now-vacant seat. “That’s
breakfast food
, darling. Look it up.”

As Caitlin sat next to Freddie, Halima shook her head. “I really, really don’t like crowds. This is not my thing at all.”

Freddie sipped her drink. “You just need to loosen up. Caitlin, this is my BFF, Halima. Halima, this is my new BFF, Caitlin.”

I stayed on my feet, casually glancing from side to side, giving the room a once-over and watching for familiar faces. Bentley walked by on his way to the bar. We didn’t even make eye contact.

“You can’t have two best friends,” I said, “as implied by the word
best
.”

“Hush, you. I can have anything I want…
except
for a lack of utter nausea from watching
that
tawdry display.”

I followed her gaze to the doorway, where Nadine—wrapped in a gown of hot-pink silk that clung to her curves like a second skin—strolled into the room. She wasn’t alone. Five men, chiseled, pretty enough to be models and dressed in black Armani suits, followed her lead. She talked animatedly as they walked, her hands constantly in motion, brushing a shoulder here, a cheek there.

“Oh, no, she isn’t,” Caitlin said, her voice hard.

“
You
know what she’s doing. I know
you
know,” Freddie said to Caitlin.

Caitlin’s left eyebrow twitched. “Madonna. The ‘Material Girl’ video, 1984.”

“She’d better not even
pretend
that was accidental,” Freddie said.

Halima leaned sideways in her chair, giving me a pained look.

“Do
you
know why they’re upset?” she whispered.

I shrugged, helpless.

“It’s…a territorial thing. I think?”

“Now, a Whitesnake video, that’s more her speed,” Caitlin muttered.

“More. Like. Motley. Crue,” Freddie replied, pronouncing each word like a judge handing down a death sentence.

I felt Royce before I saw him in the crowd, a big bundle of smug headed right for me.

“Surprised to see you here, sport,” he said, smiling bright enough to light up the room. “You must be feeling a tad frustrated this morning.”

I played dumb, like he’d expect me to. “Meaning?”

“Well, I simply heard that you were quite the busy bee yesterday. Flitting here, flitting there, but not really getting much accomplished, were you?”

“I was practicing my poker skills,” I said.

Royce moved close, standing inches away, pitching his voice soft.

“Probably would have been a better use of your time. You see, Daniel, we were onto you from the very start. It was a cute attempt, but understand this, and understand it well: the only way you’re
ever
getting your hands on the grand prize…is by winning it fairly.”

My hand brushed my hip pocket, feeling the hard contour of the Judas Coin.

“What can I say?” I told him. “You got me.”

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Also? Sweet perdition, man, button your shirt all the way up and put a tie on. You’ve got a hickey on your neck. What are you, twelve?”

“It’s a love bite,” I said.

Caitlin gave me a thumbs-up.

Royce rolled his eyes, stepped back, and let his voice boom like a carnival barker. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome, one and all. At this time, registrations for the tournament are being held in Parlor B, courtesy of the lovely Nadine. Seats are first-come, first-served if you haven’t already paid your buy-in, so I urge you to move with haste.”

“Oh joy,” Freddie said as she stood up, pausing to drain the last of her Bloody Mary through an oversized straw. “We get to talk to the
lovely
Nadine. Halima, you coming?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I’ll be cheering you on when the game starts.”

A line stretched down the hall toward the open door of Parlor B. I stood on my toes and craned my neck, checking out the people ahead of us. I saw a few familiar faces—like Stanwyck, gripping a wad of cash in both hands like a chump waiting to get rolled. When he looked to one side, I caught the expression on his face: panicky as a lemming on the edge of a waterfall. By now he had to have figured out that the Bast Club wasn’t any ordinary gambling den.

And if you think you’re out of your league now
, I thought, taking deep breaths to keep my anger in check,
just wait until you see what I’ve got planned for you
.