Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(27)

The car wobbled, then rattled, then groaned as one of the tortured wheels finally gave. Alvarez pulled over to the side of the road. I got out and shook my head at the tangled mess of broken rubber clinging to a bent rim. Even if I had a spare, I wasn’t sure I could get the tire off. I looked around to get the lay of the land.

“Strip’s two blocks from here,” I said. “We walk the rest of the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace with lights, noise, and crowds, while I plan our next move. Those guys won’t try snatching you in public. I want lots and lots of eyes on us.”

We walked about half a block in silence. I knew I had to say something.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t think you’d take it this hard. But Father, you’ve gotta understand, it’s not just about you. They want you for something, some purpose, and whatever it is can’t be good. Shooting those guys may have saved lives, in the long run.”

“I just don’t understand why anyone would want to kidnap me. I don’t have money. I don’t have any family.” He paused. “How did you do it, by the way?”

“Hmm?”

“You were there one moment, then you weren’t. I assume it’s a trapdoor? Some kind of emergency tunnel leading to the sewers? You must have dropped through and then come up in the parking lot.”

I could have pointed out that we were on the second floor, making a tunnel a tricky setup, or that I’d crossed about fifty feet of real estate in less than a breath’s time, but I just nodded instead. He needed what he’d seen to be a trick. He needed it to be a trapdoor to keep his world from spiraling any further out of control tonight. So it was a trapdoor.

The Strip was a wonderland of light, a safe harbor stretching out its neon arms to embrace us. Traffic along the boulevard moved at a crawl, and men stood at every corner, clicking their little clickers and handing out laminated escort ads to anyone who stood still long enough to take one. We passed a Metro cop, who gave us both a casual once-over before turning his attention to a pack of drunken college kids farther down the sidewalk.

“Lose the dog collar, Padre,” I said. “You’re standing out in the crowd.”

Alvarez blinked and unfastened the white tab on his shirt. No good, he still looked like a priest even without the gear. Some people just have that air about them.

I led him into the Monaco, past a pair of towering Ionic columns. The casino swallowed us in cool blue lights and the electronic catcalls of a hundred slot machines all peacocking for the crowds. Right past the entrance to the casino’s theater was a bar with no name, a simple island of liquor in the middle of the concourse near the poker tables.

“Whiskey, neat,” I told the bartender, then nodded at Alvarez. “Same for him.”

I noted, wistfully, that I was acting like Caitlin in more ways than one tonight.





Fourteen

Alvarez didn’t argue. His trembling hands needed a drink as badly as his overtaxed brain. I patted his shoulder and gestured to the doors.

“I need to make a quick phone call. Sit tight, drink up. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

I didn’t go too far, just enough to hear my own thoughts over the casino bustle. Then I called Nicky.

“Danny!” he said. “Where you been? I’ve been trying to—”

“In deep shit. They hit my place, Nicky. They burned it. I got out, got the priest out with me. We’re on the run.”

“How the hell did they find out where you live?”

“No idea.”

“They burned it? I mean, burned it for real?”

I thought about my place. It was cramped, stuffy, not much better than a transient hotel, but it was mine. I’d worked hard to make it a home. Worked harder to put together the rainy-day cash I’d sewn into a pocket under the mattress. Banks and people like me didn’t get along very well. That was all gone now. So were my books. Some of them first edition, some you couldn’t buy at any mortal price. All of my magical gear, my journals and notes.

I’d started out as a small-time grifter with twenty bucks and a deck of cards in my hip pocket. Now I was right back there again. Square zero.

At least I still had my cards.

“Yeah,” I said to Nicky. “Burned it. Listen, this priest’s a hot potato. I’ve got to get him off the street. We’re hiding in plain sight at the Monaco, but even the crowds here thin out eventually. Can you…?”

“Say no more. I’m sending a limo. Go outside in about twenty minutes, it’ll be there. I’ve got a safe house. It’s not far, but it’s off the grid. You can both crash there as long as you need to.”

Nicky sounded pleased that I was going to him for help. Maybe he thought I was sliding back under his thumb, right where he liked me. Truth was, the reason I didn’t call Bentley and Corman for shelter, or the rest of my family, was simple: if our hunters found me, they could find my family too. Nicky’s safety, I didn’t mind risking.

I met up with Alvarez at the bar. He was halfway down his first glass of whiskey. I thought it was his first glass, anyway. I took a swig of my own, letting it burn down my throat, cutting the tension like a hot knife.

“Cavalry’s coming,” I said. “We’re getting a ride out of here and a place to hole up.”