Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(62)

“That’s different. I’m upholding the law.”

“By using techniques other cops don’t have. But it’s not cheating when you do it, right?”

“I’m protecting people. You hurt people for a living.”

I unzipped the duffel bag. I wanted to get this over with, for more reasons than one.

“That reckless-driving and gun-possession rap against Jennifer and me,” I said. “I want it dropped. You know those charges are bullshit. Meadow Brand set us up.”

“I know she did. Doesn’t change the fact that you committed the crime, does it? Besides, I’m a federal agent, Faust. I can’t just wave a magic wand and make local charges disappear.”

“No, but you can talk to Metro and put some pressure on the DA. I’m doing you a solid here. All I’m asking for is some consideration in return.”

Harmony held out her open hand.

“Considering how long you should be going to prison for, I’d say you’re already getting some. If this isn’t some kind of trick, and this really does stall Lauren’s plans long enough for me to deal with her, I’ll be refocusing the task force’s investigation. I’m not saying you’re off the hook, I’m just saying I’ll be too busy to think about you for a while. Maybe a long while, if you keep your nose clean.”

“Hey,” the drunk said, wandering up. “Hey, ‘scuse me, hey.”

Inside the bag, my fingertips slid past the soul bottle and around the grip of my pistol. Instinct.

Harmony flashed her badge. “Official business, sir. Please move along.”

He was invading her personal space, but I doubted he even realized it. The way his eyes glazed, I figured he was trying to figure out which of the two Harmonys he should answer back to.

“Sorry, sorry,” he slurred. “But maybe you can just tell me, is this the Karnak?”

I shook my head. “Buddy, you are a long way from your hotel room.”

“The Metropolitan,” Harmony said, rolling her eyes. She pointed up the ramp. “Go upstairs, take a right, look for the taxi stand. Don’t let me catch you driving—”

Her arm was stretched out a little too far, her balance a little off, and suddenly the drunk guy wasn’t drunk anymore. He lunged for her wrist, caught it, and twisted it behind her back. His other hand conjured a cruel little knife that gleamed in the shadows of the parking garage, the business end pressed to the smooth, pale skin of her throat.

Tires squealed somewhere above us. A pair of Harley Irons tore down the ramp, their riders’ faces hidden behind helmets as black as their motorcycles. Behind the bikers came an SUV with tinted windows and custom chrome. The Harleys moved in slow cruising circles, like sharks sniffing out blood in the water, while the SUV stopped right next to us.

“Sullivan,” I hissed as he stepped out of the backseat, cradling his walking stick and flanked by a pair of his boys. From the looks on their faces, they’d heard about how I’d killed one of their buddies back at the mission house, and they were aching to return the favor.

My finger rested on the Judge’s trigger, concealed by the duffel, but that knife at Harmony’s throat could slice faster than I could shoot.

“A friend,” Sullivan said pleasantly, “told me you were having a mysterious little rendezvous down here. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in uninvited, but I believe, Mr. Faust, that you have something I want.”





Thirty-One

We’d been set up. It wasn’t just bad luck, or a case of one of us getting followed to the meet-up. If Sullivan knew about the soul, that meant somebody on my side of the table tipped him off. Probably the same person who tipped him off that Father Alvarez and I were waiting for Nicky’s limousine. It would have to be someone I’d spoken to since leaving Denver.

That was a damn short list of suspects.

I kept my hand in the bag and my finger on the trigger, thinking fast. Priority one was getting out of here alive. Between the knife man, Sullivan and his two escorts, and the two on the Harleys, it was two against six. One against six if Harmony got her throat slit.

I pretended to think, stalling for time. “Something you want, something you…oh, right! It just arrived. A big pile of ‘f*ck you’ with your name on it.”

I gave him the finger. Sullivan frowned.

“What?” I said. “Not your size? I’m sorry, all f*ck yous are final.”

The knife man kept Harmony’s wrist in an iron grip, her head tilted back and the blade ready to bite. She swallowed, then grimaced.

“Can’t imagine,” she said, “why so many people want to kill you, Faust. You’re so good at making friends.”

Sullivan looked to Harmony and bowed his head. “I must apologize to you, Agent Black. It was not my intention to cause you harm or distress.”

“Like with Father Alvarez?” I said.

“Father Alvarez is safe and sound. He’s been helping me by continuing the translation of his most remarkable manuscript. I’ve learned a great deal, and I daresay so has he. He’s an endless font of questions.”

“The manuscript is a pile of crap, Sullivan. It’s a fairy tale. You’re wasting your time.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Especially not now. You have something Lauren needs. Lauren has something I need. A simple transaction and everyone is happy.”