Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(68)

He held up his open hands and stepped to the right, edging his way around the cluttered living room. I mirrored him, stalking slow like a panther.

“I didn’t know!” he said. “I had no idea Sullivan was going to be there! How could I? Harmony asked Lars and me to act as backup for your meeting, and she didn’t even know what you wanted to meet with her about. How could I have tipped off Sullivan if I didn’t know anything in the first place?”

“You did know there was going to be a meet-up. Maybe that was enough.”

He shook his head. “No way. Not with Harmony in the line of fire. I’m a cop, Faust. I would never do that to another badge.”

Thing was, I believed him. I remembered the surprise on his face, the look of panic as he ran up on Sullivan and his boys in the parking garage. He hadn’t planned for company.

No, he wasn’t the one who betrayed me. I had a pretty good idea who did, but I had a special plan for settling that particular score. It’d keep, for now.

“Let’s pretend I believe you,” I said, keeping him on the defensive. “You’ve been a ghost since this morning, and I bet you weren’t filling out paperwork at the precinct. What’s going down in Redemption land?”

“Sullivan’s got Lars, and Lars has a creepy dead guy in his brain.”

“I was there for that part. Now tell me something I don’t know.”

“Sullivan left town,” Gary said. “See, he’s been bringing the Choir over in tiny numbers, one or two at a time. Big clumps of cambion moving together are like a magnet for trouble. The Night-Blooming Flowers pick up on it from a hundred miles away. Small and slow is safer for everybody. After the massacre this morning, though, he can’t afford to wait. Lost too many good hands in that garage. He’s got a bus. He’s bringing everybody to Vegas.”

“How many is everybody?”

“Another fifteen guys, maybe. Most of them good with a piece. A couple of magicians, maybe another couple of bomb-throwers. These are the old guard, Faust. The Redemption Choir’s one percent. Hard as f*ckin’ nails, ready and willing to die for the cause.”

Bad news. I answered him with a careless shrug, playing it stoic, but the idea of that many whacked-out halfbloods in my town spelled trouble for everybody.

“They might get their chance,” I said. “So what’s the plan? He’s just going to drive across the Midwest, loading up his big happy bus?”

Gary shook his head. “Word went out through the underground. Everybody’s gathering in Denver. Sullivan’s going to swing in, scoop everyone up, and roll back here at top speed.”

“What if the Flowers get in the way?”

“Let ’em try. Sullivan’s not stopping for anything or anyone. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have to be subtle anymore. Vegas is the Choir’s new home.”

I thought back to the discussion I’d had with Caitlin about “Pinfeather,” the Flowers’ supposed elite operative. So far, the dominoes were falling just like Pinfeather would have wanted. Sullivan was pulling out all the stops, rolling his elite guard right into Prince Sitri’s haven.

“Nobody’s going to stop them,” I said, putting it together.

Gary furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Nobody’s going to stop them, because this has been orchestrated since the beginning. The whole crusade to purge the cambion back east was a scam. Oh, it happened—maybe some token executions to get the cambion scared and angry—but this was the real endgame: to con Sullivan into bringing his whole merry brigade out west, where they’d be out of the Flowers’ hair and making all kinds of trouble for the Court of Jade Tears. It’s a political gambit. And a damn smart one.”

And I played right into it, I thought. I pressed Sullivan into a corner and forced him to step up his timetable.

“Yeah, well,” Gary said. “I’m not any happier than you are about it. I thought I was out and done with those guys a long time ago.”

“Can’t outrun your sins, Gary. Trust me. I know. So is Lars with him?”

Gary grabbed a dirty glass from the kitchen and poured himself four fingers of whiskey. He tossed back a swallow, leaning against the wall, and let out a deep breath.

“Hell no. He—not Lars, the * using his body—started ranting about cutting up kids for Satan’s glory or something, and Sullivan nearly beat the crap out of him. Made it pretty clear that if the guy wasn’t a useful bargaining chip, he’d be back in hell so fast it’d make his head spin. He’s got Lars stashed under lock and key until he gets back.”

“Where?”

“You know the Honeydew? It’s a no-tell motel that rents by the hour, and the management has a permanent case of cash-induced amnesia. Lars is in room seven. Sullivan left a few guys behind to watch the place and make sure he doesn’t leave.”

That was the first good news I’d heard all day. I kept a poker face, though.

“What about Lauren?”

“I called in,” he said. “Second she found out Sullivan has what she wants, she hung up on me. Presumably to get in touch with him direct.”

“They’ll meet when he gets back, then. When’s that gonna be?”

Gary shrugged. “Not long. I figure Sullivan will be here sometime in the morning, assuming the drive back from Denver doesn’t turn into a scene from The Road Warrior.”