Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(69)

It wouldn’t. The Flowers might make a token show at chasing them, enough to keep Sullivan from getting suspicious, but they’d be all too happy to send their biggest headache right into Prince Sitri’s lap.

“That’s all for now,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Gary shook his head. “No. No, this has to stop. First Lauren and Sullivan, then Harmony, and now you trying to pull my strings too? I can’t do this anymore, Faust. I can’t remember what lie I told to who at this point. I’m gonna f*ck up, and I’m gonna get killed.”

“Like I told you. There’s only one person in the world you need to make happy. Me. Now be a good boy and drink your dinner. I’ll call you when I need you.”

I turned and moved for the door. My hand was almost on the knob when I heard the sound. That distinctive slither of chrome against leather.

Gary’s shape hovered in the glossy-framed Denver Broncos poster on the wall by the door. I could see the smudge of a pistol in his reflection’s grip, aimed right at my back.

“I’m pretty good at reading people,” I said calmly, not turning around. “Figuring out their motivations. What makes them tick.”

He didn’t say anything. I could almost hear him breathe.

“You’re thinking, right about now,” I said, “that I’m the straw that’s breaking the camel’s back. That if you took me out of the picture, your life would be a whole lot simpler and safer. I don’t blame you for that. If I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But I’m going to ask you a question, Gary. Just one question.”

Still no reply. I imagined his finger curling around the trigger, a gentle squeeze from doomsday.

“Gary, you know my name. And you’ve read Harmony’s file on me. The crime scene reports. The speculation and the rumors. You’ve seen the pictures of the bodies. Or what’s left of them. Do you believe what’s in that file, Gary?”

His voice was almost too soft to hear. “I do,” he whispered. “You’re a f*cking monster.”

“Good. Then I want to ask you another question. You’ll get one shot, Gary, just one shot…so what do you think will happen if it doesn’t kill me?”

His reflection’s arm wavered, then dropped limply to his side.

I let myself out.





Thirty-Four

I wanted a hot shower and a cool pillow, but neither one was in my immediate future. Sullivan hitting the road had given me a window of opportunity I’d never have again. Sleep would wait.

I drove out to the Honeydew Motel, killing the Barracuda’s headlights as I rumbled into the parking lot. The place was a dump, lousy with rusted-out pickup trucks and mismatched lawn furniture on the concrete patio. I didn’t imagine many tourists came out this way, but if you needed a place to cook meth or stash a hostage, they were open for business.

I backed into a parking spot so I could sit low and give the motel a good once-over. One of the street lamps closest to the facade was busted. Another cast its sickly yellow finger across curtained windows and dusty doors, leaving me just enough light to see by.

An old man with white whiskers and a stained T-shirt sat on a folding chair by the manager’s office. He was halfway through a six-pack of Coors and contemplating the moon. I didn’t figure him for a threat. The hard-eyed skinhead pacing the sidewalk, though, was another story. I let my eyes slip out of focus, calling up my second sight. Now the kid had glowing yellow veins of demon blood to go with his muscles.

I looked over to room seven’s window. A faint light glowed behind the curtains. Gary had made it sound like Sullivan left more than one guard on duty. Were the others holed up in there with Lars, or had they gotten tired and knocked off for the night? Only one way to find out.

I made a phone call. When the other end picked up, I said one word.

“Now.”

I hung up and swapped the phone for my gun.

I didn’t like my chances in a fair fight with the cambion out front, so I didn’t give him one. I got out of the car and ambled toward the manager’s office, making like a weary traveler looking for a place to rest his head. As soon as the skinhead reached the edge of his stroll and turned around, I charged him. He heard my running footsteps and turned just in time to get the barrel of my gun jabbed under his chin. I shoved him backward, hard, sending him stumbling into the wall.

“You stay cool, you live,” I hissed. “You fight, you die.”

He nodded, wide-eyed. The nod bumped his chin against the barrel of the gun.

“How many?”

I didn’t have to specify. He stammered, “Just me.”

“Just you. Nobody in the room?”

“With him? No way, man. Nobody wants to be alone with that freak. There were a couple of other guys here, but they went to get some sleep. It’s just me for another couple of hours.”

“Not a fan of Sullivan’s new buddy, huh?”

“He’s nobody’s buddy,” the cambion said, his pale lips twisting into a scowl. “That guy’s pure evil, man. That’s not what we’re about. Sullivan’s using him as some kind of collateral. I don’t know the details. My job’s just to babysit him and make sure he doesn’t get a chance to hurt anybody.”

“Then it’s your lucky night. Making sure he doesn’t get to hurt anybody is exactly what I’m here to do.”