Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(75)
“When have we talked?” I demanded, puffing myself up. “You’ve done precious little since I took flesh but to insult me and abandon me. In the absence of words, your actions have made it painfully clear that I’m not an honored guest but a scorned hostage! I treated Englishmen more respectfully than this, in my day.”
Sullivan stared at me. Then he chuckled softly and nodded. I exhaled in relief.
“A fair assessment,” he said. “Very well. You’re going to be handed off to another owner tomorrow night, in exchange for something I need. After that, you won’t be a problem for anyone anymore. Until then, though, you will do exactly as you are told, exactly as you are told to do it.”
If I were really Gilles de Rais, he’d have a point. As long as Sullivan held his contract, the damned soul was bound to obey his every command. I tried to put the right amount of hostility in my voice as I bowed my head.
“I have no choice but to serve.”
“No,” he said, “you don’t. Now we’re going to find another place to stash you until the festivities. You will stay there. You will not contact anyone, you will not speak to anyone, you will not harm anyone. Is that understood?”
“As you command,” I said, practically spitting the words.
Sullivan turned away from me and shot a sharp look at Gary. The smaller man took a halting step backward.
“As for you, the deaths of Black and Jakobsen removed a potential long-term problem, but they don’t bode well for your usefulness to the cause. Can you be tied to the killings?”
He shrugged, shuffling from foot to foot. “The closed-circuit cameras in that part of the precinct house have been broken for two weeks. I didn’t sign in or anything.”
“You need an alibi, just to be safe. Go to Los Angeles, there’s a Choir safe house there. I’ll arrange receipts and documentation to prove you’ve been out of town for the last two days.”
Gary winced. “I’d…rather be here, if it’s all the same to you. I mean, I worked with those guys. I liked them. I wanna help with, you know, the arrangements—”
“It’s not all the same to me,” Sullivan said sternly. “We’re on the cusp of our triumph. I can’t risk any trouble or drawing extra attention toward my people. You have two choices: you can leave town, or you can just…leave.”
The way he said that last word, it was clear he wasn’t talking about a bus ticket to Idaho.
Gary nodded meekly, his eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.”
I felt a little bad about the fake-out, but I had to justify “Gilles” walking free, and the phony carnage bolstered my cover story. I couldn’t bring Gary in on the ruse. Sullivan would have seen right through his story if Gary didn’t honestly believe he’d seen a pair of corpses in the interrogation room. He wasn’t a good enough liar. Besides, he’d nearly shot me in the back less than twelve hours ago, so I wasn’t in the mood to be nice. I figured he’d have a happy surprise waiting when he got back from LA and found out his partners were still alive. By then, hopefully, Sullivan wouldn’t be.
Thirty-Seven
The Choirboys put Gary on a bus and me in the back of a Ford Explorer with windows tinted blacker than Sullivan’s heart. His new arrivals were a breed apart: quiet, hard-eyed zealots with moves like professional soldiers. I wondered if he had some kind of training camp back east, with obstacle courses and bomb-building classes. The Denver boys said little and smiled less.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, playing up my part.
The driver didn’t answer. The two cambion squeezing in on my left and right stared straight ahead, like robots waiting to be powered on.
“I am a nobleman,” I said, poking the back of the seat. “I insist that you—”
“Shut up,” the driver said. And that was the closest I got to a conversation.
They stashed me in a room at the Value Lodge on East Tropicana. I took bitter amusement in the fact that I’d been here not that long ago, in the room right next door: Jud Pankow, father of a wayward porn starlet, had holed up here while I was tracking his daughter’s killer. Turned out the kid was collateral damage in a much bigger plot, and that job led me straight to Lauren Carmichael. And Caitlin.
Things seemed a hell of a lot simpler back then.
“Stay here,” the driver told me as he half shoved me into the room. “Sit down. Watch TV. Shut up. We’ll be back tomorrow night.”
I gave them two minutes and peeked around the edge of the drawn curtains. Sure enough, they’d taken off. And why not? As far as Sullivan knew, the only people who’d been hunting for Gilles were Harmony and me—and Harmony was dead and I was possessed. Since “Giles” was bound by Sullivan’s command to stay in the room, and all his threats were neutralized, leaving guards behind would have been a waste of resources.
I opened the curtains, inviting a stream of light into the spartan motel room, basking in the morning’s warmth. I’d pulled off the short con, but the hard work was just getting started. I needed solid intel, plans, coordination…
I looked over at the twin bed and yawned hard enough to make my whole body shiver. I hadn’t slept in over a day, and my body had decided it was time to remind me I was too damn old for pulling all-nighters. I set the bedside alarm to wake me up in four hours. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was gone.