Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(81)
“Here we go,” I said. “Mask up.”
The four of us tugged on black ski masks, and I cradled my gun as Jennifer fired up the engine.
I looked back at Ben. “Stay behind me and Jen. No names, no unnecessary talking. Voice lineups are bullshit, but it doesn’t mean the cops don’t try. Mama, you good?”
She humphed at me from behind the mask, and held up a fistful of long plastic cable ties.
“Long as Mr. Accountant here don’t toss up his lunch again,” she said.
“I apologized for that,” Ben said, slipping a finger under his mask to scratch his cheek.
The catering van trundled into sight, growing larger in the rearview mirror. Jennifer counted under her breath, slow and steady, marking the pace—then stomped on the gas and whipped the car out of its parking spot, turning sideways and screeching to a sudden, bone-jolting stop to block the road. The van hit the brakes, stopping just in time to avoid a crash. I was already out of the car. I ran up on the driver of the van and stuck my gun in his face through the open window.
“Kill the ignition!” I roared. “Turn it off right f*cking now!”
Jennifer hit the back doors of the van, hauling one open and jumping inside, pistol first. I heard her rampaging in the back, screaming for the caterers to get down on their knees.
“We don’t have any money!” the driver blubbered, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. “I don’t have anything to give you!”
I hauled him out by the wrist and shoved him up against the side of the van. Margaux grabbed him, snaking a cable tie around his wrists and yanking it tight. Ben just stood there, eyes wide, wavering on his feet.
“Hood!” I shouted, but Ben was frozen. I yanked the black burlap from his hands and did it myself, bagging the driver’s head. Another two caterers were in the back, and we got them cuffed and bagged before they knew what hit them.
Another van screamed up, this one an anonymous blue Nissan with Nicky at the wheel. The side door rumbled open, and Emma jumped out with a heavy canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She helped us load the caterers into Nicky’s cargo van, the entire operation going off without another word.
I pulled the door shut, slapped the side of the van twice, and Nicky took off. I pulled my mask off. Sweat plastered my hair to my scalp, and I was grateful for the hint of a breeze in the air. Emma opened her bag and passed out white aprons and hats, giving everyone the semblance of an organized crew.
“Dan,” Ben started to say. “I’m sorry, I—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Nicky’s going to sit on the caterers until we’re done, then let them go. Nobody will be reporting the van stolen, so just drive the speed limit and watch for stop signs. There will already be a legit truck and caterers on-site when you get to Lauren’s place, waiting for the rest of the hired help. Just tell them it was a last-minute replacement and you’re filling in from the downtown office. Saguaro Catering is a big company and they hire a lot of seasonal employees, which is exactly why I picked them. The story should hold up. Mama, you got everything you need to make your special gumbo?”
Margaux crossed her arms and smiled. “They’ll never know what hit ’em.”
“Good. Emma, Ben, stay near Mama and follow her lead. Jennifer will be on the outside, arranging your exit. You all know what you have to do?”
Everyone nodded, even Ben.
“I’m going to get back to the Value Lodge and wait for Sullivan,” I said. “If all goes well, I’ll see you at the banquet. If I don’t show, scrub the job and get out any way you can.”
“Why wouldn’t you show?” Ben asked, nervous again.
“Because,” I told him, “that means I’m dead.”
? ? ?
Back at the motel I tried to take a light nap, but I was too keyed up. The television was twenty channels of nothing, so I left it on as background noise and played solitaire until sundown.
A pounding on the door jolted me away from my fifth losing game in a row. I held my breath and went to face my future. Sullivan stood outside, flanked by a pair of his Choir heavies.
He knew. The way he wrinkled his nose when he looked at me, the barely constrained hatred in his eyes—he’d been warned, all right. He knew he’d been played, and he wanted to kill me for it.
“Gilles,” he said. “Come along. It’s time.”
I bit back a sigh of relief. After all, he knew everything I’d said and done at that planning meeting, but I wasn’t supposed to know he knew it. I needed to play blissfully ignorant and go along with whatever doom he was planning for me.
The cambion bundled me into one car, and Sullivan got into the backseat of another. A small caravan of black SUVs rolled out into the night.
Lauren’s mansion crouched in the shadow of a red rock mountain, far enough into the desert that the lights of Las Vegas were nothing but a shimmering diamond at our backs. Along the curve of a rolling horseshoe driveway, discreet lights glowed against elaborate gardens of cactus and stone. Her house looked like something out of a British costume drama, old and expensive and prim.
I counted eight Choirboys in all as we got out of the SUVs, plus me and Sullivan. No sign of Father Alvarez. That didn’t surprise me, considering the traitor had leaked the plan to free him. I didn’t care much one way or the other. Sullivan wouldn’t hurt Alvarez, and another few hours as a pampered hostage wouldn’t kill him.