The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(39)

I tried not to shudder, thinking about how I woke up on the bus to Eisenberg Correctional. Crammed in like sardines, wrists chained to waist-belts and prisoner chained to prisoner. A front-row seat for the meat grinder.

“Workable plan,” I said, keeping my tone even. “She didn’t like it?”

“She said it had to be done here.” Kim shifted his shoulder, leaning on the stall divider. “You had to die on the prison grounds, no matter what. That was crucial.”

Mister Kim might have known more about murder than me, but I was pretty sure I knew more about magic than him—and this had all the hallmarks of a spell. Bloodshed was a common part of ritual; so was pain, harnessed to raise ecstatic levels of power. And it had to be done here. My blood had to soak the floors of Eisenberg Correctional, nowhere else.

Kim hadn’t been hired to assassinate me. He’d been hired to sacrifice me.

No chance this wasn’t connected to Buddy somehow. He and his sister insisted I’d swapped places with “the Thief,” whoever that was. The very fact that you’re here, Cassandra had said, standing in the Thief’s shoes, means the Enemy has already won. He’s changing the rules.

The Enemy. The man with the Cheshire smile. I still didn’t know who he was—or what he was—but I knew how I’d landed on his radar. Fleiss must be the connection. I’d pulled that heist in Chicago for her “boss,” who turned out to be nothing but a puppet, a prisoner in his own mansion. If Fleiss was really working for the Enemy, that’d make me one hell of a convenient pawn.

By the rules of whatever game these people are playing, the Thief has to die in this prison, I thought. But the smiling man doesn’t want the Thief dead. So they pulled a substitution play. I take the hit, and the real Thief goes on his merry way.

I bit back a surge of anger. It’d be one thing if this were personal. If I’d done something to cross the smiling man, if this were payback, at least I could understand it. But it wasn’t even about me. I was just the unlucky bastard whose entire life got uprooted and rewritten, condemned to die behind bars so some other guy didn’t have to. I was nothing but a living get-out-of-jail-free card.

It was an understatement to say this entire situation was out of my league. The kind of magic that changed reality was in play here. Mythical stuff, a ritual on a scope I couldn’t begin to wrap my brain around. I was just a street sorcerer with a few nasty tricks.

Cassandra was right. I wasn’t “the chosen one.” I was only a man. A man who still had his wits, two good fists, and a burning desire to demonstrate what happened when people tried to play me. I’d start with handing the Enemy a double defeat: I wasn’t going to die in here, and when I made my exit, Buddy was coming with me.

Then, once I was breathing free air again, Fleiss and I were going to have a nice long chat.

“So,” Kim said softly as he slumped back, his face beaded with sweat, “what now?”

I had to think about that.

“You came in undercover, as a prisoner,” I told him. “What’s your exfiltration strategy? I imagine you’re not going to serve out a full sentence.”

He half smiled. “That’s exactly the plan. My forged jacket was backdated, saying I’ve been in here for three years. My ‘sentence’ is almost up. First thing tomorrow, I walk out of here a free man. Easiest escape ever. That is…assuming.”

“Assuming,” I echoed. I looked down at his knife. I ran the pad of my thumb over the hilt of my own. “Assuming we can work this situation out. Don’t suppose you could just tell her you killed me?”

Kim wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul. “I never lie to a client. Besides, I take a job, I do the job.”

I almost laughed. I’d said pretty much those exact same words to Caitlin when I agreed to pull the heist for Fleiss. I guess I had more in common with Kim than I thought.

“But you can’t do this job,” I said, “not without a very good chance of leaving in a body bag. You don’t want this fight any more than I do. So…could you tell her you tried but never got the chance to seal the deal?”

He thought it over. “I’d…have to return her advance. And it would be bad for my reputation. I’m not known for failure.”

“I’d call that the least-worst choice out of a handful of bad options.”

“Maybe so.” He sighed. “Maybe so. But don’t imagine we have a truce. Once my arm heals, if she sends me after you again—”

“I’ll expect you to try harder,” I said. That put a tired smile on his face. “And I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Fleiss needs me to die behind bars. By the time you’re ready for a rematch, I won’t be behind bars.”

“We’ll see,” he told me. “So how do you want to do this?”

I left first. Backing away, slowly, slipping out of reach before a wounded viper could bite. I didn’t turn my back until my shoulders bumped the bathroom door. I hid my knife in my waistband, then stepped outside.

Brisco, still leaning against the wall, gave me a questioning look.

“He’s gonna come out in a few minutes,” I said. “Let him go. Situation’s defused. He won’t be a problem for anybody.”

He blinked, from me to the door and back again.