The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(44)

My last dinner behind bars, I thought. This time tomorrow, I’ll be in the middle of a prison break.

Then, freedom. Well, that or we’d all be dead.

No pressure.

*

Lights-out brought new anxiety. I knew my cell was next on the list for “transfers” to Hive B. Then again, they’d just taken Simms, and according to Jake and Westie, the abductions were always spaced out by days or weeks. Never twice in two nights.

That said, there was a first time for everything.

I tried to relax, but every metallic clang, every footfall on the catwalks, jolted me awake with a fresh rush of tension. Eventually, my body shut down from sheer exhaustion.

A faint whirring woke me up. Like the fluttering of a cockroach’s wings, just beside my ear. The metallic hum dragged me from a dreamless sleep, and my fogged brain tried to place it—

Phone!

I rolled onto my side, digging under the thin mattress and tugging out the phone. It vibrated against my palm as I flipped it open and pinned it between the pillow and my ear to keep the glowing screen out of sight.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Daniel! I just got back. What have they done to you?”

Caitlin’s Scottish burr wrapped my heart in rose vines, from the bright red blooms to the prickling thorns. I wanted to sweep her up in my arms and hold her until the death of the world, but that just reminded me that I was trapped here, entombed in iron, separated from everyone I loved. I’d never been so happy to hear her voice. I’d never been so miserable.

“Cait,” I said, my throat suddenly bone dry. “It’s all right. I’ve got a plan—”

“It is not all right. It is the last possible thing from all right, and everyone who had any part in committing this insult is going to pay grievously for it. Bentley and Corman talked me out of tearing that place down with my bare hands, but I might just change my mind.”

“I’ve got a plan,” I told her again. “I’ll be home tomorrow night, I promise.”

She made a sound halfway between grumbling and purring.

“And then,” she said, “we punish those responsible.”

“Yeah, that might be tricky. I’ll explain when I see you in person. Listen, Caitlin, I lo—”

The phone clicked and went dead. No battery.

“I love you,” I whispered to the piece of dead plastic.

I didn’t try to push away the longing, or the pain. I didn’t try to distract myself from how I felt here: trapped, helpless, angry. I embraced it. Bathed in it and let it fuel me. Tomorrow night, I’d need every last bit of that pain to give me the strength to make it home alive.





23.




Lockdown lifted with the sunrise. Our cage doors rattled open on electric tracks, and shuffling sleepy lines formed for the showers and the cafeteria. The endless tedium of prison life back on its cycle.

Around nine, a guard came to fetch me. “Faust,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “your lawyer’s here.”

Legal consults weren’t held in the visitor center. They got a special venue right next door, in a foursome of glass-walled booths flanking a corridor where a pair of guards lazily strolled back and forth. Clever setup: they could see everything, to watch for contraband or other funny business, but hear nothing.

J.T. Perkins waited for me in booth three, wearing his sharkskin suit and wolfish grin. His hair and his teeth were in a competition to see which could be more perfect. As the guard ushered me into the booth, Perkins shot up from his chair and pumped my hand.

“Mr. Faust,” he said, “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be working with you again.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” I replied.

The guard shut the windowed door behind him, sealing us in. Perkins gestured to the small interview table, and I took the chair on the opposite side.

Perkins sat down. Paper cup of coffee to his left, Louis Vuitton attaché case to his right. He ran his fingertips over the leather like a piano player warming up for an audition. With his back to the glass, the guards couldn’t see his face.

His eyes turned tiger orange.

“So,” Naavarasi said in her own voice, “what do you think? A superb imitation, no?”

I inclined my head. “You are a mistress of your art. None could dispute that. Thank you for coming.”

Her ego properly fed, she smiled. “How could I resist? I would never refuse to help a friend in need. And you are clearly in need. Your face, it’s bruised.”

I touched the skin under my eye and winced. It was still raw from my fight with Simms.

“Welcoming committee,” I told her. “I gave as good as I got. Mostly.”

“And your hair.” She tsked. “It’s…stubble.”

“Free haircut for all new guests. How could I refuse a bargain like that?”

“How were you captured in the first place? To be honest, Daniel, I expected better from you.”

“I’m hoping you can shed some light on that. The Chicago Outfit’s making a play for control of Las Vegas. As part of their opening salvo, they framed me for murder. Seems they’ve got a shape-shifter on their payroll, a rakshasi, like you.” I paused. “Rakshasa? What’s the word if it’s male?”