The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(86)

“As far as the network is concerned, it is coming from him.”

“I think we need to bring in a little backup,” I said.

We didn’t just have the Chicago liaison’s number; thanks to Gary putting a scare into Cesar, we had Gabriel’s number too. He answered his phone with a rapid-fire stream of irritated Spanish.

“Gabriel,” I said, “my name is Daniel Faust. I’m a friend of Jennifer’s. Do not react strongly to anything I say. You may be in danger.”

No answer for a moment. Then he said, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Are you alone?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“We’ve found Jennifer. She’s being held hostage by one of your men. You’ve been betrayed, and it’s possible your own bodyguards are in on it. They’re planning to kill her, and they’re coming for you next.”

A long stretch of silence. I could hear footsteps and faint thumping bass from a distant room.

“Aw, man,” he said as casual as if he were discussing the weather. Still, I could hear his voice tighten. “That…that sucks. Real sorry to hear that.”

“Can we meet, in private? Until this gets sorted out, you can’t trust anybody in your crew.”

“Yeah, that’s a—that’s an interesting proposal you got there. I’d like to hear more.”

“Come to Our Lady of Consolation in half an hour,” I said. “I’ll be in a pew on the right-hand side of the church, alone and unarmed.”

“Yeah, a’ight. Sounds good.”

He hung up the phone.

“Alone and unarmed?” Caitlin frowned at me.

“For all he knows, I’m leading him into a trap. He’d be dumb not to be wary.”

“Well,” she said, “he certainly won’t notice the woman sitting by herself in the back of the church, keeping an eye on you. Let’s go.”

*

I didn’t know why I’d picked Our Lady of Consolation when I needed a spur-of-the-moment meeting spot. It wasn’t odd to hold a low-profile meeting in a church—I’d done it once or twice myself—but that particular church had history for me. That was where I’d met a priest named Alvarez, a man hunted by feral half-demons.

Turned out Father Alvarez, who I risked my neck and my home to protect, was a spy working for the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. I was normally a good judge of character, but that was not one of my shining moments.

Nothing had changed since the last time I set foot inside. Same old weathered and splintered pews, same anemic wreaths and shimmering votive candles in dusty red glass. Desolate, except for an elderly man with a bad comb-over slumped in the last pew, snoring loud as a vacuum cleaner. And Caitlin sitting across from him, waiting patiently, a trapdoor spider.

I took a seat right up front and waited.

I shifted in the pew. Rapped my fingers on my knee. Checked Cesar’s phone for the fiftieth time. I picked up a hymnal and leafed through it, though I wasn’t sure why. There were beautiful words inside, words of comfort and hope, but they weren’t written for me. I felt like a trespasser, so I closed the book and put it back.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gabriel kneel down, cross himself, and slide into the pew behind me. He was hard to miss, built like a linebacker after a three-steak meal, with a sculpted and pencil-thin goatee.

“I know your name,” he said softly, leaning forward in his seat. His voice didn’t match his girth; it was high-pitched, smooth, almost musical. “JJ’s talked about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Says you’re solid, but I dunno. You talked some crazy shit back there. And why’s my caller ID say you’ve got Cesar’s phone?”

“Magic,” I said. “And Cesar’s the one to watch. He stabbed you in the back. He ambushed Jennifer, and once he gets every last bit of info out of her—her grow houses, her bank account codes—he’s going to kill her. Then he’ll be gunning for your head.”

“You got proof?”

I showed him the phone, calling up the texts from the Chicago liaison. Even as I did it, I knew what what his answer would be.

“Pretty flimsy, ese. Doesn’t even say her name. That could be about anyone.”

“Look, this guy he’s texting with? He’s representing Chicago. The mob wants to muscle in on Vegas, and they made Cesar an offer. He’s gonna take his boys and jump ship.”

Gabriel folded his thick arms.

“Anybody can tell a story.”

I was losing him. I needed to take a chance. While he watched, I tapped out a new message, directing it at the Chicago contact.

“After we ice JJ,” I wrote, “might need help taking down Gabriel. Can you lend some firepower?”

The answer came back in thirty seconds.

“We’ll discuss it at the meet. Not on the phone, please.”

Storm clouds brewed behind Gabriel’s eyes as he leaned forward in his pew, reading over my shoulder.

“When’s this all supposed to go down?” he asked.

“Tonight at seven.”

“Hold on.”

He took out his own phone and launched into fast Spanish patter, pausing now and again. Asking questions. And from the way his eyes narrowed, he wasn’t liking the answers.