The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(64)

“Whoa,” Pixie said, reading it over. “So this is legit? Roth really sold his soul? Wait…no. Uh-uh. No f*cking way, Faust. President? Roth is a thug. Do you even read the news? Just last week he voted in favor of—”

I held up my hand. “We’re not going to help him, Pix. We’re just not going to stop him. Not today. It’s a question of priorities. Lauren’s going to become a world-devouring goddess sometime in the next few days. Roth is just going to stink up the Senate for another decade or two and pass some bills you don’t like. Let’s aim higher, huh?”

“I don’t see why we can’t fix both problems,” she said.

“Because,” Caitlin said, “the other signatory on that contract is a very old and very powerful creature who isn’t fond of being meddled with. We can use Roth with the understanding that we do nothing to endanger him, physically or professionally. Whatever you might be considering right now, I can promise you two things. One, it won’t work. Two, you will regret it. Now bottle your hatred and store it in your heart’s pantry for a thirstier day.”

“I don’t…I don’t hate him,” Pixie said, suddenly deflated. She sat in the driver’s seat, not looking back at us. “I don’t hate anybody.”

“I don’t judge,” Caitlin said with a faint smile.

The faded billboard outside Sapphire Skytours, spelling out the name in big puffy cloud letters, screamed “tourist trap.” The place was just a small lot and a couple of outbuildings, with a Big-Bird-yellow, six-seater Bell 407 sitting in the middle of it all like a museum piece. The sky was clear as springwater, but nobody was flying.

We parked and walked over to the management office. The trailer sat up on cinder blocks, and an air conditioner bolted to one fat end whirred like a chainsaw, working overtime against the midday heat. I didn’t bother knocking on the door.

Nicky sat behind the manager’s desk with his Italian loafers up and the stem of a frosted margarita glass in his hand. Juliette leaned against one wall of the trailer and flipped through a celebrity gossip mag while Justine loaded a blender for the next round of drinks.

“Oh, hey,” Nicky said. “Just come right in. Don’t knock or anything. Make yourselves at home.”

“I’ll get more glasses!” Justine said.

Nicky shook his head. “That was sarcasm, babe.”

Juliette squealed and threw her magazine on the floor. She ran over to Pixie like a puppy on a sugar high. “Sis! She’s back she’s back she’s back!”

I stifled a groan. This could get ugly.





Thirty-One



Justine quickly joined her sister. The twins circled Pixie like piranha eager for a bleeding calf.

“We were thinking, after the last time we met,” Juliette said.

“We were thinking about you,” Justine said. “And about our duty to help the less fortunate. Which you clearly are, dressed like that. It’s all right. We’re here now, and your days of shopping in thrift stores—because you’re trying to be ironic, or you’re poor, or both—are over.”

“We’re thinking makeover!” Juliette squealed.

Pixie cocked her left hand into a fist.

“I’m going to give each of you a different black eye,” she said, cool and calm, “so I can tell you apart.”

I looked at Nicky. Nicky sighed and looked at the twins.

“Girls?” he said. “It’s a nice day outside. Why don’t you go get some flight time?”

“Flight time!” they cheered simultaneously. A moment later they were gone, leaving the trailer door swinging in their wake.

I just blinked, staring at the door.

“Nicky?” I said. “That’s a euphemism, right? You don’t actually let them—”

Outside the trailer window, the rotors of the Bell helicopter started to spin.

Nicky sipped his margarita. “I know, weird, right? Turns out they’re actually really good pilots. I bought this place so I could launder money through it, but you should see the reviews we’ve been getting on Yelp. So I’m guessing you didn’t come out here for cocktail hour. What’s up?”

“Your house in Eldorado,” I said, memories of his torture basement fresh on my mind. “Is it clean?”

“Clean as the day it was built, long as nobody goes digging up the backyard. Why? You got someone you wanna take out there?”

“Senator Roth,” Caitlin said.

Nicky arched an eyebrow. “I’d like to take a crack at the guy myself, but ain’t that a little imprudent?”

“He’ll survive,” I said. “We’ve got a plan to get him out of the picture and pave the way for a shot at Lauren. Thing is I need a nice, remote, quiet place to get the job done. A place where nobody’s around to call in a gunshot or two.”

“Fine,” Nicky said.

He rummaged in the desk drawer and took out a small ring of keys.

“Also I need to break a couple of windows,” I said. “And maybe stain the carpets with blood.”

He set the keys down on the desk with his hand over them.

“It’s for verisimilitude,” I told him.

Nicky sighed, looked at the keys, and tossed them over to me.