The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(85)

The party broke up after that. There wasn’t anything left to say, and putting Meadow Brand on the payroll had left a bad taste in everybody’s mouths. Bentley followed me to the door.

“Daniel—” he started to say.

“I know.” I reached out, gently, and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. We were all close to Spengler, but Sophia was special to you and Corman. You’ve got more reason than anyone to want Meadow dead for what she’s done. I wish there was another way. I just need you to trust me right now.”

“There are times when I disagree with you,” he said, “and times when I worry about you, but I always trust you. Just tell me one thing and make an old man happy.”

“What’s that?” I said.

His pale eyes were grave.

“In the end,” he said, “will all debts be paid?”

I squeezed his shoulder and gave him a nod.

I should have felt more confident than I did. With Senator Roth and Meadow Brand in my hip pocket, I’d turned two of Lauren’s strongest allies into turncoats. I had the inside line on her movements and a plan in play to cut her off at the knees.

Still, I couldn’t shake this creeping feeling of doom, like everything was about to go horribly wrong.

? ? ?

The next morning I woke up in a suite at the Medici, swamped under too many covers and too many pillows and nursing a tequila hangover. I vaguely remembered feeling like I’d relied on Bentley and Corman’s hospitality a little too often lately. Caitlin’s bed was out—she was slated to make contingency plans and drive all night, getting ready for Case Exodus. I was better off alone for the night, anyway. After bringing in Meadow Brand, I wasn’t sure if anyone wanted me around.

Somewhere along the line I’d ended up on the Strip, barhopping from casino to casino and soaking up the night all alone. Details got a little hazy from there. Getting drunk and splurging what little cash I had left on a fancy hotel room was half bad move, half comfortable old habit.

My phone vibrated on the end table, demanding my attention. Its purple face glowed. I picked it up and mumbled something close to a greeting.

“Showtime, twinkle-toes,” Meadow Brand said. “Hope you packed your tap shoes.”

I shot upright, tossing the sheets aside. A bucket of ice water and a pot of double espresso wouldn’t have woken me up as fast.

“When?”

“Tonight,” she said. “I’m supposed to show up around seven. Fireworks kick off at nine, followed shortly thereafter by the end of the world. The Washington Post is calling it, ‘Do not miss, a real humdinger of a show.’”

“I need to make some phone calls and line up all the dominoes. Come meet me at the Medici as soon as you can.”

“Love their buffet,” she said. “What room?”

I looked around the suite, helpless. “I’m…not sure. Just call from the lobby when you get here. I’ll come down.”

I made four calls in quick succession. Jennifer, Senator Roth, Nicky Agnelli, and Special Agent Harmony Black. Everybody had a part to play, some more willing than others, some more clued-in than others. Caitlin was the last name on my list.

“It’s going down tonight,” I said when she picked up. “Nine o’clock.”

I could hear her breathe.

“I’m out at the Silk Ranch,” she said, pensive. “It’s hours back to the city and I’ve still got work to do here, but if I leave right now—”

“No,” I told her. “Like you said, you’ve got work to do. We both do. It’s okay. Keep at it.”

“I wanted to see you before you went in there,” she said. “I wanted…”

Her voice trailed off, but I knew where she was headed.

“If you were about to say ‘just in case,’” I told her, “forget it. You’re stuck with me, remember? Lauren won’t take me alive. Which means win or lose, I’m gonna see you tonight.”

It almost sounded good, putting it that way. Then I remembered that one of those two outcomes ended with the Earth burning, humanity extinct, and me in hell.

“Hey,” I said, “tell you what. You know that little pizza place you like, the one at the Metropolitan?”

“What about it?” she said.

“How do you feel about a late dinner? Say, midnight, tonight. I’ll meet you there.”

“Are you asking me out on a date right now?” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

“Damn right.”

“Then I’ll see you there, at the stroke of midnight. Don’t stand me up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By six o’clock I’d spent the day running from one side of town to the other. I’d done everything I could do to prepare. I had a couple of hours before the fight of my life and nothing but time on my hands.

I ended up at Tiki Pete’s, a shabby little strip-mall restaurant a few blocks away from all the action. I felt a weird flash of nostalgia as I walked through the door. Once I sat down in a vinyl-cushioned booth, glanced over the laminated menu, and ordered a mai tai, I realized why. This was where I’d met with Jud Pankow, the old farmer from Minnesota who wanted help getting payback for his granddaughter’s murder. That was the job that led me to Caitlin, and then to Lauren Carmichael.