The Long Way Down (Daniel Faust #1)(27)

The contract could have come from any courtroom in the country, though this one appealed to a very different set of laws. I flipped through it, nodding. Bound for eternity in the name of the thirteen forgotten martyrs, witnessed by the emissary of the Lucifuge, oath of dire perdition for any who might sunder these chains, etcetera, etcetera.

“Signed in blood,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Nice touch.”

“You can’t do this.” Carl glowered. “You can’t let him take her!”

Artie slid the shoe over to him. “I’m not losing. Now deal for us.”

I stood in the middle of a three-way crossfire. If I lost this hand, it was all over. Artie would figure out my “snuff movie” was a scam, and either he’d kill me or he’d order Caitlin to do it. Meanwhile, Carl looked like he wanted to put a bullet in both of our heads. This ride was out of control with no happy ending in sight.

My heart sank at the smile on Artie’s face. Our last round was a straight-up showdown, no room for tricks or bluffs, best hand wins. I had a literal ace up my sleeve, but with all three of them watching me like hungry hawks I had no way to get at it. I was going to die from a simple twist of bad luck. That, and sticking my neck out.

Caitlin sauntered over to the table, stroking Carl’s shoulder like a lover as she leaned down to whisper in Artie’s ear.

“Break him, Master,” she purred, punctuating her words with a flick of her tongue against his earlobe, “or let me do it for you.”

He turned his head, startled, while Carl stared at them like a jealous lover. It was all I needed. I slipped the ace from my watchband, palming a worthless card in its place. I pretended to rub my neck and dropped the spare card down the back of my shirt.

“I think we’re done here,” Artie said with a smile, laying down a gleaming span of cherry-red diamonds. A queen-high flush. Good hand.

“Agreed,” I said, showing him three sevens and two beautiful little aces. Full house.

That’s when everything went wrong.

Carl’s pistol cleared his holster in a heartbeat, the barrel aimed right between my eyes. His grip was as shaky as his sanity, but at this range he’d blow my brains all over the shag carpet without even trying.

“You can’t have her!” he shouted, spittle flecking the table felt. I squeezed the arms of my chair, trying to keep my cool with the gun barrel hovering inches from my face.

“Easy pal,” I said. “I’m not the one you should be aiming that piece at. Your friend sold you out.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, his gaze wavering between me and Artie.

“Stacy Pankow. You think it’s a coincidence I’m here tonight?”

“Who the f*ck is Stacy Pankow?” Carl said.

“You knew her as Stacie Velour. You know, the girl whose body you dumped in the storm tunnels? The murder you covered up? You’re an accessory.”

“He can’t prove anything,” Artie stammered.

“He offered me a trade,” I said, “yesterday, before you showed up. My movie for his. I turned him down because I needed the cash, but man, did it sound juicy.”

“What movie?” Carl said, looking at his partner in crime. “What’s he talking about?”

I rested my hands on the table. “The video of him murdering Stacy. What, you didn’t know? You didn’t know he kept a souvenir?”

“He’s lying!” Artie said, but the gun wavered in Carl’s grip.

“Am I? Am I lying about the DVD in your safe? The one that pins you with a murder rap? Think about it, detective. He goes down, you go down with him. You know what happens to cops who get sent to Ely Prison? It’s not pretty.”

That was a lot of hunches, and if I was wrong on a single one of them, I was good as dead. I didn’t even know for a fact that Artie had a safe in his office, except I knew he’d be keeping Caitlin’s contract somewhere out of harm’s way and it was a likely bet.

“Tell him,” I said, “tell him to open his safe. Make him open it.”

Artie glared. “Carl, will you please shoot this son of a bitch? If you don’t have the balls, give me the gun and let me do it.”

“I think,” Carl said after a moment’s thought, “I would like to see your safe now.”

He marched us into Artie’s office, but he kept the gun trained on me, giving me a jab in the back with the barrel. Artie went behind his desk, opening a polished birch cabinet to reveal the gunmetal-black face of a small safe.

“This is stupid,” he said, looking back at Carl. “You are about to feel really, truly stupid—”

“Open it.”

I held my breath as Artie keyed in the combination. Tumblers clanked and the door swung wide to reveal…nothing. A few loose papers. A thin stack of cash. A passport. I’d gotten it wrong. There was no recording, not here.

“I’m sorry,” Artie said with a sneer, “you were expecting something different? Now waste this *!”

“Gentlemen,” I said, brandishing the white casino chip I’d enchanted that morning, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. They paused, uncertain.

“The fifth rule of magic, and my personal favorite: always make a dramatic exit.”

I flipped the chip in the air. It spun end over end, slowing as it reached the top of its arc, and exploded.