The Long Way Down (Daniel Faust #1)(44)
Blending in was easy. Getting in was something else entirely. Red Rock Country Club was a gated community in Summerlin, basking in the shadows of the Spring Mountains. Howard Hughes founded Summerlin and it still bore his thumbprint. The locals could afford the best of everything, and that included the kind of guards who had real training and real firepower.
A cab dropped me off in the Carmichael-Sterling parking lot so I could pick up my car. Thankfully, none of the cambion had come back after the kidnapping to slash my tires. I drove into Summerlin with the morning sun at my back. On the passenger seat, a small beige tote bag concealed the extra goodies I’d brought from home. When I reached Red Rock’s east gate, where a guardhouse kept watch over the manicured road, I took a left and circled the community with one eye on the outer wall.
The problem with security, real and bulletproof security, is that it’s ugly. By way of example, take a look at a supermax prison or better yet, a liquor store in the bad part of town. The rich and beautiful want to feel safe in their homes, but they don’t want to look out through barred windows or ruin their view of the canyon with strings of razor wire. There’s always a compromise between safety and aesthetics, and that compromise is where guys like me wriggle in.
“Perfect,” I murmured as I came back around, now watching the houses on the outlying streets. Mail jutted out from an overstuffed mailbox on one corner, the lawn behind it at least two weeks overgrown and browning in the heat. The neighboring driveways sat empty, their owners probably off at work, nobody keeping a helpful eye on the place. I pulled into the driveway and parked. My car should go unnoticed and unchallenged there until I got back, and it was close enough that I’d have a chance of reaching it should things go wrong. Not a good chance, but better than nothing.
The seven-foot brick wall ringing Red Rock was pretty, but some concertina wire would have made it a lot harder to climb. I took a running jump, grabbing the edge of the hot, rough stone and hauling myself up and over while the toes of my sneakers scrabbled for purchase between the bricks. Landing hard on a manicured lawn, a lance of pain jolting up my shins, I quickly looked around for cameras or bystanders before jogging to the sidewalk and putting on my best impersonation of an innocent taxpayer.
I took it slow on my way to the country club. Heat mirages glistened in the distance over spotless streets. My entire goal was not to be noticed, and being out of breath and soaked with sweat tends to draw attention in polite company. The scenery stole my breath faster than the heat. My gaze lingered over cars I’d only seen on Top Gear, polished to glow in the desert sun and parked in front of three-million-dollar houses.
I couldn’t imagine having that kind of money. I’d always just gotten by, living hand to mouth, trusting my wits and the winds of fortune to provide when cash got tight. It wasn’t the luxury that drew my eye, though, it was the idea of a stable, secure life. Hell, maybe start a family of my own. Grill up burgers in the backyard and play catch with my kids instead of chasing nightmares in the dark.
I felt guilty just for imagining it. You’d f*ck it up just like your old man did. You’re poison and you know it, so drop the daydreams and stay focused on the job.
I walked a little faster. I wanted to get the taste of this place out of my mouth.
The country club was in full swing, members dining on the elevated patio under sun umbrellas or gathering on the rounded drive. Freshly waxed golf carts whirred past me in a tiny parade. I skipped the front doors and walked down a grassy slope to the side of the building, looking for a service entrance. A kid in a short-order cook’s hat leaned against the stucco wall beside an unlabeled door, smoking a cigarette and occasionally glancing at his plastic wristwatch. He gave a start when I walked up, and I held up a calming hand.
“Relax,” I said, “I’m not here to bust you for the smoke. Want to make an easy fifty bucks?”
“Is it illegal?”
“Not at all. I’m just doing a favor for a buddy, and I need a little help.”
I told him what I wanted, and he talked me up to seventy-five. I peeled four twenties from my wallet and told him to keep the change. He let me in through the service entrance, walking me through the back of the Palmer Lounge. A lonely janitor pushed a buffer across the floor in the darkened room.
The kid pointed the way. “Go up the hall, and out on your right. Pull up around back and wait for me to give the signal. If you get caught, I don’t know you, all right?”
“Know who? I was never here.”
I walked briskly down a service hallway, eyes forward, gait strong. The key to walking around places where you’re not supposed to be is to look like you’re too important to be interrupted. Most people are non-confrontational by nature, and if you give them a good reason not to challenge you, they won’t. I pushed through another pair of doors and found myself on the edge of a secluded, fenced parking lot for the club’s golf carts. Numbered keys dangled from a corkboard next to the door. I helped myself.
My stolen cart hummed along the path. I paused within eyesight of the back doors, where small knots of golfers waited for their partners and checked their bags before heading out onto the rolling lawns. The course was gorgeous, a sculpted landscape in vivid green contrasting with the russet mountains in the distance, but I kept my eyes on the people.
Last summer I’d taken on a corporate job, ferreting out an embezzler at a local bank. It was more private-eye work than sorcery, and I’d caught the culprit with the help of a handy little audio bug about the size of my thumbnail. Not quite legal, but I found a company in England happy to sell them so long as you sent a statement on letterhead attesting that you were a police officer. I dipped into my tote bag and pulled out the bug along with a stick of Juicy Fruit. A few seconds later, the tiny marvel was securely affixed to the underside of the cart’s dashboard with a glob of freshly chewed gum, out of sight and ready to work.