The Killing Floor Blues (12 page)

They locked us down in the hive while the prison investigators worked to sort out the whole sorry mess. I paced my five feet of freedom, trying to take a maelstrom of worries and turn them into some kind of coherent plan.

Paul’s tattered paperback, Sartre’s
No Exit
, sat abandoned on his bunk.

All I could think about was Jennifer. If Raymundo was telling the truth, her alliance with the Calles had gone off the rails in the worst way. I wouldn’t have believed it—the last time I’d visited their little urban fortress, it looked like a perfect match—but things were different now. Nicky Agnelli had kept the reins of the Vegas underworld in an iron grip for years; now with Nicky on the run, nobody was running the show. No force in nature was deadlier than a power vacuum.

Anything could be happening out on the streets. All I knew was my friend was in trouble, and I wasn’t there to help her.

“Kite coming left!” shouted a voice from the cell next door.

An elaborately folded piece of paper flew through the bars of my cell, with a length of dirty twine strung through a hole in the corner of the packet. Kites were a prison version of a telegram: you could get a message to any cell in the hive with one—eventually. Since the lockdown kites had been flying fast and furious, one passing my cell every five minutes or so. I crouched and picked up the paper, reeling in the line.

The number 248 was scrawled in blue ballpoint on the outside of the fold. I gathered up all the twine—a good ten feet of it—and slid the paper back out through the bars before calling out “Kite coming left!”

Kneeling by the door with the twine in both hands, I gave it a good swing. The paper rustled as it flew, arcing almost out of sight but falling short of its next stop. I swung it back and forth, gathering momentum, and gave it more line this time. Now I felt a quick double tug, letting me know the prisoner on my left had caught the paper. I let go as the length of twine slithered away.

All right
, I told myself,
focus. You can’t do a damn thing if you’re distracted in five different directions. Nothing’s changed. The plan is the plan, which means I still need to figure out how I’m going to open that gate and get my hands on a pair of night-vision goggles
.

I was staring at Paul’s empty bunk when the answer came to me.

Another kite swung through the cell door. I passed it along, then reached under my mattress and slid out the cell phone. The charge was in the deep amber now, twelve percent and dropping. I dialed fast.

“Scrivener’s Nook. Whatcha need?” Corman’s voice was a little touch of home. I wanted to cling to it with everything I had.

“Corman, it’s me. Listen, I don’t know how much time I’ve got left on this phone, but tomorrow’s the big day. I’m going to give you a couple of names; we need a ‘visitor’ for each one of them, and they all need to show up at the prison a little after five p.m. Is that doable?”

“Sure thing, kiddo. What do they have to do when they get there?”

“Not a damn thing. We’ll be taking a little detour on our way to the visitor center. There’s one other thing I need. You’ve got a copy of Bruhn’s
Ruminations on the Spirit
in your private collection, right?”

“Sure. It’s an oldie and a goodie.”

“I need the ritual for creating a Hand of Glory.”

He paused. When he spoke again, I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Kiddo,” he said, “you do know what you need to make one of those, right? I mean, the basic ingredients?”

I looked over at Paul’s empty bunk.

“Yeah. It’s not a problem.”

“If you say so. Sure, I’ve got the info, but how do I get it to you?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “Communications with my lawyer are privileged; the guards can’t even listen in. I don’t need the whole book, just the pertinent pages. If you can copy them and slip them inside a few sheets of legal paperwork, it’ll be easy to smuggle it inside.”

“You’re forgetting one thing. Perkins took a powder, remember? He thinks your girlfriend’s going to skin him alive for losing your trial. He’s no dummy. He’s probably halfway across the world by now.”

“Been thinking about that too. I think we can find a stand-in. You know…the one in Denver.”

Corman let out a grumbling
hrm
. “You sure about that, kiddo? Probably gonna cost you a favor or two.”

“If it gets me out of here, it’s worth it.”

I glanced at the battery indicator. It had dropped another hair-thin notch and the readout had turned stoplight red.

“Gotta go, this phone’s just about dead. I’ll see you, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“We’ll have dinner ready. Anything you want, just name it.”

A parade of gourmet cuisine marched through my mind’s eye. I chuckled. “Y’know what? Honestly, I’d kill for a cheeseburger right now. A thick, medium-rare cheeseburger and Jack Daniels on ice.”

“I’ll fire up the grill. Hey, you be safe out there. We’ll be waiting up for you.”

I cradled the phone in my hands for a while after he hung up, not wanting to let it go. Then one of my neighbors called out, “Kite coming right!” and I hid the phone away, ambling to the bars to pass along another message. This one, though, had my cell number on it.

I carefully unfurled the page. With no staples or tape, kite writers secured their “envelopes” with complex folds that reminded me of origami butterflies.

“
Good news
,” it read, “
heard some guards talking, pissed. Warden said ‘no’ on total lockdown, some peeps got punctured in that scrap but no casualties. We should have some ‘free time’ tomorrow hahaha. Raymundo and his buddies are all in the hole, so stay tight tonight + all is roses. We’ll pour one out for Paul. Cheers from your pals in 431
.”

I grabbed a blue pen from Paul’s tiny desk. Dents and furrows covered the cap, like a beaver had spent a few weeks gnawing on it. I crossed out my cell number on the back of the page and scribbled in
431
.

“
Salutations from 232,
” I wrote under the first message. “
I’m lining up everything we need to arrange a fitting memorial for our fallen friend. I will need a little help from you both in the morning. No worries, I’ll do the heavy lifting. Meanwhile I’ve been assured that well-wishers are coming to the visitor center to express their condolences, just as we’d hoped. All is well. D
.”

I mimicked the elaborate folds as best I could and sent the kite winging on its way back to Westie and Jake.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

Behind bars, time mocks you. You’ll think an hour’s gone by, but then you check the clock and realize your sentence is only five minutes shorter than the last time you looked. It was just me, my boredom, and a litany of fears, sealed behind iron bars painted eggshell white.

Thinking about Paul made me think about Jablonski. I didn’t know Paul well, but I liked the guy. I liked him enough to want that score settled. I wouldn’t endanger our escape plan to take a crack at Jablonski, but if the opportunity came up, I’d seize it.

And if not, I could always find out where he lived and come back in a few months once the heat died down. Pay him a little visit after business hours.

Dinner came on wheeled carts and plastic trays shoved at us through foot-wide horizontal slats in the cell bars. Emerson, the new guy, was on zoo-feeding detail. “Room service?” I asked him as I took my tray. “Sir, there’s been a mistake. I clearly ordered the filet mignon.”

Emerson rolled his eyes. “Funny. I’ve only heard that line thirty times in the last hour.”

“I’ll get some new material,” I told him. I set the tray down on the writing desk and gave it a dubious eye. My final dinner in prison was chipped beef in white gravy—at least I hoped it was chipped beef—a slice of burnt toast, and a ladleful of anemic green peas. I poked an experimental finger into the gravy. Ice cold.

My last dinner behind bars
, I thought.
This time tomorrow, I’ll be in the middle of a prison break
.

Then, freedom. Well, that or we’d all be dead.

No pressure.

*     *     *

Lights-out brought new anxiety. I knew my cell was next on the list for “transfers” to Hive B. Then again, they’d just taken Simms, and according to Jake and Westie, the abductions were always spaced out by days or weeks. Never twice in two nights.

That said, there was a first time for everything.

I tried to relax, but every metallic clang, every footfall on the catwalks, jolted me awake with a fresh rush of tension. Eventually, my body shut down from sheer exhaustion.

A faint whirring woke me up. Like the fluttering of a cockroach’s wings, just beside my ear. The metallic hum dragged me from a dreamless sleep, and my fogged brain tried to place it—

Phone!

I rolled onto my side, digging under the thin mattress and tugging out the phone. It vibrated against my palm as I flipped it open and pinned it between the pillow and my ear to keep the glowing screen out of sight.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Daniel! I just got back. What have they
done
to you?”

Caitlin’s Scottish burr wrapped my heart in rose vines, from the bright red blooms to the prickling thorns. I wanted to sweep her up in my arms and hold her until the death of the world, but that just reminded me that I was trapped here, entombed in iron, separated from everyone I loved. I’d never been so happy to hear her voice. I’d never been so miserable.

“Cait,” I said, my throat suddenly bone dry. “It’s all right. I’ve got a plan—”

“It is
not
all right. It is the
last possible thing
from all right, and everyone who had any part in committing this insult is going to pay grievously for it. Bentley and Corman talked me out of tearing that place down with my bare hands, but I might just change my mind.”

“I’ve got a plan,” I told her again. “I’ll be home tomorrow night, I promise.”

She made a sound halfway between grumbling and purring.

“And then,” she said, “we punish those responsible.”

“Yeah, that might be tricky. I’ll explain when I see you in person. Listen, Caitlin, I lo—”

The phone clicked and went dead. No battery.

“I love you,” I whispered to the piece of dead plastic.

I didn’t try to push away the longing, or the pain. I didn’t try to distract myself from how I felt here: trapped, helpless, angry. I embraced it. Bathed in it and let it fuel me. Tomorrow night, I’d need every last bit of that pain to give me the strength to make it home alive.

Lockdown lifted with the sunrise. Our cage doors rattled open on electric tracks, and shuffling sleepy lines formed for the showers and the cafeteria. The endless tedium of prison life back on its cycle.

Around nine, a guard came to fetch me. “Faust,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “your lawyer’s here.”

Legal consults weren’t held in the visitor center. They got a special venue right next door, in a foursome of glass-walled booths flanking a corridor where a pair of guards lazily strolled back and forth. Clever setup: they could see everything, to watch for contraband or other funny business, but hear nothing.

J.T. Perkins waited for me in booth three, wearing his sharkskin suit and wolfish grin. His hair and his teeth were in a competition to see which could be more perfect. As the guard ushered me into the booth, Perkins shot up from his chair and pumped my hand.

“Mr. Faust,” he said, “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be working with you again.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” I replied.

The guard shut the windowed door behind him, sealing us in. Perkins gestured to the small interview table, and I took the chair on the opposite side.

Perkins sat down. Paper cup of coffee to his left, Louis Vuitton attaché case to his right. He ran his fingertips over the leather like a piano player warming up for an audition. With his back to the glass, the guards couldn’t see his face.

His eyes turned tiger orange.

“So,” Naavarasi said in her own voice, “what do you think? A superb imitation, no?”

I inclined my head. “You are a mistress of your art. None could dispute that. Thank you for coming.”

Her ego properly fed, she smiled. “How could I resist? I would never refuse to help a friend in need. And you are clearly in need. Your face, it’s bruised.”

I touched the skin under my eye and winced. It was still raw from my fight with Simms.

“Welcoming committee,” I told her. “I gave as good as I got. Mostly.”

“And your hair.” She
tsk
ed. “It’s…
stubble
.”

“Free haircut for all new guests. How could I refuse a bargain like that?”

“How were you captured in the first place? To be honest, Daniel, I expected better from you.”

“I’m hoping you can shed some light on that. The Chicago Outfit’s making a play for control of Las Vegas. As part of their opening salvo, they framed me for murder. Seems they’ve got a shape-shifter on their payroll, a rakshasi, like you.” I paused. “Rakshasa? What’s the word if it’s male?”

Her orange eyes flared, as if tiny flames blossomed behind her pupils.

“Impossible,” she said. “I am the last of my kind, the queen of a dead bloodline. Prince Malphas saw to that. And no child of mine would ever bend his knee to a
human
. You were evidently twice deceived.”

“I know what I saw.”

She laughed. “Foolish words from a man who should know better. I am a mistress of illusion, and you trade in tricks. Eyes
do
lie. You know this.”

“I also know that I’m here because I got played by a shape-shifter
you
say doesn’t exist. He walked me right into a police ambush.”

Naavarasi cocked an eyebrow. “And? You had weapons, yes? Why didn’t you just slay your way out, like a warrior should?”

“Because I’m not looking to gun down some poor beat cops who are just doing their jobs.”

“You’re a ruthless man,” she said, shaking her head, “but not ruthless enough.”

I leaned forward. Locking eyes with her.

“Not ruthless enough for
what?
”

“The future holds many possibilities. Why don’t you let me train you, Daniel? Six months in my hands and you’d be a weapon, forged from fire and blood.”

“A weapon in whose hands?”

“Caitlin’s,” she said with a tiny smile. “Of course.”

“I’ll take it under consideration. So. Did you bring something for me?”

“Maybe.”

I had to tread carefully here. Naavarasi had—or at least I hoped she had—the ritual I needed to break free. If I pissed her off enough, she might leave in a huff and ruin the entire escape plan. On the other hand, if I let on how badly I needed those pages…well, the rakshasi queen was hard enough to deal with when she
didn’t
have leverage on me.

“All right,” I said, resting my palms on the table. “Are we negotiating?”

“Well, I did drop everything and fly here in the small hours of the morning, then drive for miles in the desert, just to help you. And I had a lovely conversation with those two older gentlemen—Bentley and Corman, was it?—in which I did my utmost to forget how they insulted me upon our first meeting—”

“You threatened to
eat
them after masquerading as my ex-girlfriend, remember?”

“And? Your point?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Please, continue.”

“My time is valuable, and I don’t see any other means of acquiring what you desire, save through my aid. As such, I think I’m entitled to…five years of service.”

“Are you entitled to make bad jokes? Because that’s the worst one I’ve heard in ages.” I rapped my knuckles on the table. “Five years? Get real. Did you really come all this way just to waste my time?”

“I knew you’d say no, but I thought you might make a counteroffer,” she said. “With, say,
one
year of service?”

“Is that your new offer?”

“That’s my
only
offer.” Her orange eyes darkened. “One year of service in exchange for the ritual. Take it or leave it. Of course, if you leave it, I suppose I’ll be visiting you here for the next few
decades
.”

This was pretty much the worst-case scenario. She had me bent over a barrel, and she knew it. If I said yes and signed on the dotted line, there’d be no wriggling out of the deal. I’d be hers—lock, stock, and barrel—for a year of my life.

What kind of man would I be after a year under Naavarasi’s thumb? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to know. I needed to throw her off-balance, come up with an angle to make her
want
to help me.

“Well,” I said, “I do have an alternative offer in the wings.”

Her brow furrowed. “Alternative?”

“Mm-hm. You aren’t my first visitor. Nadine came to see me.”

“That…
creature
.” Naavarasi scowled. “What did she offer you?”

“A way out. All I have to do is go to work for Prince Malphas. Nadine and Royce are standing by to bust me out of here the second I say yes.”

She leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Oh, Daniel, you should stop trying to outwit me. It can’t be done. You would never accept an arrangement like that. Cross lines in the cold war? Turn against
Caitlin?
You would die first.”

“That was my first reaction too,” I told her. “But then, after a couple of nights in here? Locked in, shivering in a cell in the dark and thinking about spending the rest of my life in this place? That offer gets more and more attractive. Besides, you’re missing something.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You and I both know that you’re smarter than Royce, smarter than Nadine. I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than Malphas.”

That made her smile. “Well…yes, of course I am, but what of it?”

“Any deal I work out with them, I’m pretty sure I can wriggle my way out of. Might take some doing, but I’ll slip free eventually. A deal with
you
is ironclad. Like you said, I couldn’t possibly outwit you.”

“You do have a point.” She steepled her fingers, thinking it through.

“Of course, until I do cut loose, that’s bad news for whatever you’ve got planned. C’mon, Naavarasi. We both know you’re looking to stick a dagger into Malphas’s back. The only reason you haven’t already defected to Prince Sitri’s side is because you’ve got a plan in motion. Do you really want me working for Malphas, sniffing around, poking into things and generally making a mess?”

“You do have an amusing talent for causing chaos,” she said. “It’s more amusing when it’s not directed at
me
. All right. Perhaps one year is an excessive demand. I’m not helping you for free, though. I need a favor to balance the scales.”

“That’s reasonable. What do you have in mind?”

She smiled, and I didn’t like it. “The use of your talents. It’s true, I do have certain wheels in motion. At some point—not now, but soon—I’ll need a particular item. An item which does not belong to me.”

“You want me to steal something,” I said. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the score?”

“You’ll have to allow me a bit of mystery, Daniel. If you knew my target before I was ready to strike, it could be…problematic for me. I assure you, this object is well within your ability to acquire. Do you fear that I’m deceiving you?”

I didn’t fear it so much as
know
it with rock-solid certainty. Naavarasi had a fondness for trickery that bordered on the fetishistic. That said, I’d never known her to blatantly lie. She just chose her words with razor-sharp precision and spoke around the truth. A nasty suspicion occurred to me.

“And this item,” I said, “does it belong to Prince Sitri? Or Caitlin?”

She chuckled. “Clever boy. That would land you in hot water, wouldn’t it? But no. And if it helps to clarify, the item does not belong to any member of the Court of Jade Tears.”

That was one potential snare eliminated. Only a few hundred possibilities to go. It was probably still a trap. Of
course
it was a trap. Even so, I wasn’t seeing a whole lot of alternatives.

“All right,” I said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”