Hellbent (24 page)

“Ill Manner? That’s not quite—”

“It’s on Wire Street.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing out the vowel. “Clever.” Ian took the phone and lightly ran his hands over the buttons. “I’ll call tonight.” Then, to change the subject, “Has your coffee gone as cold as mine?”

“At least.”

“Then let’s bus our table and go home. I want to give this some thought before I actually get Max on the phone.”

“Gotta psych yourself up for it?”

“Something like that,” he said, meaning he’d take a bottle of wine and go sit up on the roof by himself for a while, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him.

If he wanted company, he’d ask.

For some reason, the kids were out when we returned. God
only knew what they did on their own time, and since it was pretty much all their own time when they were out of my sight, I suppose I should say instead that I have no idea what their lives were like when I wasn’t present. Probably they were out getting ice cream at the IHOP, or for all I knew they hit the town to beat up hookers. As long as they weren’t in my hair or in jail, I didn’t worry about it.

The place seemed weirdly quiet with them gone, and with Ian upstairs on the roof, keeping to himself for this last hour before dawn. Pita was curled up underneath the television, in the cabinet next to the Wii—which apparently kept him warm, or at least mushed up in the preferred fashion of kittens everywhere.

I should’ve copied Ian and taken a bottle of booze and a bubble bath or something, but I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Crazy, right? I lived alone for eighty years, more often than not, and now having ten minutes of silence made me want to wander around looking for someone to talk to.

How quickly routines can be upended.

I thought about pestering Adrian, just to see if he wanted to go out and do something, but then I remembered he was probably at work—and even if he wasn’t, he’d no doubt had his fill of my company for a while. Besides, he was making a stink about coming to Atlanta with me, so we’d be traveling together again soon enough.

Horace, then.

Before I dialed, I potted around in the kitchen long enough to grab a wineglass and the bottle of whatever Ian hadn’t taken with him to the roof. It was white, and bubbly. Why did I buy it again? Damned if I can remember. But it was better than nothing, so I toted it over to the couch in the main living area, kicked off my shoes, sipped at the bubbles, and called Horace.

The phone rang once. Horace picked it up, and before I could say “hello” he began, “There you are, woman. I was just thinking about you. But goddamn—do you know what time it is?”

“Yes. But I’m tired of playing phone tag, and I thought I might catch you now.”

“That’s fine, and I’m glad. I know where Creed’s going.”

I reclined and sipped, obnoxiously pleased to have landed in a familiar sort of conversation. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. She’s headed back to her old stomping grounds.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“Houston. As in, ‘Houston, you’re about to have a problem. Her name is Creed.’ ”

“I see. Is this a guess on your part, or—”

“It’s an
educated
guess,” he insisted. “I’ve been tracking her west to east, and she’s on a beeline for the Johnson Space Center. And as if her general trajectory isn’t evidence enough, NASA is holding some big fat event there tomorrow night.”

“Wait a minute. I thought she worked in Florida, at the Kennedy Space Center?”

“She
did
,” he confirmed. “But she also worked out of Houston for a few months here and there. More to the point, her old boss—a guy named, or at least
called
Buck Penny—is getting some big service medal as part of a banquet event. Black tie and everything. I bet you a million dollars she’s planning to crash it.”

“Wait another minute. The guy’s name is Buck Penny?”

“Really? That’s what you’re hung up on—some asshole’s wacky name, not the million-dollar bet?”

I laughed into the phone. “Buck Penny? You’re shitting me.”

“Ray—”

“Okay, okay.” I calmed myself, wiped my nose with the back
of my hand, because a few bubbles had shot up it when I laughed, and continued. “The majestic Buck Penny is getting honored in Houston and you think Creed is going to make a scene.”

“I’m almost positive of it.”

“Is he the guy who fired her?” I asked.

“What an excellent guesser you are. Yes, he’s the one who signed off on her paperwork, basically throwing her out without the pension or the safety nets.”

“Harsh.”

“She knowingly lied, and he caught her. She forged documents, impersonated someone else, and hid her potentially dangerous mental illness from her bosses. He was well within his rights to eighty-six her.”

I knew Horace was correct, but it still felt wrong. Or more likely, I was still feeling an uncomfortable measure of kinship with this fellow fucked-up bitch. “Sure, I get it,” I told him. “And if I were her, I’d be pissed off at Mr. Penny, too.”

“Excellent. I’ll arrange to get you a pass for the banquet.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes I’m serious!” he blustered. “You always ask me that, and I’m always serious! I’ll get you inside, and you’ll get me my bacula with no excuses this time. I’m putting you in the same room with her, not sending you out to a town and asking you to look around. This should be a
slam dunk
, Raylene.”

“You are jinxing the mission with every word out of your mouth. And anyway, I’m sort of tied up in … some other work right now. Did you say it’s tomorrow night? I don’t know if I’ll be able to squeeze it in.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. This is easy money, and I want it. And I am even willing to share it with
you
!”

“How generous, considering you’re asking me to do all the work of collecting it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“If it were that easy, you’d go and get it yourself, so let’s not kid each other.” I rubbed at the spot between my eyebrows, like it could make this headache go away. “I don’t know, Horace. It’ll be tight. I’m supposed to go to Atlanta.” Assuming that Max and Ian were having a productive phone call right now, upstairs on the roof.

“Go to Houston first. Come on, it’s practically on the way!”

“Your grasp of geography is appalling.”

“So’s my love of money, and this is more money than you can refuse, woman. This is set-you-up-for-life money, even on commission. And you’ve been burning through a lot of dough in the last year.”

“My finances aren’t any business of yours.”

“Go get it, Ray. She won’t be in Houston forever, and with every stunt she pulls, she burns up part of your commission. Does that light a fire under your ass?”

It didn’t. Not when stupid vampire politics were threatening to kill my Ian. I simply could not muster any enthusiasm, even as I recognized how helpful the money would be. I might need money like that, if all this blew up in my face. Nothing covers tracks better than cash.

I took a deep breath, did the math, and cringed at the thought of how close this was going to be. But I said, “Fine. I’ll go to Houston. I’ll go intercept Creed at the black-tie event. But I need one more thing from you first.”

“And that would be …?”

“Get me two passes for the banquet. I’m bringing a date.”

“What?”

I didn’t give him the whole scoop, but I told him enough to get him off my case. “Get me two passes for the banquet, because I’m bringing the drag queen with me. It’s like I told you, we have business
in Atlanta. There’s no sense in doubling back to Seattle once I’m halfway there.”

“Fine. All right. Two passes. I can get you digital invites, but you’ll have to print them out and bring them with you.”

“Works for me,” I said.

“You’re always so fucking difficult.”

“I know. Just keep thinking about those petrified peens and all the money they’ll bring you. That’ll keep your mind off my difficultness.”

“Whatever,” he concluded, and hung up.

I hung up, too, a shit-eating grin on my face. Yes, he’s
that
much fun to rile up.

I chewed on my lip for a minute, and made a decision. I called Adrian’s cell, and when he didn’t answer I left him a voice mail that was short, sweet, and to the point.

“Hey, sexy thing, you and me are flying to Houston, and then on to Atlanta once I wrap up this thing for Horace. Be here at sunset and bring a black-tie-appropriate suit, or eat my dust.”

A
drian was already hanging out in my living room when I got up the next night, on the very razor’s edge of sunset. At his side, he had a small rolling suitcase that was packed to bursting; a zip-up garment bag was slung over one arm. He was tapping one foot impatiently as I emerged from my bedroom.

“Are we doing this, or what? When does our plane leave?” he asked, beginning the trip with demands—and that didn’t bode well, but I wasn’t awake enough yet to start messing with him.

I squinted at the DVD player’s digital clock. “It leaves in another couple of hours. Hold your horses; we have plenty of time.” We had plenty of time to make the plane, anyway. I wasn’t half so confident about our arrival in Texas, but we’d have to cross that bridge when we got to it.

Ian had spent the rest of yesterday’s evening upstairs, on the phone or whatever—and I still didn’t know what he and Max had talked about, or even if he’d actually, successfully reached his “brother.” We hadn’t had a chance to regroup and share. I was just looking around for him when I realized that he was already there in the living area, only I hadn’t seen him at first. The big loud Cuban dude had commanded all my attention, drat him.

My roommate and fellow vampire said, “I don’t know how you always find flights so quickly.”

“You can get anything on the Internet. There are a couple of websites devoted to last-minute and standby stuff. It’s usually not a problem.”

“We’re going first class, aren’t we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we are,” I told Adrian. “I don’t do coach, and neither does my date.”

Ian’s ears perked, and his face set into a carefully neutral mask. “Your what?”

“My date. Adrian and I are hitting up a black-tie gala, something over at the Johnson Space Center, before we dash off to Atlanta. Which we are totally doing as soon as possible, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t worry until you told me not to. The space center … is this regarding the magician with the bacula?”

“Look at you, using the right word and everything.” I went back into my bedroom to withdraw one roller case that was almost too big to count as carry-on. “And all this time, I’ve been trying to come up with new puns.”

“A waste of energy, when the proper term is odd enough.”

“Fine, you pedantic old fart, you,” I teased. Then I told Adrian, “Make yourself at home. I’ll take a quick shower and get dressed.” I could’ve cornered Ian and asked for a recap, but now didn’t feel like the time—or maybe I was stalling, because I was afraid maybe he’d struck some bargain behind my back.

But surely, if he’d done something like that, he’d stop me before I had a chance to go charging into Atlanta, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t let me fling myself headlong into that kind of danger, not when all his protestations about leaving had been presented under the guise of keeping me out of danger.

This is what I told myself as I avoided him, while making loud declarations about my plans. If I didn’t give him the opportunity to stop me from heading to Georgia, he wouldn’t sneak out in the middle of the night to get himself killed in California.

A roundabout set of conclusions, I’ll grant you. But sticking my head in the sand was all I could do, so I stuck to it and made a show of busily readying myself to scoot out the door. I’d already packed—even a nice red Chanel dress that now officially qualified as “vintage,” though I’d bought it new ages before—so after my shower, all I really had to do was throw on the nearest, easiest clothes. And slip-on boots, because fuck airport security, that’s why.

I was ready to go in fifteen minutes, during which time Adrian had called a cab and it was waiting for us downstairs. We could’ve driven and left the car at the airport—but if he wanted a cab, that was fine with me. Besides, parking at SeaTac is nothing short of extortion. So in retrospect, good on Adrian for thinking of it, especially since we expected to be gone for several days at the very least.

I told Ian good-bye. He gave me a quick kiss that was sweet and warm, and it made me want to stay. But I burbled something about Atlanta again—drilling that point home. “Don’t you go anywhere until I get back,” I added. “You promise?”

“Ray—”

“Promise me, or I will freak out.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Promise. Say you’ll stay put, and say it now or so help me God—”

“All right, all right. I promise.”

Quickly, without giving him time to go into any detail, I asked, “Did you talk to Max?”

“I talked to Max, yes. Your seneschal papers ought to be in your inbox, if his bargains can be trusted.”

“Thank you, and please—be patient. Just for another couple of nights. If I can’t fix everything by then, we can talk some more. But first, be patient.”

“I already promised, Ray.”

He kissed me again, and it was a little faster—a good-bye kiss, the kind you give someone you’re trying to shove out the door. But I was glad to have it anyway, because I’d take any reassurance I could get.

Adrian watched all this with an eyebrow up and a still-tapping foot, but he could fucking wait, that was my thought on the matter.

I grabbed my case and jerked it toward my “date,” who rolled his eyes and clearly was thinking something about me being weird and pathetic. And I didn’t have to exercise any psychic powers to figure that out.

As for me and Adrian, our trip to the airport and subsequent flight to Houston were uneventful except for some truly god-awful turbulence that had my companion seeing green and excusing himself for the tin can of a restroom as soon as the seat-belt light flicked off, the poor dear.

I tried to stay cool despite the fact that the flight was a long one, and I always find long flights troublesome. Long flights, especially long flights that begin at ten in the evening, mean a somewhat narrow window of opportunity when it comes to getting indoors before sunrise. Usually this leads to a world of nervous fretting on my part, but something about having Adrian present
calmed me down. I’m not sure why. It’s not as if I could fillet him and use him for a sleeping bag.