Into the Devil's Underground (29 page)

Emilie couldn’t speak.

“Let’s keep moving.” Nathan’s strong hand closed around hers. Emilie clutched it gratefully.

“Angel’s camp was here.” Nathan cast his light on the crude map he’d made. “Snake’s abandoned camp was here.”

“If Snake’s old camp has someone else in it, he’s not going back,” Ronson said. “He’ll probably start a new one. Safe bet it would be somewhere in the vicinity though. He knows the area.”

The air grew thicker as they moved farther into the darkness. The sound of dripping water gradually faded away. They passed several camps, some spread out and others butting against one another. A few were empty, but most of the inhabitants were home. None had any news of Snake.

“Kinda feels like catacombs,” Chris said. “You know, like the ones filled with old bones underneath Paris?”

“Yeah, except the catacombs have more light, and no one’s living in them,” Nathan said.

“Obviously. No one wants to live with a dead body, no matter how old it is.”

“Not true. In the Philippines, the poor live in the cemeteries. They sleep right on top of the crypts. Eat there too.”

“How the hell you know that?”

“National Geographic,” Nathan said.

“Nerd.”

The narrow tunnel opened up into a wider area. An elaborate camp had been set up along the right side of the channel. Dark vinyl shower curtains were strung on a wire for two makeshift walls. A double bed sat atop heavy wooden pallets balanced on several plastic crates. Two rusting hotel luggage carriers served as a wardrobe, and an old rocking chair was propped up on another wooden pallet. Plastic totes were stacked against the concrete wall. A crudely made wooden shelf housed books and personal items.

“Unbelievable,” Emilie murmured.

Dimly lit by four camping lights, the small area was no larger than three hundred square feet. A woman lay on the bed reading a copy of Cosmopolitan.

She dropped the magazine and grabbed a baseball bat off the nearby shelf. “What do you want?”

“We’re looking for someone.” Nathan held up his badge.

“I ain’t seen them.”

Avery moved closer. The woman jumped off the bed. Pale and thin, she looked like a longtime resident. Emilie’s shock turned to sympathy. How could anyone live this way?

“I didn’t invite you into my home,” she yelled. “Get out of here.”

“Sorry.” Nathan pulled Avery past the boundary set by the curtains. Avery jerked his arm away.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Nathan said. “We’re looking for someone who may be a witness to a violent crime.”

“I ain’t a narc.”

“We’re not asking you to be,” Ronson said. “We’re looking for Snake. He may know a man who attempted to kidnap a woman and is still stalking her. Snake’s not under suspicion. We just need to find out what he knows.”

“Right. I tell you where to find Snake, and you all haul him in. Then I’m the bad guy. Narcing don’t go over good down here.”

“Ma’am, I promise you we have no intention of arresting Snake. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s got information.”

“Can’t help you.”

“Please.” Emilie stepped forward. “I’m the woman they’re trying to help. My stalker is out there. Snake is the only one who can help us. If you know anything, please tell us.”

“You came into the drains to look for Snake?” The woman looked Emilie up and down.

“Yes. Do you know where he is?”

“Your friends gonna keep their promises? No arrests?” She lowered the bat.

“You have my word,” Ronson said.

“What you gonna give me for it?” The woman stuck out a dirty hand.

Nathan dug into his pocket. “Here’s twenty bucks. Now tell us about Snake.”

The woman shoved the twenty into the dingy bra peeking out from underneath her dark tank top. “Saw Snake a few days ago. He’s set up east, farther from the Strip. He likes his privacy.”

“How do we get there?” Avery asked.

“Just follow this tunnel straight east until it forks again. Go right a hundred feet or so. His place is the first one you’ll see.”

“Is he usually around during the day?” Nathan asked.

“He credit hustles at night. Sleeps during the day. Should be there. Don’t tell him you got information from me.”

“We won’t,” Nathan said. “Thank you.”

More camps followed. Some had double beds and blankets hung to separate rooms. Others consisted of nothing more than a cot and a few crates.

“We’re nearly to the mural.” Chris’s voice cut through the smothering silence. “It’s just up here on the left.”

Their flashlights honed in on a beautifully sinister painting of souls at the gates of hell. As Emilie read the inscription above the graffiti, a memory rose through her hazy images of life in New Orleans. “Mémé had an early edition of Danté’s Inferno. The binding was falling apart, and the papers were brittle. She was going to have it restored. She asked Jay about it, and he told her she was crazy. The book was worth more unrestored.”

A flashlight blinded her. “You’re sure it was Jay?” Ronson asked.

Like smoke figures rising from the ashes, the wispy images cleared in her head. She saw Jay sitting at her grandfather’s desk in the shop’s back office, wearing white gloves and thumbing through the book. Emilie sat on the floor playing with a Barbie and enjoying a sucker Jay brought her.

“Absolutely.”

“That’s why he’s obsessed with this place and Danté.” Nathan’s hand rested on her back, warm and reassuring. “He’s tied it all back to Emilie.”

“I don’t get it,” Avery said. “He’s at least twenty years older than her.”

“It’s not unheard of,” Ronson said. “But there’s a piece of his puzzle we don’t have. Not yet. Let’s keep moving.”

Many of the inhabitants lounged outside their living areas on rickety lawn chairs and cinder blocks. Some eyed the group with contempt. Others smiled and waved as though they were sitting on their front porches in a run-of-the-mill suburban neighborhood.

“Ya’ll lost?” asked a skinny man with closely cropped hair and a bottle of Natural Ice beer dangling from his hand.

“Nah, man,” Chris called back. “Thanks.”

Emilie’s breath grew shorter as the darkness and claustrophobia became thicker with every step.

“It’s all right.” Nathan’s hand closed around her elbow. She wanted to burrow into his arms.

“Not too many people go this deep, and we’re armed.”

“It’s not that. I feel like I’m trapped in a box.”

“Think of it as a funhouse,” Chris said. “In a really messed-up carnival.”

They reached the fork. Nathan cautiously led the way right.

“I didn’t think it could get any darker in here,” Chris said. “But I was wrong. It’s pitch black.”

“And quiet,” Nathan answered. “Definitely private.”

“I’m taking my gun out.” Avery’s voice wavered. “I don’t like the way this place feels.”

“Keep it hidden,” Ronson said. “We don’t want to spook him.”

A few yards ahead, a tiny flame fought against the blackness. The small residence came into view. This camp only had a twin bed on pallets and a couple of battered totes on either end. A sleeping bag and pillow were neatly placed on the bed. A metal chair sat next to what looked like a single-drawer filing cabinet. The cabinet served as a table. The camp light was nearly engulfed by the darkness.

“Where is he?” Chris cast his flashlight beam across the dark tunnel. “Light’s on. Surely he’s close.”

“I am,” a gruff voice came from the abyss. “What the hell are cops doing this far into the tunnels?”

“How’d you know we were cops?” Chris asked.

“You’re wearing an LVPD shirt, stupid.”

“You can see that?”

“I’m not blind.”

“But it’s so dark.”

“Person’s eyes adjust. What do you want?”

Emilie bit her lip to keep from begging the voice for help.

“We’re looking for Snake,” Nathan said.

“What for?”

“He’s not in trouble,” Nathan said. “We’re searching for a suspected kidnapper. Snake may have information.”

“He don’t.”

“We don’t believe Snake’s involved,” Nathan said. “He witnessed a conversation in January between Rod Burrell and a strange man. They talked about a tunnel hidden under WestOne Bank. The stranger used the tunnel in the attempted kidnapping of a woman. He’s still stalking her.”

Emilie searched the black drain for any sign of the man. His voice echoed off the walls. All she could see were the meager beams from their flashlights and the infinite darkness surrounding them.

“What’s Snake got to do with it?”

“He’s spent time with the kidnapper,” Ronson said. “We have some questions for him.”

A shuffling sound came from the left. Emilie squinted as a pair of scuffed boots stepped into view.

“Like what?”

“The tunnel under WestOne connected to the drains,” Nathan said. “And the suspect talked to Snake about it. Our guy has been stalking a woman for a long time, and we think he planned to keep her down here. The police know very little about him. We need Snake’s help to save this woman’s life.”

“The woman next to you? The one that’s not a cop?”

“My name’s Emilie Davis.” Her voice fell flat in the concrete chamber.

A man crept into the dim light. He was tall and thin, his muscled arms visible in the cut-off shirt he wore. A bandana held back his shoulder length hair, exposing his tanned face. The lettering on his gray T-shirt was almost all chipped off.

Emilie found herself staring into a weathered face with a gentle smile and curious gray eyes.

“A lady like you has guts to come in here. Guess the least I could do is answer your questions.” He walked to the camp and sat down in the metal chair. “I’m Snake. What do you want to know about the southern gentleman?”

28

“H
OW DID YOU
know he was southern? Burrell didn’t know about his accent.” Emilie dropped Nathan’s hand and stepped forward. He had to admire her courage.

“He slipped every now and then, and he’d ease back into that drawl, ‘specially if he got excited about something. I never mentioned it.” Snake grabbed a five-gallon bucket and turned it upside down. He motioned for Emilie to sit.

“When did you first meet him?” She settled onto the bucket. Nathan stood behind her, his hands on her tense shoulders.

“Couple of weeks after Christmas.”

“What was he doing?” Emilie asked.

“Wandering the tunnel over by the Tropicana. Looked lost.”

“Did you think he was homeless too?”

“Shit,” Chris whispered. Nathan waited for Snake to be offended and shut off all communication.

Snake smiled and reclined in the dilapidated chair. “I’m not homeless, honey. Got a roof over my head and a decent place to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Emilie said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“S’all right. And nah, I didn’t think he was a downtown resident, if you know what I mean. He looked the part, but I wasn’t feelin’ it.”

“What do you mean?” Avery asked.

“When new people move in down here, they’ve got shit with them, extra clothes and stuff. And they got this way ’bout ’em, like you,” he pointed to Emilie. “This place scares ’em at first.”

“And the southern gentleman wasn’t scared?” Emilie asked.

“Nah. Looked more like he was shopping or at some fucked up museum—pardon the language. And he didn’t have jack on him. Just the clothes on his back and fancy shoes. I thought maybe he was another reporter, but those guys never tried to pass themselves off as one of us.”

“Did he give you his name?” Avery asked.

“Jay.”

Emilie gasped. Nathan laid a hand on her arm. “What did you talk about?”

“He said he was new down here and needed someone to show him the ropes. I thought he was full of shit, ‘specially when his accent popped up, but I was curious. He liked to talk about Biblical stuff. Purgatory and all that. Got on my nerves after a while.”

“Did you ever see him leave the tunnels?” Nathan asked. If Snake had seen Creepy coming and going, police might be able to get some idea as to what side of the city he lived on.

“Nah. He was all over the place, exploring.”

Exploring for a place to stash Emilie.
“Did he spend more time in any one area? Or have you happened across a camp that looked like someone was trying to hide it?” Nathan said.

“I stick to my places. It’s hard to hide a camp, ’less you want to deal with even more water. Best to be in the open places.”

“You’re not,” Emilie said. “You’re way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, but I’m on higher ground. And I pay attention to the weather and know when to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Does it flood down here a lot?” Ronson asked.

“Enough to be a pain in the ass. Lucky Vegas don’t get that much rain.”

“Where’s the best place to truly hide?” Nathan tightened his grip around Emilie’s shoulders.

“From the cops?”

“From everyone,” Nathan said.

“Deeper in. In the black areas where no one goes.”

“Isn’t this deep enough?” Avery glanced around and then shivered. Nathan rolled his eyes.

“This ain’t nothing. Go in another fifty feet and it’s like a crypt. Air’s so stale you can hardly breathe. Even I get the bubbleguts down there.”

“Burrell told us you thought the man was after more than money,” Ronson said. “That he talked about a woman.”

Snake shifted, his eyes settling on Emilie. “Now listen, I thought he was off his rocker. Maybe I should have gone to the police, but really, would they have taken me seriously?”

“It’s okay,” Emilie said. “Just tell us what he planned for the woman. Did he talk about a specific place?”

“Naw.” Snake crossed his legs, looking at home on his plastic bucket. “More like how much she was going to love it, how she would understand once he explained it all, that this time things would be right. He gave me the creeps, and I steered clear of him.”

Ronson shifted forward. “He specifically said, ‘this time?’

Snake nodded. “More than once. ‘This time’ll be better. This time will last. This time I’ve got the right one and the right place.” He shuddered, pushing his bandana back and then reaching out to touch Emilie’s arm. “If I’d known he was really gonna try something…”