Redemption Song (26 page)

Whatever he expected when he stumbled through his apartment door, it probably wasn’t me. It definitely wasn’t me sitting on his couch and drinking a glass of his whiskey.

• • •

“Sorry,” I said, holding up the glass. “I’ve been waiting for a couple of hours. You can’t really blame me for making myself at home.”

Gary stood with his back to the door, sliding deadbolts into place with one trembling, fumbling hand.

“You can’t be here,” he stammered. “You have to leave. Right now.”

“Why? One of your buddies from the Redemption Choir coming over? Or maybe one of Lauren’s errand boys? Or somebody from the precinct—hell, it’s hard keeping all your bosses straight these days, isn’t it? I don’t know how you do it, I really don’t.”

“If this is about the garage—”

“Oh,” I said, setting down my glass on the end table and rising to my feet. “You bet your ass it is.”

He held up his open hands and stepped to the right, edging his way around the cluttered living room. I mirrored him, stalking slow like a panther.

“I didn’t know!” he said. “I had no idea Sullivan was going to be there! How could I? Harmony asked Lars and me to act as backup for your meeting, and she didn’t even know what you wanted to meet with her about. How could I have tipped off Sullivan if I didn’t know anything in the first place?”

“You did know there was going to be a meet-up. Maybe that was enough.”

He shook his head. “No way. Not with Harmony in the line of fire. I’m a cop, Faust. I would never do that to another badge.”

Thing was, I believed him. I remembered the surprise on his face, the look of panic as he ran up on Sullivan and his boys in the parking garage. He hadn’t planned for company.

No, he wasn’t the one who betrayed me. I had a pretty good idea who did, but I had a special plan for settling that particular score. It’d keep, for now.

“Let’s pretend I believe you,” I said, keeping him on the defensive. “You’ve been a ghost since this morning, and I bet you weren’t filling out paperwork at the precinct. What’s going down in Redemption land?”

“Sullivan’s got Lars, and Lars has a creepy dead guy in his brain.”

“I was there for that part. Now tell me something I don’t know.”

“Sullivan left town,” Gary said. “See, he’s been bringing the Choir over in tiny numbers, one or two at a time. Big clumps of cambion moving together are like a magnet for trouble. The Night-Blooming Flowers pick up on it from a hundred miles away. Small and slow is safer for everybody. After the massacre this morning, though, he can’t afford to wait. Lost too many good hands in that garage. He’s got a bus. He’s bringing everybody to Vegas.”

“How many is everybody?”

“Another fifteen guys, maybe. Most of them good with a piece. A couple of magicians, maybe another couple of bomb-throwers. These are the old guard, Faust. The Redemption Choir’s one percent. Hard as fuckin’ nails, ready and willing to die for the cause.”

Bad news. I answered him with a careless shrug, playing it stoic, but the idea of that many whacked-out halfbloods in my town spelled trouble for everybody.

“They might get their chance,” I said. “So what’s the plan? He’s just going to drive across the Midwest, loading up his big happy bus?”

Gary shook his head. “Word went out through the underground. Everybody’s gathering in Denver. Sullivan’s going to swing in, scoop everyone up, and roll back here at top speed.”

“What if the Flowers get in the way?”

“Let ’em try. Sullivan’s not stopping for anything or anyone. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have to be subtle anymore. Vegas is the Choir’s new home.”

I thought back to the discussion I’d had with Caitlin about “Pinfeather,” the Flowers’ supposed elite operative. So far, the dominoes were falling just like Pinfeather would have wanted. Sullivan was pulling out all the stops, rolling his elite guard right into Prince Sitri’s haven.

“Nobody’s going to stop them,” I said, putting it together.

Gary furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Nobody’s going to stop them, because this has been orchestrated since the beginning. The whole crusade to purge the cambion back east was a scam. Oh, it happened—maybe some token executions to get the cambion scared and angry—but this was the
real
endgame: to con Sullivan into bringing his whole merry brigade out west, where they’d be out of the Flowers’ hair and making all kinds of trouble for the Court of Jade Tears. It’s a political gambit. And a damn smart one.”

And I played right into it
, I thought. I pressed Sullivan into a corner and forced him to step up his timetable.

“Yeah, well,” Gary said. “I’m not any happier than you are about it. I thought I was out and done with those guys a long time ago.”

“Can’t outrun your sins, Gary. Trust me. I know. So is Lars with him?”

Gary grabbed a dirty glass from the kitchen and poured himself four fingers of whiskey. He tossed back a swallow, leaning against the wall, and let out a deep breath.

“Hell no. He—not Lars, the asshole using his body—started ranting about cutting up kids for Satan’s glory or something, and Sullivan nearly beat the crap out of him. Made it pretty clear that if the guy wasn’t a useful bargaining chip, he’d be back in hell so fast it’d make his head spin. He’s got Lars stashed under lock and key until he gets back.”

“Where?”

“You know the Honeydew? It’s a no-tell motel that rents by the hour, and the management has a permanent case of cash-induced amnesia. Lars is in room seven. Sullivan left a few guys behind to watch the place and make sure he doesn’t leave.”

That was the first good news I’d heard all day. I kept a poker face, though.

“What about Lauren?”

“I called in,” he said. “Second she found out Sullivan has what she wants, she hung up on me. Presumably to get in touch with him direct.”

“They’ll meet when he gets back, then. When’s that gonna be?”

Gary shrugged. “Not long. I figure Sullivan will be here sometime in the morning, assuming the drive back from Denver doesn’t turn into a scene from
The Road Warrior
.”

It wouldn’t. The Flowers might make a token show at chasing them, enough to keep Sullivan from getting suspicious, but they’d be all too happy to send their biggest headache right into Prince Sitri’s lap.

“That’s all for now,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Gary shook his head. “No. No, this has to stop. First Lauren and Sullivan, then Harmony, and now you trying to pull my strings too? I can’t do this anymore, Faust. I can’t remember what lie I told to who at this point. I’m gonna fuck up, and I’m gonna get killed.”

“Like I told you. There’s only one person in the world you need to make happy. Me. Now be a good boy and drink your dinner. I’ll call you when I need you.”

I turned and moved for the door. My hand was almost on the knob when I heard the sound. That distinctive slither of chrome against leather.

Gary’s shape hovered in the glossy-framed Denver Broncos poster on the wall by the door. I could see the smudge of a pistol in his reflection’s grip, aimed right at my back.

“I’m pretty good at reading people,” I said calmly, not turning around. “Figuring out their motivations. What makes them tick.”

He didn’t say anything. I could almost hear him breathe.

“You’re thinking, right about now,” I said, “that I’m the straw that’s breaking the camel’s back. That if you took me out of the picture, your life would be a whole lot simpler and safer. I don’t blame you for that. If I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But I’m going to ask you a question, Gary. Just one question.”

Still no reply. I imagined his finger curling around the trigger, a gentle squeeze from doomsday.

“Gary, you know my name. And you’ve read Harmony’s file on me. The crime scene reports. The speculation and the rumors. You’ve seen the pictures of the bodies. Or what’s left of them. Do you believe what’s in that file, Gary?”

His voice was almost too soft to hear. “I do,” he whispered. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“Good. Then I want to ask you another question. You’ll get one shot, Gary, just one shot…so what do you think will happen if it doesn’t kill me?”

His reflection’s arm wavered, then dropped limply to his side.

I let myself out.

Thirty-Four

I
wanted a hot shower and a cool pillow, but neither one was in my immediate future. Sullivan hitting the road had given me a window of opportunity I’d never have again. Sleep would wait.

I drove out to the Honeydew Motel, killing the Barracuda’s headlights as I rumbled into the parking lot. The place was a dump, lousy with rusted-out pickup trucks and mismatched lawn furniture on the concrete patio. I didn’t imagine many tourists came out this way, but if you needed a place to cook meth or stash a hostage, they were open for business.

I backed into a parking spot so I could sit low and give the motel a good once-over. One of the street lamps closest to the facade was busted. Another cast its sickly yellow finger across curtained windows and dusty doors, leaving me just enough light to see by.

An old man with white whiskers and a stained T-shirt sat on a folding chair by the manager’s office. He was halfway through a six-pack of Coors and contemplating the moon. I didn’t figure him for a threat. The hard-eyed skinhead pacing the sidewalk, though, was another story. I let my eyes slip out of focus, calling up my second sight. Now the kid had glowing yellow veins of demon blood to go with his muscles.

I looked over to room seven’s window. A faint light glowed behind the curtains. Gary had made it sound like Sullivan left more than one guard on duty. Were the others holed up in there with Lars, or had they gotten tired and knocked off for the night? Only one way to find out.

I made a phone call. When the other end picked up, I said one word.

“Now.”

I hung up and swapped the phone for my gun.

I didn’t like my chances in a fair fight with the cambion out front, so I didn’t give him one. I got out of the car and ambled toward the manager’s office, making like a weary traveler looking for a place to rest his head. As soon as the skinhead reached the edge of his stroll and turned around, I charged him. He heard my running footsteps and turned just in time to get the barrel of my gun jabbed under his chin. I shoved him backward, hard, sending him stumbling into the wall.

“You stay cool, you live,” I hissed. “You fight, you die.”

He nodded, wide-eyed. The nod bumped his chin against the barrel of the gun.

“How many?”

I didn’t have to specify. He stammered, “Just me.”

“Just you. Nobody in the room?”

“With him? No way, man. Nobody wants to be alone with that freak. There were a couple of other guys here, but they went to get some sleep. It’s just me for another couple of hours.”

“Not a fan of Sullivan’s new buddy, huh?”

“He’s nobody’s buddy,” the cambion said, his pale lips twisting into a scowl. “That guy’s pure evil, man. That’s not what we’re about. Sullivan’s using him as some kind of collateral. I don’t know the details. My job’s just to babysit him and make sure he doesn’t get a chance to hurt anybody.”

“Then it’s your lucky night. Making sure he doesn’t get to hurt anybody is exactly what I’m here to do.”

His eyes flicked downward, toward my gun hand. “What are you gonna do, shoot him? He’s a ghost, man. He’ll just jump into somebody else’s body.”

“I’ve got something a little more effective in mind. Now you’ve got a choice to make. You gonna try to stop me, or are you gonna go and get yourself a late dinner so you can be far, far away when this goes down?”

“I promised Sullivan I wouldn’t leave my post. I
promised
.”

I jabbed him with the gun barrel, hard enough to make my point.

“You can walk away, or I can shoot you dead,” I told him. “Either way, same ultimate outcome. Only difference is whether or not you’ll be alive when the sun comes up. You think Sullivan would want you to die for nothing?”

He shook his head, as much as he dared to. “N-no.”

“Then make the smart play. Take a walk.”

I eased off enough to let him slowly slip to one side, backing away from me. He paused for a heartbeat, and I could see him working up the courage to go for the gun. Then the moment passed. He took a couple of long steps backward.

“Keep walking,” I said. “In about five minutes, you are
not
gonna want to be here. Trust me on this.”

I watched him go, long enough to make sure he wasn’t thinking about doubling back and becoming a dead hero. Then I went and listened at the door of room seven. A light was on, I could see it through the water-stained curtains, but Gilles’s room was silent as the grave.

Shock and awe was working well for me tonight. I decided to double down and try the same trick twice. I knocked firmly on the door, then put my thumb over the peephole. The Judge rested in my opposite hand, aimed at gut level. I heard shuffling feet, a long pause, and the rattle of the security chain.

I planned to jump Gilles the second the door opened, rushing in and forcing him to the floor at gunpoint. Funny thing about plans is how they fall apart without warning. The door swung inward, and the next thing I saw was the blur of Gilles’s hand clamping down on my wrist. He hauled me in, twisting as he used my momentum against me, and I went flying over the huge Norwegian’s shoulder. The motel room floor wasn’t much more than a quarter-inch of cigarette-burned carpet over cement and I hit the ground hard, landing on my back and elbow.

Lars’s possessed body loomed over me with an amused smirk on his lips. He tossed my gun onto the bedspread. I clambered to my feet, trying to scramble backward, and he responded by lashing out with the sole of his boot. I went down again, gasping for breath and clutching my stomach.

“I fought in the Hundred Years War, stripling!” he said with a giddy laugh. “I’ve sliced and squeezed the lifeblood from men of ten times your valor, and I didn’t have a body like this to do it with. When you dare to face a Knight of Hell, you’d best have an army at your back.”