The Devil's Graveyard (42 page)

‘What’s goin’ on here?’ he asked a small Chinese woman sporting a black eye.

‘Mystic Lady. She win thousands of dollars!’ the woman replied.

‘
Mystic Lady?’

‘Yes yes. Mystic Lady.’ The Chinese woman nodded vigorously and pointed at an elderly, grey-haired woman seated at the roulette table. She appeared to be the only person playing, but she had a mountain of chips in front of her, and everyone’s eyes were on her. ‘She see future. Make big wager. Win
huge
!’

Julius threaded his way through the crowd until he was just behind the Mystic Lady person. She had placed a stack of yellow chips on red. The crowd fell silent as the rather depressed-looking croupier spun the wheel. Once it had completed its first full revolution he took a deep breath, nodded at the Mystic Lady and then with a deft flick of his hand, cast the small white ball into the wheel, against the direction of rotation. Julius leaned over her shoulder to watch the outcome. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, so that all that could be heard was the rattling of the ball as it ran round the wheel. Eventually the wheel began to slow and the ball dropped down to nestle in one of the numbered pockets. When the wheel had slowed sufficiently, there were gasps from the watching audience, followed by cheers as the croupier called out wearily, ‘Red, number twelve!’ The ball had settled in the number twelve pocket, which just happened to be red, exactly as the Mystic Lady had predicted.

While the croupier was counting out yet more chips to add to her pile, the old woman turned around on her stool and looked directly at Julius. She stared hard at him for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure what her reasons were for staring, but he decided to break the silence.

‘Congratulations,’ he said, intending to comment politely on her good fortune.

‘Julius?’

It shocked him that she should know his name because he didn’t recall ever having met her before. Maybe she really did have mystical powers and could see the future, as the bruised Chinese woman had suggested.

‘Yeah. How d’ya know my name?’ he asked.

‘
They’re coming for you.
’

‘What? Who?’

‘Them.’ The Mystic Lady nodded at the casino entrance behind Julius. He turned and looked. Four burly men in black suits had come down the stairs from the hotel and were looking around the casino. It was obvious they were members of the security team. They must have seen him on CCTV. He needed to get out before they spotted him in the crowd. He looked back at the Mystic Lady to see if she knew what else was coming his way.

‘What do I do?’ he asked.

‘You’re a James Brown impersonator.’

‘No! Not, what do I
do
. I mean how do I get outta here?’

‘Stairs, elevator. Your choice. And now, if you don’t mind,’ she added primly, ‘I’ve a roulette wheel to play.’ With that, she swivelled on her stool until she was facing the table again.

Julius looked around for an exit. The Mystic Lady was right.
Stairs or elevator
. The four security men were standing just inside the casino’s entrance, itself just a few yards from the foot of the stairs, which ruled that option out. It would have to be the elevator, over on the far wall. He hadn’t been spotted yet, so he began edging his way over to it, trying to keep the people crowding round the roulette table between him and the entrance.

The nearer he got to the elevator, the thinner the crowd and the greater the chance that he’d be seen and recognized. In the end he had to make a break for it, but without drawing attention to himself by
looking
as though he was making a break for it. So he settled for walking at a brisk pace in mincing steps, which probably looked ridiculous, although that was the least of his concerns. When he reached the metal doors, he pressed the button on the wall to call the elevator. He didn’t dare look back to see whether he’d been spotted by the security guards.

The elevator seemed to take an eternity to arrive. He kept pressing the button, muttering
‘
C’mon, c’mon!
’
under his breath. He could hear the machinery churning away behind the wall. It sounded worn out, but eventually the grinding noise came to an end. An extremely loud pinging sound followed, and the metallic-silver doors slid slowly open. Julius darted inside and reached for the keypad on the wall. He pressed the first button that his fingers reached, which was for the tenth floor. Then he stood as close as possible to the side wall to avoid being seen by the four heavies from security.

After what seemed like another eternity, the doors began to close slowly. He felt growing relief with every inch that it moved. He was going to make it. But when the doors were just an inch or two away from meeting the frame, a hand appeared in the gap. A large hand with coarse black hairs covering the back of it. He was doomed. The doors reopened and a large, crop-headed white man wearing a black suit stepped into the elevator.

‘Julius, I assume?’ he said.

Julius didn’t respond. Three other security guards stepped into the elevator with him. The first guy reached over to the keypad and pressed the button for the ground floor. Then he looked down at Julius and smiled.

‘I sure hope you got your bucket and spade with you, pal. We’re takin’ you on a trip out to the desert. Kinda sandy there.’

As the doors slid shut behind the four men, Julius’s heart sank. The guy who had pressed the button for the ground floor put an arm around his shoulder and gripped him tightly, pulling him into the middle of the elevator.

‘Why so down, buddy?’ he asked. His three companions sniggered. Julius contemplated his fate. How in hell, he wondered, was he going to get out of this mess?

The elevator moved smoothly up to the ground floor, issuing its obligatory pinging noise as it reached its destination. The doors slid open and Julius saw a man standing in the corridor right outside. He was facing the elevator with his head bowed. His clothing was dark and he had a hood pulled up over his head, concealing his face. Even so, Julius had no difficulty in recognizing him.

One of the security guards stepped out of the elevator and into a world of trouble. The Bourbon Kid grabbed him and in an instant spun him round and drove his right arm up behind his back. A loud crack followed. Before the guard could make a noise, the Kid spun him back and smashed the heel of his free hand into his captive’s forehead, jolting his neck back sharply.

Another, much louder, crack followed.

The Kid dropped the man’s body to the floor. Then he looked up at the three other guards in the elevator carriage. All their swagger and bravado had evaporated.

‘Anyone else gettin’ off on this floor?’ he asked in his usual unpleasant, grating tone.

Julius watched all three of his captors step back and hold their hands up in surrender. One of them reached forward and began tapping on the buttons to make the doors close.
Pussies.

So the Bourbon Kid was watching his back after all
, Julius thought. He stepped out of the elevator and turned back to face the three surviving security guards.

‘Thanks,’ he said, smiling. ‘That was fun. We should do it again some time.’ The doors closed and the elevator resumed its ascent. Julius turned back to the Bourbon Kid.

‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down. God will reward you for this. You just went halfway to being absolved of your sins.’

The Kid lowered the hood on his jacket, reached out his left hand and grabbed Julius’s face, squeezing his cheeks hard. ‘I ain’t on your side, fuckwad.’

‘Maybe you are and you just don’t know it.’

‘Nope. Pretty dam’ sure I ain’t.’

‘But secretly you wish you were?’

The Kid squeezed Julius’s face even harder, then raised his arm and lifted him off his feet, hauling him away from the elevator doors. The two of them were now in the middle of the corridor, looking at each other eye to eye, although Julius’s feet were about six inches off the ground.

‘Listen, fuckwit,’ said the Kid. ‘I wanna know the exact truth ’bout you and why you wanna win this contest so bad. I’ve seen the zombie muthafuckers that used to be singers hoverin’ around outside, an’ I reckon you know what that’s all about. Where do you fit in? An’ can you
really
beat Judy Garland?’

‘Okay… ’ Julius began. Before he could continue, the Kid raised the index finger on his right hand to silence him.

‘One more thing,’ he said in his gravelly voice. ‘You say one word I don’t think is one hundred per cent true, I’ll break your goddam neck. You think about that ’fore you say anythin’.
One word.’

Julius swallowed hard. He was just about to open his mouth to speak when the elevator made its pinging noise again. He glanced to his left and saw the metal doors opening once more. The three security guards had come straight back down and were about to exit the carriage. Their faces revealed identical looks of shock at the sight of Julius and the Kid still present in the corridor, with the corpse of the fourth guard at their feet. The Kid turned his head slowly to look at them. There was an awkward moment as the three of them stared back, realizing they had come back down a touch too hastily. The one nearest the keypad promptly pressed one of the buttons and the doors slowly closed again.

The Kid turned back to Julius and pulled his face in close. ‘You wanna be in that final, start talkin’.’

Nigel Powell was finally starting to enjoy himself. Emily’s performance of ‘Over The Rainbow’ was even better than the one she had given in the auditions. With the orchestra behind her she excelled, growing in confidence with every word she sang.

There wasn’t an empty seat in the auditorium. No one slipped out to the washrooms. No one sneaked off to the bar for a late drink. No one ducked out for a snatched cigarette. The entire audience remained absolutely silent throughout the song, not wanting to miss – or, worse, spoil – a second of it. Unlike the boisterous performances of the other contestants, which had brought the mass of people to their feet, singing along and dancing in the aisles, this was something to be savoured. Awed, the crowd simply sat and enjoyed the beauty of Emily’s voice. Her elegance and grace shone through in a contest which, in Powell’s view, had been marred by a series of tasteless lapses. Janis Joplin’s swearing, Elvis’s gyrating, Jacko’s song-and-dance nonsense, and Julius’s attempts to have all the other finalists killed, among other things. At last the stage had been graced by someone who had no gimmicks and no angles, just talent.

When the last notes of Emily’s song died away, the audience rose as one and applauded loudly. Cameras flashed, people cheered and whistled, the entire orchestra jumped to their feet crying ‘
Brava! Brava!
’ Even the three members of the judging panel stood up, clapping wildly. To his left and right Nigel saw tears shining on both of his colleagues’ cheeks. If this girl didn’t win, something was wrong.

As, old-fashionedly, Emily curtsied to the audience, Nigel felt a great wave of relief. This would, he hoped, be the last performance of the evening. Julius would by now have been escorted from the hotel by security, soon to be digging his own grave in the Devil’s Graveyard. Happy times indeed.

When the applause finally died down, Emily stood shyly before the judges, who had sat down again, and waited for their assessment. Candy was the first to speak up. Wiping tears from her eyes, she half gulped, half sniffed out the words, finding her breath as best she could.

‘Brilliant! Just
brilliant
! Best performance of the night,’ she gushed tearfully.

Lucinda was equally flattering. ‘A star is born! You were awesome, baby. You couldn’a done more. No one could, you ask me. Congratulations, honey – an’ then some.’

And finally a deathly hush fell all around as Powell took his turn to speak. For once he got to his feet, looked directly at the anxious singer, and said smoothly, ‘Emily. That, my dear, was just incredible. I don’t know of anyone in the world who could have sung that better than you.’ He paused, then added, ‘And I include the late Miss Garland.’