Vegas Knights (13 page)

  "Your grandmother Mamaci mentioned this drunken jackass to me." Dad pointed at Bill. "I didn't make the connection between the two incidents until now."

  Powi winced and slammed the side of a fist into her own head for saying too much.

  "The second incident was the one that got my attention. Two cocky young magicians storm into Bootleggers like drunks into a church bent on robbing the poorbox. Gaviota tries to have a word with them, and they nearly kill him as they escape."

  Bill smacked me on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Hear that? 'Nearly killed him.' We sound like a couple of bad-asses."

  Dad grabbed Bill by the shoulder of his jacket and threw him into the farthest corner of the backseat. "You think this is some kind of game?" he said. "Gaviota is a stone-cold killer, one of the top enforcers in the city. He does not play well with others. Both of you are lucky you're not dead."

  "I think they know that, Mr Wisdom," Powi said. "Before you got here, I healed a gunshot wound in Jackson's arm."

  That put Dad back on his heels. He stopped snarling at us and put a hand on his chest. He gaped at me. "He shot you?"

  I held up the healed arm. "It was only a flesh wound," I said in a British accent. He didn't laugh. In my own voice, I added, "I'm OK now."

  Dad glanced over our heads at the distant glittering lights of the Strip. "We have to get you out of here," he said. "Immediately."

  Powi started up the car. As the engine leaped to life, I jumped out of the car and stood there on the curb at the edge of the empty lot. My dad stared back at me over the heads of the others.

  "Jackson," he said, "get in the car." He used that stern, threatening voice that every kid knows means your parent is about to lose it entirely.

  "I'm not a little boy. You can't order me around."

  "This is for your own good." He stabbed a finger toward the ground as he spoke. "You have no idea what you've wandered into here."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "Enlighten me."

  "Ah," Bill said. "Now I get it. This is what he came here for."

  "Shut up," Dad and I said in unison. Neither one of us cracked a smile.

  Dad stood there and steamed at me, neither of us saying a word. I wasn't about to crack before he was, and he wasn't going to get me to move until he opened up and told me what was going on.

  It was Powi who finally broke the silence. "Would you two drop the macho bullshit posturing and just talk to each other already?"

  Dad and I stared at her.

  "Mr Wisdom," she said, "your son clearly came all the way out here – and nearly got killed for his troubles – not so he could make some easy money but so he could hunt you down and talk to you. Even if you're a rotten parent, try to act like a decent one and speak with him."

  I laughed at that, but Powi snapped around and cut me off.

  "Jackson, you stubborn jackass, you said you wouldn't leave town until you got what – or who – you really came for. Here he is. Now take care of business so we can get you out of here – before Gaviota and his friends catch up with us and put a quick end to this whole conversation."

  Dad nodded. "I'm game if you are," he said to me.

  I motioned for him to get us started.

  "We have a few minutes," he said. "Gaviota's not coming after you. Not directly. Not yet."

  "How can you be so sure?" asked Bill.

  "Because I'm the one he sent to look for you."

  "You work for him?" I said. I couldn't contain my shock. I knew my dad wasn't any sort of angel, but I didn't figure on him joining the guys with the pitchforks.

  Dad shook his head. "Not even
with
him, really. We both work for the Cabal, though independently."

  Even in the moonlight, I could see Powi shiver at the mention of that word: Cabal.

  "What is that?" I asked. "Some kind of magicians' club?"

  "In a way," said Dad. "It's a collective formed by the most powerful magicians in the nation. It's headquartered here in Las Vegas."

  "It's like the Mafia for magicians," Powi said. "It's a shadowy group of crooks who have their greasy fingerprints on every business in the city, legal or otherwise."

  "The Native Americans don't much care for the Cabal," Dad said by way of explaining the venom tainting Powi's voice. "They've been struggling with each other over the fate of magic in this nation ever since the time of Columbus."

  "No way the Cabal dates back that far," Bill said. "That's over five hundred years of magic."

  Dad glared at Bill as if he were a child who'd declared there was no such thing as air. "I said the Cabal's been battling the Native American magicians for that long. It actually dates much farther back than that, possibly all the way to early Pharaonic cultures in Egypt."

  Bill rolled his eyes at that. I spoke up before my dad could smack him.

  "But why did this Cabal send you out after us?" I asked.

  Dad knew I was trying to distract him, I'm sure, but he went with it. "After you escaped from Bootleggers, Gaviota put out a Code Brat on you. That happens whenever we get some rookie magicians in town. It happens more often than you might think."

  "I don't hear too many Code Brats," said Powi.

  "For one," said Dad, "the Cabal doesn't like to broadcast its business to the Native American contingent in town. For two, the Cabal isn't one big happy family. We have lots of factions, and not all of them are friendly with each other. When a Cabal magician stumbles on a rookie, one of two things usually happens. He either murders the new kid or recruits him."

  "Gaviota tried both with us," I said.

  "A Code Brat only goes out when something's gone perpendicular," Dad said. "Any magician who sends one out is admitting that the rookie is beyond his ability to keep or kill. The Code Brat is an all-hands call for everyone to run down the trouble as fast as possible. Rogue rookies pose a threat to all of us, and we usually take care of them fast."

  "What kind of threat?" I asked.

  "Magic works best in secret, or so the theory goes. The people in charge believe that power shared is power fractured, so they do their best to keep rookies out. They tolerate those with enough talent or savvy to work their way in but they take care of those who break the rules with public displays of actual magic."

  "And what do you mean 'take care of them'?" said Bill.

  Dad gave Bill a deadpan look. "Kill, usually."

  The rest of us absorbed that.

  "You mean that every magician in Las Vegas wants to hunt us down and kill us?" I hoped my voice didn't sound as shaky as I felt.

  "Except the ones at the Thunderbird," said Powi.

  Dad gave me a helpless shrug. "That's the gist. They sent out photos, videos, and copies of your IDs from Bootleggers' records. As soon as I saw Jackson's face, I knew I had to find you first."

  I stared at my dad. His face had softened and aged since the original anger at me had left him. "How'd you manage that?"

  "I'm a diviner," he said. "An information specialist. And you're my son. I can always find you, no matter where you are." He looked at Bill. "You're just lucky you happened to be with him."

  "You're not going to kill us?" said Bill.

  I smacked him on the shoulder. I hadn't even considered that possibility. As a kid, I remember thinking lots of times that my dad was going to kill me over one thing or another, but it had just been a figure of speech. I knew he'd never really do it.

  "I'm getting you out of here right now," he said, "before anyone else can do it."

  "You don't have to do that," Powi said. She turned to Bill and me. "We can take you in at the Thunderbird. We can protect you."

  "No, you can't," said Dad. "Not really. Not if the Cabal decides they're bringing the boys in dead or alive."

  "We've stood up to them for over five hundred years," Powi said.

  Dad snorted. "Did you know there used to be another Thunderbird? Somebody bought it and turned it into El Rancho. It all used to fall under the protection of a magician who ran under the name Prospero. That's gone now too, torn down years ago."

  Powi stuck out her jaw. "We're back now. And stronger."

  "That's because your grandmother struck a truce with the Cabal before you came back to town." He looked at Bill and me. "Some people in the Cabal have been hoping for any sort of excuse to destroy you. This could be it."

  I looked at Bill. "We got to go."

  "Aw, come on," he said, pained beyond decent words. "What about the money?"

  "Give me the chips," said Dad. "Or give them to young Strega here if you trust her more. Either one of us can cash you out in a couple weeks when the heat's off and send you a check."

  "Bill," I said, "we can't let these people go to war over us."

  "If that's all it takes, they'll do it one way or the other anyhow, right?" he said. "It's just a matter of time."

  "If the Cabal is coming for us, then we could use all the help we can get," said Powi. "We can teach you two what you need to know to become real forces in this city."

  "Like you?" Dad shook his head. "You kids are in so far over your heads you're walking on the bottom of the sea."

  He looked at me. The rage he'd started with had drained from him, and his concern for me was all I could see left. "Go back to Ann Arbor," he said. "Or back to New Orleans. Now."

  "But I – we–"

  He gave me a weary smile. "I know. I screwed up. I thought I was protecting you from all this, but all I did was leave the door open for you to wander through alone."

  "I'm right here," Bill said in mock annoyance.

  Dad ignored him. "Go. I'll come find you by the end of the week, and then I'll explain everything."

  I glanced down at Bill and Powi, but I'd already made up my mind. If staying here might spark off a magicians' war, then we had to go.

 
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
 

"Dammit," Bill said as we pulled into the passenger drop-off lane at McCarran. "We just got here."

  "Time to get while the getting's good," I said.

  "It's the middle of the night," he said. "There won't be any planes leaving now."

  "The last flight to DTW leaves at 1:45am," said Powi. "It's only 1am now. You should still be able to make it."

  "Let me guess," Bill said. "You specialize in travel agent magic."

  Powi smiled. I don't know about Bill, but I couldn't be angry at her. "You don't work at a hotel in Vegas and not get a sharp handle on the flight schedules after a while," she said.

  "Thanks," I said as I climbed out of the car and slung my duffel bag over my back once again. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time to chat."

  "Don't think you're getting away that easily," she said. "I wasn't joking when I said we could use your help at the Thunderbird."

  I put up my hands. "The decision's already been made."

  "I understand, and I respect your father – and you – too much to try to change your mind now. But it's a long life. I see our paths crossing again."

  "Are you a diviner too?" I asked. "Some kind of prophet?"

  She shook her head. "Just call it a hunch."

  "Fine," Bill said as he climbed out of the Mini's back seat and hauled his duffel bag after him. "Banter away, you two. I'm just trying to figure out how we can make something decent out of this mess."

  "My dad gave us a thousand dollars in cash, and he said he'd send us the rest of the money in a week or two, as soon as he could manage cashing out all those chips without drawing too much attention." I narrowed my eyes at him. "You really think it came up to twentyfive thousand dollars?"

  "Probably more. You really don't bother to count your money at the table?"

  "All I need to know is if I'm winning or losing. The rest works itself out, I think."

  Bill shook his head at me. "You keep winning the money, and I'll keep counting it."

  Powi pulled out her smartphone. "What's your number?" she said to me.

  I told her, and she punched it in. My pocket began to buzz and rattle off the best bars from the crescendo of Orff's "O Fortuna."

  "Now I've got you," she said with a grin, "and you've got me."

  I couldn't help but smile.

  "Do your best to stay out of trouble, boys." Powi said as she put her car into gear. "A few weeks from now, everyone will have forgotten about this, right?"

  "Not me," I said. I watched her as she pulled away from the curb and raced off into the night.

  "At least not until we get that money from your dad, right?" Bill clapped me on the back, and we trotted into the airport.

  We walked up to the Delta counter and stood in line until we could talk to one of the agents. We explained to her that we had to cut short our trip and wanted to head back home early.

  "Had a hard run at the tables, eh?" she said with a knowing smile.

  "Something like that," I said.

  Before we packed our duffel bags, I pulled a small backpack out of mine. It had my laptop and a few other things in it that I wanted for the flight or didn't trust to the baggage handlers. Bill hadn't bothered with one. I figured he had everything he needed inside that crazy bracelet of his.

  We had to pay a fee to change the flights. I paid for it out of the money Dad had given me. I handed half of what was left to Bill.

  "That's your money," he said. "You won it."

  "We won it. That was always the plan. We go in as a team. We share wins and losses, right?"

  Bill wavered for a bit but stuffed the money in his pocket just the same. "Sure you don't want to go somewhere else for the rest of spring break? Ann Arbor's awful cold this time of year."