Tennessee Night (The 8th Jack Nightingale Novel)

by Stephen Leather

  Another tear crept down the cheek from the left eye.

  ‘Never mind, eh? No use crying over spilled milk. Or blood. Anyway, I’m the bearer of good news. Our little deal. You invested your soul wisely. As promised, Wainwright lost the people that he loves and will blame himself until the day he dies.’

  The woman in the bed smiled and closed her eyes, as if in satisfaction. Then a noise came from her mouth, a pained and wordless grunt, which Proserpine understood perfectly.

  ‘Nightingale? Well, there may be a delay there, I could have uses for him. But a deal’s a deal.’

  Again came the noise from Margaret Romanos’s mouth. And she opened her eyes.

  ‘Yes, I know. The deal is that you would live to dance on Nightingale’s grave. Though obviously you won’t be doing any dancing, will you? You wanted to live to see his death. And you will, Margaret. You will. Let’s see now, Nightingale’s coming up to forty, smokes a lot and gets very little exercise, so I doubt you’ll have to wait more than thirty-five years.’

  There was panic in Margaret’s eyes, and she grunted again.

  ‘Well, maybe not so long as that, he does lead a dangerous life.’

  Again the anguished grunt.

  ‘No, I don’t envy you the wait, not at all. But nothing I can do about that. A deal’s a deal. You should have read the small print.’

  Time folded in on itself again, and Proserpine was gone, leaving nothing but her mocking laugh ringing in Margaret Romanos’s ears.

  CHAPTER 75

  Bonnie Parker sat on the bar stool in the lounge of the Luxor Hotel and took another sip of her beer. Las Vegas had always been one of her favourite cities, she enjoyed the glitz and fake glamour, though she was no gambler, so deciding to spend a few days with the in-laws while collecting Emma had been a no-brainer. The girl was out clothes shopping with her grandmother now, the two hundred dollars she’d been given just about chasing away her righteous indignation at being denied the internet for a whole, ghastly week.

  Parker felt someone settle onto the stool next to her, but didn’t look across.

  ‘Corona for me, please,’ said the voice by her side, and Parker raised her bottle to offer a toast to the mirror behind the bar. ‘Nightingale,’ she said. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Detective Parker,’ said Nightingale. ‘Always a pleasure.’

  ‘What brings you to Vegas, Jack?’

  ‘Catching up with old friends. Is Emma okay?’

  ‘Fine, and out of danger according to your call.’

  ‘You can believe that.’

  ‘Guess I can, there have been no more kids killed themselves since last week. It’s over?’

  ‘It’s over.’

  ‘And what exactly was ‘it’?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I tried to explain. Not sure I believe it. But it’s over, and it won’t be happening again.’

  ‘Good to know. Not that it was ever my case. No homicide involvement. No crime at all in fact. Anyway, I have my hands full when I get back.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, nasty one near St Luke’s Church. Man and wife. Looked like a murder-suicide, but the forensics ain’t right, so we’re looking for a murderer. Seems he may have abducted a kid from the house too.’

  Nightingale nodded.

  ‘Sounds like a bad one.’

  ‘You were in the job, you know there are no good murders, but we’ll find the bastard.’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  Parker took another swallow of beer.

  ‘So, are you done in Tennessee?’

  ‘Seems that way,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Can’t say I’m sorry, Nightingale. You’re a bird of ill-omen.’

  ‘You been waiting to use that line?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Parker. ‘Cop humour. Where to next?’

  ‘Dunno. I’m keeping an open mind.’

  ‘Waiting for the next assignment?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He drained his bottle and slid off his stool. ‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘You know Bonnie, I’m really glad nothing happened to Emma. More than you could know.’

  ‘Wait a minute, Nightingale,’ said Parker. ‘How did you know I was in Vegas?’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t. But even if I did, how did you manage to find me in a city this size?’

  Nightingale smiled and winked at her. ‘Would you believe it was magic?’ He walked away before she could think of a witty retort and she settled for raising the bottle in a silent salute.

  ‘Actually, I probably would,’ she said.