Casino Infernale sh-6

by Simon R. Green

  “One more question,” I said.

  “It’s no use trying to put it off, Drood,” Scott said pityingly. “It’s over! You lost. I never thought to see the legendary Eddie Drood beg and plead for just a little more time, before the inevitable awfulness.”

  “I just wanted to ask,” I said, “whether you’ve informed your lord and master, Franklyn Parris, as to who I really am?”

  “Not yet,” said Scott. “That’s going to be my little surprise at the end of Casino Infernale. My gift to him to ensure my promotion.”

  “That’s all I needed to know,” I said. “Lady! Now!”

  And the Scarlet Lady came roaring forward, blasting out of her parking space just behind Jonathon Scott; sounding her horn loudly as she came charging to the rescue. She swept past Scott, who threw himself to one side, crying out, and ran right over the Jacksons defending the null zone generator. She smashed right through the machine, blowing it to pieces, and then spun around to run over the Jacksons she hadn’t hit the first time. They opened fire on her, and their bullets ricocheted harmlessly from her chassis. They just had time to scream once, before she ran them down and chewed them up under her wheels.

  I drew my Colt Repeater, and carefully shot Scott in the leg. So he couldn’t run. I didn’t want him dead, just yet. He screamed almost hysterically, as though he couldn’t believe such a thing could happen to someone like him, and then he collapsed, clutching at his leg with both hands. He shouldn’t have threatened my Molly. I turned my gun on the nearest Jacksons, and picked them off one by one.

  Their bullets flew past me, but none of them even came close. They had their own problems.

  With the machine destroyed, Molly had her magics back, and she was not in a good mood. She gestured sharply, and all the cars around us exploded. The Jacksons standing among them were caught completely off guard, terrorised by the sudden fiery explosions. Some were killed instantly, others caught fire. Those remaining tried to target Molly, but she was off and moving. Here, there, and everywhere. Popping up between the remaining cars, hitting the Jacksons with energy bolts, shaped curses, and really nasty hexes that made their flesh run away like water. Eventually, she got tired of playing with them, and summoned up a great storm wind that came howling through the underground car park. It ignored me, but picked up the Jacksons and slammed them into walls and ceilings and support pillars. With such force they all blew apart like rotten fruit under a hammer.

  I lowered my gun. There was no one left to shoot at.

  Frankie ran for his life. I ran after him. He really could run, but all the parked cars and blazing wrecks slowed him down. I used my pattern-spotting ability to work out where he was heading before he even knew himself, and then it was easy enough to get myself in just the right place to intercept him. I vaulted over a parked car, landed on him hard, and threw him to the ground.

  We rolled back and forth on the concrete floor. Frankie tried to fight me, but he didn’t really know how. And I’ve been trained. I knocked the breath out of him, and then slammed the back of his head against the hard floor. He stopped struggling. I hauled him back onto his feet, and he stood before me, holding his head with both hands, crying like a child.

  “Where are my parents?” I said.

  I had to slap his face a few times to stop him crying. Anyone else, I would have felt like a bully.

  “Where are my parents?”

  “I don’t know!” said Frankie. “No one knows where they are! I only said they were here to get you to come with me! It was all Scott’s idea!”

  “You betrayed me,” I said. “And Molly. And the family.”

  “They were never my family!” said Frankie. “Never. I’m a Grey Bastard, and I have to make my own way. Please don’t hurt me. I can still be useful to you.”

  “You really think I’d trust you again, after this?” I said. “You’d sell my true identity in a moment. To Franklyn Parris, or the Major Players, or anyone at all, first chance you got. For money, or spite, or just to prove to yourself that you were still your own man.”

  “All right,” said Frankie, drawing himself up with something like wounded dignity. “What are you going to do? Kill me in cold blood? That isn’t you, and you know it.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to kill you in hot blood. For what you would have let happen to me, and Molly.”

  I set the barrel of the Colt Repeater right between his eyes. I really did mean to kill him. I had to think only of what Scott had intended for Molly, and I got sick to my stomach. But in the end, Frankie was right. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t just look into his pleading eyes and execute him. I stepped back, lowered the gun, turned my back on him, and walked away. Frankie laughed at me. And the Scarlet Lady went roaring past me and ran him over. I heard Frankie scream, and then go quiet. I didn’t turn back to look. Just kept walking. After a while, the car came back to join me, idling along at my side.

  “Some shit I just don’t put up with,” said the Scarlet Lady.

  I nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to thank her, but I think she understood.

  * * *

  I rejoined Molly, standing guard over Jonathon Scott. He had his back propped up against a support pillar, sitting in a pool of his own blood, trying to hold his shattered knee-cap together with both hands. Blood pumped between his fingers. His face was pale and beaded with sweat. His eyes were wide and shocked, but his mouth was set in a flat grim line. He was hurt, but not broken. He looked up to see me approaching but he didn’t flinch.

  “Frankie?” said Molly. I shook my head. She nodded, briefly. “Good. Now, what are we going to do with this vicious little shit?”

  “I’m thinking,” I said, staring down at him.

  “You don’t dare kill me,” said Scott, forcing the words past his pain. “The Shadow Bank would declare war on the Droods for such an open insult.”

  “Over one failed mid-management type?” I said. “I don’t think so. Your kind are always going to be expendable in such a big organisation. But you could still be useful to me.”

  He looked up at me then, the beginning of hope in his eyes. “I know things,” he said. “I could tell you all kinds of things. . . .”

  “Yes,” I said. “You will.”

  I looked round at the Scarlet Lady, who’d parked just behind me.

  “Do you know where the nearest Drood field agent is, Lady?”

  “Oh, sure!” said the car.

  “Good,” I said. “Then take this gentleman for a ride. Hand him over to the family and tell them to tear every last secret he has out of him. By all necessary means. Be sure to tell them why . . . and then hurry back here. Our business isn’t over yet.”

  “You got it!” said the Scarlet Lady. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world! You two are so much fun to be around!”

  She opened her back door, and Molly and I picked up Scott and threw him into the back seat. The door slammed shut and the car drove off, with Jonathon Scott screaming soundlessly through the rear window.

  “The Big Game isn’t till eight o’clock this evening,” I said. “We have some time to kill. Fancy a lie-down?”

  “Yeah,” said Molly. “And afterwards, we can have a little nap.”

  “Wicked witch,” I said.

  She laughed. “You love it.”

  “I couldn’t kill Frankie,” I said.

  “Never thought you would,” said Molly. “But I would have. For what they would have done to you.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Poker: It’s Not How You Play the Game; It’s How You Play the Players

  I hate being nervous.

  It doesn’t help, it doesn’t get you anywhere, and it just gets in the way of thinking how to do things properly. As the elevator carried Molly and me up through the hotel to the penthouse floor, I felt more nervous than at any other time on this mission. Because everything I’d done so far, everything I’d been through and endured, had all been leading up to this. The Big Game. My one and only chance to break
the bank at Casino Infernale. If I won, if I pulled this off against all the odds, then I could stop a war, save any number of innocent lives, and strike a blow against an organisation I was learning to despise more and more. And, I could win my soul back.

  But if I lost, if I screwed it up in the final stretch . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. So, of course I couldn’t think about anything else.

  I looked at myself in the mirrored steel wall of the elevator. I thought I looked pretty good in my tuxedo. (Magically restored by Molly to all its former glory.) I looked ready for anything. Because that’s how my family trained me. To be a secret agent, to look just the way I needed to look for any situation. To show a mask and mirror to the world, and never let them see you’re hurting. So I was Eddie Drood, or Shaman Bond, as the situation demanded. Only Molly ever got to see the real me with all my defences down. And even then, only occasionally. Because when you wear a mask long enough, it gets really hard to take it off. The mask becomes your face. I looked at my reflection in the elevator wall and Shaman Bond looked back—shifty and cocky, always looking for an edge. Just the man I needed to be, for the Big Game. So why was I so nervous?

  Eddie, or Shaman, or me?

  Molly stood beside me, up for anything, as always. She looked magnificent in her new ball gown and she knew it. I don’t think she was nervous. I’m not sure Molly is ever nervous. I saw her scared, on Trammell Island, but then, she had reason to be. I knew how to deal with being scared—everything forward and go for your enemy’s throat. Being nervous, being unsure, is different. When you can’t plan your tactics because you don’t know what you’re getting into.

  Luckily, my family’s Sarjeant-at-Arms had a simple answer for nerves: Shut the hell up and soldier.

  I breathed deeply a few times, and made myself concentrate on the matter at hand. I had a lot to think about. All the souls I’d won, that I never really wanted, just so I could take a seat at the table at the Big Game. I had to win, because if I didn’t, everything I’d been through so far had all been for nothing. I glared at my reflection. I could do this. I could. I’d been through worse. But that was when there were just lives on the line, rather than souls. I had no armour this time, no backup, just me and Molly against the world. And I had to smile, despite myself. I’d bet on Molly and me, any time. She squeezed my arm reassuringly, and I smiled at her. I might not have my armour, but I still had her.

  “Do you think anyone knows what’s happened down in the car park?” said Molly.

  “I don’t see how,” I said. “No one in the Big Game should have heard anything. You disappeared all the bodies.”

  “And cleaned up all the bloodstains and stuff.”

  I grinned. “Always said you’d make a good housewife.”

  She punched me lightly in the arm. “I also performed a full mystic sweep, to keep any of the hotel psychics from picking up on what happened. You didn’t even notice, did you? You don’t appreciate me; you really don’t.”

  “Unless the hotel’s got a major league telepath stowed away somewhere,” I said. “This is Casino Infernale, after all.”

  “Second-guessing never gets you anywhere,” Molly said briskly. “Just makes you nervous.”

  “You were the one who was worried whether they were laying a trap for us at the Big Game.”

  “You see? Nerves, worrying, second-guessing. And stop frowning like that; you’ll get lines.”

  “It just bothers me,” I said, “that our standing at the most important Game depends on whether Jonathon Scott was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t told Franklyn Parris who I really am.”

  “He wasn’t lying,” said Molly. “I would have known.”

  “You ready to bet your life on that?”

  “We are, aren’t we?” said Molly, brightly.

  “I will never bet on anything else, ever again, after this,” I said.

  * * *

  The elevator finally slowed to a halt at the penthouse floor. Hopefully, we’d have more luck than the last time we were here, to burgle Parris’ office. The elevator doors slid smoothly open, revealing a corridor packed with heavily armed guards. Molly tensed, and I quickly put a hand on her arm to hold her still. I looked quickly around, but there were no Jackson Fifty-five anywhere. I very slowly and very carefully put my hand inside my jacket, brought out my invitation card, and held it up. Immediately all the guards lowered their guns, just a little. I stepped out of the elevator, doing my best to radiate confidence, and Molly was right there with me, glaring down her nose at everyone else. A small and svelte Japanese lady strode quickly down the corridor towards us, the guards falling swiftly back to get out of her way. She had long black hair, a calm and heavily made-up face, and wore a tight strapless little black dress. It was so still and quiet in the corridor, I could hear the soft tap-tapping of her shoes on the polished floor. She stopped right before us, and bowed to both of us, very politely.

  “Hello and welcome to you both, Shaman Bond and Molly Metcalf,” she said, in a soft breathy voice. “I am Eiko. Head of hotel Security. I am here to escort you to the Big Game.”

  “You know who we are?” I said carefully. “I don’t think we’ve bumped into you before.”

  “I have studied both your files at length, Mr. Bond, Miss Metcalf,” said Eiko. “To make sure I know everything I need to know about you, to protect you more efficiently.”

  “Of course,” I said. “How very reassuring.”

  “Bet my file is bigger than his,” said Molly.

  “Bet mine was more interesting,” I said.

  “I think it best that all bets are saved for the Big Game,” said Eiko, diplomatically.

  She turned and strode quickly back down the corridor, leaving Molly and me to hurry after her. The guards stood well back to let us pass, lining both walls.

  “How long do these affairs usually last?” I said, to the stylised dragon embroidered on the back of Eiko’s dress.

  “They take as long as they take,” said Eiko, not looking round. “Hours . . . days . . . it all depends on the players.”

  “Why all the armed guards?” Molly said pointedly.

  “All for your protection, of course,” said Eiko. “We have had to tighten security recently.”

  “Why?” I said, because it would have seemed off if I hadn’t.

  “It would appear that we have lost contact with the Jackson Fifty-five,” said Eiko, just a bit reluctantly.

  “What? All of them?” said Molly, innocently.

  “So it would appear,” said Eiko, still stubbornly refusing to even look back at us. “Given that they are all clones, it is hard to be sure. Since they are gone, we cannot count them, and therefore we cannot be sure they are all missing. Still, for all of them to be out of contact for so long is . . . disturbing. But you must not worry, I have called in all of my own people to guard all of the players for the duration of the Big Game. And the hotel staff are searching the entire hotel, very thoroughly, from the top down.”

  “Best way,” Molly said solemnly.

  “We are now approaching the designated setting for the Big Game,” said Eiko. “You will pardon me, but before you pass through the door and join your fellow players, you must be scanned.”

  She stopped abruptly, so we had to stop too, to avoid bumping into her. She turned and faced us, and summoned two of her people forward with a sharp wave of her hand. The guards were carrying hand scanners instead of guns, and came just a little closer to Molly and me than I was comfortable with. They didn’t bother frisking us, which was just as well, but they did run their hand scanners over us with great thoroughness, from top to bottom and back again. I studied the scanners carefully, and then raised an inner eyebrow. Given their sheer complexity, and complete unfamiliarity, there was no way they were Earth tech. The scanner covering me made a series of low beeping noises, as though disappointed in me. Eiko smiled coldly.

  “All weapons, and devices of any nature, must be handed over at this point, Mr. Bon
d. No matter how innocent they may be. We will start with the handgun you were seen using earlier at the hotel restaurant. Everything confiscated here will of course be returned to you, after the Big Game.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  I carefully removed my Colt Repeater from its pocket dimension, and handed it over to the guard standing by with an outstretched hand. The man with the scanner ran it over my hip again, and looked at Eiko again as the scanner beeped reprovingly.

  “Pocket dimension,” I said to Eiko. “It sort of floats around my hip. Afraid I can’t remove it; don’t know how.”

  “The room’s mystical null will close it off, for the duration of the Game,” said Eiko.

  I had to empty out all my pockets, one by one. Eiko hesitated over the pack of cards the Armourer had given me. They did look very ordinary. The scanner didn’t react to them at all. Eiko studied the cards carefully, and then raised a painted eyebrow at me.

  “Sentimental value,” I said smoothly. “Had my first big win with those cards. I carry them everywhere with me, for luck. I was told that such lucky charms are permitted. . . .”

  “All gamblers have their superstitions,” said Eiko. “If it was up to me . . . but apparently it isn’t worth the fuss. So yes, Mr. Bond, you may keep your pack of cards. Though of course you will not be permitted to actually play with them.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said, slipping the pack away in an inside jacket pocket.

  The other guard was running his scanner all over Molly, and getting nothing. Eiko gave him a hard look. “Change settings, fool. She is a witch.”

  The guard hastily made corrections to his hand scanner, while I raised another inner eyebrow. It was very rare tech that could detect magical energies. Molly made a point of glaring down her nose at Eiko.

  “I had to leave the tall pointy hat behind. It clashed with the gown. There are no toads in my pockets, no mandrake or mushrooms, and I never was one for the whole broomstick and cat business.”