The big guy got in beside me and slammed the door shut. Frat boy gave him a gracious nod. “Thanks, Sal.”
Sal crowded me on the backseat. As he nudged in, I could feel the hard edge of the gun under his jacket.
“All right,” the frat boy said, looking through the open window into the driver compartment. “Get rolling. Just cruise around a little while we have our conversation.”
The chauffeur inclined his head, wordless, as the limo pulled away from the curb.
“Daniel Faust,” Sal said with an air of exaggerated formality, “please allow me to introduce Mr. Angelo Mancuso.”
“How polite. How about this one, he got a name?” I asked, looking over at the rakshasa.
“Who, him?” Sal said. “That’s Tony.”
“My name,” the Indian said in a somber voice, “is Kirmira.”
“He still don’t get the joke,” Sal said, grinning at Angelo.
“No,” Angelo said, “no, he does not. Dan—can I call you Dan? My father is a very important man in this town.”
“Great. Throw a parade.”
“We do, every year around Columbus Day. Goes with the whole philanthropy thing. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. Whatever. More to the point, my father also leads a very important organization, a pillar of the community, with roots deep in Chicago’s history.”
I laid my head back against the seat, stifling a groan as the pieces clicked together. “You’re Outfit men. Wonderful.”
Sal snickered. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
“We’ve got a lot in common, you know,” Angelo said. “Chicago built Las Vegas. Sure, the New York families had their hand in, but Vegas wasn’t Vegas ’til the Outfit took charge.”
“There a point behind that history lesson?” I asked.
“Only to establish a certain level of, shall we call it, prior claim?”
“I’m not positive,” I said, “but I think after sixty or seventy years it becomes more of a finders, keepers sort of situation.”
Angelo slapped his knee. “Now, you see? That’s almost exactly what Nicky Agnelli said when Tony here went to extend the hand of friendship. The way we hear it, things aren’t going too well out there. Federal sharks are circling, and there’s plenty of chum in the water. Dangerous times.”
“Let me save you some time here,” I said. “I don’t work for Nicky anymore, and I don’t have one ounce of pull when it comes to how he runs his business. Whatever you want from him, I can’t help you get it.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. And yeah, we know you two are quits. That’s why we’re having this conversation. Nicky’s on his way out. Fact. Maybe the feds take him down, maybe he eats a bullet, but the ‘King of Las Vegas’ is yesterday’s news.”
“We wanted to help the guy out,” Sal said. “Set him up someplace cushy and far away, with beaches and tropical drinks, y’know? In exchange for facilitating a, uh, what do ya call it? Regime change.”
Angelo pointed at Sal. “Regime change. Very good. Classy way of putting it.”
Sal tipped an imaginary hat in Angelo’s direction.
“But Nicky’s got these delusions of grandeur,” Angelo added.
“Can’t argue that,” I said.
“Power abhors a vacuum,” Angelo said. “And there’s gonna be one hell of a vacuum, any day now.”
I stretched out my legs as the limo made a slow left turn.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said, “but nobody ever got rich underestimating Nicky Agnelli. Still don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
“We understand you’re highly placed in a certain…community. Now, my father, he’s averse to working with, ah, what’s the word—”
“Freaks,” Sal said, grinning at me. Kirmira gave him a murderous stare but kept his mouth shut.
“Freaks,” Angelo said, “for lack of a better word, and no insult to current company intended. As you can probably guess, I don’t share my old man’s point of view. Frankly, I’m the traditionalist here. My grandfather, he had a strega from the Old Country, and so did his old man before him. It’s just how business gets done.”
Now it made sense. “And you want our help with this ‘regime change.’”
“Hey, it’s a matter of lead, follow, or get out of the way. Mostly the second two, because the leader job is already taken. Once the Outfit is running things, you and your people are gonna have two choices: you can toe the line and share the wealth, or things can get ugly. It’ll be good times for everybody, Dan. Boom times. Lots of work, lots of money to go around.”
“That’s for the good little freaks who do what they’re told,” Sal chimed in. “Otherwise, y’know, let’s just say we’re not big fans of competition.”
“I don’t know how things are done in Chicago,” I said, “but you wanna know why Nicky Agnelli has held on to power as long as he has?”
Angelo spread his hands. “Enlighten me.”
“We let him. See, we had some friction in the early years, and ultimately it came down to a simple rule of live and let live. We, by which I mean the Vegas occult underground, don’t hit anything or anyone Nicky owns. It’s a strict policy of keeping our hands off Nicky’s toys. In return, he leaves us alone to do our thing.”
I left Jennifer unmentioned. The Jennifer situation was messy, and it stood to get messier with the Chicago mob in the picture. Maybe she’d get a better deal with them than with Nicky, or maybe it’d get a whole lot worse. I wasn’t feeling too optimistic.
“Nicky leaves us alone,” I went on, “because he’s a smart guy. Smart enough to know that he could take one of us out. Any one of us. And then the rest of the underground would crash down on his head like the hammer of God. That’s our style. We’re slow to anger, but very quick to smite. You think you can break Nicky’s throne? Take his place? Fine. Go for it. But expect the same arrangement he had, nothing more.”
“Yeah, see, we’ve got a problem with that,” Angelo said. “Like Sal said, we’re not big fans of competition. You wanna work in one of our towns, you work for us, or you don’t work at all. No rogues, no loose cannons, and everybody pays to play. Oh, and you’re wrong about one more thing.”
“I am? What about?”
“We’re not gonna take Nicky out,” he told me. “You are.”
34.
“Come again?” I said, wobbling a little as the limousine rumbled over a pothole. “I must be going deaf, since I thought I just heard you say something about me taking out Nicky. And that’s crazy talk.”
“Think about it.” Angelo sounded like a used-car salesman. “He trusts you. Not a lot of people get one-on-one face time with the man these days. You could get nice and close, maybe without those fucking creepy bodyguards of his hanging around. Tough guy like you, yeah, you could bring him down.”
“That’s the means and the opportunity,” I said. “I’m waiting to hear my motive.”
“Learn from history. Regime change is a messy thing. If we have to go to the mattresses with Nicky and his crew, it might be over quick but it won’t be clean. And you and your fellow freaks might wanna play Switzerland and stand on the sidelines, but do you really think that’s gonna be an option?”
“Collateral damage is a bitch,” Sal said.
“People get hurt in the crossfire.” Angelo shrugged. “People die. Maybe innocent people. Or hey, maybe people you know.”
Sal dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled photograph. He shoved it in my face, giving me a good look: me and Jennifer, walking out of some taco joint on Charleston Boulevard, taken from a long-range lens.
“Like this broad,” Sal said. “Jennifer Juniper? Now what kind of fuckin’ name is that? She ain’t gonna be no Switzerland, will she?”
“No, hey, good point.” Angelo got wide-eyed, pretending he was just figuring this out. “Yeah, this lady right here, she’s one of Nicky’s top earners. Now, if we have to play this the hard way and muscle our way into Vegas, I’d say i
t’s more likely than not that some of Nicky’s people are gonna get hurt. Wouldn’t you agree, Sal?”
“Inevitable,” he repeated, resting the photograph on my lap. “I mean, we try to be reasonable guys, but accidents do happen.”
I took the photograph. Gave it a long, hard look.
“There’s something else,” I said softly, “something that Nicky understands and you don’t.”
Angelo tilted his head. “Yeah? What’s that?”
I locked eyes with him. I spoke slowly, making sure he heard every word.
“You don’t ever threaten one of my friends.”
Angelo let out a surprised laugh and held up his open palms. “Hey, don’t put words in my mouth, now! I’m not threatening anybody. I’m not a threatening kind of guy. Ask anybody.”
“He’s a teddy bear,” Sal said.
“I’m just talking about actions and consequences,” Angelo explained. “We are taking Vegas, Dan. This is as inevitable as time and tide. And it can happen one of two ways: with a long, drawn-out war and blood on the streets, or with a single bullet at close range. You’re the one man who can fire that bullet. Only you. So if you care about that lady, and all the other people who might end up hurt in the fallout, I think you know what you’ve gotta do.”
“We just wanna be friendly,” Sal said. “And if you don’t wanna be friendly with us, well…we ain’t got much use for you either, do we?”
My deck of cards grew hot in my hip pocket, responding to the anger roiling the pit of my stomach. No fucking way was I playing the triggerman for these scumbags. Nicky and I had bad history, but he’d been a stand-up guy when it came to taking down Lauren Carmichael, and more importantly—with the exception of his little feud with Jennifer—he left my family alone. Angelo had just guaranteed the Outfit wouldn’t. I wasn’t having that.
That said, I didn’t think Angelo would take my refusal kindly. I needed an exit strategy.
I had to figure he was strapped. I knew Sal had a gun—I could feel it bumping up against me, under his jacket, but at this angle there was no chance I could grab it without giving Angelo a shot at me. Then there was sullen Kirmira, looking at all three of us like he was picturing our heads on stakes. If my hunch was right and he was a rakshasa like Naavarasi…well, I’d seen Naavarasi transform into a five-hundred-pound Bengal tiger in the space of a breath. I didn’t want to think about what kind of damage Kirmira could do inside the back of a limousine.
I glanced toward the driver’s compartment. The chauffeur held the wheel steady, rolling up on a big four-way intersection.
“There’s two other ways this could end,” I said casually. Half my mind focused on tapping the threads of my power, stroking the cards in my pocket to eager life.
“How do you figure?” Angelo asked.
“Third option is you back off, forget all about Las Vegas, and learn to be happy with what you have. Personally, I find that focusing on the good things in life is an important part of being a healthy person.”
“That ain’t gonna happen. What else ya got?”
“Well, I could always kill you and your buddies here as an object lesson, along with any member of the Outfit who sets foot in Vegas, along with anyone who even thinks about looking cross-eyed at one of my people. Is your dad a reasonable man, Angelo? I mean, give me a rough estimate. How many bodies will I have to drop before he backs off? Or should I just go straight to the top?”
Sal’s hand eased into his jacket. Angelo’s lips curled as he straightened in his seat. Kirmira didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe.
“You leave my old man out of this,” Angelo whispered.
“Just you, then,” I said. “Fine. Let me bottom-line this for you, Angelo. Chicago is yours. Don’t be greedy. Stay the fuck out of Las Vegas, or I will kill you. There’s not going to be a war. There isn’t even going to be a discussion.”
“Damn right there isn’t,” Angelo snarled. “Sal, shoot this piece of—”
I triggered my spell, a crackle of force lancing down my spine and out across my arm as I flung my hand upward, curling my fingers in a C-shape. The playing cards leaped from my pocket, riffling toward my hand in a steady stream. Instead of catching them, though, I angled my cupped hand and sent them flying. A whirlwind of cards whipped through the limousine, diamonds and spades lashing in all directions, bouncing off the windows, swarming in the men’s faces like clouds of stinging gnats.
Kirmira threw himself over Angelo, pushing him to the floor of the limo and shielding him with his body, while Sal batted at his face and howled as a card winged past and sliced open his cheek. The chauffeur, blinded in the sudden storm, slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel hard to the right.
I tumbled from the bench seat as the limousine crashed into a parked car, a car alarm shrieking over the sound of crumpling metal and breaking glass. I hurled myself against the door, shouldered it open, and rolled out onto the cold, hard street. I clambered to my feet and ran, hearing shouts at my back, bracing for a gunshot.
The bullet never came, though—Sal was smart enough not to open fire on a crowded street, at least not from inside his boss’s car. I veered left, heading up a residential road where old two-story brownstones stood shoulder to shoulder, and ducked down a long side alley.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like aching jelly, steadying myself with one hand against a cold stone wall while I tried to catch my breath. I was pretty sure I’d lost them, but all the same, I figured I should stay out of sight.
Once I could breathe again, I took out my phone.
“Hey,” I said, panting, “next time you find out that a major crime syndicate wants to take over Vegas, maybe let me know before I go to the city where they live? Send me a letter, maybe? Send up some smoke signals?”
“Wait, what?” Nicky said. “The Outfit came after you in Texas?”
“In Chicago, Nicky. Where the job is. The job you set me up for.”
“Hey, I didn’t know that! How could I know that? All I knew was Cameron Drake had a thing, and Drake lives in Texas.”
“Fair enough.” I took a deep gulp of breath, leaning hard against the wall. “But you’re still an asshole. Chicago wants to make a play for our town, and you didn’t think that might be useful information?”
“I’m handling it.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re handling it. You’re handling it so good that the don’s kid just tried hiring me to kill you.”
“Yeah?” Nicky hesitated. “How’d that work out?”
“They didn’t like my counteroffer.”
The line went silent for a moment.
“Gotta ask you something,” he said.
“Is the question ‘Are you really pissed off right now, Dan?’ Because yes. The answer is yes.”
“No, I mean,” he said, hedging, “if they asked you to take me out, they might be asking other people. Locals. Do you think, maybe…”
He left the question unfinished. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a headache coming on.
“Nicky, goddamnit, the second I get back to Vegas you, me, and Jennifer are having a sit-down. This paranoid infighting was bad enough when we only had the feds to worry about, but if Chicago’s serious about muscling in—and believe me, they looked pretty damn serious—we’ve got to work together.”
“She won’t even answer my phone calls.”
“She will if I ask her to,” I said. “I’ll be back in town tomorrow night. Until then, sit tight and don’t do anything.”
I hung up and tried calling Jennifer, but it went straight to her voicemail.
“Hey y’all,” her voice drawled. “Can’t talk now. Leave your digits and I’ll call ya back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Hey,” I said, “it’s me. I’m still on that business trip. Just found out a competing firm is interested in some local Vegas holdings, and they’re contemplating a hostile takeover. Their headhunters definitely have your name, so just be aware they might try to contact
you. I’ll tell you everything in person, tomorrow night. Take care.”
I poked my head out of the alley long enough to jump in a taxi, slinking low in the backseat as we headed for the Four Seasons. Back at the hotel, priority one was gathering everyone in one spot so I could fill them in. I barely got started, though, before I realized the whole room was giving me weird looks.
“What?” I asked, looking around.
Margaux looked over at Bentley and Corman. “Really? You’re gonna make me point it out?”
“I’m just,” Bentley said, “I mean, I don’t even know what you’re—”
“You’ve got a big ol’ hickey on your neck,” Corman said.
Caitlin sat primly and smiled, looking pleased with herself.
35.
The next morning, I woke with the dawn. I’d spent the night restless, couldn’t quiet my brain enough to sleep, but I knew the airplane-sized liquor bottles in the minibar would only leave me groggy and hung over. I needed to be sharp. Sharper than Royce, Nadine, and anything they could throw at us.
Caitlin drifted into the bathroom as I finished shaving. She stood behind me, one hand gently resting on my shoulder.
I’d started noticing, more than usual, her casual little touches.
“Ready for our big day?” she asked.
I splashed on some aftershave that smelled like fresh cedar, running my thumb over my smooth cheek.
“No. But that’s okay. It’s the times when I think I’ve got it made that everything goes sour.”
We gathered everyone together for one last run-through. First, though, I took Pixie aside. She handed me a folded slip of hotel-room notepaper embossed with the Four Seasons logo. The only thing written on it, in neat, tight handwriting, was an address.
“This is it?” I asked. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. I pulled the geotag from the video Damien Ecko sent you. Then I did some local recon to make sure. That’s a warehouse on Printers Row, just off West Harrison Street. That’s where the video was recorded. That’s where Coop is. I pulled the property records, and Ecko owns it under his own name. He doesn’t even try to hide it.”
A Plain-Dealing Villain Page 21
