by Hazel Hunter
“Yes,” Naldo replied calmly.
Matteo looked as if he hadn’t shaved yet and his usually immaculate clothes were rumpled. Late night out.
Naldo indicated the door.
Never taking his eyes off Naldo or lowering his phone, Matteo reached behind him and swatted it closed.
“There’s been a break-in,” Naldo said. “In the theatre.” Matteo lowered the phone. “The props for the magic show were destroyed.”
• • • • •
“What do you mean destroyed?” Natalie cried.
“All of it, my dear,” Conleth said as he gestured at the flooded and debris strewn basement.
“But…”
“Mr. Conleth,” said a policeman. “I’ll need your signature.”
“Hmm?” he said and stared down at the clipboard the man offered him. “Oh, of course, officer. Of course.”
Hands over her heart, Natalie slowly turned in the cavernous underside of the theater stage above. Harsh fluorescent lights cast their green pallor on the wet cement floor. Below them the heavy mechanisms for the trap doors and sliding floor boards cast black shadows. But despite the light, it was plain to see what had happened. Someone had purposely taken a sledge hammer to everything they’d kept here.
The battered plexiglass plates of the water tank, lay askew as though they’d blown apart. The crates with their false backs and hidden compartments had been reduced to pieces no wider than a hand’s breadth. The giant metal dividers used to saw her in half had been cruelly bent at right angles. The legs of the rolling tables and stools had been broken. Ropes had been cut. They’d even smashed the crates from previous shows. The only props left were the ones they’d used for rehearsal and left hanging from the hoist upstairs. Everything else was lost. The destruction had been savage.
Natalie covered her mouth as the surprise and panic turned to sinking sorrow deep in her chest.
Conleth handed the clipboard back to the officer. Under the glare of the overhead lights, their eye sockets were deeply shadowed, like ghouls without eyes in some tragic play.
There was a commotion at the double doors, and Matteo strode through. In moments he had crossed the space directly to her, and she fell into his arms.
“We will find whoever did this,” he said as he wrapped her up in a hug.
Suddenly the enormity of it hit her. Everything they’d worked so hard for—Conleth’s lifetime of props—was gone. Had the perpetrator been trying to discover their secret? Or had it just been jealousy and hatred? Though Natalie’s eyes stung, she let go of Matteo.
How was Conleth even bearing it? He stood several feet away and was accepting something in a plastic bag from a police officer.
“Houdini’s,” Conleth said quietly taking it.
“Oh no,” she breathed, letting Matteo go.
She wiped her eyes and went to Conleth. In the plastic bag was the antique lock. Like everything else in the room, it’d been mangled.
“Bolt cutter,” said the officer.
The lock had once been used by Houdini. Conleth took pride in keeping it in working condition, using it to lock the largest of the crates. In his early career, he’d been a master of locks. Conleth tossed it to the floor.
Natalie quickly bent to pick it up. “We’ll get it repaired.”
But the policeman held out his hand for it. “I’m afraid that’s evidence.”
“Oh,” she said quietly, and handed it over.
Matteo joined them and addressed the officer. “We will have the security camera video within the hour.”
As she stood there with him, it suddenly dawned on her that they were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. If Conleth had noticed, he didn’t indicate it. Even so, Natalie’s face flushed hot.
Naldo appeared at Matteo’s side. “The cleanup crew is on the way, Boss.”
“I want some carpenters and machinists on the phone,” Matteo said. “Immediately.” Naldo made a note on his phone. “Have them contact Conleth.” He turned to the older man, and softened his tone. “Unless you have someone of your own.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Conleth said.
Natalie stood close to him and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t say that,” she said quietly.
“No, my dear,” he said, finally looking at her. “It really doesn’t.”
“But we have to do the show,” she insisted.
“Oh the show will go on,” he said. “Just not here.”
15
THE POLICE MADE Jude nervous, but nothing great was achieved without risk. He hadn’t become a Templar so he could push a mop. The Smith & Wesson tucked in his sweat jacket made the front heavy, tugging it low. But he didn’t dare move it now. Though he waited off to the edge of the side stage, near the giant curtain, there were hotel security people everywhere too.
Besides, he didn’t want to kill anybody. The Wiccans had to be taken alive. It was up to the inquisitors to decide their fate.
There they were! On the other side of the stage, the magician and his assistant were coming up the stairs. They seemed to be alone. Jude moved away from the curtain, checked to either side of him, and strode onto the stage. To keep the gun from thumping his groin, he clutched the show’s flyer in front of him with both hands.
He’d picked it up from a display in the hotel lobby. It showed Conleth the Great, wearing his top hat and staring steely-eyed into the camera. Behind him was a wall of flames. Jude smirked. How like the eternal punishment that waited him and all Wiccans. He slowed down his pace. Without realizing it, he’d almost broken into a run. The further he let them get away from the crowded stage area the better. Then it’d just be a matter of marching them at gunpoint to the parking structure, and into his trunk.
• • • • •
As Matteo watched Natalia and Conleth ascend the last stairs to the stage, he took Naldo aside.
“I want to know what is on that security video,” he said under his breath, “before we hand it over to the police.” He looked Naldo in the eye. “Capisci?”
Naldo glanced sideways at the policeman with the clipboard. “Capisco,” he said.
Matteo nodded. “But now, I need to make sure the old man does not do something foolish.”
“Okay, Boss.”
Matteo mounted the stairs two at a time, only to be brought up short by something shiny thrust in front of his face.
“Not so fast, Mr. Monti,” said a man in a light brown suit.
Matteo checked the police badge in the small black leather folder: Detective Michael Heller. He knew that name. But as he looked at the face behind the badge, he had to suppress his surprise. The man had aged a lot in the last nine years.
Heller was staring too.
“Well, well, well,” said the detective, coming down one more step. “Matteo Monti.”
“Detective,” Matteo said, as he backed up to let someone with a vacuum come down the steps between them.
“I’m surprised,” Heller said. “I really am.” He peered at Matteo and looked him up and down. “And I don’t mean by the way you’ve managed to keep the weight off.”
“Good to see you too.”
In a strange way it was. Though from different worlds and times, he sensed the warrior in Heller. His eyes held the shadowed and wary look that Matteo had only seen in battle-hardened fighters. Though they’d never talked about it, Matteo was sure Heller was a veteran of war.
“I wish I could say the same,” the detective said.
Matteo simply stared back at him. They’d had an agreement nine years ago, and Matteo had clearly broken it.
“I would have thought much more important matters would occupy a detective,” Matteo said, glancing down the stairs. “Breaking and entering doesn’t seem like your speed.”
“We both know why I’m here,” Heller said, his voice as tired as his face. “Now you just need to tell me why you’re here.”
So Natalia wasn’t yet on the police’s radar—not that she was wanted. She had
only been a person of interest in the death of the Magus Corps officer.
“Oh,” Matteo said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I would hardly even say I am here. I will likely be gone before you know it.”
Heller shook his head. “Too late.”
Matteo leaned back against the railing. Heller wasn’t going to arrest him. No judge would issue the warrant, not after nine years. Heller had come on a fishing expedition. If all went as planned, Matteo and Natalia would be gone in two days. They would put Las Vegas behind them for good.
In no hurry, Heller waited him out, tucking his badge back into his coat pocket. The vacuum started down below, its operator sucking up some of the water. The machine screeched and echoed in the cavernous space.
Though he had no appointments, Matteo pointedly looked at his watch. Then he looked at Heller.
Without a word, Heller nodded and continued his descent. Matteo resumed his climb.
• • • • •
“It’ll just take me a minute to change,” Natalie said.
Conleth was moving so fast she almost had to trot to keep up. Though it made no sense, he almost seemed excited about the fact that their act had been destroyed. How he thought they could do it somewhere else, she had no idea. But the fact that he wasn’t completely distraught was a relief—as was the fact he’d chosen not to mention the chinchilla coat she carried.
He paused at the edge of the lobby, just as a slot machine let loose its coins. The small red light on top of the machine began to rotate and blink. The jackpot siren went off. Just as Natalie was about to look away from it she saw a young man in a hoodie approaching. There was nothing remarkable about him, but the fact that he was heading straight for them caught her eye. He had a flyer in his hand.
She leaned close to Conleth’s ear. “It looks like someone wants an autograph,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the siren. She patted his arm. “I’ll be right back.”
Conleth nodded. “I’ll get the truck and see you outside.”
• • • • •
As Jude approached the old man, he forced a smile and held out the flyer.
“Mr. Conleth,” he said, just as his assistant turned and left.
Jude panicked for a moment. Where was she going? He felt the gun thump against him. Had she seen it?
“Yes, my young man,” Conleth said.
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a pen. At least that’s what Jude thought it was. In the next instant, a burst of flames went up where the pen had been. With a yelp, Jude jumped back.
“Apologies!” Conleth said. He held up both hands. “Are you all right, my boy?”
Jude’s face flushed hot. He’d been so focused on getting close, he hadn’t watched the old man.
“I’m fine,” he said. Though his jaw was clenched, he forced another smile. “May I have your autograph?”
“Of course, of course.”
This time Conleth produced a pen. But as Jude handed him the flyer, he realized he’d crumpled the one end in his fist.
“Oh,” said Conleth, looking at it. He looked across the lobby. “There are plenty over there.”
But Jude didn’t look across the lobby. He stood stock still. This man wasn’t a Wiccan. There was no tingling up the spine. No sense of another immortal.
“Allow me,” the man said and headed for the rack of flyers.
Jude scanned the opposite direction and took off at a quick trot. Where had that woman gone?
There she was—passing the registration desk and turning the corner.
“Miss!” he called out, but she didn’t hear him.
The receptionist looked up from her computer. Jude slowed down and gave her a little smile. As she nodded politely, he reached into his sweat jacket pocket. This would have to be quick. He reached the corner, gripping the gun.
There she was, pressing the button for the elevator.
A hot flash zipped up his spine, and he nearly dropped the gun. It was her. She was the Wiccan.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. He pulled the small revolver from his jacket. But as he leaned forward to make a run at her, two men rushed out from the elevator. Jude skid to a stop.
The men were huge, in jeans and Hawaiian shirts. One clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth. The other grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the floor. Together they hauled her to the stairway door, yanked it open, and disappeared behind it.
“What the…”
Jude blinked for a moment as the elevator doors slowly began to close. Then the door to the stairwell closed as well. He rushed forward, gun still in his hand. Silently he grasped the door handle and turned it. He opened the door just a crack. The stairway was empty. Quickly he stepped in, looked up, and all around. They were gone.
16
“MORE GLITTER BALL,” Slokavich yelled over the thrumming music. He pointed at the spinning orb. “More!”
The stripper auditioning underneath it stopped. “What?”
“Keep going,” he yelled.
He pointed at her and motioned for her to take off the top. She smiled as she untied the straps behind her neck.
He sat in a straight back chair which was turned backwards. Elbows on the back and legs thrown wide, his swollen crotch had ample room.
Pyotr came to his side and cupped his hands next to Yuri’s ear. “They’re back.”
Though Yuri kept his eyes on the dancer, he got up and pushed away the chair. As he and Pyotr passed the Spice Club’s manager, he clapped him on the shoulder.
“That one will do,” Yuri said.
Pyotr led the way past the small black stage and through a blue velvet curtain. Down the dark, narrow corridor, they passed the dressing rooms that reeked of sweat and perfume. At the end was the manager’s office. Pyotr pushed the door open and stood aside.
The wood paneled room with its rust colored, threadbare shag carpet was something from the seventies—literally. The brown leather furniture was overstuffed and worn, and the scent of cigar smoke was thick. Yuri’s men had been bending over the long couch, but now they stood up and backed away.
The woman was unconscious.
“Get out,” he told them and yanked his thumb at the door.
They ought to know better. No touching the merchandise. They better not have hurt her. That was for him.
“Wait outside,” Pyotr said behind him and closed the door. “Wow,” he said, as he joined Yuri at the couch. “This is her?”
Yuri sat down next to the woman. “Natalia Trucco,” he confirmed.
What was it that was different about these kinds of girls? The body? The face? The dancers had more curves, fuller mouths, and more makeup, but even unconscious this one was a vision. For several moments there was only silence as he Pyotr both stared. She lay so still. Yuri put a finger to her jugular. Her heartbeat was fine. He let his fingers skim the smooth skin of her neck.
“How long will she be out?” Yuri asked.
“Maybe another half hour.”
He opened the fur coat a bit wider and smiled. “Nice dress,” he murmured.
He slid his hand into the dip at its front. She’d look a lot nicer without it.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pyotr said. “You’re poking the bear.”
Yuri stopped and turned to his second. “I don’t pay you to think, stupid.” Behind him on the desk was the video camera. “Is that ready?”
“It’s ready.”
Yuri turned back to the woman. Not as shapely as the girls out front, and yet… Aware that Pyotr was watching him, he clenched his jaw. Fine. There would always be time later.
“Get her in the chair,” he told Pyotr. “We’ll start with the finger.”
• • • • •
As he strode to Natalia’s door and removed the master key, Matteo nodded at the guard.
“Is she inside?” he asked, reaching for the handle.
“No, Mr. Monti,” the big man said. Though he�
�d stood with his back to the wall, hands clasped in front of his belt, now he turned. “The last time I saw her was when she left with you.” He glanced at the closed door and then back at Matteo. “Last night.”
“What?” Matteo said, and opened the door.
When she’d left with Conleth he assumed she’d come here to change. But as he moved through the suite’s living room and bedroom, it was clearly empty. Fresh lilacs were everywhere, and the bed was made. It hardly looked lived in.
Where had she gone? He stood still gripping the card key. Or maybe the question was where had they gone. Conleth had said the show would go on somewhere else. Had he said where?
Matteo shook his head. That didn’t feel right. Something in his gut started to twist. She wouldn’t have left, not even with Conleth, without saying something.
“Where have you stashed her?” said someone from the doorway. Conleth was peering around the guard, who stood just inside.
Matteo frowned as his gut twisted tighter. “I was about to knock on your door and ask the same thing.”
Conleth stepped inside and glanced around. “She’s not here?”
“No,” Matteo said, his voice tight. “When did you last see her?”
Conleth’s eyebrows went up. “In the lobby,” he said and looked at his watch. “Thirty-five minutes ago.” He looked around the suite again. “She said she wanted to change. I’ve been waiting in the truck.”
“And you have not seen her?” Matteo asked the guard.
The man shook his big head. “No, sir. Definitely not. My shift doesn’t end for two hours, and I’ve been here the whole time.”
Something was wrong. Matteo remembered Alistair’s bloody face and the basement with the destroyed props.
“Security video,” he muttered.
He barreled past the guard and Conleth, who barely got out of the way in time.
