Grimm Awakening (11 page)

Lucien remained skeptical on that count, but he chose to keep that to himself--for now. “Okay. So tell me more about that. What kind of help?”

Andy applied the glowing cigarette lighter to the end of his smoke and puffed it to life. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine. He’ll help us.”

“This friend have a name?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“You mind sharing it with me?”

Andy smiled. “The man’s name is Bugsy Siegel.” He blew a stream of smoke out the open window, then looked at Lucien. “You might have heard of him.”

“I know the name. Isn’t he dead?”

Andy nodded. “Technically, yes.”

They rode in silence for another mile. Lucien snorted. “You enigmatic son of a bitch.”

Andy laughed.

6.

“So, how does it feel to be a murderer?”

Jack grunted. “I wish you hadn’t killed the girl, but if you’re thinking you’re gonna successfully guilt-trip me about it, you’re thinking with your head up your shapely ass.”

“Such bravado.” Mona smiled. “Such a manly man with your crude talk. You’re pathetic. It was within your power to keep that girl alive and you decided not to exercise that power. You may not have wielded the actual weapon, but you
did
kill her, Jack. Murder by proxy, you could call it.”

“I’ll call it no such thing, you arrogant cunt.”

Mona rolled her eyes. “Again with the c-word. Anyone ever tell you it’s inappropriate to speak that way in the presence of a lady?”

Jack laughed so hard he almost choked on a swallow of scotch. He set the glass on the table and coughed. “Anyone ever tell you it’s inappropriate to cut a teenager’s throat? Or that, hot though you are, you’d look better hanging from a noose? Because both those things are true, you know.”

Mona shook her head. “I’d forgotten how annoying you can be. Perhaps we should restrain you again, maybe in one of the many intricate torture devices in the dungeon beneath the Maverick. You’ll wish you were still naked and cuffed to my bed. While you’re not busy screaming, that is.”

Jack bit back the reflexive wisecrack that came to mind. He was in no hurry to be bound to anything again. After his failure to divulge his secrets with the girl’s life on the line, Mona had decided to switch tactics. Under the supervision of the hooded behemoths--who looked like steroid freaks, or refugees from the wrestling circuit, or both--Jack had been freed from his restraints and allowed to clean up and put his clothes on. Mona disappeared for a time and returned clad in tight leather pants, black boots with stiletto heels, and a black top. And now they were sitting here like any other pair of adults, bantering over drinks and admiring the city skyline from the balcony table. The hooded freaks stood with their arms crossed a respectful distance from the table (but close enough to intercede should Jack try anything foolish).

He forced a smile. “No need for that. I’ll try to be more civil. Well, within reason. A guy can only get to a certain level of civility with a person who means to kill him.”

Mona rolled the rim of her martini glass between the fingers of her elegant, bejeweled hands. She smiled. “I told you--”

Jack cut her off with an impatient wave. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. All I have to do is spill my guts and I can live forever as your slave and a servant of hell.”

“I’m offering you immortality.”

“Yeah, in exchange for my immortal soul.”

Mona shrugged. “And how much do you imagine a soul is really worth, Jack?”

“A lot more than you could ever offer.”

She laughed. “You say that with such conviction. I have a feeling I may yet be able to tempt you.” She slid down some in her chair and extended a leg beneath the table. The sole of one of her boots insinuated itself against his crotch. “You have a rich history of giving in to temptation, after all.”

“Gee, I made a mistake.”

Mona pursed her lips. “What would that be?”

“I overestimated your creativity.” Jack downed the rest of the scotch and refilled his glass from the bottle at the center of the table. He raised the glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to you and your stunted imagination. The first thing you tried was seduction. When that failed, you moved on to torture. Then you tried a nasty bit of emotional blackmail with that girl. At that point, you were doing pretty well. I was kind of worried about what the next step might be. But, surprise, you went right back to square one, seduction, only this time coupled with the added wrinkle of a slightly restored level of dignity. I said it before and I think it bears repeating--you’re really kind of boring the shit out of me.”

Mona laughed. “You think I can’t sense how frightened you really are?”

Jack sipped some of the Johnny Walker. “Oh, I’m frightened. What guy wouldn’t be when facing what’s probably the last night of his life? But fear I can handle. I don’t want to die, not anymore, but if that’s the price I have to pay to earn my ticket out of damnation, then so be it.”

Mona’s foot came away from Jack’s crotch as she sat up straighter in her chair. She braced her elbows on the edge of the table and peered at Jack over the rim of her glass. “Fear’s one thing, Jack. But think about this. This may not be the last night of your life, regardless of what happens tonight. Imagine not just hours, but endless days, weeks, and even months of enduring the most exquisite agony. That’s what may await you should you continue this absurd resistance.”

Jack knocked back the fresh glass of scotch and sighed as a pleasant warmth spread through him--the beginnings of intoxication. His first impulse when offered the booze had been to decline, thinking it might be drugged. In the end, however, he decided caution had never been his strong suit anyway, so fuck it. Besides, they’d only drugged him the first time to get him here. Mona would want him lucid and able to communicate, at least well enough to eventually provide the desired information. Also, he’d been craving a goddamn drink all night.

He refilled the glass yet again and smiled. “I will give you a point or two for knowing my weaknesses. Well, I hate to break it to you, honey--all the top shelf booze in the world won’t be enough to loosen my tongue.”

A small, amused smile touched the corners of Mona’s lips. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, Jack. You’re doing that all on your own.” Her smile glowed brighter. “As usual. That ‘top shelf booze’ is but a small kindness. I do have some mild measure of affection left for you. We loved each other once, after all.”

Jack laughed. “Bullshit. I loved a person who never really existed. Our life together was a lie. That’s one thing I’m grateful for, you know. A great weight has lifted from me. All that misery I wallowed in after your disappearance is just gone. I just feel ridiculous now for wasting all that emotion on someone so unworthy.” He grinned. “So, congratulations, you’ve doubtless saved me a fortune in future visits to an analyst. And if you were thinking you’d play off those old feelings, think again. Tell me, Mona--how does it feel to fail in so many ways?”

Mona’s mouth became a tight line. “I haven’t failed.”

Jack lifted the glass of scotch again. “Oh, no? Because from where I’m sitting, you look like one of those ice-queen rich bitches, about to have a tantrum over not getting your way over and over again.”

A corner of Mona’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile. Just a little flicker of sadistic amusement. That flicker unnerved Jack more than anything Mona had threatened him with all night. He remembered that little shift of expression from their time as a married couple. It always heralded the unleashing of something savage within Mona. Back then, he’d always chalked those radical mood shifts up to PMS. But now he knew better, and he was finally really afraid.

“It’s time to do that thing we talked about.”

Jack realized right away that the comment was directed at the hooded giants, because they were on him within the space of a heartbeat. They seized him by the arms and dragged him over to the balcony railing. A surge of panic as galvanizing as a condemned man’s first lash of electricity from Ol’ Sparky shot through Jack. In that moment of shock a primal, shameful thought flashed through Jack’s mind--
NO! NO! NO! I’LL TELL YOU ANYTHING! NO! NO! NO!

Then he was going up and over the railing, and the bottom seemed to drop out of his gut, the way a queasy child might feel on a particularly hair-raising rollercoaster. And he thought his pounding heart might burst as he began to fall. In his mind he saw himself as a smear on the sidewalk below, a pulpy mass of blood and shattered limbs. And he remembered a vivid moment from childhood, Andy O’Day tossing a stolen watermelon off an overpass to splatter on the street below.

At the same time, a detached, resigned part of himself was thinking,
Wow, it really is true--you DO see your life pass before your eyes.

He experienced a moment of freefall as his head angled downward, a surprisingly pleasant sensation that ceased when he felt his body give a hard jerk before beginning to swing like a pendulum. It took several moments to get over the shock of not being dead. Then he glanced up and saw that the hooded men were holding him by his ankles. Gravity had caused his trouser legs to droop and he could see his black socks and two thin strips of pale white flesh. It occurred to him that he really needed to get out in the sun more often. Then he remembered his precarious position and filed that thought for later consideration.

He saw Mona lean over the balcony and smile down at him. Jack didn’t care for the smug look on her face, so he directed his gaze elsewhere. He was facing the balcony of the suite below the one occupied by Mona and her hooded thugs. He turned his head and glanced down at the lights of the city. It didn’t look quite so garish from this unusual vantage point. Then again, he reflected, most guys didn’t get to see Las Vegas upside down from some fifty floors up. Was it fifty? He craned his head to look down at the sidewalk, which looked about forever away. Hmm. A
minimum
of fifty floors.

Mona was saying something, but the words didn’t register.

“What was that? You’ll have to repeat it. I’m experiencing quite the rush of blood to the head.”

Which was infinitely preferable to the rush of a sidewalk to the head, but he kept that thought to himself.

Mona chuckled. “I saw you take a long look at that sidewalk, dear. In case you’re wondering, we are in a suite on the Maverick’s top floor.” She smiled. “Just FYI, that would be the seventy-fifth floor.”

Jack’s stomach lurched. But he said, “Seventy-five? Is that all?”

But Jack’s gaze went helplessly back to the sidewalk below. He had to swallow hard to get a handle on that next wave of nausea. He made himself look at Mona--at least it was better than looking down and imagining himself going SPLAT! on that unyielding whiteness below.

She leaned against the railing next to one of the hooded men. The martini glass was still in her hands. As Jack watched, she plucked the olive from the drink, closed her lips around it, and pulled the little green and red orb into her mouth. She flicked the toothpick over the edge of the balcony, and Jack watched it fall, a little splinter fluttering toward him. He could have reached out and grabbed it as it went by, but he just watched it fall and fall until it was out of sight.

“So, Jack.” A bit of that familiar sadistic laughter taunted him. “My darling. My beloved husband. Did you really believe I only brought you out here to socialize or use my considerable charms to appeal to your baser male nature?” More laughter. “What do you think of my ‘stunted imagination’ now?”

“Well, this is pretty scary, I’ll give you that. But somehow I doubt I’m the first guy to be dangled over a balcony in Vegas.”

Mona sighed. “Nevertheless, you weren’t expecting anything so...dramatic. Were you, dear?”

“Well, no.” Jack’s heart was beating faster and faster and his gaze kept shifting from Mona to the gulf between himself and the sidewalk. Keeping the raw fear he was feeling out of his voice was a struggle. “And stop calling me ‘dear’, you numb cunt. It’s starting to piss me off.”

Mona threw her head back and a gale of laughter emerged. “Oh, Jack. Dear.” The laughter subsided almost as quickly as it began. She regarded Jack with a sober expression. “It’s time, Jack. Time to tell me what I want to know.”

Jack closed his eyes. It might be best not to see death rushing up at him. “I don’t think so.”

Mona made a tsk-tsk noise. “You stupid, stupid boy. So stubborn. I hate a stubborn man, Jack.“ There was a brief pause. Then “Let him go.”

Jack opened his mouth to scream, to utter a last-ditch plea for mercy. But it was too late. His eyes snapped open and he watched the man to Mona’s left release his ankle and step away from the balcony.

Jack dropped.

7.

“Luke, I sense a disturbance in the force.”

Lucien squinted at Andy O’Day. “I’d advise you not to use any diminutive form of my name. I’m not a nickname kind of guy.”

Andy tapped yet another cigarette out of the nearly depleted pack of Marlboros. The man went through cancer-sticks like a fat kid went through Twinkies. “What, you prefer your, ah, ‘Christian’ name? Heh. Don’t answer that. Anyway, the ‘Luke’ thing was a film reference.”