The Long Way Down (11 page)

I sank down in my chair like a whipped dog, digging into my pocket and tossing a handful of crumpled bills onto the felt. “I shouldn’t do this,” I said. “I really shouldn’t do this, but count me in for another three hundred.”

“The table turns fast,” Artie said with a wolfish smile. “You can still go home a winner.”

“I’d better, this is my rent money.”

“Gonna have to blow your landlord again,” Carl muttered, then slapped his cards on the table. “Fold. And I’m out.”

Now it was the four of us, and Artie and his buddies were happy and complacent. Just where I wanted them. Twitch was the weakest link. I decided to take him out first. I waited until he signaled to the others that he’d been dealt a great hand, and then I waved Caitlin over.

“Another beer?” I said.

When she came back, I took the bottle with an outstretched hand and “accidentally” dropped it into Twitch’s lap. He jumped up, spattering beer onto the felt as he dropped his cards, yelling louder than I’d dared to hope despite my oh-so-sincere apologies. Artie got up to find a towel. Caitlin bent over to pick up the bottle from the floor, stealing everybody’s attention, and I had two seconds to switch my useless seven of hearts for Twitch’s ace.

When things finally settled down, Artie and Shades folded their hands like clockwork, confident that Twitch had this round locked up. The look on their faces when I beat him with a lousy two pair was priceless. A tiny victory for a tiny hand, but the real reward was making Twitch look like an idiot incapable of managing a grade-school hustle. He blew the next hand all on his own, too flustered to pay attention. Artie and Shades froze him out by silent consent after that, leaving him to dangle even as he kept signaling his hands, telling me exactly what he was holding.

Off balance and out of the loop, Twitch went into a nosedive. We whittled him down, dividing up his stake until he barely had any chips to his name. I kept my victories small, occasionally tossing a hand to Artie or Shades on purpose, wanting them to stay confident.

The shoe came around the table and it was my turn to deal. “I don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but I’m starting to feel lucky.”

Thirteen

L
uck comes naturally when you make it yourself. I palmed a couple of cards from the shoe as I dealt out the next hand, slipping them up my sleeve and wedging them against the band of my wristwatch for safekeeping. Then I took the kid gloves off and started winning.

Twitch dropped first. Cleaned out and withering under his buddies’ glares, he mumbled something about needing to get back home and skulked out the door. Shades was next on the chopping block. I cut into him again and again, my stack of chips growing. He winced at each loss like I’d leaned across the table and gut-punched him. He suddenly remembered it was getting late and he had to be at work in the morning, offering limp apologies as he chugged down the last of his beer.

“There you go,” Artie said from across the table, forcing an enthusiasm into his words that his eyes didn’t match. “Like I said, you could make some money tonight.”

“Night’s still young.”

He slapped a roll of bills onto the table. “Any objections?”

“None.”

He paid into the bank and gave himself a fresh stack of chips, mirroring mine. Meanwhile, Carl watched Caitlin like a cat eyeing a mouse in a cage. He suddenly slapped his palm against the table, making the chips jump, and stood up.

“Have to make a phone call,” he snarled and stomped out of the room. Artie and I shrugged at each other and got down to business.

With the signals from his partners gone, so was my biggest advantage. We went back and forth for a few hands while I looked for a way into his head.

“Sorry about your loss, by the way,” I said as I laid down a winning hand.

His cheek twitched. “What loss?”

“That girl, what was her name, Stacie Velour? Heard she drowned. Damn shame. You must have been broken up over it.”

“Barely knew the bitch,” he said, staring hard at his hand. “We just worked together once or twice.”

I tossed some chips into the pot, raising the stakes, keeping my tone conversational. “Weird rumor on the Internet. Somebody said there’s a version of her autopsy report floating around, claiming she drowned two days
before
the rainstorm. Strange, huh?”

He nearly bent his cards in half.

“Internet’s bullshit,” he said, a faint stammer in his voice. “Bunch of pencil-neck geeks sitting in their mommas’ basements, making shit up.”

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. “That’s what I said too. Still, I heard they’re going to assign more cops to the case, give it another review. Just to be safe.”

That was all it took. Flustered and nervous with his thoughts a mile away from the table, Artie made mistake after mistake, and I punished him for each and every one. I cut into his stacks of chips like a surgeon with a scalpel fetish, the clock ticking just shy of midnight by the time I finished cleaning house. I didn’t know exactly how much was in my pile, but it was a hell of a lot more than Artie had planned on losing.

“Sure you can still afford the video?” I asked, taunting him a little. It wasn’t bravado; I needed him angry and reckless for what I had in mind.

“I’m good for the money,” he growled.

“I’m sure you’re good for it, but do you
have
it? In cash? I don’t take checks.”

Carl came back to the table, thrusting his phone at Artie. “It’s your brother.”

He took the phone. I couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but I could hear shouting.

“No, look.” He could barely get a word in edgewise. “No, I understand how important he is to…no, that’s not…yes, I know how serious this…all right, all right, fine. Goodbye.”

Carl beamed with triumph as Artie handed the phone back.

“You’re an
asshole
,” Artie snapped.

Carl pointed at Caitlin. “I get her how I want, when I want, where I want. That is the deal. You don’t like it, I can stop holding up my end of the deal and we can have this conversation someplace a lot less friendly. I want her
now
.”

“Fine,” Artie said, throwing up his arms, “fine, take her in back. Just don’t cut her again, Christ. Or at least clean up after yourself this time. I’m not your goddamn maid.”

I should have been jubilant. Artie was out of his mind, easy to wrap around my finger, and Carl and Caitlin were about to step out of the picture. I had every advantage, every card in my favor. Everything was going according to plan.

I looked at Caitlin. She stared at Carl, dead eyed, resigned.

Fuck the plan.

I picked up my padded envelope and dropped it on the table, pushing it to the middle along with my pile of chips. “I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “One more hand. If you win, you get all my winnings, and the video, and I walk out of here with empty pockets.”

“And if you win?” Artie asked.

I pointed to Caitlin. “I get her.”

The room fell quiet. Artie looked at me for a moment, squinting. “You know what she is?”

I reached around my neck, unclasped the Black Eye, and put it on the table. The sudden rush of power, the whirl of sensations and currents, rode in on the pounding of my heart. I’d have to answer to Nicky if his seer was watching, but that was the least of my problems right now.

“I’m sure you recognize this symbol,” I said, knowing he probably had no idea what he was looking at. “I’m an adept of the Golden Dawn. We’ve been watching you for a long time, Mr. Kaufman. You’re obviously a magus of great power, but we didn’t know until now just how much respect you deserved.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly, “I—I do. I do deserve respect.”

“This is bullshit,” Carl said. “You can’t be taking this seriously.”

Freed of the Eye, I stroked the envelope with my fingertips, tracing the sigil of Pluto across its face and flooding it with a stream of energy.
You want this. You NEED this
. A simple trick, but with Artie confused and pulled in four directions at once, the crude enchantment drew his eyes like a mound of diamonds.

“Unless, of course, you’re not allowed to wager her,” I said with a pointed glance at Carl.

“She’s mine, and I can do what I want with her,” Artie said, getting up from the table and walking into his bedroom. Carl followed him, arguing at his back, utterly ignored. Artie came back with a sheaf of papers in his fist. He dropped it onto the center of the table.

The contract could have come from any courtroom in the country, though this one appealed to a very different set of laws. I flipped through it, nodding
. Bound for eternity in the name of the thirteen forgotten martyrs, witnessed by the emissary of the Lucifuge, oath of dire perdition for any who might sunder these chains, etcetera, etcetera.

“Signed in blood,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Nice touch.”

“You can’t do this.” Carl glowered. “You can’t let him take her!”

Artie slid the shoe over to him. “I’m not losing. Now deal for us.”

I stood in the middle of a three-way crossfire. If I lost this hand, it was all over. Artie would figure out my “snuff movie” was a scam, and either he’d kill me or he’d order Caitlin to do it. Meanwhile, Carl looked like he wanted to put a bullet in both of our heads. This ride was out of control with no happy ending in sight.

My heart sank at the smile on Artie’s face. Our last round was a straight-up showdown, no room for tricks or bluffs, best hand wins. I had a literal ace up my sleeve, but with all three of them watching me like hungry hawks I had no way to get at it. I was going to die from a simple twist of bad luck. That, and sticking my neck out.

Caitlin sauntered over to the table, stroking Carl’s shoulder like a lover as she leaned down to whisper in Artie’s ear.

“Break him, Master,” she purred, punctuating her words with a flick of her tongue against his earlobe, “or let me do it for you.”

He turned his head, startled, while Carl stared at them like a jealous lover. It was all I needed. I slipped the ace from my watchband, palming a worthless card in its place. I pretended to rub my neck and dropped the spare card down the back of my shirt.

“I think we’re done here,” Artie said with a smile, laying down a gleaming span of cherry-red diamonds. A queen-high flush. Good hand.

“Agreed,” I said, showing him three sevens and two beautiful little aces. Full house.

That’s when everything went wrong.

Carl’s pistol cleared his holster in a heartbeat, the barrel aimed right between my eyes. His grip was as shaky as his sanity, but at this range he’d blow my brains all over the shag carpet without even trying.

“You can’t have her!” he shouted, spittle flecking the table felt. I squeezed the arms of my chair, trying to keep my cool with the gun barrel hovering inches from my face.

“Easy pal,” I said. “I’m not the one you should be aiming that piece at. Your friend sold you out.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, his gaze wavering between me and Artie.

“Stacy Pankow. You think it’s a coincidence I’m here tonight?”

“Who the fuck is Stacy Pankow?” Carl said.

“You knew her as Stacie Velour. You know, the girl whose body you dumped in the storm tunnels? The murder you covered up? You’re an accessory.”

“He can’t prove anything,” Artie stammered.

“He offered me a trade,” I said, “yesterday, before you showed up. My movie for his. I turned him down because I needed the cash, but man, did it sound juicy.”

“What movie?” Carl said, looking at his partner in crime. “What’s he talking about?”

I rested my hands on the table. “The video of him murdering Stacy. What, you didn’t know? You didn’t know he kept a souvenir?”

“He’s lying!” Artie said, but the gun wavered in Carl’s grip.

“Am I? Am I lying about the DVD in your safe? The one that pins you with a murder rap? Think about it, detective. He goes down, you go down with him. You know what happens to cops who get sent to Ely Prison? It’s not pretty.”

That was a lot of hunches, and if I was wrong on a single one of them, I was good as dead. I didn’t even know for a fact that Artie had a safe in his office, except I knew he’d be keeping Caitlin’s contract somewhere out of harm’s way and it was a likely bet.

“Tell him,” I said, “tell him to open his safe.
Make
him open it.”

Artie glared. “Carl, will you please shoot this son of a bitch? If you don’t have the balls, give me the gun and let me do it.”

“I think,” Carl said after a moment’s thought, “I would like to see your safe now.”

He marched us into Artie’s office, but he kept the gun trained on me, giving me a jab in the back with the barrel. Artie went behind his desk, opening a polished birch cabinet to reveal the gunmetal-black face of a small safe.

“This is stupid,” he said, looking back at Carl. “You are about to feel really, truly stupid—”

“Open it.”

I held my breath as Artie keyed in the combination. Tumblers clanked and the door swung wide to reveal…nothing. A few loose papers. A thin stack of cash. A passport. I’d gotten it wrong. There was no recording, not here.