knife?”
Cameron turned over the photograph. Another one waited underneath, a wide-angle shot from a telescopic lens. One man walking down a crowded sidewalk, nice suit, dark skin, and big, expressive eyes, circled in red Sharpie.
“Damien Ecko,” Cameron said. “Chicago. He owns a boutique on Jewelers Row, D. Ecko and Company. He sells custom rings, pendants, he’s big in the diamond trade.”
“How about the antiquities business?”
“Just his personal collection. He’s a buyer, not a seller. He keeps the dagger in his loft on the second floor, above the shop.”
I gave him a hard look. “You think this? Or you know this?”
“I’m certain.”
“How?”
He bit his bottom lip.
“I’ve got people,” he said. “Close to him.”
“Just not close enough to touch.”
“That’s right.”
Nothing about his story played straight. Just because my client was bogus, though, didn’t mean the job was—and neither were Cameron Drake’s lottery winnings. My better judgment told me to walk away, but Cameron had my curiosity firing on all cylinders and the smell of his money kept my feet rooted to the cash-green carpet.
I should have walked away.
7.
“Chicago’s not my usual stomping grounds,” I told Cameron, “and knocking over a jewelry store isn’t exactly low risk.”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” he said. “Paid in full when you bring me the knife.”
I ran the numbers in my head. I’d need a box man—and this would be a good chance to make things up to Coop, for Harmony Black stepping on our score the other night. I’d also want a local for a wheelman, somebody who knew the streets of the Windy City forward and back. Twenty grand on a three-way split.
“Make it thirty,” I said.
“Deal.”
I blinked. Apparently winning Powerball meant forgetting the meaning of the word
haggle
. Fine by me. If I didn’t take his money, somebody else would. My cut still wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay my debt to Winslow, but it’d keep him happy—and my kneecaps intact—while I lined up another job.
“One last question,” I said. “You wanted an occult-security specialist. Why? What’s he got up there?”
Cameron looked at Pachenko. No help there.
“Well,” he stammered, “it’s, um, complicated—”
“Damien Ecko is a necromancer,” Fleiss said, appearing in the doorway. She stood on the threshold with her arms crossed, shooting a dour look at Cameron. The actor must have forgotten his lines.
“You don’t say.”
“We don’t know how he’s defending his business, beyond mundane locks and alarms, but you can safely assume his…area of study will factor into it. Is that a problem?”
“I’ll need a few things,” I told her. “Specialty items. You’ll pay for my expenses, on top of the thirty G.”
“Keep good receipts.” She turned to Cameron. “Mr. Drake, it’s time for your conference call.”
Suddenly Cameron’s mask was back in place, that confident Texan swagger, and he shook my hand like he wanted to crush it.
Saved by the bell
, I thought.
He’s fine, as long as nobody’s asking him any questions
.
Poking holes in the illusion
.
Fleiss hustled me back to the limo as fast as she could manage it. She wasn’t stupid. She had to know I’d figured out something wasn’t right down on Eastern Pines Ranch, but I took her poker face and shot it right back at her. We rode in silence all the way back to the plane.
* * *
When the sun went down over Vegas and the neon ignited, Fremont Street turned into a drunken carnival. The air smelled like cheap beer and stale sweat as I blended in with the milling crowds, just another anonymous face under the cherry glow of the canopy light show. Streamers of color swirled and exploded overhead, timed to the rhythm of a Beatles medley pumping out over bass-heavy speakers. My mind went slack and I let my feet carry me along, leading me to—
—sudden silence broken by the jingling of a tiny brass bell as
Cameron turned over the photograph. Another one waited underneath, a wide-angle shot from a telescopic lens. One man walking down a crowded sidewalk, nice suit, dark skin, and big, expressive eyes, circled in red Sharpie.
“Damien Ecko,” Cameron said. “Chicago. He owns a boutique on Jewelers Row, D. Ecko and Company. He sells custom rings, pendants, he’s big in the diamond trade.”
“How about the antiquities business?”
“Just his personal collection. He’s a buyer, not a seller. He keeps the dagger in his loft on the second floor, above the shop.”
I gave him a hard look. “You think this? Or you know this?”
“I’m certain.”
“How?”
He bit his bottom lip.
“I’ve got people,” he said. “Close to him.”
“Just not close enough to touch.”
“That’s right.”
Nothing about his story played straight. Just because my client was bogus, though, didn’t mean the job was—and neither were Cameron Drake’s lottery winnings. My better judgment told me to walk away, but Cameron had my curiosity firing on all cylinders and the smell of his money kept my feet rooted to the cash-green carpet.
I should have walked away.
7.
“Chicago’s not my usual stomping grounds,” I told Cameron, “and knocking over a jewelry store isn’t exactly low risk.”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” he said. “Paid in full when you bring me the knife.”
I ran the numbers in my head. I’d need a box man—and this would be a good chance to make things up to Coop, for Harmony Black stepping on our score the other night. I’d also want a local for a wheelman, somebody who knew the streets of the Windy City forward and back. Twenty grand on a three-way split.
“Make it thirty,” I said.
“Deal.”
I blinked. Apparently winning Powerball meant forgetting the meaning of the word
haggle
. Fine by me. If I didn’t take his money, somebody else would. My cut still wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay my debt to Winslow, but it’d keep him happy—and my kneecaps intact—while I lined up another job.
“One last question,” I said. “You wanted an occult-security specialist. Why? What’s he got up there?”
Cameron looked at Pachenko. No help there.
“Well,” he stammered, “it’s, um, complicated—”
“Damien Ecko is a necromancer,” Fleiss said, appearing in the doorway. She stood on the threshold with her arms crossed, shooting a dour look at Cameron. The actor must have forgotten his lines.
“You don’t say.”
“We don’t know how he’s defending his business, beyond mundane locks and alarms, but you can safely assume his…area of study will factor into it. Is that a problem?”
“I’ll need a few things,” I told her. “Specialty items. You’ll pay for my expenses, on top of the thirty G.”
“Keep good receipts.” She turned to Cameron. “Mr. Drake, it’s time for your conference call.”
Suddenly Cameron’s mask was back in place, that confident Texan swagger, and he shook my hand like he wanted to crush it.
Saved by the bell
, I thought.
He’s fine, as long as nobody’s asking him any questions
.
Poking holes in the illusion
.
Fleiss hustled me back to the limo as fast as she could manage it. She wasn’t stupid. She had to know I’d figured out something wasn’t right down on Eastern Pines Ranch, but I took her poker face and shot it right back at her. We rode in silence all the way back to the plane.
* * *
When the sun went down over Vegas and the neon ignited, Fremont Street turned into a drunken carnival. The air smelled like cheap beer and stale sweat as I blended in with the milling crowds, just another anonymous face under the cherry glow of the canopy light show. Streamers of color swirled and exploded overhead, timed to the rhythm of a Beatles medley pumping out over bass-heavy speakers. My mind went slack and I let my feet carry me along, leading me to—
—sudden silence broken by the jingling of a tiny brass bell as
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