“Speak for yourself, pal. I’m clean, mostly sober. Sober enough, anyway, to question why Satyr’s renewed his interest in Melia.”
Laidlaw snatched off his bandana and used it to flap at the mosquitoes. “You or McCabe ever consider the idea that he’s testing you? His men get close to her, then wait to see if you react?”
“The thought crossed my mind. And McCabe’s. That’s why he waited two weeks to tell me about it. Which pisses me off, even if I do see his point.”
“Two weeks and two days,” Laidlaw grumbled. “That’s how long those dead guns out there have been more or less sitting tight. Seemed weird to me that they were camped out with weapons and not going near Deception Cove, but that’s what they did, day after day, night after night. Only place they ever went was a mudhole collection of shacks and a post office called Cider Rim. Got a titty bar there, a deputy who has poker tables in his barn, and two whores named Cindy and Manuela.”
“Let me guess. You know the whores intimately.”
“Met Cindy a time or two. Manuela’s on the high side of fifty… You, uh, going somewhere?”
Standing, Johnny checked his gun. “Three dead guys, two of them creeping toward Deception Cove, one dogging me. Satyr knows I’m back, and he’s always known where Melia was. Whether he’s testing me or not, his men are going after her. Trying to figure out who, where, why, when, and how is secondary at this point to keeping Mel safe.”
“And I’m betting that’s all the detail I’m gonna get, right?”
“Yep.”
“You and McCabe are strange, you know that? Your fucking secrets have secrets.” Laidlaw used his rifle to gesture. “D’you want me to clean up the mess?”
“Be a good idea.”
The teeth came out again. “Ain’t you sweet. Giving me the fun job.”
Johnny shrugged and tucked his weapon away. “Take your pick. You can clean house or get slammed in the face by a furious woman holding a mostly full bottle of Jack Black.”
“Melia drinks whiskey?”
“No, but McCabe does. There’ll be a bottle on the table. And trust me, after talking to him, she’ll be in the mood to swing it.”
“At your head?”
“If I’m lucky and she doesn’t aim lower.”
Laidlaw retied the bandana across his forehead. “I’m starting to think I got the easier job, after all.”
Johnny was sure of it. “If I don’t come back,” he said with one last glance around, “make sure I’m burned, not buried. I don’t want to be eaten by worms.”
“Done,” Laidlaw promised. “Can I have Melia?”
“Touch her and I’ll rise from the ashes to kill you.”
“Strange,” his friend muttered, stowing his rifle. “Starting the cleanup now, Johnny… Johnny?”
Johnny heard him, but as he tended to do, he’d already vanished from sight.
…
Ben Satyr wandered through the main room of his old-style Las Vegas casino. The Silver Nugget had been big news once upon a time. A shadow of its former self these days, only strays and losers came in to wager their money at the tables.
Luckily for him, there were a good number of strays and losers in Las Vegas.
He employed cigarette girls for form and because he liked short skirts, tight tops, and fishnet stockings. The music hailed from the fifties and sixties, and he’d plastered a huge twelve-by-twenty poster of Ann-Margret at an angle on one of the glittering walls. It was just sexy enough to give the room the atmosphere he wanted.
In his left hand, he worked a pair of red dice. He habitually wore a suit, slicked his black hair back and down, and let the patch covering his right eye tell its own tale of mystery.
His boss, James Mockerie, liked the patch. He probably appreciated it, since he bore a facial scar of his own. And had part of a finger missing to boot. It made them simpatico—made them alike even if they really weren’t.
Mockerie was a chameleon, Satyr reflected. Cold and cruel to the core, but oh the bastard could charm when he made the effort. A serpent with guile to spare was how Satyr saw him.
Not that Mockerie played all that much into Satyr’s current problems or plans, but he wanted to be kept apprised, so he was coming here today, leaving the glitter of the Strip for the grit of a former era.
“Decent crowd for early afternoon, Ben.”
And right on cue, there he was. Underdressed for both worlds, yet with an unmistakable air of danger.
A brimmed hat threw his face into shadowed relief and hid the worst of the scar that ran from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Flipside, he wore a ring on his partly missing left middle finger, so no attempt at disguise there. As for the jeans, white T-shirt, vest, and black jacket he preferred, anyone could have bought those items at a local thrift store.
Satyr continued to play with the dice. “I’m serving free beer from noon to midnight. It’s crap on tap, but they don’t care. It gets them in, gets them drunk, and gets them gambling. Which is most of the point.”
Mockerie’s lips curved. “The rest of that point being what goes on in the back rooms and cellar. How are your coke lines running?”
“Full and fast. It’s a much bigger seller than our beer.” The dice clicked during a lull in the music. “I need a favor, James.”
“You want me to back off where Johnny Hunt is concerned.” A slow smile appeared at Satyr’s tight-lipped silence. “Why the look of disapproval? I know what’s what between you and Hunt. You have a personal score to settle, and you’ve found a way to do it. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how long we humans can hold grudges, and how strongly we cling to them even as time passes. They’re like weeds in our souls. The roots grow deeper and more toxic with each passing day.”
If he’d had Hulk-like strength, Satyr’s clenched fist would have crushed the red dice to powder. Julie… The name reverberated in his head, like a bell tolling a death knell. She was dead, and it was Johnny Hunt’s fault. Maybe Johnny hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, but he’d created the situation that had kept the two of them apart. And if he couldn’t be with her, then no way was Johnny going to be with the woman he loved. No fucking way.
Satyr controlled his fury just enough to venture a stiff, “Johnny Hunt tossed out a load of bullshit where his ex-wife was concerned, and I bought it. I’m not buying it anymore. I appreciate you sending people to help me watch her. But I can handle things from here.”
“Yes, about that.” Mockerie’s teeth took on sharklike properties in the dusky room. “It seems your man Johnny laid waste to three of my men less than thirty minutes ago.”
Every muscle in Satyr’s body hardened to stone. “He killed all of them?”
“In the blink of an eye, my spies have informed me.”
Satyr let the reference to spies pass. “I want Hunt alive.” Although he seldom challenged his boss, his eyes bored white hot into Mockerie’s shadowed ones. “Nothing works if he dies. I’ll make him pay, James, for everything he’s done. To me before and to you now. But it has to be my way and in my time.”
Mockerie plucked a box of wooden matches from the tray of a passing cigarette girl. “It can be your way and time,” he agreed. “To a certain extent. But bear in mind, I’ll be watching closely.” He struck one of the matches, letting it burn until it almost singed his fingers. “I’m involving myself in this, Ben, whether you like it or not. I’ve seen Melia’s picture. She reminds me of someone from my past…” Blowing out the flame, he lifted his gaze to Satyr’s. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.”
Satyr regarded him through the veil of smoke between them. “Just as long as Johnny Hunt suffers.”
“Oh, he will.” Mockerie chuckled, and the sound of it sent a chill crawling down Satyr’s spine. “They both will.” Leaning forward, he whispered a soft, “If we’re lucky, they might even beg.”
Chapter Three