“Better you than me,” Corman said, arching a bushy eyebrow as he sucked on a bottle of beer. “Good to see ya, kiddo.”
Bentley got up before I could protest. His frail arms pulled me into a tight hug.
“Be careful,” he fretted. “You should have called us.”
“C’mon, I can’t be bothering you guys every time I run into trouble—”
“You mean you don’t want to bug them?” Jennifer asked.
I shot her a look and pulled out a chair.
“Besides, you were there in spirit,” I said to Bentley. “The mailbag escape saved my life last night.”
He lit up at that. “Handcuff key behind the belt?”
“Never leave home without it.”
Bentley saluted me with his gin and tonic. “That’s our boy.”
Amar, the Garden’s only employee and maybe owner, swooped by with a brass-rimmed tray. There were no menus at the Tiger’s Garden; Amar always knew what you were going to order, and more often than not, it would be waiting for you when you arrived. We didn’t know how he did it, and he wouldn’t tell us. He set a champagne flute in front of me, garnished with a perfectly cut wedge of orange.
Corman snorted. “A mimosa?”
“Hey,” I said, “it’s a classic brunch cocktail. Pass the chicken.”
Between bites, Jennifer brought us up to speed. “Commissioner Harding’s ducking my phone calls, but Seabrook was apoplectic. Accordin’ to her, she did just what we told her and passed down a no-touch order on Container Park. And, like you suspected, Harding saw the chance to bust a few ink dealers and get some good press.”
“And Santiago and his buddy blended in, just waiting to grab me.” I frowned. “Still don’t know if they’re real cops or just playing the part. Santiago wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”
“Does it make a difference?” Bentley asked.
“Insofar as how we’re going to handle it.” I sipped my mimosa. It went down like a boozy-sparkly waterfall. “Santiago got a dozen kids killed, for no reason but to draw me out. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a dead man walking. If his badge is real, though, we have to be a little more delicate; you can’t just green-light a cop. Also, if he’s legit, there’s a good chance’s he’s not the only real cop on the Network’s payroll. We need to root them all out. And preferably replace them with our own people.”
“I’m still not feeling this weirdo alliance,” Jennifer said. “The Network and the Enemy joining forces? Far as we can tell, they’re after totally different things.”
I had been doing a lot of thinking about that since last night, and I kept circling around to the same answers.
“The Enemy’s got something the Network wants. Something they want bad enough to offer him a short-term alliance, but I guarantee it’s only a matter of time before somebody gets stabbed in the back. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to spin it to our advantage. In the meantime, though, they’re a lot more dangerous united than they were on their own. Our number-one priority right now is tracking down Elmer Donaghy. If we can squeeze him for information—”
Jennifer cut me off, holding up a slender iPad.
“Gotta stop you there, hon. My boys are still combing through the loot we jacked from Donaghy’s place, with Pixie’s help on the computer end, and so far it’s a lot of nothing. These Network critters raise paranoia to a high art. Pixie tried telling me about the security they use—some kinda double-triple self-destruct fourteen-jillion-bit encryption—and it made my eyes glaze over.”
“They’re cautious,” I said. “On the plus side, caution slows them down. I’d hate to think what kind of damage they could do if they dropped the cloak-and-dagger act and went all-out.”
She tapped the tablet and spun it around, scooting aside a plate of half-gnawed chicken bones to make room.
“When he made his exit, Elmer didn’t have time to be discreet. This purchase went through on his company AmEx, right about two minutes after the gunfire started.”
I read the blurry scan, black type on stark white. Elmer had bought a first-class ticket on a Delta flight to Paris. His takeoff time was two in the morning. I looked up from the screen.
“We missed him.”
She nodded and took the tablet back. “He fled in style, on the first flight out of the country that would have him. I did some checkin’, and Donaghy Waste Management has municipal contracts in some far-flung places. Vegas, Cheyenne, Miami…”
I finished the thought. “And Paris.”
“Paris, France, registered home of his corporate HQ. Sorry, sugar, he’s gone. And while you could hop on a plane and chase him down, there are probably more important things needing your attention here on the homestead.”
She was right. Besides, I saw the lure, glimmering bright in the water.
“Fool me once,” I murmured.
“Meaning?” Corman asked.
“He’s not gone for good. He can’t be. We know the King of Worms is dangling a nice fat promotion over Donaghy’s head, and he’s got to kill me—with his own hands—to get it. The guy’s a fanatic, and true believers never quit until they get what they’re after. No.” I pointed at the tablet. “He wasn’t in a hurry. We were supposed to find this. And he took a flight straight to his corporate headquarters, which of course we can easily find a registered address for.”
“He’s hoping you chase after him,” Corman said.
“Straight into the belly of the beast, on his turf, where he can lay another trap for me.” I sipped my cocktail. “Nope. Denied. He’ll come back for round two eventually, and in the meantime, I can get ready for him. Like Jen said, I’ve got better things to do. And things I don’t want to do but apparently don’t have a choice about.”
“Your, uh, party,” Corman said. “That tonight?”
“Yep.” I tapped the side of my champagne flute. “Another six or seven of these, I’ll be almost ready.”
“You sure you don’t want us to come?” Jennifer asked.
“Nah. I mean, I do, but number one, I wouldn’t do that to you, and number two, it’s apparently a private function. Courts of hell and aristocracy only.”
“Ooh, aristocracy.” Jennifer put her finger under her nose, forming a mustache. “Yes, yes, do pass the caviar, my good man. And did you see what Lady Wembley Shuffleboard-Smythe is wearing? Simply preposterous.”
I slouched in my chair. “Yeah. I’m thinking it’s going to be a lot like that, plus everybody but me is a demon. Caitlin says I have to be on my best behavior.”
“She’s gonna settle for that? Has she seen your best behavior?”
“I know, right?” I shrugged, resigned to my fate.
“Almost forgot.” Jennifer wriggled in her chair, tugging a slim tape recorder from her jeans pocket. “I pulled that surveillance-feed audio, from when Naavarasi ganked Chicago’s shape-shifter for us.”
“Get anything good?” I asked.
“Not sure, seeing as I don’t understand a word of it.”
She hit Play, and the micro-cassette’s wheels spun. I leaned close to try to make out the grainy audio. We heard sounds of a scuffle and strained, raspy breath.
“To think,” Naavarasi’s voice said, “you actually believed this pathetic creature was one of my kin.”
Kirmira said something soft, desperate, in a language that sounded like Hindi. Then came the sudden, sharp snap of bone as Naavarasi broke his neck with one hand. The recording stopped.
“Can I borrow this?” I asked her. “I’ve got some free time this afternoon before the party. Figure I’ll run it over to one of the local colleges and track down a language instructor.”
“May I assist?” Amar asked. I hadn’t seen him come back, but there he was—at my shoulder, swapping my drained glass for a fresh mimosa.
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Play it again?” He leaned in. His brow furrowed as he listened to the muffled words. “Once more?”
Jennifer rewound the tape and gave it a third play. This time Amar stood straight and nodded.
“The man said,” Amar told us, “‘Why, Mother? I did everything you told me to.’”
The table fell quiet.
“Was that helpful?” Amar asked.