Rand used to say that con artists lived on the edges of society, smiles firmly in place no matter how bad things got. It had seemed romantic.
But now Charlie saw the vast insecurity that fed it. The constant need to be the cleverest. The knowledge that no one wins every time becoming more dare than warning.
She wondered what Adam had gotten into, and how bad it had gone, that despite having a book to move, he needed money on top of it.
For regular people, pawnshops were used for a quick infusion of cash to get them through a tough time, hoping that the due date on the payback for their grandmother’s porcelain, or their wedding ring, or whatever, didn’t come before they managed to be able to put together the funds to retrieve it. For criminals, they were a decent way to move items. Murray’s pawnshop was one that Charlie knew. She’d sold things there herself.
Since she had the receipt, Charlie could get the ring back, if she had seven hundred dollars. Which she didn’t. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have spent it on this.
Charlie shoved the paper in her pocket. It was possible that Doreen could take it to the police. Stolen items weren’t supposed to be sold in pawnshops, and getting busted occasionally was just the price of doing most of your business looking the other way.
At least she had something to hand over to her client.
She was about to turn away when the coat snagged her attention. It was hanging oddly, as though a weight pulled down the back. Charlie pressed against the length of the lining until she felt something solid.
Solid and rectangular and … fuck.
Charlie took out her knife and carefully cut open the lining until the contents fell into her hand: an A5-sized leather notebook. This was no ancient Book of Blights. This was a modern notebook, the kind you could buy in any stationery store. The writing inside was done in ballpoint pen.
The first page was labeled The Myriad Observations of Knight Singh. For a moment, Charlie just stared at it.
This was the book Balthazar had tried to get her to find, and steal, on the same night Doreen came into Rapture. The night that Paul Ecco was murdered.
She was too puzzled to be disappointed.
What was in Knight’s papers that was so important Adam would need to hide behind Amber with the long hair? Who was it that he wanted to sell it to that he didn’t think Balthazar would work with?
Charlie had a sinking feeling.
Well, Adam might have been clever enough to get Knight’s papers, but he wasn’t going to be clever enough to keep them. Charlie shoved the book up under her dress, so the underwire of her bra pressed it against her skin.
Time to go. Halfway to the door, she heard the unmistakable mechanical click of a key card unlocking the door.
She veered into the bathroom, stepping into the tub just as the door opened. Crouching down, she tried to soundlessly adjust the shower curtain so it hid her as completely as was possible. Not her finest moment.
Adam’s voice came from the other room. “Yeah, I bet six hundred. You swear this thing’s fixed?”
She heard the click and flare of a lighter. Scented the catch of the cigarette. Felt the strain of crouching like she was already, her fingers on the edge of the tub to steady herself, a corner of Knight Singh’s book jabbing her in the stomach.
“Yeah, box exacta on Vantablack and Wild Mars Rover.” His voice changed, suddenly deferential. “No, I’m not doubting you. Of course not.”
Charlie tried to stop breathing so she could be sure to hear what he was saying.
“When I make fourteen grand, the book’s yours. Going to go home to my girl a hero.”
That would have been a much sweeter sentiment if he hadn’t ditched Doreen and their kid for days, and stolen her ring to boot. At least now Charlie understood what he needed it for. Someone had offered him a gambling tip for the book.
Knight had been a member of the Cabal, a local governing body for gloamists. On his own, he had a small organization with its hands in a lot of things, including art theft and political manipulation. He mainly employed puppeteers.
With him gone, there might be a power vacuum at the top. Knight’s accumulated knowledge would help anyone make a play for the leadership role. Another puppeteer, using their shadow to mess with the world. Slow a punch in boxing. Jerk a hand on a wheel while coming around a turn. Or trip a horse on a track. Another puppeteer, with a lot of ambition and not a lot of cash.
She supposed it could be a decent deal, but it was definitely a bootleg deal. Adam really must have wanted to move the book fast.
“I got it off Raven,” he said from the other room. She heard the springs of the bed groan. “I don’t know if she read it.”
Charlie’s legs shook from holding her position. She could risk sitting, which would be bad if she had to get up quickly. Or she could stay like she was and hope that her muscles didn’t cramp, which would make her even slower and less able to run, if it came to that.
She frowned at her shadow, dark against the white tile, another thing that might give her away.
The cat had bitten her that afternoon. Could that have been enough blood to finish its quickening? A shadowy form coming toward Adam could chase him straight into the hall. He’d probably continue on to the lobby, shouting at the top of his lungs, imagining it was an angry gloamist after him.
Move, she told her shadow. Do something.
Her shadow remained just where it was.
Oh, come on, she thought. Be magic.
Inert.
You’d do it for blood, wouldn’t you? If I tossed a napkin soaked with it, like a stick for a dog.
Or like a napkin soaked with blood for a dog, she supposed.
Please. But nothing happened. And her legs only hurt worse. What good are you then?
Taking a chance, putting her hand on the tile, she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She could stand for a lot longer, but if he came into the bathroom, he’d be sure to see her.
She hadn’t heard him throw the dead bolt. If she could hop out of the shower, get across the room fast enough, she could be out the door before he got up off the bed. Except that it would be almost impossible to get out of the shower without making some sound. If he just turned on the television, she might be tempted to try.
In the other room, Adam was on a second call. “Yeah, I’m just going to take a quick shower and then I’ll meet you at the bar.”
She had to get out of the room, immediately.
Slowly and carefully, she pulled her cell from her pocket.
He’d already found a way to move the book, so Amber would hold no appeal, even if he hadn’t blocked her. Charlie could use her regular phone—send him a text, pretending to be a stolen credit card alert, or the hotel manager. But if he called back, it wasn’t like she could answer from his bathtub.
Charlie flipped a mental list of people she knew, plus the things she might be able to convince them to say. Maybe she could convince Barb to call and tell him there was a delivery for Adam that he needed to go down and sign for. Maybe she could get Posey to call and tell him that his car was on fire.
Then she thought of the one person who could definitely get him up and out of the room. Doreen.
From the other room, she could hear him rummaging through his drawers.
Fucker sold your gram’s ring, Charlie wrote.
For a moment there was no response and Charlie started to sweat.
Then Doreen’s text came: Asshole. I’m going to kill him. Where is he?
Charlie smiled. She typed as fast as she could. MGM hotel, Room 455. He’s there right now, if you want to give him a piece of your mind.
There was a long pause. Charlie put one hand against the wall.
The response came back: Are you with him?
One thing Charlie could rely on was how much Doreen hated to wait. She’d been restless at Rapture, impatient in every text. Back in high school she would tap her foot against the back rung of Charlie’s chair and futz with a pen all through class.
Charlie simply didn’t answer. In less than thirty seconds, the landline hotel phone started to ring.