******
Peaceable Kingdom: The Manger
Usher went to the suite’s door, peeked through the peephole, and turned back to Nighthawk.
“The gang’s all here,” he said, and opened the door. Contarini came in. His faultless suit had recently been faulted. He had grass stains on his knees. His white shoes were scuffed with dark Mississippi dirt. There was a bad tear in his jacket’s breast, and one sleeve had been partially torn free of its shoulder. His silk shirt was wrinkled, soiled, and sweat stained. He didn’t look happy. “It didn’t go well?” Nighthawk asked.
Contarini shook his head wordlessly, and collapsed into the nearest chair. He scowled at the vinyl upholstery. “They have the luck of the Devil riding with them,” the Cardinal said.
Usher and Nighthawk exchanged glances. “Naturally,” Nighthawk said. “What happened?”
Magda fluttered helplessly about the Cardinal’s as if she couldn’t decide whether to shine his shoes, sew his clothes, or wash and iron his shirt, as he told him in minute and surprisingly profane detail what had happened, pausing to shoo Magda away when she’d finally annoyed him too much.
Nighthawk sighed. “I guess they’ve beaten us now, for the moment. We’ll continue to keep an eye on them. The boy will be easy to spot. Perhaps you should return to return to New York, to rest and consider the next move.”
Dagon and the Witness nodded in agreement. “That would be smart,” Dagon said.
“No.” They all turned to Contarini, whose voice had taken on the chill of doom. “I want this farce ended. Now.”
“Now?” Dagon repeated. “I don’t—”
The Cardinal fixed him with a stare that quailed archbishops. “Not ‘now,’ literally. But as soon as possible. I want this ended. I want this Devil’s spawn in our hands. I want to return him to the Holy See, or, if that is not possible, I want him dead.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Nighthawk asked. This was the first time that the Cardinal had actually called for the boy’s death. The pressure, Nighthawk thought, was finally getting to him. “In this place? After all, Las Vegas is one thing—”
“This place is no different!” the Cardinal blazed at him. “It’s a low class tourist trap for fat, comic book reading Americans. They have no clue as to the strength and tenacity of the Allumbrados!” He turned his bleak gaze onto Nighthawk. “Blood is not far from this… this disgusting fairyland. I want you to supervise him as he brings in all the obsequentes that we have. All armed. We’ll take the Devil spawn as soon as they’re all in place.”
“If you drive Blood too hard,” Nighthawk said, “you’ll kill him.”
“Let him die and be damned,” the Cardinal said. “His only chance at salvation is to die in Christ’s service, anyway. He should welcome the opportunity.”
We’ll see about that, Nighthawk thought. He suppressed a sigh as he stood.
“I guess this means we’ll have to skip supper at Loaves and Fishes,” Usher said.
Nighthawk nodded.
“Pity,” Usher said. “They have great grits.” He looked at the Witness, who scowled back at him. “You can’t really get them outside the South,” he said seriously