“Do what?”

  Beside me, Mel still glowered, but her eyes shifted briefly in my direction. I read wariness there.

  He stopped on the stairs, forcing us to back up a step and look up at him. “Why’d you torch my house and steal my car? I was on your side, man.”

  My jaw hung open briefly. He looked genuinely wounded.

  “It’s what he does,” Mel answered for me. “Might as well ask a scorpion why it stings.”

  He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying this explanation. I wasn’t sure I bought it, either, but it was a damn sight better than anything I could’ve come up with right then. “I didn’t do nothing to you,” he said.

  I bit my lip. “You wanna know what you did?”

  “Yeah.” He folded his arms.

  “You got caught. You were out of the game. I expected you to roll on me first chance you got. Turn state’s evidence and sell me down the river to save your own skin. Let’s face it, Vic. You’re a drug dealer. You’d do anything to turn a buck. You don’t care. It’s not like you’re watching out for your clientele. You ain’t watching out for anybody but yourself. What was I to you? An entertainment. Just an interesting distraction to your otherwise mundane life, with a story the cops would just be so fascinated in hearing if they came nosing around after you.”

  “You think I’d even talk to the cops? You don’t know me at all.”

  “No? I’m supposed to believe you have some kind of code of honor? Or any kind of honor at all? Please. You landed in jail, and now you’re not. You’re here. Free as a bird. A canary. And I expect you sang just like one, too. I wonder if Carlos knows that. I bet he will soon, but it won’t come from me.”

  He continued staring at me as I finished upbraiding him, then he turned wordlessly and trudged up the last steps.

  I didn’t see the gun until he whipped around, aiming it at my head.

  Chapter 33

  Mel’s hand flashed out, shoving the revolver away from my head and cracking Vic’s wrist against the wall. Before I could react, she grabbed his shoulder with her free hand and pulled him back, yanking him over her body till he lost his balance and tumbled backward, falling head over heels down the stairs. He stopped about halfway down, coughing a tiny spray of blood onto the smooth lapels of his white shirt.

  I swore. The whole thing had happened so fast. Mel rose from her crouch and stumbled downstairs to where he lay. He stared up at her as she pointed the revolver at his forehead.

  I followed after, coming beside her as she stood ready to send him to his just reward. Gently, I lifted the revolver from her hand. Vic’s eyes shifted from Mel to me.

  I checked the barrel of the gun. It was a Colt .38 with six in the barrel. A classic weapon, usually worn on a detective’s ankle. What was Vic doing with it?

  “You a cop?” I asked, and then bent forward and started pawing through his pockets. Mel muttered a curse beside me. I shared the sentiment. If Vic was a cop, then he knew way too much. And he represented a clear and present danger to our efforts.

  Not that being a cop meant he was a good guy. Not by a long shot.

  After thoroughly searching his jacket, I didn’t come up with a badge. Of course, that didn’t exactly clear him.

  “Tell me why you got this.”

  He gave me a lopsided grin and looked to the right, back up the stairs. I reached forward and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Explain yourself.”

  “I don’t owe you nothing.”

  I breathed a sigh through my nose and looked at Mel. “What do you think?”

  She curled her lip. “That may be a cop’s gun, but he ain’t no cop. No way.”

  I had to agree. Imagining Vic as anything like Rogan was too much to believe. “All right. If you ain’t broken, then get up.”

  “Or what?” He shifted against the steps.

  “Or I give this gun back to my girlfriend and let her finish the job.”

  Slowly, with much wincing, he unfolded his limbs and pushed himself upright. His upper lip was cut, sending a dribble of crimson across his chin until it spilled onto his shirt. Undoubtedly he had a number of reddish bruises that would morph into painful, purple reminders that he’d just gotten beat up by a girl.

  “Now get up there and do as you’re told,” I growled.

  With one hand on the banister, he retook the lead. “He’s gonna kill you, y’know.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first one to try that, now. Would he? Maybe you can let him know how well it worked out for you.”

  Vic had nothing in reply, and instead pushed his way to the top of the landing. I kept the revolver at my waist, pointed in his general direction.

  Without incident, we left the stairs behind and went three doors down. Here Vic stopped and turned the knob. I waved him into the room with the gun. Languidly, he shrugged and went inside.

  Mel caught my wrist before I went into the room. “Ger,” she whispered, “we can’t stay here.”

  I put a finger to my lips, and then put my mouth to her ear. “They’re listening. Probably watching, too. Just trust me.”

  She blinked once. I took that to mean this thought hadn’t occurred to her before. Her eyes glanced up toward the corners of the room, and then settled on the ceiling lamp and smoke detector. She bit her lower lip. I recognized that tell. It meant she was scheming out how to access the surveillance feed and use it to our advantage. I wondered how she hoped to accomplish that without a computer.

  We entered the room, immediately greeted by the sight and sound of a snoring Hector sprawled across the top of the double bed in the room. His jacket still lay wrapped around his shoulders, partially covering his face. One hand was thrust down the front of his pants—currently inactive. An odor of vomit pervaded the room. I noticed the foamy trail dribbling down his mouth onto the pillow, staining the white linen an ugly, yellowish color.

  “Sound asleep,” Vic announced.

  Idiot. Anyone can see that.

  “How long has he been like this?” I asked, closing the door.

  Vic shrugged and checked the blood on his lip with a disinterested finger. “Don’t know. We brought him up before dinner. You were still bumping uglies with your wo—”

  I cuffed him with the pistol before he could finish. He fell against the wall, hand flying to his face. “What the—!”

  “Say it again!” I barked. “Cheapen it! Call it anything other than an act of love and I will bleed you where you lie.”

  He narrowed his eyes a moment, and then shook his head. “Dude, fine. Okay. Whatever.”

  “Chill, Old School,” Mel murmured. She’d moved past me to the bed. She sat beside Hector and peeled back his eyelid, studying the pupil. Hector didn’t respond. “He’s out of it.”

  “Like we said,” Vic asserted.

  “How long?”

  “Like I told you, it’s been—”

  “No, you idiot. How much longer will he be like this?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “You deal in this poison. You telling me you don’t know what the effects are?”

  “Dude! I didn’t sell him this! He got it from Carlos. His house, his dope. Get it? You wanna know side effects? Geez! There’s a lot of factors, y’know? Quantity, purity, weight, tolerance… I mean, c’mon!”

  I spoke slowly so he could hear me through his recent beatings. “I want Hector awake. Now.”

  He shrugged. “You just gotta wait it out, dude.”

  “Wake. Him. Up.” To emphasize, I clicked back the hammer on the revolver. Vic flinched and raised his arms.

  “Narcan could do it,” Mel offered.

  “Narcan?”

  Vic lowered his hands. “If we had some.”

  “Come on,” she replied. “You don’t keep some on hand in case of emergency?”

  “What’s Narcan?” I asked.

  “It’s a counter agent,” she explained. “Hospitals and ER’s use it to treat accidental overdose. Junkies and dealers carry it for the same reason.”

  There was a knock at the door, and I lowered the gun, then tucked it into the back of my pants. I opened the door, and Carlos stood there, with Brueger close behind him.

  “Your friend is okay, señor?”

  “No. He’s doped out of his mind. You keep any Narcan around?”

  Carlos glanced around me at Hector. “He does not appear to have overdosed. I suggest you let him sleep it off.”

  “I’d rather he be back on his feet.”

  “Why?” He shrugged.

  I opened and closed my mouth. I had no ready answer—at least, none that I could give him. I didn’t want us to stay there that night. Not if I could help it. I doubted we’d survive if we did. But to say so would practically ensure our fate, and that wasn’t something I could risk. “I just… I hate seeing him like this.”

  Carlos turned to Vic. “What happened?” He gestured at Vic’s face.

  Vic shrugged. “Guess me and Torch here had a bit of a disagreement. Didn’t quite see eye to eye on Hector’s condition.”

  “And for this you assaulted him in my house?” Carlos asked me.

  “It’s nothing, Mr. Santiago,” Vic added.

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “He had it coming,” I huffed.

  “He is a guest in my home. This,” he pointed at Vic’s face, “does not happen again.”

  “Fine.” I jerked my head toward Hector. “This doesn’t happen again, either.”

  Carlos gave me a gratuitous smile. “He is a junkie, Señor Smith. This is what junkies do.”

  “He was in recovery. I was helping him.”

  “A noble effort. Truly. But as you say, it is hard for the leopard to change his spots, no? Come, Señor Hector will be fine. I shall instruct the kitchen staff to prepare some food and beverage for him when he wakes, should he want it, and I shall have someone look over him through the night. It is the least I can do for this unfortunate oversight.”

  He was trying too hard to please me again. I was convinced I’d caught sight of the real Carlos Santiago when his control slipped at dinner. But why? What was it about me or Mel that made us so damn attractive to his cause?

  “There is still more awaiting in the dining room,” he put his arm around me and guided me back to the stairs, “and we have much to discuss.”

  “Wait.”

  The command came from Hans. He grabbed my shoulder with one hand and the gun I’d hidden behind my back with the other. After disarming me, he handed the revolver to Carlos.

  “Where did you get this?” Carlos asked.

  “Took it off Vic when he threatened to shoot me with it,” I replied.

  Carlos’ face softened. “And that is why you assaulted him.”

  “More or less.”

  He leaned back and whispered something in Brueger’s ear. The behemoth nodded. “Right away, Mr. Santiago,” he said, and turned back to the room, tucking the gun in his pocket. A moment later, Mel hurried from the room, staring back as the door closed. There was a brief clunk!, and then the door opened again. Hans came out and nodded once.

  “I must apologize for my associate’s actions,” Carlos turned me back toward the stairs, guiding me down with him. “Vic knows better than to bring a weapon into my house, let alone draw it on a guest. It will not happen again.”

  I’ve heard that a lot this evening.

  Mel hurried after me and took my hand, clutching it in her own. She looked pale and frightened.

  “I know you said you wished to sleep on it,” Carlos continued, “but from our previous conversation, I am thinking you are leaning toward saying yes. This would be good for both of us, I think.”

  I could do it now. I could body check him solidly and send him hurtling over the railing onto the marble tile below.

  But behind me, I could feel Hans Brueger’s presence lurking, like a massive snowpack ready to sweep me away in a furious avalanche at a single gesture or ill-timed word. And then there was Mel to consider. Even after what she’d done to Vic, I didn’t want to put her in danger. Not up against someone like Hans. I treaded lightly down the stairs.

  “Speaking of what is mutually beneficial,” I tried to put an easy tone in my voice, “I’m going to need to make a phone call.”

  Carlos managed an apologetic grin. “Regrettably, that is impossible.”

  “You don’t have a phone?”

  “But of course.”

  “So it is possible.”

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Señor Smith, who is it you would like to call?”

  “An associate of mine. An ex-cop named Rogan.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “Not at all. Rogan holds a vital key to the lock I’m here to open. He’s the whole reason we came down here. I know you’re familiar with our efforts to bring down this child trafficking ring. Rogan has the evidence that will blow it open.”

  “If he has what you say, why has he not used it?”

  “I don’t believe he was properly motivated. The people on that list scared him pretty bad. He let them buy him off in exchange for his silence. But once we showed up, they took measures to make his silence more permanent. I can’t have that. Rogan has to live. At least long enough to get us the intel we need.”

  “Sí. I understand. But why call him?”

  “I want to make sure he’s alive.”

  “Will calling him change that?”

  “No. But it will tell me what I need to do next.”

  He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “What you need to do next is finish dinner with me, and then do the task I have for you. Then, my friend, then you will call this Rogan and get what you need from him. Not before.”

  I glanced at Mel, but read nothing in her eyes that gave me any hint of how to proceed. She looked genuinely frightened.

  “Then I guess you’ll have to fill me in on what you want done,” I said.

  Chapter 34

  Carlos refused to answer my question that night, as it turned out. Instead, he ushered us back to the dining room where we finished our meal. Mel barely touched her food, but she readily downed the wine.

  Vic didn’t join us.

  I left the rest of the wine untouched and instead drank the water. I devoured the meat and the vegetables.

  If we were in as much danger as Mel seemed to think we were, and which Vic seemed to think we were, too, judging from his earlier threat, then I wanted to have as much energy available to me as I could.

  And I did not want a head fuzzy with wine.

  There was very little small talk, however, and mercifully, the meal ended shortly thereafter. I thanked Carlos for his hospitality and for the food. It really was the finest meal I’d had in years. Prison food being disgusting by design, even the roadside diners, pancake houses and fast food we’d had since Mel broke me out had seemed gourmet. But this put all of that to shame.

  We heard rumors on the block that those savage souls on death row had once been served meals like this on their final night—but that was before New York’s Supreme Court did away with the death penalty.

  No one ate good in prison anymore.

  Of course, just thinking of death row made me wonder what, precisely, Carlos had in mind for me. Was this his own way of paying homage to that ancient tradition of the last meal?

  I was determined to find out.

  Following dinner Carlos excused himself, taking Brueger with him, and leaving me alone with Mel, Candi, and Banger. We sat in the living room and probably would’ve spent the evening staring at each other if Banger hadn’t turned the fifty inch flat screen T.V. on to ESPN. He offered me a beer from the fridge, and against my better judgment I accepted it, and then snuggled onto the couch with Mel curled up against me to watch the game.

  Candi sat between Mel and Banger, providing us a vital barrier from Banger’s frequent cheers and jeers at the screen. I wondered if he believed the players and refs could hear him. Given how loud he was, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if they could.

  “He killed him,” Mel whispered to me, her face fairly buried in my shirt.

  “Do you mean Vic?” I murmured.

  A single nod. “He picked him up by the throat with one hand. I saw it. Just before he shut the door.”

  I wanted to tell her it was okay, to say something to comfort her, but what did I have to offer? I’ve killed, too, but not like that. Not with the efficiency and coldness of a man swatting a fly. Brueger was far more dangerous than I’d given him credit for being, and Carlos as well, given that Hans obeyed his every word.

  No serious move against Carlos could even be contemplated without taking out Hans Brueger first. The only real question was how to do it.

  “Got any ideas?” I murmured.

  She heaved a breath. “I don’t know. You can’t fight him.”

  “Don’t want to. No wonder Banger wanted him to go at me. He’d have gotten his revenge in style.”

  “Don’t say that.” She looked up at me then, her eyes rimmed with tears. “It’s all I’ve been thinking of. All I can see!”

  I shushed her gently, a finger placed against her lips. “It’ll never come to that.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “I do. I won’t fight Brueger. I may kill him, but I won’t fight him. Okay?”

  She closed her eyes and clutched my shirt, silent sobs wracking her body. I held her there and let her shake out her grief and fear.

  ***

  There was no lovemaking that night. We went to bed around eleven, shortly after the game ended. Banger made a few half-hearted attempts at small talk, and then announced he was turning in. Candi asked him if he knew where Vic was, to which he replied, “Sorry, love. Ain’t see him since he went upstairs with these two.”

  When she looked our way, Mel dug her fingers into my shirt. I simply shrugged. “Last I saw him he was in Hector’s room with Brueger.”

  She blinked once, as if calculating this information and drawing the necessary and only conclusion, and then announced she was off to bed as well. “Don’t be up long,” she advised. “The early bird gets the worm.”