leave.” He scratched at his chin again. “I may have been set up. I don’t know. Hell, I’m not even sure it was a representative of the vampires that approached me.”
“You said she was a vamp.”
“Yes. Doesn’t mean she’s on their side.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe she’s working for SSTIX. You’ve heard of them?”
“Specialized Squadron for the Tactical Investigation of Xenocrime. Yeah. I’ve heard of them.” He did not tell Plympton about his run-in with Special Agent Damian Brent and Special Agent Clive Napier over the lines of glass on Lake Erie’s shore—the only traces of a supernatural battle that he and the w?rewolves had taken part in. “You mean there’s a vamp out there that you think is not sleeping her day away in a haven?”
“SSTIX is recruiting, John.” He let that sink in for a moment. “They’re a-looking for haters. If they don’t find them, they’ll manufacture them, do you a-understand me?”
“You mean they will have the vamp make more vamps? That’s not supposed to be easily done. . . . ”
“No. I mean they will plant seeds, make their own kind not trust the one they are after until that one is a-ripe for the picking.”
Johnny sat in silence as Plympton stood and took the key out again.
“My handler intercepted information that I was being bribed, that I had been giving out classified information to the vamps. Thing is, that information was selected by my handler for the giving. It was modified data. Spies apparently deal not only in information, but in misinformation to make their enemies reveal themselves. When my so-called contacts tried to use the information against me, to make the Zvonul banish me, then I’d have nowhere to go but to them. Do you see? They are going to use our own against us to bring us down from the inside.”
“And you believe the information in the locker is what your handler intercepted.”
“Yes. I have to get that data. It’s the only thing that can maintain my credibility—and you need me to be credible, to vouch for you when Aurelia’s death is made public.”
Johnny stood. “She told me what was in the locker. She didn’t mention anything about any of this. What if you’re wrong and she wasn’t your handler?”
“I’m certain she was. If she told you there was something in the locker for you, there is. But she meant for us to get it together.”
“How do you know that?”
“She directed some veterinarian to call my number; she’d given him a message for me. It was in code, but it meant that I was to come and get the key from her suitcase, and to wait for the monarch. Here you are. She had to have told you where the locker is. That’s why I was to wait for you.”
Johnny walked across the suite to a dark corner. He pulled out his phone and punched the numbers for Doc Lincoln. That part would be easy to verify.
The doc answered with a voice thick with sleep. Johnny asked, “Did you make a call for Aurelia?”
Silence.
“Doc. Did she give you special instructions before she died?”
“John, it was crazy talk. It made no sense. She said not to tell you.”
“Good enough. Get back to sleep.” Johnny shut his phone and, shoulders squared, returned to Plympton. “I carry the key.”
“I prefer to keep it.”
“If we run into trouble, I can protect it better than you.”
“If we run into trouble, you’re going to change and lose your clothes.”
“Look here, John. If you want to kill me for it, go on and do it, but I am not giving you this key. Show me where it goes, and you can open it with me. There must be something in it for you, you can have that, but I get the documents pertaining to me. That’s all I want. Isn’t that fair enough?”
• • •
The cabbie was literally going out of his way to make his fare larger, and it pissed Johnny off, but he said nothing as the man made another turn.
When they pulled up in front of the blue marquee, Plympton, who had been silent the whole way, got out. Johnny handed the cabbie a twenty, letting his hand go furry as the man reached to accept it. He recoiled with a gasp. “Superior to Thirteenth was the shortest way,” Johnny said to the driver, who was cowering against his door. “If you ever drive me again, don’t try to cheat me.” He hurried to catch up with Plympton, who’d already disappeared inside the silver-steel doors.
Inside, the yellow and white checkerboard floors gleamed in the bright lights. The old man was approaching the lockers, checking numbers against the one on the key. When he found it, he stopped and turned, waiting.
To Johnny’s surprise, Plympton offered him the key.
He accepted it, then wondered if the locker might be booby-trapped. Or if Plympton planned to whack him in the head when he was distracted.
Inside lay a key fob, with one key and a paper tag secured to it with a green twist tie. Johnny lifted the key and examined the tag. Written on it in Aurelia’s scripted cursive was:
A license plate number was printed on the tag.
The two men locked gazes. “Looks like we’re a-needin’ another cab.”
Shortly later, a different driver for the same company dropped them at the RTA Flats East Bank station. This one had wisely taken the most direct route to get them there.
Plympton made a comment about Johnny’s “racy-looking vehicle” and grumbled as he climbed into the Maserati’s “low” passenger seat, which explained why they had used the Cadillac Escalade limousine earlier.
Johnny knew it was about an hour’s drive from here to the Lauby Road airport, and about forty-five minutes from there to Red’s, plus the time it took to find and deal with the Altima—it better not send them on to another location. He didn’t have the time to run around all night. Demeter was on her way. In fact, she should arrive at the farmhouse in an hour. He texted Kirk: Get an update on the arrival time of the Pittsburgh group for me.
By the time they were on I-77, the reply arrived: ETA 1 hr 23 mins as per their GPS. Took some time 2 reach someone @ Pittsburgh den, have them reply to the request & find 2 w?res 2 take the job, then get them 2 the tattoo parlor 2 pick up the passenger.
Johnny texted back: Good enuf. Thx.
So he had to haul ass on the interstate to be able to get to the farmhouse when Demeter did. He locked in the cruise control at 90 mph.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ailo followed Goliath and Menessos across the stage and up. Vinny had followed as well. In the hall outside the theater, three more guards joined them. When they climbed the steps to the first floor there were five guards with thick gloves on their hands waiting for them at the top. With a nod from Goliath, they charged down the hall and barged through a door marked ACCOUNTING OFFICE.
The next few minutes were a blur of screaming rage from Talto, gloved guards restraining her, and the call for someone to bring smelling salts to rouse the accountant from his stupor.
Ailo was surprised that Menessos and Goliath didn’t immediately jump into questioning the youngest shabbubitu, but their priority was securing the haven’s funds. Everyone here was focused on Talto’s tantrum. Ailo knew if she could slip away, this might be her best chance to abscond with the child.
But dawn was only a few hours away. She would have to find a place to secure both herself and the child for the day . . . a place the Beholders would not discover.
