“Yeah, and then this guy, and we had to get the truck for him-”
“And the girl was hot, man,” Hale explained, punching Reed’s shoulder. “Smoking hot, you know?”
Reed ran a hand across his face, mashing it against his eyes. “You didn’t send it in,” he said, without looking. It wasn’t a question. “Let’s go. We’re screwed.”
At the sound of Reed’s hoarse, gravelly voice, the girl at the table finally looked up. Her eyes widened, and her surly expression morphed into a half smile. “Not so fast, boys,” she told them, fingering the black, studded collar that hugged her neck. “You come a long way for this?”
“We were on the road all day yesterday,” Beth said. The girl didn’t appear to notice. She was too busy staring at Reed. And he’d noticed.
“Can’t believe the shitty van made it the whole way,” he told her, flashing a rare smile. “We’re probably stuck here for good.”
The girl leaned forward, giving all of them a good glimpse of the dark crease at the base of her neckline. (Could it still be called a neckline when it dipped nearly to her navel?) “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” she said.
“Maybe not,” Reed agreed, reaching back and rustling the back of his head, which made his wild black hair fly out in all directions. Beth couldn’t help admire the way his sinewy biceps moved between his tight, black T-shirt-and she wasn’t the only one.
“I’m Starla,” the girl said, extending a hand to Reed. When he took it, she didn’t shake, just gripped his hand firmly, holding it in midair for a too-long moment. “That’s Starla with a star.” She turned his hand over and, grabbing a ballpoint pen, illustrated on his palm:
STAR LA
Beth felt like she was going to be sick.
“Reed,” he told her, without snatching his hand back.
“And I’m Beth,” Beth said, stepping closer to her boyfriend. She wanted to wrap an arm around his shoulder, the universal sign for
“I might be able to slip you guys into the schedule,” Star la said.
“You won’t get in trouble?” Reed asked.
“I’m sure it’d be worth it,” the girl assured him. “After all, you could be ‘America’s Next Superstars,’” she said with mock enthusiasm, mouthing the contest slogan.
“Never gonna happen,” Reed promised her, though he leaned over the table and began filling out the forms she’d handed him.
“Have a little hope. Reed Sawyer,” Star la said brightly, reading the name upside down off one of the forms. She pulled out a handful of buttons, each bearing the label #32. Two went to Beth, who handed them off to Fish and Hale. Star la took the third one and pinned it onto Reed’s shirt just below his breastbone. Beth noticed that her fingernails were painted black and a small, thorny rose was tattooed along the length of her inner wrist. She caught Reed noticing it too. “This is Vegas.” Star la slapped her hand flat against his chest. “Anything can happen.”
“How can you watch that shit?” Kane flicked his hand toward the TV, where a bright blue squirrel was chasing a talking bird through the magic forest.
“The question is, how can you
Kane shrugged. When he was a kid, he’d spent Saturday morning helping his brother clear up the remains of last night’s partying before their father came home. As for the dubious existence of his soul… it wasn’t a question for a hungover Saturday morning in Sin City.
“I’ve got a phone call to make,” he told the girls. “If this slacker wakes up”-he gestured at Adam, still conked out in his sleeping bag-“tell him not to touch my aftershave.”
“Yeah, we’ll make sure he knows your makeup and hair gel is off-limits too,Tyra,” Harper mocked. He tossed a pillow at her, hitting Miranda, instead. She grabbed it with a giggle and threw it back at him, the worn gray tank top she’d slept in rising up to reveal a taut band of skin above her low-riding boxers.
“Back in a flash, ladies. Try not to miss me too much.” He tipped an imaginary hat to them and slipped out to the hallway. Let his friends sleep in and waste the day away watching TV. Kane had been up for an hour or two and was already showered, impeccably dressed, and ready to go. He just had a few details to finalize.
He dialed the number. “I’m here,” he said into the phone, before his contact had a chance to speak. “When can we meet?”
“Do you have the cash?”
“Do you have the stuff?”
There was a pause. “I have what I said I would. You shouldn’t have to ask.”
Kane always had to ask. “Just tell me where.” A few girls he vaguely recognized from Haven High wandered down the hall in their pajamas, giggling and blushing when they spotted him. He waved, flashed the famous smirk, then, as soon as they passed, turned toward the wall and hunched over the phone. Normally he loved nothing more than to see and, more importantly, be seen; but this was nobody’s business but his own. “Where and when?”
“Two thirty. At the Fantasia, by the fountain in the rear lobby. You know the place?”
“I’ll find it,” Kane said, and snapped the phone shut. He checked his watch: He had almost two hours to kill. Two hours in paradise-not usually the kind of thing he minded. But he was impatient to get the meeting over with, the deal done. He headed back into the room to swig some mouthwash and grab his wallet, his mind already running through all his options for pleasure in the pleasure center of the world.
He never needed a reason to go to Vegas, his haven away from Haven. It had everything he could ever want: booze, blues, girls, gambling, endless possibilities. But a little added incentive never hurt anyone, and as far as he was concerned, there was no better incentive than cold, hard cash.
As much of it as possible.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Harper pressed herself against the bathroom door, blocking his exit. It was far too early in the morning for her plans to be falling so completely apart.
Kane hoisted himself up onto the bathroom sink and swung his feet off the edge. “I mean, I’m walking out the door, closing it behind me, walking down the hall, getting on the elevator-”
“Shut up,” Harper snapped. “It’s too early for sarcasm.”
“It’s past noon,” Kane pointed out.
“Whatever. Are you forgetting what we talked about last night?”
Kane tipped his head to the side, tapped his chin, and pretended to think. “World peace?”
He could be such a bastard sometimes-and yet so useful. At least when he decided to play nice. “We talked about the concert tomorrow. The Crash Burners, remember?” His face remained an
