“Yes, Sir Burris.”
“Good, now take us to our fucking ride,” Vigil said. And they did, hustling us into the old Dodge van like we were going to experience sniper fire at any moment. As we entered the van, I felt the web of protective spells and anti-scrying wards dripping off it. It was hard to miss the tripod-mounted, fifty-caliber machine gun in the hatchback section either, or the security man ready to use it, crouched like a door gunner in a tailored suit.
Weaving through the concrete moats of I-405, I leaned over to Vigil and spoke softly. “So what is with all this?”
“My best guess until I can have a proper sit-down with the sergeant is that one of Ankou’s rivals must have gotten wind of the operation. Probably looking to collect you to find out the particulars or kill you, to stop whatever it is.”
“This is fucking stellar,” I said, slipping an American Spirit out and lighting it. “This is exactly why I don’t do the whole other-people thing.”
“Uh, Mr. Ballard, no smoking, please,” the sergeant said. I ignored him.
“I can’t drag a whole fucking security detail with me to the places I need to go,” I said. “They get one good look at them, or just you, and they are going to think ‘cop.’”
“Mr. Ballard, no smoking in the car,” the sergeant said. “These windows are made of Chimera lens; they provide plenty of protection, but we can’t lower them, so…”
I took a deep draw on the cigarette and blew some smoke the sergeant’s way. “Funny, I don’t hear Sir Burris saying anything about it. ’Course I am at a disadvantage with my tiny little blunt, human ears.” Vigil almost smiled, almost.
“Man can smoke,” Vigil said.
“Yes, Sir Burris.”
* * *
The Ankou clan had a modest little compound of three buildings and a dozen guest bungalows on twenty-seven acres in the hyper-exclusive, gated fortress community of North Beverly Park. You couldn’t swing a prenup without hitting a multimillionaire actor, musician, or pro athlete in the hood. The Ankous were also not the only high-profile drug dealers hiding out in Beverly Park from the majority of their customer base behind big, safe walls, patrolled by private police. We pulled up into the circular drive about forty minutes after getting clear of LAX. The drive featured a large, splashing, burbling fountain. I could sense a domesticated kelpie, a murderous water spirit, inhabiting the fountain’s waters, ready to strike and drown any unwary intruders to the grounds.
The GQ goons took our stuff inside. When I walked into the foyer, I was suddenly reminded of Tony Montana’s mansion in Scarface. The world is fucking yours. I looked all over the place, and then I felt Vigil’s gaze on me. I turned to him and cranked my cornpone up to eleven.
“Well, sha-zam! Where do y’all keep your fancy cement pond?” I said. Vigil shook his head and walked past me toward what looked like a study the size of a small Latin American country. I followed him. “Now what?” I asked.
“Now, I check in with Ankou, and you tell me where we’re headed.” He pulled out a cell phone and slid into a thick leather chair.
“Hold it, chief,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding in the car. I can find this girl’s trail, but I can’t do it with the goddamned Bulgarian police department hanging out with me.”
“Just me,” he said. “I’ll be discreet. I’ll leave the strappado and thumbscrews at home.”
“You can’t be this fucking discreet,” I said. “These folks are deep, deep background in the Life. They are skittish as hell, and they only talk or deal in front of people they are one hundred percent on.”
“And that’s you?” Vigil said. I walked over to the full bar and rummaged around, finding a glass, some ice, and a bottle of Tanqueray and made myself a drink.
“It is indeed,” I said.
“I doubt you’ve been a hundred percent on anything in your whole life,” Vigil said. My response was to take a long, cool drink of the gin. Vigil dialed his phone, making sure the security encryption was active.
“If you want results, you have got to do this my way,” I said. He held up a finger for me to pause.
“It’s Burris,” he said into the cell. “We are on a semi-secure line. The asset has been delivered to Los Angeles…”
“‘Asset,’ well, you sweet-talker, you,” I said, grinning.
Vigil glared at me but continued, unabated. “If I may ask, which of your friends might we expect a visit from while we are here?” He listened for a bit and then made an even sourer face than usual. “Yes, I will give them your regards if our paths cross,” he finally said. “One more thing, the asset wishes to freelance his investigation.” Vigil paused as he listened to Ankou. “I see, yes. I agree. Very good. Yes, we will notify you of any progress. Good-bye.” He put the phone away and pulled himself out of the comfy chair.
“The answer was no,” he said, “and I agree with his reasoning. Ankou’s agents have learned that House Xana has sent a Carnifex here to kill you.”
“Xana, those are the Fae out of Spain, right?”
“Yes,” Vigil said. “You know what a Carnifex is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, they’re mystic hit men for the Fae Houses. Every family has a few on retainer.”
“Then you know how dangerous they are,” Vigil said, “how much of their lives they devote to death and magic.”
“Yeah.” I sighed and polished off the drink, poured another, and had it with an American Spirit chaser. “Look, I can handle a button man, even a skilled one. I’m not fresh off the turnip tru—”
Vigil drew his gun fast, faster than he had punched Sarge on the airport tarmac. He fired as it cleared his holster. I was already rolling over the bar before my drink had hit the floor. I heard the whine of
