Game of Cages

expressions of the Mustaches changed his mind. Stork Neck came up behind him and patted him down.

From my position, I couldn’t see Larry Fine’s expression. “What the hell are you doing?” he said.

Fat Mustache answered him: “The other bidders here have asked us to kill you both.” He was the Russian- speaker. I’d followed the wrong party.

“You can’t do that!” Larry Fine blurted out.

“Of course I can,” the woman answered. Her voice was mild. Stork Neck removed a little revolver from the biker’s belt. “However, I’m tempted to let you live, if you cooperate.”

I crossed the doorway to have a better view. No one saw me. They were all paying very close attention to one another. Larry Fine had a look of blustering outrage, as though he had been told he couldn’t have nutmeg in his latte. “This doesn’t even make sense—”

“Don’t be dense, Mr. Kripke. You did not come here to purchase this creature. You don’t have the cash to bid or the resources to hold it.”

“I didn’t expect the price to start so—”

“Shut up,” she said. Her tone wasn’t harsh or angry, but he did it. “You came here to gather information for your little electronic circle of friends. You plan to put our names and descriptions into your database. Don’t bother to deny it.”

His mouth worked while he decided whether to take her advice. “You’re wrong and you’re right. I would have bought the creature if the price hadn’t been so high, just like you. I’m also planning to make a record of everything I’ve seen, Professor Solorov, also just like you.” Kripke had an edge of contempt in his voice, as though he didn’t think they had the guts to kill him.

Biker looked uncomfortable and edged away from Kripke. I could tell he took the threat seriously, and so did I.

The ghost knife was still in my pocket, but I couldn’t use it. Both Mustaches had their backs to me, and I couldn’t see their guns. My spell would pretty much hit whatever I wanted it to, but I couldn’t hit what I couldn’t see. I also expected them to have backup weapons. Horace did.

I could have targeted the men rather than the weapons, of course, but I couldn’t hit all of them together. Someone would have time to squeeze a trigger, and I wasn’t protected well enough to survive a shotgun blast.

“Perhaps we will,” Solorov answered. I wondered if she said we when her gunmen weren’t around. “But there are crucial differences. First, we know everyone we will share this information with personally. Second, we brought more guns. You.” She spoke to Biker for the first time. “You’re his friend, correct? He didn’t hire you as a bodyguard; he asked you to come along, right?”

“Right,” Biker answered. His voice was hoarse.

“We thought so,” she said. “We’re going to split you up, but we’re willing to spare your lives if you both cooperate.”

Kripke let out a dismissive puff of air. “I wouldn’t join your group if you—”

“I didn’t say you could join us,” Solorov said sharply. “You can work for us. I know someone has been feeding you information—recent information. If you share it with us—all of it—and if you report to your group in exactly the manner I indicate, you and your friend may survive.”

Kripke looked over at Biker. The look on his friend’s face drained all the insolence out of him. He nodded.

“You’re lucky, Mr. Kripke, although I doubt you have the wit to see it. If Mr. Yin had been asked to get rid of you, two of his men would have walked in here, shot you both, and left you dead on the floor. And that crotchety German bastard would have cut you open and eaten you. At least I—and the rest of the Fellows, of course—have given you a chance to live and be useful.”

Stork Neck and Skinny Mustache waved at Biker. He stood. They were leaving.

I slid away from the door as quietly as I could. There was one other door in the hall, but it was locked. The rattle of the latch sounded as loud as an alarm bell. I hustled away, holding the tray in my left hand.

The corridor ended at a door with a dead bolt. I didn’t bother to rattle the knob. To my right was another mudroom and a door into the backyard. To my left was a flight of stairs. I walked up the steps.

The library door clicked shut. At the top of the first landing, I heard Biker’s hoarse voice say: “You guys don’t have to kill me, you know.”

“We know.” I didn’t recognize that voice.

“You … you wouldn’t really do it, though, right?” I could hear the question in Biker’s voice: Are these guys really killers? “Have you ever done this before?”

“I wanted a monster,” a new voice said. It sounded high and thin, as though the speaker was under terrible strain. “I came here to get a monster, but we weren’t fucking rich enough. Do you know how long I …” He let that sentence trail off as though he was swallowing all his disappointment and resentment. I wouldn’t want to be on the ugly end of his gun.

“We won’t do anything we don’t have to do,” the first man said calmly.

They went outside. I climbed the second flight and came to a huge back window. Through the drapes, I saw Stork Neck and Skinny Mustache lead Biker toward the woods, away from the garage.

According to Horace, the guesthouse was where the predator had been kept. That was my next stop.

There was a muffled chunk of a slamming car door. I crossed toward the front of the house. The nearest door was unlocked and the room inside was filled with furniture covered with white sheets, just like in the movies. The musty smell made me wrinkle my nose.

More heavy drapes hung over the windows at the front of the house. Each window was taller than my apartment. I pulled the drape open a crack. The X6 backed up, trying to make its way through the crowded lot. When it was as close to the door as it was going to get, the guy in the furry Russian hat climbed out of the driver’s