your fucking arms up.”
I stared him down as I lifted my arms in a
T
, not even blinking as he awkwardly patted my chest, back, and hips. His hand closed over the bulge in my hip pocket.
“What’s this?” he said, squinting.
He jumped back as a stream of playing cards launched from my pocket. They flashed through the air in a stream of red and black and riffled into my outstretched hand. I caught the last card and turned my palm to show him. Bicycle Dragon Backs, my usual brand.
“Just a deck of cards,” I said.
I saw his throat bulge as he swallowed. Nicky knew, better than most people, what I could do with a deck of cards.
“Yeah, all right,” he said. “You’re clean.”
“Now tell me something I don’t know.”
“Do better than that,” he said, turning to the back door and jiggling a key in the lock. “I’ll show you.”
I put the cards away and followed him in.
The kitchen had never seen a speck of dirt, outside of what we tracked in on our shoes. Nicky’s new place had beech cabinets, yellow-and-white-checkered linoleum, and not a single utensil to be seen. Up the hall I could see a living room with brand new carpets the color of gold leaf, unmarred by footprints or furniture.
“This place is nice,” Nicky said. “The developers went bust a few months back and they’re sorting out who owes what to who, so you don’t have a lot of real estate agents poking around, trying to—”
Beneath our feet, someone screamed. The muffled howl was primal, mingled fear and pain, setting my teeth on edge.
“Another nice thing,” Nicky said. “It has a basement. Basements aren’t cheap out here, you know? It’s because of the caliche. The sedimentary rock. Digging that shit out is a ton of work. You pay out the ass for the square footage.”
“What’s going on here, Nicky?”
He opened a door just off the kitchen. Unfinished stone steps led the way down, under the cold glow of a dangling workman’s light. He looked back at me, and I couldn’t read his expression.
“Follow me. I’ll show you,” he said.
I stood my ground.
“C’mon,” Nicky said. “This little party ain’t for you. If it was, you think I ever would’ve let you see it coming? Jeez, Dan, gimme some fuckin’ credit.”
I followed him down the basement steps. Another muffled scream broke the air, over a sizzling, metallic noise. The stale, humid air down below smelled like burnt pork.
A naked man dangled by his handcuffed wrists from a ceiling beam. His toes barely brushed the concrete floor. His body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, and cigarette burns. One eye was swollen shut and the other, staring out behind a clump of matted black hair, was a thousand miles away from sane.
“Danny!” cheered Juliette, waving her arms frantically and flashing a pearly smile. She would have seemed more welcoming if her face and curly blond hair weren’t spattered with fresh blood, and if she wasn’t wearing a black leather apron and matching elbow-length gloves. Justine, her twin sister, stood by a rolling cart and held up a pair of jumper cables like she was about to give away the grand prize on a game show.
“What,” I breathed, “the
fuck
, Nicky?”
“What, this guy right here?” Nicky said. He walked over to join the twins and patted the dangling man on the back. “Dan, meet Clay Boswell. Clay ran a little crew in Summerlin for me. Or at least he did, until he decided there was more of a future in law enforcement.”
Juliette handed Nicky a white silk handkerchief. He wiped his fingers delicately. Clay tried to talk, mumbling incoherently behind the filthy gag in his mouth, his chapped and bloody lips twitching.
“Which means it’s time to play our favorite game”—Justine tapped the jumper cables together and showered the cement floor in a violent explosion of sparks—”
attitude adjustment
!”
Nicky walked back over to me. Behind him, Justine lunged in and pressed the cables to Clay’s chest. He
I stared him down as I lifted my arms in a
T
, not even blinking as he awkwardly patted my chest, back, and hips. His hand closed over the bulge in my hip pocket.
“What’s this?” he said, squinting.
He jumped back as a stream of playing cards launched from my pocket. They flashed through the air in a stream of red and black and riffled into my outstretched hand. I caught the last card and turned my palm to show him. Bicycle Dragon Backs, my usual brand.
“Just a deck of cards,” I said.
I saw his throat bulge as he swallowed. Nicky knew, better than most people, what I could do with a deck of cards.
“Yeah, all right,” he said. “You’re clean.”
“Now tell me something I don’t know.”
“Do better than that,” he said, turning to the back door and jiggling a key in the lock. “I’ll show you.”
I put the cards away and followed him in.
The kitchen had never seen a speck of dirt, outside of what we tracked in on our shoes. Nicky’s new place had beech cabinets, yellow-and-white-checkered linoleum, and not a single utensil to be seen. Up the hall I could see a living room with brand new carpets the color of gold leaf, unmarred by footprints or furniture.
“This place is nice,” Nicky said. “The developers went bust a few months back and they’re sorting out who owes what to who, so you don’t have a lot of real estate agents poking around, trying to—”
Beneath our feet, someone screamed. The muffled howl was primal, mingled fear and pain, setting my teeth on edge.
“Another nice thing,” Nicky said. “It has a basement. Basements aren’t cheap out here, you know? It’s because of the caliche. The sedimentary rock. Digging that shit out is a ton of work. You pay out the ass for the square footage.”
“What’s going on here, Nicky?”
He opened a door just off the kitchen. Unfinished stone steps led the way down, under the cold glow of a dangling workman’s light. He looked back at me, and I couldn’t read his expression.
“Follow me. I’ll show you,” he said.
I stood my ground.
“C’mon,” Nicky said. “This little party ain’t for you. If it was, you think I ever would’ve let you see it coming? Jeez, Dan, gimme some fuckin’ credit.”
I followed him down the basement steps. Another muffled scream broke the air, over a sizzling, metallic noise. The stale, humid air down below smelled like burnt pork.
A naked man dangled by his handcuffed wrists from a ceiling beam. His toes barely brushed the concrete floor. His body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, and cigarette burns. One eye was swollen shut and the other, staring out behind a clump of matted black hair, was a thousand miles away from sane.
“Danny!” cheered Juliette, waving her arms frantically and flashing a pearly smile. She would have seemed more welcoming if her face and curly blond hair weren’t spattered with fresh blood, and if she wasn’t wearing a black leather apron and matching elbow-length gloves. Justine, her twin sister, stood by a rolling cart and held up a pair of jumper cables like she was about to give away the grand prize on a game show.
“What,” I breathed, “the
fuck
, Nicky?”
“What, this guy right here?” Nicky said. He walked over to join the twins and patted the dangling man on the back. “Dan, meet Clay Boswell. Clay ran a little crew in Summerlin for me. Or at least he did, until he decided there was more of a future in law enforcement.”
Juliette handed Nicky a white silk handkerchief. He wiped his fingers delicately. Clay tried to talk, mumbling incoherently behind the filthy gag in his mouth, his chapped and bloody lips twitching.
“Which means it’s time to play our favorite game”—Justine tapped the jumper cables together and showered the cement floor in a violent explosion of sparks—”
attitude adjustment
!”
Nicky walked back over to me. Behind him, Justine lunged in and pressed the cables to Clay’s chest. He
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