could now see a cluster of dump-truck-size security guards standing in front of the open gate. Veronica watched as one by one the occupants of each car stepped out. One guard appraised the guests and decided if they were going in or not. If they got the nod, a second guard—or maybe just an incredibly muscular valet—would step up and take the wheel of their car while a third guard patted the guests down.
“What kind of party is this again?” Wallace stared atthe enormous security guards ahead of them, brows arched skeptically.
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
It was all very organized for a spring break rager, which led Veronica to believe that either the parties were some kind of marketing campaign—maybe put on by a party promoter who had a special deal with Sun and Surf, Inc., or an alcohol distributor launching a new product. Or, perhaps, the owner of the mansion had some very good reason to keep security tight.
A guard waved Veronica forward, and her heart sped up as she pulled up to the gatehouse.
“Evening. Can you both get out of the car for me?” He was polite and no-nonsense.
A professional, for sure. Maybe even ex-military?
“Sure!” Her voice was immediately up a half octave from usual, with a buoyant, eager tone. She opened the car door and stepped out on her towering wedges, looking around wide-eyed. “This is so ah-MA-zing. Is this, like, a movie star’s mansion or something? Oh. My. Gosh. Tell me it’s Robert Pattinson’s, because if it is I think I might die. No, wait,
don’t
tell me.”
The guard was a hulking man with buzzed hair and a squashed-looking nose. The buttons on his aloha shirt strained to contain his bulk. If he hadn’t looked so exhausted, he might have been terrifying. His expression—long-suffering but patient—didn’t move as he listened to her prattle.
One of the guards back by the gatehouse muttered something in Spanish she couldn’t quite hear, his eyes traveling over her. The others laughed. Veronica waited, her eyes ingénuewide. All of them were packing heat—she could see the telltale bulges of their holsters under their clothes, the way they all angled their bodies gun side away. She felt a prick of unease in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t brought her Taser, a staple when she was on a job; after her drive-by earlier, she’d anticipated being searched. More than the thin, flimsy cotton dress that barely covered her torso, its absence made her feel strangely naked.
“So is there like some kind of cover charge? Do I have to buy a cup, or …” She trailed off, cocking her head at the guard. He was watching her with an unmoving expression, almost as if waiting out her monologue. On the other side of the car, Wallace gave her a nervous glance over the hood, his arms held stiffly out while another guard patted him down.
The two guards looked at each other. The one patting down Veronica took her keys right out of her hand and gave her a small red ticket.
“Okay, ma’am, here’s your claim ticket for the car. When you’re ready to get out of here just bring it back, we’ll get it for you.”
Veronica staggered to Wallace’s side and looped her arm through his. “Thanks so much, guys! Come on, Wallace, let’s
party
!” She let out a wild whoop, tugging him along up the drive.
He looked behind them. “Man, these guys are organized.”
Organized, and armed
. Her nerves felt white-hot and electric as they walked up the driveway. A full moon had come up over the bluffs and cast deep shadows across the lawn.
The house itself was lit like a beacon, every windowshining in the darkness. It was a sprawling modern structure of slate and glass, set right on the beach. She passed a few clusters of stray partygoers on her way to the door. A girl in a grass skirt and faux coconut-shell bikini top staggered across the lawn after her friend, yelling, “Come on, Heather, don’t be like that!” Her coconuts had gotten knocked askew, but she
“What kind of party is this again?” Wallace stared atthe enormous security guards ahead of them, brows arched skeptically.
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
It was all very organized for a spring break rager, which led Veronica to believe that either the parties were some kind of marketing campaign—maybe put on by a party promoter who had a special deal with Sun and Surf, Inc., or an alcohol distributor launching a new product. Or, perhaps, the owner of the mansion had some very good reason to keep security tight.
A guard waved Veronica forward, and her heart sped up as she pulled up to the gatehouse.
“Evening. Can you both get out of the car for me?” He was polite and no-nonsense.
A professional, for sure. Maybe even ex-military?
“Sure!” Her voice was immediately up a half octave from usual, with a buoyant, eager tone. She opened the car door and stepped out on her towering wedges, looking around wide-eyed. “This is so ah-MA-zing. Is this, like, a movie star’s mansion or something? Oh. My. Gosh. Tell me it’s Robert Pattinson’s, because if it is I think I might die. No, wait,
don’t
tell me.”
The guard was a hulking man with buzzed hair and a squashed-looking nose. The buttons on his aloha shirt strained to contain his bulk. If he hadn’t looked so exhausted, he might have been terrifying. His expression—long-suffering but patient—didn’t move as he listened to her prattle.
One of the guards back by the gatehouse muttered something in Spanish she couldn’t quite hear, his eyes traveling over her. The others laughed. Veronica waited, her eyes ingénuewide. All of them were packing heat—she could see the telltale bulges of their holsters under their clothes, the way they all angled their bodies gun side away. She felt a prick of unease in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t brought her Taser, a staple when she was on a job; after her drive-by earlier, she’d anticipated being searched. More than the thin, flimsy cotton dress that barely covered her torso, its absence made her feel strangely naked.
“So is there like some kind of cover charge? Do I have to buy a cup, or …” She trailed off, cocking her head at the guard. He was watching her with an unmoving expression, almost as if waiting out her monologue. On the other side of the car, Wallace gave her a nervous glance over the hood, his arms held stiffly out while another guard patted him down.
The two guards looked at each other. The one patting down Veronica took her keys right out of her hand and gave her a small red ticket.
“Okay, ma’am, here’s your claim ticket for the car. When you’re ready to get out of here just bring it back, we’ll get it for you.”
Veronica staggered to Wallace’s side and looped her arm through his. “Thanks so much, guys! Come on, Wallace, let’s
party
!” She let out a wild whoop, tugging him along up the drive.
He looked behind them. “Man, these guys are organized.”
Organized, and armed
. Her nerves felt white-hot and electric as they walked up the driveway. A full moon had come up over the bluffs and cast deep shadows across the lawn.
The house itself was lit like a beacon, every windowshining in the darkness. It was a sprawling modern structure of slate and glass, set right on the beach. She passed a few clusters of stray partygoers on her way to the door. A girl in a grass skirt and faux coconut-shell bikini top staggered across the lawn after her friend, yelling, “Come on, Heather, don’t be like that!” Her coconuts had gotten knocked askew, but she
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