Chapters (42)
- DEDICATION
- EPIGRAPH
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY RICHARD KADREY
- CREDITS
- ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Salzman looked around the bar, hating the other mooks, but himself most of all. Everything he’d done and everything he wanted was in the hands of a jackass, a civilian, and a paranoid ghost. Or, to be more accurate, a jackass, a jackass civilian, and a jackass paranoid ghost. If he weren’t already dead, he’d be worried. As it was, what he felt wasn’t dread, but more a dire fear of sameness. That tomorrow would be no different from today. He couldn’t even get drunk. His physiology wouldn’t let him. Maybe he’d go out and kill somebody. That was always fun. A random stranger. Maybe at a highway rest stop. Toss the body in a Dumpster. Blow off a little steam and get back to the office in time for Coop’s report. He checked his watch and got up. He’d have to get going if he wanted to beat the traffic.
At Týden Divu, Babylon was looking a little more drunk and restless than Giselle liked. Time to move, she thought.
“So, Mr. Babylon. How much money are we actually talking about for the box?”
“One hundred million,” he said without missing a beat.
Bayliss sat back in her seat. Giselle gave her a light rap on the foot with her shoe.
“Considering everything you’ve told us about it, that sounds like a reasonable price,” she said. “But, unless you’re ready to accept a personal check, it will take us a day or so to put together that much cash.”
He smiled. “As lovely as you ladies are, yes, I’m strictly a cash man. When can you get your finances together?”
“How’s Friday?” said Bayliss.
Babylon gazed at his disgusting drink like he was trying to channel Jesus, not to turn his water to wine, but his Roy Rogers to gin. “That’s reasonable,” he said. “Let’s say ten o’clock in the evening at the Bonaventure Hotel? I have a room on perpetual reserve.”
“Perfect,” said Giselle. “Now, I noticed you eyeing the gaming tables earlier. Fancy a game of something? Our treat, of course.”
“Do you play roulette?” he said.
“No. Maybe you could teach us.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“I’ll settle up our drinks and meet you over there,” said Bayliss.
When Babylon was on his feet, Giselle offered him her arm. He took it and they headed for the roulette wheel. She prayed that Coop was already on the move. Even with all the risks, she was a little jealous of him. He got to play Indiana Jones while the DOPS had her on a budget. If Babylon sucked at roulette, she might have to dip into discretionary funds, and the paperwork on that was murder. Better to be digging through Laurel Canyon’s sewers with a ghost in your head than worrying about this particular kind of crap.