“Don’t tell a soul about her,” Pilar warned her. “Not even management.”
“I won’t.” Her eyes were bright. “Is it true Kate’s going to be signing autographs and giving away T-shirts later?”
“Yep.” Pilar scooped up their room keys. “Watch the feeds and tell all your friends.”
“I will!”
Their hotel room was a chamber of crimson murkitude. Pilar threw herself on the bed and nearly slid right off the scarlet satin cover. “Holy shit, this thing’s slippery!”
Loup laughed.
“It’s not funny!” Pilar smiled. “Okay, it’s funny. But I’m not so sure about Devil Girl downstairs. We’re here five minutes and you’re already on someone’s radar.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t have it both ways,” she said pragmatically. “You want to go check the place out?”
“Sure.”
They wandered through the labyrinth of eternal night that was the Hellfire Club casino, trying not to giggle at the horn-sprouting dealers who tried to entice them into games of blackjack, craps, or roulette. There was a distant soundtrack of atonal music that was meant to be spooky, but even though the casino was sparsely populated, the mood was offset by the constant ringing and dinging of slot machines.
“You wanna try it?” Pilar offered.
Loup eyed a slot machine. “I guess.” She fished out a quarter and fed it into the machine, then pulled the lever. Two leering devil heads and a grinning skull lined up. Nothing else happened. “Huh.”
Pilar tried it and got a skull and two hooded hangmen. “ ’Kay. I’m over it.”
They worked their way to the center of the casino. It was built on an open plan around an immense escalator that rose in stages into the loaming gloom. A bored-looking guy wearing a white loincloth and angel’s wings stood at the base of the escalator.
“Stairway to Heaven!” he called, catching Pilar’s eye. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
“Heaven, huh?”
He pointed upward. “All the way to the top, and only accessible by the moving stairs.”
“Bet that seemed like a good idea at the time,” Loup observed.
“Yeah.” The angel grinned ruefully and handed them a pair of tickets. “The club opens at seven. They like me to comp the pretty ones. The action’s not as hot as Hades, but I can guarantee you won’t have to pay for a drink all night.”
“Thanks.” Pilar kissed his cheek.
He blinked. “You’re quite welcome!”
“That was for luck.” She smiled at him. “I never met an angel before.”
The angel regarded her with distinctly secular approval. “Sweetheart, trust me. You don’t need luck.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Her Dataphone rang. She moved away to answer it. Loup followed, waving a cheerful goodbye to the amused angel. “Yeah, okay. We’re here. Call us when you get here.”
“The boys?”
Pilar nodded. “They just landed at the airport. Operation Free Miguel is about to get underway.”
THIRTY-NINE
Pilar scored first in her contest with Randall. She ordered room service while the band was still napping after their flight.
Exiled from their room, Loup was sitting at a roulette table alternately winning and losing money and trying to figure out the intricacies of the game when her Dataphone rang. “Yeah?”
“C’mon up, baby!” Pilar sounded happy and excited. “I got it!”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“I’ll be right there.” She hopped off the stool at full speed without thinking. The dealer gave her a startled look. Loup swore softly and reminded herself to be careful and slow down now that she was back in the United States. “Thanks,” she said, tipping the dealer a chip the way she’d seen other players do. “Gotta go.”
She found Pilar looking smug, wearing the clinging, low-cut floral dress she’d worn to Fiorella Picco’s wedding, dangling a high fuck-me heel from one foot.
“So?”
“Suite fifteen-thirty.”
Loup smiled. “He’s sure?”
“Pretty much.” Her smug look faded. “He’s never actually seen Miguel, just heard the rumors. And I had to be kind of tactful in a flirty sort of way. But if a casino works the same way a small-town bar does, there’s no keeping secrets from the staff.”
“I’m sure it does.” Loup sniffed the air. “Filet mignon?”
“Uh-huh.” Pilar nudged the tray toward her. “Go ahead, you little carnivore. I ordered it for you. I’m not hungry.”
“Thanks!”
By the time Loup had finished, the band was awake and had checked in with them. Their suite was on the sixteenth floor. Donny came up to deliver a room key to them.
“Otherwise the elevator won’t stop,” he explained. “Fifteenth and sixteenth floors are reserved access. Luxury suites and all.”
Their luxury suite was decked out in the same scarlet Hellfire trimmings. The main parlor featured a large fireplace and was centered around an immense sunken black marble hot tub in which Charlie was lolling naked, a drink in his hand.
“Christ in a wheelbarrow!” He eyed Pilar. “Nice dress. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“No. Just the room service delivery guy.”
“Fuck me.” Randall wandered into the room, a towel around his waist, his hair damp. “That’s no fair. I haven’t even started.”
“I got a room number, that’s all.”
“What else do you need?”
“Confirmation,” Loup said matter-of-factly. “Pilar’s guy hadn’t actually seen Miguel. And it would be good to know stuff like how many guards there are and whether or not they’re armed.”
“Give me.” He beckoned. “I can use it for leverage, eh? Like I already know. Ooh, love, tell me about the bloke in…?”
“Fifteen-thirty,” Pilar supplied.
He nodded energetically. “There you go.”
“Um… mate?” Charlie gestured around with his drink. “Housekeeping’s done here for the day. You’re gonna have to wait.”
Randall snatched the drink out of his hand and dropped it, letting it shatter on the marble tiles around the hot tub. “Oops. Housekeeping!”
“Goddamnit!” Charlie hollered, standing upright and dripping. “That was my whiskey!”
Donny winced. “Go put some clothes on, you bloody tosser. No one wants to see your dangly bits. Let’s get out of here and let Rand work his magic, right?”
“Fine.” Charlie began clambering out of the tub.
“Mind you don’t cut your feet, you idjit!”
“Ah, shut it.”
They left Randall in the suite and descended on the casino, accompanied by Loup and Pilar and several of Bill Jones’ more trusted security guards. The band members played endless hands of blackjack, drank copious amounts, and flirted with the waitress imps.
“Hey.” Randall slouched down to join them. “You really gonna wear one of those maid uniforms?” he asked Loup.
“Why? What do they look like?”
He nodded at one of the scarlet imps. “Kinda like that only with a frilly apron.”
Loup made a face. “Guess so.” She took him by the arm and hauled him out of earshot. “So? Any luck?”
“Yeah.” Randall gave her a slow, lazy grin. “She wasn’t a Kate fan, but I plied her with liquor and charm. Pilar’s right, they’ve got him in fifteen-thirty. Two armed guards. She never saw any guns, but she says everyone knows Harwell’s guards carry. Sounds like he’s a pretty dicey character.”
“Thanks, Rand.” She gave him an impulsive hug. “That’s awesome.”
“Oof!”
“Sorry.” Loup let him go.
“It’s cool.” He looked around. “So no paparazzi, huh?”
“No, it’s been quiet. I, um, don’t think this place is exactly a hotbed of hipsters. And let’s face it, a lot of Kate fans are in bed on a school night.”
“Oh, well.” He shrugged. “At least we get to party in peace.”
Party they did. After losing a fair bit of money at the blackjack tables, the band decided it was time to explore Hades. They descended to the underground level in the special theme elevator that had massive grated metal doors operated by a burly man in a hangman’s hood. It opened onto another vast, cavernous space lit by strobing scarlet lights. Tortured music wailed around a throbbing dance beat. Hades, at least, was hip enough that the dance floor writhed with bodies. All around the perimeter of the cavern various scenes were being played out in shadowy grottoes.
“Holy crap!” Pilar watched a woman in devil’s horns and thigh-high boots lift a narrow cane over a chained figure. “Is she doing what I think she’s doing?”
The whistle of the cane was inaudible over the music, but the chained man jerked visibly when it landed.
“Yep,” Loup said.
“Did you know this was Mig’s scene?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “I have to say I’m a little surprised.”
It took almost two hours for the band to tire of it and round up a trio of Goth-looking newly converted groupies. After that they wanted to play more blackjack before hauling their prizes back to the suite. The scarlet waitress imps couldn’t bring the drinks fast enough to suit them.
“Sorry, sir.” One of the imps hustled over with a bottle of single malt and three glasses on a tray. “Courtesy of Mr. Harwell.”
“Who’s he?” Charlie asked belligerently.
“Your host.” She nodded at a heavyset man in an expensive suit strolling through the casino. He had a gorgeous blonde on his arm and a pair of guards flanking them.