[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade (26 page)

“It's one of the things that led to DPEA,” Hooper, I mean Sonny, said.

“Yes, so if we're attacked, then legally we're in the clear because we can make a case for the dead lycanthrope being in league with the rogue on our warrant. Hell, Sonny, it's Nevada, you still have varmint laws on the books.”

“I wouldn't want to be quoting varmint laws if we have to shoot Max's entire family.”

“Me either, but if they throw down first, legally we won't have broken any laws.”

“Is it true that you don't even have to have a hearing after you shoot someone?” Spider asked.

“There's more paperwork now that we're federal officers, officially, but no, no lawyers, no hearings, nothing really. But then if they tied us all up in legalities, who would do all the monster slaying?”

“So, really,” he said, “excluding the weretigers from the warrant doesn't keep them safe if they start the fight with you guys?”

“Not really,” I said.

“If they start the fight, we'll help you finish it,” Sonny said, “but make damn sure they start it, because you may get out of jail free with your federal badge, but we live here.”

“I give you my word, if this all goes up in flames, we won't have started it.”

He studied my face—they both did—and then Sonny nodded, as if he'd decided something. He offered me his hand. I took it. “Shake on it.”

We shook on it, and Sonny was old enough and guy enough that the handshake meant more than it would have to, say, Spider or Bernardo—or maybe Vegas Metro SWAT was all like this. Your word meant something, and you could still pledge your life to someone's decision with just a handshake. It was like an echo of a time when words like
loyalty
and
honor
really meant something. Since they still meant something to me, that was just dandy.

 

 

I MADE TWO calls from the car as Edward drove us out of the industrial/ business area where the coroner's office was located, through businesses that were Anywhere, USA. One was to Chang-Bibi, to the personal line that Max had made sure Jean-Claude had. A cultured female voice answered on the first ring. I said, “Chang-Bibi, this is Anita Blake . . .”

“Anita Blake, we are glad that you have called, but I am not Chang-Bibi. My name is Ava; I am Chang-Bibi's administrative assistant.”

“Sorry, I thought this was the private number.”

“It is, but”—she made a small laugh—“a queen does not answer her own phone.”

Oh. “Sure,” I said, “my mistake. I'm in Vegas, and I was wanting to speak with Bibiana.”

“We are aware of the tragedy that has befallen our police. Is this official police business, Marshal Blake?”

“I would like to talk to you all about the murders, yes.”

“Is this official police business, Marshal Blake?” she asked again, in a voice that was a little less pleasant.

“I am in Vegas on official police business, yes,” I said.

“Do you have a warrant that forces us to let you into our home or business establishments?”

I hated to say it, but . . . “No, I don't.”

“Then it's a social call,” and her voice was much happier.

“Yes, from one master's . . . mate to another,” I said.

“Then Chang-Bibi will be happy to receive you.”

“I do need to talk to her about the murders, though, in an unofficial capacity.”

“You are extending us the courtesy of speaking off the record to us?” Ava asked.

“I'm trying to.”

“I will explain that to Chang-Bibi.” The way she said it made it sound like Bibiana might have trouble with the concept.

“Thank you, Ava,” I said.

“My pleasure, Anita. Chang-Bibi will prepare a welcome for you. We hoped you would visit us, if you had time in all your crime-fighting.”

“What kind of welcome is she preparing?” I asked, and I couldn't keep the suspicion out of my voice. Years of hanging out with shapeshifters had taught me that their society could have some odd ideas on welcoming guests.

Ava laughed again. “Now, now, that would spoil the surprise.”

“I don't really like surprises,” I said.

“But Chang-Bibi does, and you are visiting her house and asking for her help.”

“Maybe I'm offering to help her.”

“Are you?”

“I could have come with a warrant, but I'm not,” I said.

“You could not get a warrant on the evidence of smelling weretiger, Anita,” and there was nothing friendly in the voice now.

“You have a mole in the department, or is your spy more federal?” I said.

“We have our sources.”

“Fine, I couldn't get a warrant, but I still need to talk to the weretigers.”

“Our clan did not do this.”

“Of course not.”

“You do not believe we are innocent.”

“I believe everyone is guilty of something; it saves time.”

She laughed again. “I will go and help prepare. I assume you are coming alone, since this is a social visit of one master's mate to another.” There was the slightest edge of humor, as if she knew she was making fun of me.

“Actually I have some other U.S. Marshals with me.”

“Now, Anita, that's not very friendly.”

“I'm allowed attendants when I visit another Master of the City; in fact, denying my attendants entrance would be a grave insult.”

“Oh, good,” Ava said, “you do know how to play the game. Some of the younger, human wives don't understand the old rules.”

I didn't correct her on the “wives” comment. If they treated me like a wife, I'd have more status, and it wasn't like I could ever “divorce” Jean-Claude. Vampire marks between servant and master were a hell of a lot more binding than any legal document. “Jean-Claude made sure I'd be able to do proper honor if I visit Chang-Bibiana.”

“How many of your attendants have guns and badges?”

“By the rules of hospitality, I'm allowed security.”

“But only two, on a surprise visit. Beyond that you must have another purpose for them. Are there more than two bodyguards with you?” Again, I heard that hint of laughter in her voice. But I'd been laughed at by better and scarier than Ava.

“Jean-Claude is Belle Morte's line, so I'm allowed food.”

“Chang-Bibi is eager to supply all your needs.” Was it my imagination, or did she sound a little angry about that? Hmm.

“I appreciate the hospitality, and I will avail myself of the Chang's generosity before I leave your fair city, but since I didn't expect to have time in the middle of a murder investigation to visit you today, I brought my own snack.”

“So, you have two guards and one
pomme de sang
?”

“Not a
pomme de sang
, just a lover.”

“They say your
pomme de sang
is another vampire, is that true?”

She was referring to London, who was a vampire, and one of Belle Morte's sex-oriented line, but his gift was to be the ultimate snacky-bit for someone with the
ardeur
like me or Jean-Claude. The only upside to it was that London gained power from the feeding and wasn't exhausted by it. I just wish I liked him better. Good lover, bad boyfriend, if you know what I mean. “I haven't given the title to anyone officially yet,” I said.

“We heard that you had, but now he seems to be your leopard to call. Nathaniel, isn't it?”

I couldn't stop my pulse from racing. I knew all the masters spied on everyone—hell, I knew Jean-Claude had his own network—but it was still unnerving to hear it.

“Yeah.” I hoped I wasn't giving away any state secrets. I mean it was pretty well known, wasn't it? Oh, hell.

“You have how many animals to call now, Anita?”

I really didn't like the way this conversation was going. I wasn't sure how much was general knowledge, how much their spies had discovered, or how much would be really bad to share with them. I had to get off the phone. “I'll play twenty questions with Chang-Bibiana, but not with her assistant.” Yeah, it was rude, but it did the trick.

“Then, by all means, come ahead, Anita. Come talk to our queen. I'm sure her questions will be much more interesting than mine.” She hung up. Yeah, she was mad.

I couldn't apologize. I guess we just both had to live with it. I hoped I wouldn't regret pissing her off later. I got off the phone to find we were on the edge of not being in Kansas anymore.

The first hint was wedding chapels scattered alongside the more ordinary stores. Most of the chapels looked tired, and more depressing than romantic, but maybe that was just me. I'm not big on weddings.

Then there was Bonanza, the largest gift store in the world. One building that took up most of one block. It's the kind of place you stop on family vacations. There was a huge empty lot, with a sign leaning by it that read
ontier
. I realized they'd demolished the Frontier. That big cowboy that you see in all the movies was no more. The Vegas Hilton sat across the road from another empty lot that was under construction.

Edward said, “Vegas doesn't save its history; it demolishes and builds on top of it.”

“How many times have you been here?” I asked.

“Only once as a marshal,” he said.

“On other business?” I asked.

“None of your business.”

I knew that was all I would get on the subject, so I let it go.

Circus Circus loomed up on the right-hand side; it looked sort of tired in the bright sunlight, like a carnival that's been in one place too long. The Riviera was across the street, then more open space where something else had been torn down. Signs for the Encore were next, but it wasn't there yet. Then something called the Wynn that looked too tall and too modern for the rest of Vegas, though it had a huge billboard where an animated pixie was pushing words on a huge moving screen. It was a commercial for the Wynn. Suddenly there were moving, brilliant billboards every few feet, or so it felt. In daylight they were eye-catching; I wondered what they looked like at night. An odd collection of shapes across the street turned out to be the Fashion Show Mall. The building was ugly; it made me fear for the choice of stores. Then there were casinoes in fast profusion: on the left side the Palazzo, the elegance of the Venetian, right across the street from Treasure Island with its huge pirate ship out front; Casino Royale, Harrah's, and then across from that was the Mirage and Caesars Palace. Caesars was huge and took up a big chunk of real estate. The Bellagio looked elegant, too, as we drove past, then across the street was Paris, complete with a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower and a huge fake hot-air balloon, but it was still dwarfed by the tower, even though I knew it was smaller than the real thing. There was huge construction and a sign that read
CityCenter
, then the Monte Carlo, which seemed tired, then New York New York, with a miniature version of the Manhattan skyline rising above little shops and restaurants. There was nothing tired about New York New York. The MGM Grand was across the street, and it looked upbeat, as well. The Tropicana sat beside it, then the Excalibur. Edward got stopped at the stoplight, so I had time to read that the Excalibur boasted three shows: Tournament of Champions, with knights and jousting; the comic Louie Anderson; and Thunder from Down Under, which was male strippers. Apparently, you could take the kids to see the jousting, Dad could see the comic, and Mom could go have beefcake. It was very well-rounded entertainment-wise compared to the mostly girlie-oriented shows that most places were boasting. Though there had been more comics, and Cirque du Soleil seemed to have more different shows at different places than anybody. The Luxor, the big pyramid with a Sphinx out front, was next. Across the street from faux Egypt was faux India. It was the New Taj, which was Max's casino, hotel, and resort. The building was obviously based on the Taj Mahal, but there were white stone sculptures of animals scattered throughout the lush jungle-like landscaping. There were monkeys and an elephant and birds I couldn't recognize in white, but there were a lot of tigers peeking out and strolling among the rest. The statues were actually almost unnervingly lifelike. Well, I guess they'd had real-life models to work from.

The moving billboard out in front of the Taj boasted a magic act with more of the real-life version of the animals, and two revues. One was beefy-looking men, and I recognized one of the faces, though I was thankful that most of him was hidden behind the other men. The other show was all girls. Max was trying to maximize his resort's appeal as well.

Edward didn't pull into the circular driveway but went past it to a smaller, less landscaped road. I saw signs that promised a parking garage. I guess we weren't going to valet.

“The first time you see it, you either think it's gaudy and awful, or you love it. There's almost no halfway about this town,” Edward said.

I realized he'd kept quiet so I could enjoy the view. “It's like Disneyland on crack, for grown-ups,” I said.

“You're not going to hate it,” he said.

“They don't call it Sin City for nothing,” Bernardo said.

I turned and looked at him as Edward slid into the shade of the parking garage. “Have you been here before, too?”

“Yeah, but not on business.”

I was debating on asking him what he had come for, and if I'd like the answer, but Edward said, “You sound like you've acted as Jean-Claude's representative before.”

“This is the first time doing it without more help from home.” The ceilings always seem low to me in parking structures when I'm in an SUV.