Casino Infernale

CHAPTER EIGHT Decisions Are Made, With Far-Reaching Consequences

I was bracing myself for another trip through the corridor of screaming faces, all those trapped souls I couldn’t help, but when the generic flunky finally opened the dimensional door it opened directly onto our hotel suite. I stepped through automatically, with Molly and Frankie almost stepping on my heels, but when I turned back to question the flunky . . . the dimensional door had already closed, and disappeared. It did feel good to be back. The world of the Medium Games had just felt wrong, in too many small, telling ways. Mars had actually been easier to deal with, because it was so different. I sighed heavily, and sank down onto the bed. I hadn’t realised how tired I was until I didn’t have to be strong any more.

“It would seem the hotel’s doors can drop us off wherever they want to,” said Molly.

“Then why did they make us walk through the corridor of trapped souls in the first place?” I said.

“To make a point?” said Frankie. “Remind us where the true power lies, at Casino Infernale? To put us in the right frame of mind for the Games? The Casino has been doing this for a long time, and it never misses a trick.”

“I need to take another shower,” I said, heaving myself back up onto my feet again. “I need to wash the Games off me.”

“Sounds good,” said Molly. “Think I’ll join you.”

“I think I’ll go for another walk,” said Frankie. “Maybe take a turn back into town, see if they’ve cleared up all those crashed Pteranodons yet. There’s a future in fast food to be made there, by someone with ambition and the right connections. . . .”

“Hold it,” I said. “I have a job for you, first. I want all the souls we won deposited somewhere safe, and secure.”

“No problem,” said Frankie. “I’ll deposit them in the hotel safe. What are you both looking at me like that for? They’ll be perfectly secure there. The Shadow Bank guarantees Casino Infernale’s security. If they didn’t, no one who mattered would gamble here. Why do you think they made such a fuss when you broke into Parris’ office? People have to believe their winnings are safe here. You’d better give me your obols to deposit, too. They’re the soul equivalent of cold cash.”

Molly and I dug the small coins out of our pockets and handed them over to Frankie; but at the last moment I held back the first obol I’d won. I hefted the small coin in my hand. So light, it was hardly there.

“Think I’ll hang on to this,” I said, putting it back in my pocket. “As a reminder of how cheaply they value souls around here.”

“He’s getting sentimental,” Molly said to Frankie. “That’s always dangerous. Leave now. Quickly. Run, while you still have the chance!”

Frankie left, grinning. I took Molly by the hand and led her to the shower. The blood came off easily enough, but the memories still stuck.

Afterwards, we dressed in new clothes. A smart navy blue blazer and slacks for me, and a matching blue evening gown for Molly. She paraded up and down the room in it for me to admire, and smiled triumphantly at me.

“Now aren’t you glad I packed so many clothes?”

“I trust you explicitly in such things,” I said, carefully packing the Armourer’s various secret weapons and devices about my person. “Except for when I don’t.”

“I knew you wouldn’t stick with that shoulder holster,” said Molly, as I slipped the Colt Repeater into my pocket dimension.

“Slowed me down too much. Stick with what works, that’s what I say.” I stood before the full-length looking glass to check out my appearance. Molly came and stood beside me, looking almost dazzlingly glamorous.

“We do make a good team,” she said. “I’d back us against anyone, in this world or out of it.”

I had to smile. “That is why we’re here. . . .”

Frankie knocked loudly on the door, from outside in the corridor, but had the lock open and was inside with us before the echoes had died away.

“Good to see you both upright, and clothed,” he said. “I have news!”

“What is so urgent?” said Molly. In a tone that implied that it had bloody well better be.

“We’ve been gone longer than you think,” said Frankie. “I was just down in the lobby, when it occurred to me to check my watch against the lobby’s clock. We’ve been away for half a day!”

I looked automatically at my watch. It had never occurred to me to check. We’d been away only an hour or so, maybe less. But the hands on my watch face showed ten past ten. Molly showed me her watch: 22:09. When I looked at the hotel clock on the bedside table, it said 1:14. And it was only then I thought to look out the window. It had been a dark evening when we left, now it was a bright sunny day. Midday, apparently.

“What was the point of that?” said Molly.

“To make another point, about how the Casino can control Time and Space through their dimensional doors?” said Frankie. “Or, because they didn’t want us hanging around the hotel with all its hangers-on, con men, and thieves, before the Big Game starts?”

“I hate time travel,” I said. “It plays merry hell with your tenses.”

“Casino Infernale is very nearly over,” said Frankie. “When I was down in the lobby, it was almost empty. Most of the Players have gone, and all of the hangers-on. The few remaining Major Players are apparently sitting quietly in their rooms, behaving themselves, waiting to see if they’ve done well enough to be invited to attend the Big Game.”

And even as he was saying that, there was a polite but firm knock on the door. Molly and I moved quickly to stand together, facing the door, while Frankie moved quickly to hide behind us. Before it even occurred to me to say Come in! the lock opened from the other side and the manager Jonathon Scott walked in. He smiled easily at me, polite and respectful, consideration itself.

“Allow me to present my compliments,” he said, in his best professionally charming voice. “I am here to invite you to take your place in the Big Game, Mr. Bond. On the penthouse floor at precisely eight o’clock this evening.”

Frankie punched the air. Molly beamed widely, and I nodded to Scott. He waited a moment, to see if there was to be any more exuberance, and then stepped forward and presented me with an engraved invitation. Nothing fancy, or fussy. Just a simple card with my name on it. Nice lettering. Shaman Bond had never looked better.

“Please don’t lose the card,” said Scott. “It has all kinds of security protocols built in. You won’t be admitted without it.”

“What if someone steals it?” said Molly, practical as ever.

“Heaven forefend that such a thing should happen in this hotel,” said Scott. “But if you were to lose it . . . that would only prove that Mr. Bond is not worthy to attend the Big Game, after all. And we would give his place to whoever might turn up with the card. The Casino really is very blunt and practical about things like that.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said, slipping the invitation carefully into my pocket dimension.

Scott looked at me knowingly. “A very useful hiding place, Mr. Bond. You made very good use of it at Last Man Standing.”

“You were watching?” said Molly.

“I watch everything,” said Scott. “That’s my job.”

“Are there rules against using such things?” I said.

“Not as such,” said Scott. “And the extremely powerful null zone operating at the Big Game will of course render it of no use to you. For the duration.”

“Can’t keep anything secret here!” Molly said brightly.

“No,” said Scott. “You can’t.” He looked at me directly. “Eight p.m. sharp, Mr. Bond. Don’t be late, or you won’t be admitted. Card or no card. And Mr. Bond, the invitation to play is extended strictly to you, and you alone. You may of course bring Miss Molly Metcalf with you, as your plus one, should you so choose, but she will not be allowed to play, or wager, or interfere in any way.” He glanced briefly at Frankie. “Leave your pet behind.”

“Why is the invitation just for Shaman?” Molly said hotly. “I did my bit!”

“There can be only one,” Scott said smoothly. “And Shaman won most of the souls through his efforts.”

He then produced a heavy folder out of nowhere. Made me wonder whether he might have a pocket dimension of his own, and what else he might keep in it. The entire Jackson Fifty-five, for all I knew. Scott presented me with the folder, marked with the hotel crest in gold, and then looked at me expectantly. So I opened the folder. It contained several sheets of top-quality paper, also marked with the hotel crest, bearing row upon row of names. I leafed quickly through the pages, but it was all nothing but names. I looked at Scott.

“This is your receipt, Mr. Bond. For all the souls you won at the Games, and entrusted to our hotel safe. Every name is there, every soul that now belongs to you. The living and the dead. Again, sir, please don’t lose this. It is your only proof of ownership. All lost souls revert to the Casino. Well, I think that’s everything. Unless you have any questions?”

I would have liked to ask about the whereabouts of my own soul. Whose list it appeared on. But I couldn’t, because the Casino only had a claim on Eddie Drood’s soul, and I was Shaman Bond. The generic flunky at the Medium Games had seen the constraints on my soul, but he hadn’t actually asked my name. Just as well, really. Could have been awkward. I decided to change the subject.

“Am I bringing the largest number of souls won to the Big Game?” I asked bluntly.

Scott couldn’t hold back a small condescending smile. “Hardly, sir. But you did make a very good showing, for a first-time contender. I’m sure we’re all very interested to see how you’ll do at the Big Game, Mr. Bond.”

He smiled again, nodded politely to one and all, and left. The door closed itself behind him. Molly made a rude gesture at the door.

“I should have been invited! A lot of those souls should be mine!”

“He won more than you,” Frankie said impassively. “That’s how it works here.”

Molly sniffed loudly. I was still leafing through the pages in the hotel folder. So many names . . . I didn’t like the idea of owning other people’s souls. Too much like slavery.

“Stop looking,” said Frankie, kindly enough. “You never know, you might recognise a name. It’s better not to know.”

“You can always set them free later,” said Molly. “After we’ve broken the bank at Casino Infernale. In fact . . . if we break the bank really badly, and damage the Shadow Bank enough . . . then maybe their hold on their souls will be broken.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like that.” I looked at Frankie. “Would that apply to all those faces in the corridor?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie said carefully. “I don’t think the subject has ever come up before. I would have to say that we’re treading in unknown and very theoretical territory here. Even if you do somehow manage to break the bank at Casino Infernale, a thing that has never ever been done before, that doesn’t mean you’d in any way break the Shadow Bank’s control over its many holdings. Economical and spiritual. The Casino’s just a fund raiser for the Bank, when all is said and done. The best you can realistically hope for is to weaken their position enough to stop this war you’re so worried about over the Crow Lee Inheritance. Whatever that might turn out to be. But that’s it! That’s enough, isn’t it?”

“That was before I got a good look at how the Shadow Bank operates,” I said. “Before I saw the faces.”

“Oh, God,” said Molly. “He’s gone all ambitious again. That’s rarely good.” She looked at Frankie. “I’d start running now, if I were you.”

“That thought is never far from my mind,” said Frankie. He looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, that is a whole bunch of souls you’ve got there, in your hands. Representing more money than you could ever hope to spend in one lifetime. I know you’ve been talking about releasing them all back into the wild, but I’m sure the family wouldn’t miss a few. . . . I could get you a really good deal on the underground Soul Market. . . . No? All right, how about this? It occurs to me that the family might prefer you to hang on to certain bad guy souls. To give the Droods power and control over them.”

“The family doesn’t work like that,” I said.

“Since when?” said Frankie.

I closed the folder, and put it away in my pocket dimension. Just in case.

“The important thing is to regain control of your own soul, Eddie,” said Molly. “And those of your parents.”

I looked at her. “What about all those claims on your soul? I’m going to have to do something about that.”

“You’re so sweet,” said Molly. She came forward to stand right in front of me, so we could stare into each other’s eyes.

“Are you two going back into the shower again?” said Frankie. “Are you even listening to me? Oh, hell . . . can I have some money to go to the pictures?”

“Hold it,” I said, tearing my gaze away from Molly to glare steadily at Frankie. “I still want to know exactly what’s happened to my parents. I can’t believe the hotel or the Casino would just let them leave, and escape, not when they had a claim on their souls. They must have some way of tracking them . . . so, just maybe, the Casino has my parents imprisoned somewhere here in the hotel. Ask around, Frankie. The Players may have left, but most of the staff are probably still here. Talk to them; see if anybody knows anything.”

Frankie nodded quickly. “Got it, boss.”

He left. Molly looked at me.

“We have to talk about your parents, Eddie. Even if we do break the bank here, we have to accept we might not be able to free their souls, or yours, from the Shadow Bank.”

“Then I’ll just have to do whatever it takes to bring down the Shadow Bank,” I said. “Not just for my sake, but for everyone’s.”

“Whatever happened to better the devil you know, and all that?” said Molly.

“That was before I got a look at how they do things,” I said. “I will not suffer this to continue, Molly. I can’t. It’s not just about me any more, or my parents. Or even stopping an inconvenient war. You saw the faces, Molly. Like Frankie said, they might as well be in Hell. If I turn my gaze away, it’s like I’m saying They knew what they were doing, they deserve it, it’s none of my business. And I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can’t, sweetie,” said Molly. “The Shadow Bank is going down! I’m with you all the way. But, how are we going to do it? We don’t even know who or what might be running them. What can we do?”

“Haven’t a clue,” I said. “I’m working on it.”

“Terrific . . .” said Molly. “Talk about getting a girl’s hopes up . . . want to lie down on the bed for a while?”

Just as she was saying that, there was the sound of gunfire as the lock on our door was blown apart, the door was kicked in, and someone with a very familiar face stormed into our suite. The Little Lord looked very angry, even disturbed . . . and in pretty good shape, considering that the last time I’d seen her she was being carried unconscious from the Arena. She was back in a formal suit, complete with top hat and a monocle screwed firmly into one eye. She had a really large gun in one hand, and a piece of complicated-looking tech jammed under her other arm. She fixed me with a cold, dangerous look and pointed the gun right at me.

Molly moved quickly forward to stand between me and the Little Lord, and I let her. I thought about drawing the Colt Repeater from my pocket dimension, and then thought better of it. A drawn gun trumps a holstered gun, every time. I was better off letting Molly defend us both with her magics.

Until I recognised the tech under the Little Lord’s arm; what it was, what it had to be. And I stepped forward, to put myself between Molly and the Little Lord. Her gun followed my every movement. It looked very steady; and the Little Lord looked very determined. Molly glared at me, as though I might have forgotten I didn’t have my armour any more. I put out an arm to hold her where she was, and nodded to the Little Lord.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” I said calmly. “Nice gun. Is that tech thing . . . what I think it is?”

“What?” said Molly.

“It’s a portable null zone generator,” the Little Lord said grimly, glancing quickly at Molly. “So your magics won’t work against me, witch.”

“Where did you get such a thing?” I said quickly, to bring the Little Lord’s attention back to me. And before Molly could say anything that might make the situation any more tense. “And how did you get back here from the Games world?”

“Pretended I was unconscious, until the flunkies weren’t looking,” said the Little Lord. “Then I slipped away, clubbed down a Player from behind, stole his obol and his identity, and a flunky escorted me back through the dimensional door. Seems they really can’t tell us apart, after all. I stole this portable generator from one of the hotel staff, beat your location out of a Jackson, and stole his gun, and here I am.”

“That’s actually . . . pretty impressive,” said Molly. “Sounds like something I might do.”

“It’s amazing how motivated you can get when you’ve just lost your soul,” said the Little Lord. Her gun was still pointing straight at me. “And now, I want it back. Give me back my soul, right now! Because if you don’t I will shoot you, Shaman Bond, and take my chances that with your death, all your bets will be declared null and void!”

“Sore loser,” said Molly.

“Shut up!” said the Little Lord, her voice rising dangerously. “You don’t understand! It’s not just money I lost this time; it’s my eternal soul! I thought I understood what I was risking, but I didn’t. I’ll do whatever I have to, to get my soul back!”

“All right,” I said. “You can have it.”

The Little Lord looked at me. “What?”

“It’s just one soul,” I said. “I’ve got loads—more than enough to get me into the Big Game.” I looked at Molly. “I told you I wasn’t comfortable owning souls.”

“You expect me to believe you?” said the Little Lord. “You’re really willing to just . . . give me my soul back?”

“Why not?” I said.

Moving slowly and carefully, I took the hotel ledger out of my pocket dimension, leafed through the pages to find the Little Lord’s name, and then took out a pen and carefully crossed her name through. Then I put the ledger away again, took out the obol I’d kept, and handed it to her.

“This is your soul,” I said. “Or at least what represents it. I revoke all claims to it.”

And as I handed the small coin over to the Little Lord, we both felt something pass between us. Like the handing over of a precious gift, or a heavy burden, or something of indescribable significance. We both breathed a little more easily. The Little Lord clutched her obol tightly in her fist, and looked at me with something like wonder.

“Thank you. . . . That was the most generous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what I’d expected would happen when I finally got here, but that wasn’t it.”

“He’s a good man,” said Molly. “I don’t tell him nearly often enough, but he is.”

“I’m Shaman Bond,” I said. “If I was someone else, I might have responsibilities. I might feel it was my duty to hang on to the obol. But I’m not. I’m Shaman Bond, and a free man.”

The Little Lord looked at Molly. “Am I supposed to understand any of that?”

“I’m right here, and I’m not sure I do,” said Molly.

“I’d leave the Casino right now, if I were you,” I said kindly to the Little Lord. “Hotel Security are probably already on their way here to investigate the shooting, and Casino Security will be hot on the trail of their stolen null generator. Besides, I don’t think the Casino’s a healthy place for you. Now you’ve got your soul back, there’s always the chance you might be tempted to gamble it again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” said the Little Lord. “I was just so desperate to get home again.”

“Then you’d better have some money, too,” I said. “To help you on your journey.” I produced a thick wad of notes from my pocket, and offered them to her. The Little Lord put her gun away, and accepted the money almost shyly.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. I . . . I’m out of here. I’m going home!”

She turned and left. I went over to the door and pushed it shut. I turned back to find Molly looking at me.

“You really think she can get out of this hotel, and evade Casino Security, on her own?”

“Why not?” I said. “She has a portable null generator and I’d like to see anyone stop her, the mood she’s in. She’s going home. Wherever that might be. Planet of the Aristocratic Imposters, perhaps.”

“Oh, I can tell you where she comes from,” said Molly. “The Nightside. She’s an old friend of Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor.”

I sighed, quietly. “Tell me she’s not the Little God of Transvestites, or something.”

“No,” said Molly. “Nothing so grand. She’s from some other-dimensional city port called Haven, and the sooner she goes back there, the better. You know, you really are too good for your own good, sometimes. Come here.”

Not long after that the door slammed open again, and Frankie came hurrying in.

“What the hell happened to the lock on your door? Did something happen while I was gone? Oh God, you’re at it again. Don’t you ever stop? Look, you have to listen to me! This is important! Really important!”

“All right,” I said, stepping away from Molly. “I believe you. What is it, that’s so very important?”

“It’s your parents!” said Frankie. “I’ve found them! I got lucky first time out, talking to the right person. The Casino is holding your parents prisoner, and I know where!”

“Where?” I said, and something in my voice and in my gaze made Frankie stumble for a moment.

“Right here in the hotel,” he said finally.

“Are you sure?” said Molly.

“Of course I’m sure!” said Frankie, regaining something of his usual assurance. “I told you—I can find out anything! The Casino has both of them locked up in a specially guarded holding cell, down in the hotel sub-basement. But you have to come with me, right now, because they’re about to be moved!”

“Let’s go,” I said.

Frankie dithered impatiently, while I made sure I had all the Armourer’s special weapons and devices stored away somewhere about my person. I wanted to be sure I was ready for anything. Molly stuck close to me, comforting me with her presence, making it clear that she was ready to back me up, in whatever I chose to do. Finally, I nodded to Frankie, and he led the way out of the room.

As we hurried down the deserted corridor towards the elevators, I rehearsed in my head all the things I intended to say to my parents when I finally caught up with them. To Patrick and Diana—or Charles and Emily. I hadn’t spoken to them since my family home returned from the alien world it had been exiled to. We’d meant to sit down and talk, and catch up. But we’d all been so busy, and then Casino Infernale got in the way. There was so much I wanted to say to them, so many questions I needed answered. . . . I was still angry with them for abandoning me to the Droods to bring up. For not letting me know they were still alive. And, for betting my soul and losing it, without even asking my permission. But I was a field agent, just like they had been for so many years. I knew that sometimes you have to think on your feet in dangerous situations, and make sudden decisions for the good of the mission. I wasn’t ready to judge or forgive them, just yet. I was ready to listen, and try to understand.

There just might be a lot of shouting involved, first.

We waited impatiently before the closed elevator doors, as the damned thing seemed to take forever to arrive. I kept looking up and down the empty corridor, but there was still no sign anywhere of any kind of Security. If I was Scott, I’d give them a real earful for their poor reaction times. But it was just as well, for the Security goons. I wasn’t in the mood to be messed with. The elevator doors finally opened, and we all hurried inside. Frankie hit the button for the sub-basement, the doors closed, and the elevator started its descent.

It took a long time to pass all the way down through the dozens of floors, to the very bottom. I kept checking my pockets to make sure everything was where it should be. I was still dangerously tense; Molly was poised and ready for anything; and Frankie seemed to grow more and more nervous. I didn’t blame him. He wasn’t the fighting sort and he was about to see a Drood enraged. It was not going to be pretty. The elevator finally slowed to a halt, and we all braced ourselves as we waited for the doors to open. When they did, I was first out.

And then I stopped, and glared at Frankie.

“Wait a minute! I know this place! This isn’t the sub-basement; it’s the underground car park!”

“Same thing!” Frankie said quickly. “They don’t have a call button marked for the car park, or anybody could get in! Now will you please keep your voice down! We’re not supposed to be here, remember? There are still some staff around. . . .”

“I have to wonder,” said Molly, looking carefully between the rows upon rows of parked cars, “when we were here before, did we perhaps pass right by the holding cell, and not even know it?”

“This hotel is full of secure locations,” said Frankie, hurrying on ahead and glancing quickly about him. “They’ve got stuff holed away here you wouldn’t believe. There are whole sections of Casino Infernale that don’t even talk to each other. Now will you please hurry up and follow me!”

He quickly threaded his way through one particular set of parked cars, and I was right there behind him, with Molly bringing up the rear and shooting dangerous glances in all directions. The underground car park was exactly as I’d remembered it. A great stone cavern full of very old and very new cars, sitting silent and still in their orderly rows, and no sign of any staff anywhere. And then Molly stopped, abruptly. I sighed, and looked back.

“What is it, Molly?”

“Something’s wrong,” said Molly. “As in, something doesn’t feel right.”

And that was when the Casino Security people dropped their concealing illusion, and a whole army of very well-armed guards appeared all around us. We’d walked right into their midst, completely unaware. What looked like all of the remaining Jackson Fifty-five were in position around us, cutting off all the exits, pointing all kinds of guns at us. I stood very still and after I glared at her, so did Molly. From out among the parked cars, sauntering along, came the hotel manager himself, Jonathon Scott. Frankie looked at me, shrugged and smirked, and then moved over to stand with Scott. The Jacksons let him pass, unchallenged. Molly made a deep growling noise.

“So,” said Scott, stopping a respectful distance away from me and Molly. He looked me up and down with more than common interest. “You aren’t the shady and shifty Shaman Bond, after all. Instead, you’re a Drood in disguise. And not just any Drood, but the almost legendary Eddie Drood. Your reputation very definitely precedes you. Though I always thought you’d be taller.”

“I get that a lot,” I said. And then I looked at Frankie, who flinched under my gaze, but quickly recovered.

“Sorry, boss. I really was with you all the way; right until you started that nonsense about bringing down the Shadow Bank. I was listening outside the door. Old habits. I am too old and too experienced to work with crazy people. So I went straight to Mr. Scott, explained my position, and struck a deal. He was most understanding. And it must be said, the Shadow Bank pays a hell of a lot better than the Droods.”

“You really are a bastard,” said Molly.

“One of the Grey Bastards,” Frankie said proudly. “The clue is in the name.”

“Don’t try anything, witch,” said Scott. “We have a full-strength portable null zone generator working down here.” He indicated a large machine, standing to one side, guarded by half a dozen Jacksons. “Your infamous magics are being very thoroughly suppressed.”

“I don’t believe it,” Molly said to me. “You’re legendary, but I’m just infamous?”

“How about the machine?” I said.

“Oh, that. Yeah, scumbag here is right. I’ve got nothing. Getting really tired of that, I have to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, witch,” said Scott. “So shut up. Let the people who matter talk, or I’ll have you gagged.” He waited a moment, to make his point, and then gave me his full attention. “So, a Drood without his torc. No sign we can detect that you ever had one . . . I never thought to see such a thing.”

“Giving it up wasn’t easy,” I said. “But bringing you down will make it all worthwhile.”

“Typical Drood arrogance,” said Scott, entirely unmoved. If anything, he seemed amused. “You have no idea how much money I’m going to make out of you. From auctioning you to the Major Players here. The secrets waiting to be dug out of your mind, and after that’s gone, your body . . . What your new master will tear out of you will change the order of the world. . . . Drood secrets, for sale to the highest bidders.” He stopped, and thought for a moment. “I suppose . . . I could always ransom you, back to your family. . . . They’d pay really big money to keep your secrets from getting out. But no. Too risky. Your family has a reputation for dealing harshly with anyone who wants a more equitable playing field. No, I think it best they don’t know anything about this until it’s all safely over, and it’s too late for them to interfere.”

He broke off to smile on the increasingly fuming Molly. “I’m sure we’ll get a decent sum for you too, witch. And oh the things we’ll do to you, before we let you go. I’m sure your new owner won’t mind if we have some fun with you first. As long as your mind’s intact, they won’t care what we’ve done to your body.”

I must have moved forward, because all the guns immediately moved to cover me, and Scott actually fell back a step. He glared at me.

“Stay right where you are, Drood! And don’t try to run. I need you alive, not intact. Having the Jackson Fifty-five chase after you and drag you down would just be embarrassing for all concerned. Now, Eddie, please be so good as to remove that nasty gun of yours from your hidden pocket dimension, and drop it on the floor. And when you’ve done that, you can empty out all your pockets, and show us all the lovely toys the family Armourer gave you just for this mission. I’m sure my superiors will have such fun, working out what they do, and how best to use them against your family.”

“Can I ask a question?” I said.

“What is it?” said Scott.

“Do you really have my father and mother imprisoned down here somewhere?”

“Of course not!” said Scott. “Haven’t a clue where they are. Didn’t know they were your parents, until Frankie volunteered the information.”

“One more question,” I said.

“It’s no use trying to put it off, Drood,” Scott said pityingly. “It’s over! You lost. I never thought to see the legendary Eddie Drood beg and plead for just a little more time, before the inevitable awfulness.”

“I just wanted to ask,” I said, “whether you’ve informed your lord and master, Franklyn Parris, as to who I really am?”

“Not yet,” said Scott. “That’s going to be my little surprise at the end of Casino Infernale. My gift to him to ensure my promotion.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” I said. “Lady! Now!”

And the Scarlet Lady came roaring forward, blasting out of her parking space just behind Jonathon Scott; sounding her horn loudly as she came charging to the rescue. She swept past Scott, who threw himself to one side, crying out, and ran right over the Jacksons defending the null zone generator. She smashed right through the machine, blowing it to pieces, and then spun around to run over the Jacksons she hadn’t hit the first time. They opened fire on her, and their bullets ricocheted harmlessly from her chassis. They just had time to scream once, before she ran them down and chewed them up under her wheels.

I drew my Colt Repeater, and carefully shot Scott in the leg. So he couldn’t run. I didn’t want him dead, just yet. He screamed almost hysterically, as though he couldn’t believe such a thing could happen to someone like him, and then he collapsed, clutching at his leg with both hands. He shouldn’t have threatened my Molly. I turned my gun on the nearest Jacksons, and picked them off one by one.

Their bullets flew past me, but none of them even came close. They had their own problems.

With the machine destroyed, Molly had her magics back, and she was not in a good mood. She gestured sharply, and all the cars around us exploded. The Jacksons standing among them were caught completely off guard, terrorised by the sudden fiery explosions. Some were killed instantly, others caught fire. Those remaining tried to target Molly, but she was off and moving. Here, there, and everywhere. Popping up between the remaining cars, hitting the Jacksons with energy bolts, shaped curses, and really nasty hexes that made their flesh run away like water. Eventually, she got tired of playing with them, and summoned up a great storm wind that came howling through the underground car park. It ignored me, but picked up the Jacksons and slammed them into walls and ceilings and support pillars. With such force they all blew apart like rotten fruit under a hammer.

I lowered my gun. There was no one left to shoot at.

Frankie ran for his life. I ran after him. He really could run, but all the parked cars and blazing wrecks slowed him down. I used my pattern-spotting ability to work out where he was heading before he even knew himself, and then it was easy enough to get myself in just the right place to intercept him. I vaulted over a parked car, landed on him hard, and threw him to the ground.

We rolled back and forth on the concrete floor. Frankie tried to fight me, but he didn’t really know how. And I’ve been trained. I knocked the breath out of him, and then slammed the back of his head against the hard floor. He stopped struggling. I hauled him back onto his feet, and he stood before me, holding his head with both hands, crying like a child.

“Where are my parents?” I said.

I had to slap his face a few times to stop him crying. Anyone else, I would have felt like a bully.

“Where are my parents?”

“I don’t know!” said Frankie. “No one knows where they are! I only said they were here to get you to come with me! It was all Scott’s idea!”

“You betrayed me,” I said. “And Molly. And the family.”

“They were never my family!” said Frankie. “Never. I’m a Grey Bastard, and I have to make my own way. Please don’t hurt me. I can still be useful to you.”

“You really think I’d trust you again, after this?” I said. “You’d sell my true identity in a moment. To Franklyn Parris, or the Major Players, or anyone at all, first chance you got. For money, or spite, or just to prove to yourself that you were still your own man.”

“All right,” said Frankie, drawing himself up with something like wounded dignity. “What are you going to do? Kill me in cold blood? That isn’t you, and you know it.”

“No,” I said. “I’m going to kill you in hot blood. For what you would have let happen to me, and Molly.”

I set the barrel of the Colt Repeater right between his eyes. I really did mean to kill him. I had to think only of what Scott had intended for Molly, and I got sick to my stomach. But in the end, Frankie was right. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t just look into his pleading eyes and execute him. I stepped back, lowered the gun, turned my back on him, and walked away. Frankie laughed at me. And the Scarlet Lady went roaring past me and ran him over. I heard Frankie scream, and then go quiet. I didn’t turn back to look. Just kept walking. After a while, the car came back to join me, idling along at my side.

“Some shit I just don’t put up with,” said the Scarlet Lady.

I nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to thank her, but I think she understood.

I rejoined Molly, standing guard over Jonathon Scott. He had his back propped up against a support pillar, sitting in a pool of his own blood, trying to hold his shattered knee-cap together with both hands. Blood pumped between his fingers. His face was pale and beaded with sweat. His eyes were wide and shocked, but his mouth was set in a flat grim line. He was hurt, but not broken. He looked up to see me approaching but he didn’t flinch.

“Frankie?” said Molly. I shook my head. She nodded, briefly. “Good. Now, what are we going to do with this vicious little shit?”

“I’m thinking,” I said, staring down at him.

“You don’t dare kill me,” said Scott, forcing the words past his pain. “The Shadow Bank would declare war on the Droods for such an open insult.”

“Over one failed mid-management type?” I said. “I don’t think so. Your kind are always going to be expendable in such a big organisation. But you could still be useful to me.”

He looked up at me then, the beginning of hope in his eyes. “I know things,” he said. “I could tell you all kinds of things. . . .”

“Yes,” I said. “You will.”

I looked round at the Scarlet Lady, who’d parked just behind me.

“Do you know where the nearest Drood field agent is, Lady?”

“Oh, sure!” said the car.

“Good,” I said. “Then take this gentleman for a ride. Hand him over to the family and tell them to tear every last secret he has out of him. By all necessary means. Be sure to tell them why . . . and then hurry back here. Our business isn’t over yet.”

“You got it!” said the Scarlet Lady. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world! You two are so much fun to be around!”

She opened her back door, and Molly and I picked up Scott and threw him into the back seat. The door slammed shut and the car drove off, with Jonathon Scott screaming soundlessly through the rear window.

“The Big Game isn’t till eight o’clock this evening,” I said. “We have some time to kill. Fancy a lie-down?”

“Yeah,” said Molly. “And afterwards, we can have a little nap.”

“Wicked witch,” I said.

She laughed. “You love it.”

“I couldn’t kill Frankie,” I said.

“Never thought you would,” said Molly. “But I would have. For what they would have done to you.”