Fingers found himself naturally drifting to the terrace of pinball machines. He didn’t have any coins, but he had a knack for mechanisms. The machine was easily persuaded it had received a quarter and a ball rolled in front of the spring launcher. Pulling this back would be the hardest part. Too much effort and Fingers could exhaust himself, forget who he was and end up back in the crystal cocoon. Not enough and he’d have a weak launch and the game would be rubbish.
He concentrated on pulling the stick back and not releasing too soon. The resistance from the spring would be nothing for the living, but it was like pulling a car with greased fingertips. Slowly the launcher slid back. Fingers could feel the blackness of exhaustion creeping in, his vision beginning to cloud. He released. The dark miasma dissipated and the ball curved into the playing area, ricocheted off a bumper, points lit up on the scoreboard. He needed to concentrate on pushing the flipper buttons in time.
He tossed the ball back up the table, once, twice, but the last time he was a moment too slow and the steel ball slid round the reach of his flippers and into the gutter. “Fuck it.” He couldn’t risk pulling on the launcher a second time. Still it was good to practice his skills. Whatever happened, he was coming back again.
On another tour of the arcade Fingers noticed that one of the games was playing itself, almost like how he had been controlling the pinball machine, except no one was standing in front of it. He smiled. Some of these games might show a demo of what they looked like in action while idle, but this was actual gameplay. Looked like his hunch had paid off.
“Here, Mate. Can I have a word?” Fingers said.
“Get lost, I’m busy,” said a girl, the words also appearing on the screen.
The Phreaker was female? That was surprising, but Fingers tried not to show it. Like Clint, he was a relic of another time when girls didn’t get involved with engines never mind electronics, unless they were using them in the home. He had opened many locks in his day so maybe that’s how she knew how to use electrical machines. That wasn’t the way to think about this. Being dead, it was almost impossible to change anything, but you had to know times had moved on, just as they had while he was alive. He was quite used to working with Kat now. Although she waited tables, she was capable and took charge. It was like working with one of Charlie’s Angels, or the Bionic Woman.
“I’m sorry. I thought you could help me with something,” said Fingers.
“I told you, I’m busy.” The screen flashed red with big letters – YOU LOST. “Shit. Look what you made me do. I nearly beat the all-time record. This better be good, Mister.” A girl emerged from the cabinet, brushing her hair behind her ears. She was maybe in her mid-teens. It was hard to tell, kids seemed much older much younger these days, and it didn’t look like she’d passed a long time ago. Definitely in high school.
“I’m looking for someone who can manipulate electronics. Cameras, alarms, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah. I got that,” the girl said. “But why d’you decide to bother me with it?”
“You come highly recommended.” Fingers smiled.
The girl faked a smile back. “I asked you to leave me alone. Now go away.”
“I’m going to rob a casino. Think it might be fun. Are you in?”
“Yeah, right.” Her laugh was genuine though. “You don’t look like you could steal packets of sugar from a coffee shop.”
“You ever heard of the Star of Irem?”
“No. Should I?”
“It was a jewel, a meteorite fused with glass made from the sand where it hit the Earth. It was auctioned off by the estate of T. E. Lawrence. Went to an anonymous buyer, based here. I took it. They called me Inconnu.”
The girl clapped. “Okay, so you claim you can do a Lara Croft and take fancy stones from rich people. I still never heard of you, and like me, you’re dead. You don’t need chips or cash. So what you really doing?”
“Stealing a heart.”
“I doubt you need my help for that.”
Maybe she was older. It was beginning to look like finding someone with the right skills was the easy part. “The heart is in a casino.”
“Which one?”
Maybe she was on the hook after all. That sounded wrong. “You’re either in, or you’re not. You look like you’ve got the skills, but we don’t know each other. You say you’re in and we meet with the boss lady.”
“I’m no lady,” she smiled.
“So I’m gathering, but the boss is. I’m Mickey Parker, people call me Fingers. What do I call you?”
“Amy. Amy Duncan. People used to call me Slam. But I prefer Amy.”
“Well, Amy. You interested?”
“Tell me about the boss.”
“She’s Scottish, not that I hold that against her. Clint keeps saying she looks like an old movie star, Rita Hayworth.”
“Never heard of her,” said Amy.
“Me either. Still, it’s her heart we’re trying to get back.”
“What happened to her heart?”
“It got taken from her, something to do with a gambling debt. You ask her yourself. I’ve said too much as it is.”
“Didn’t happen to be Danton that took it?”
“The Saint of the Strip himself. Surely he didn’t kill you too.”
“Nah, but you should know that tale’s being told. Hope you’ve not been asking for help too openly – if I can put two and two together…” Amy said. “I might be able to help. For a price.”
“Everybody’s got one. Best you discuss that with the boss.”
20
“You can’t sign up,” said the Sergeant.
“Why not, Sir? You’re taking everyone else,” said Clint, trying his best to look like he already knew how to stand at attention. He’d been waiting all day, constantly being told to go and wait with the others.
“We aint got a unit you could join,” said the Sergeant. He hadn’t been short of volunteers to enlist; the queue had been up the street since day break. Since the Jap attack on Pearl Harbor every day had been like this.
“Then send me where there is one, Sir,” Clint said. He wasn’t about to give up now. He wanted to go. It was his country too, and he knew his blood was just as red as a white man’s.
“What about your age? I’m sure you’re too young. You got a birth certificate, son?”
“Sir, I’m twenty years old. Plenty old enough. Besides if I had any proof it blew away in the dust six years ago afore I came out here.”
“An Okie, huh? You help build the dam?”
“What was left when I got there, Sir.” The Boulder Dam had all but been finished by the time Clint had ridden Achilles into Boulder City, both of them barely able to stand. But there was still enough back breaking menial labour for someone of Clint’s qualifications.
“What you been up to since?”
“Came down here a few years back. Worked on the El Rancho and just finished the Last Frontier.”
“They trust you to do that?”
“I was the foreman, until yesterday,” Clint said, handing over his letter of recommendation.
The Sergeant sighed. “Give me a minute.” He went into the back office and picked up the phone. “Hey George, it’s Jerry. You still looking for recruits for the seven hundred and fifty eighth? Yeah? OK. I’m sending you one down.”
“You better get your bag,” the Sergeant said to Clint. “You’re heading to Louisiana.”
The scent of fresh snow and broken pine boughs mixed with the dead stench of diesel exhaust and cordite. Clint sat near the engine block of his Sherman tank trying to keep warm. Inside the can was cosier, with the funk of five men too. He preferred to command the tank with the hatch open where possible, felt more like riding a horse than an iron coffin on treads.
His last match flared and, like so much in Clint’s life, was taken by the wind. Goddam it. He dropped down from the hull of the tank and trudged a few feet into the tree line where the snow thinned a little. A small fire h
ad been erected. Johnson was trying to heat some water over the feeble flames. “Anyone got a light?”
Heads shook. Not wanting to risk disturbing the fire, and pissing everyone off, he put the cigarette carefully back in the packet. There were only a few left. They had to keep him going until the supply lines caught up with them. Patton had them chasing the Germans back through the Ardennes, taking back the ground they’d lost. He’d been preparing for this for just over three years, and if it hadn’t been for Patton they’d still be practising manoeuvres at Camp Hood. As it was they’d still missed D-Day and had only been in France for two months.
Clint headed deeper into the woods to take a piss. A bird shot out across his path, startling him. But he knew he hadn’t frightened it. Call it instinct left over from his days riding the range. The bird would have flown away from him not across his path. He drew his pistol.
A shadow lurched from behind the thick trunk of an old evergreen. Clint shot, the Colt kicking back against his hand. The shadow collapsed, crimson spraying the virgin snow.
Moving carefully, Clint got closer, gun aimed at the dark shape that looked like a huge raven had been knocked out of the sky. Cold light caught the peak of a black cap and the silvered skulls and lightning runes. A thick black greatcoat was flecked with snow and mud. The officer groaned and rolled his head from facing the ground. Despite the pain, the hate in the man’s eyes was stronger than any he’d seen in the States. Clint heard him speak, but it made little sense, something about schwarz commando.
Clint raised his gun and shot him again. He watched as the man’s eyes dimmed from the fiery blue of a gas jet to a milkier shade. The body didn’t slump, it remained taut like he would get up at any moment. What had he even been doing out here? Did he think he was so superior he could take on a tank crew single-handed? Maybe he was simply lost.
The others were close. He heard the fake owl hoots they used to signal each other, scuffing of snow and the soft snap of a twig.
“You boys couldn’t sneak past a dead possum,” Clint said, walking over to the corpse. He went through his pockets. Found some German cigarettes in a silver case and a lighter with a skull and bones on it. He still needed a piss, but things were looking up.
“What happened, Boss?” said Lawrence.
“He just came at me out of the woods. I shot him,” said Clint.
“Well that’s one less goddam Nazi to worry about,” said Lawrence.
“Amen,” said Johnson, coming up behind him.
Clint hadn’t killed anyone before. He hunted animals for food, and they hadn’t made it through France and into Belgium without taking out a few Panzers and their crew and several infantry along the way. This was personal though. Just between him and another. He’d thought about it a few times. Seriously. Men in Boulder City, one or two on work crews, but nothing he’d gone through with. Somehow he’d always cooled off or sobered up before acting. This was both in the heat of the moment and a calculated shot. The first hit was luck, let’s face it. The second he couldn’t really miss.
He was okay with it.
It wasn’t just that this was wartime and he was the enemy. He should have taken him prisoner after the first round. It surprised him, but he didn’t feel the slightest remorse.
He took out one of the SS officer’s cigarettes, tapped it out on the case and flicked the lighter to life. The tobacco was dry and the smoke was good.
21
Kat was so tired she didn’t want to get up. The snooze button on her alarm was out of reach and the bleeping was accompanied by a banging on the door. Who could be complaining about her alarm this late in the day?
“Alright, I’ll get it, gimme a sec.” She fumbled around and switched off the alarm. Someone still kept banging on the door. Kat got up, feeling groggy, head puffy. She put on a pair of jeans and a shirt. “Fuck’s sake, I’m coming.” She peeked through the curtains. It was Carlos.
“What do you want?” Kat said, opening the door with the chain on, squinting in the daylight. How did he even know where to come?
“May I come in?” said Carlos.
Kat unchained the door and let him in. She offered him the chair while she straightened the bed.
“I want to know what’s going on.” Carlos said.
Her mouth felt dry and thick so she went to the bathroom and rinsed with some tap water. “This couldn’t have waited to some more civilised hour?”
“It’s the afternoon. I should be at work.”
“Then go.”
“Not until I get some answers.”
Great. If she’d known this is how it would be she’d have gone with Plan B and have Fingers and Jack scour the casino. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“I could’ve called the cops already.”
“On what grounds? Looks to me like you’ve done alright. Got the family fortune back. Did the Conways let you keep the bullion and the cash?”
“Fraud,” Carlos said.
Kat used her practised laugh. “So, what, I came to your dead partner’s office, you invited me into yours, we talked about your missing father and I took you to your old house where I helped you find your family fortune and lay your father to rest. At no time did I charge you a fee or make any claims. At worst I lied about having an appointment with Summers.”
“Accessory to murder then. How else would you know where he was?”
“Right. I killed your Dad. Flew all the way here when I was an unaccompanied child without a passport, murdered a complete random stranger, and decided a decade later to lead you right to his body and your lost wealth. For not even a thank you. But you’re right to ask one thing. How did I know where he was? I was looking for a safe, remember? Maybe, just maybe, I’m not a complete looney and I was actually talking to your dead father.”
Carlos looked uncomfortable.
“Why are you really here?” Kat said. “Actually, how are you here?”
“My dad disappeared when I was a kid. I never really knew him. I guess I just want to talk to him.”
“I know someone who’ll take your heart out. Maybe it’ll work for you too, this seeing dead people crap. How did you find me?”
“I couldn’t help but notice the hot-wired car yesterday. I asked a guy I know in the PD about missing cars. He tells me about the so-called Gas Angel. People around this neighbourhood getting their vehicles taken and then they’re returned a few hours later, usually the same day, with a full tank of gas, and a few extra miles on the clock. Didn’t take a genius to see this place was walking distance from all of the thefts. No one on the cleaning crew had heard of a white Scottish woman with red hair, wouldn’t take my money, told me I was loco for thinking anyone like that would live round here. The rest of the neighbourhood noticed you though and the guy on the front desk wasn’t so discreet.”
“Huh,” said Kat. “Guess I wasn’t so careful after all.”
“Sooner or later someone will care you’re taking the cars, whether or not you return them. Some dealer’s stash in the glove compartment, a zealous cop looking for promotion. Maybe they’ll find you filling up the tank on CCTV. You’re way too memorable in this end of town.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“I realise we’ve got off on the wrong foot,” said Carlos. “You’re right. I haven’t even thanked you for your help. Perhaps I can give you a finder’s fee?”
This was too good to be true. Just like that she could maybe have enough to get back her heart, fair and square. Vincent said he got his heart back when Danton got what he, or she, wanted. So it seemed Danton kept his/her word. Kat couldn’t help but picture the big guy, Danton Junior, in a floral print dress and lipstick. No need to continue with the plan. Assuming she could be trusted with the money. Could she make it back to Danton without visiting a roulette table and putting it all on red?
“How does five thousand dollars sound?”
Proof, if needed, not to count your chickens before they hatch. She should’ve gone there alone
. Only Vincent would know what she’d taken. “I think that bar of gold alone was probably worth a hundred times that, you cheap bastard. I think you should go.” And she remembered the ring, warm in her pocket. She didn’t feel shame anymore, but she knew it was wrong to take it. “Here, you want to get closer to your daddy, try this.” Kat forced the ring into Carlos’ hand as she got up to open the door.
“What? I don’t understand. You could find a better place, start again.”
“Seriously? I find your missing millions and you offer me a few grand and you don’t think that’s insulting? I didn’t do it for the money, but if I had I’d want more than a fraction of a percent. That’s not a thank you, that’s a slap in the face. Go. Get the hell out of here.”
Carlos stammered and stumbled out to his shiny Lexus that must have been washed earlier that day. Kat didn’t wait to see him off. She locked and chained the door and went for a shower.
“I think you’re going to need to speak to another guy,” said Vincent. Thank God Clint had managed to get him to turn up and explain the layout of the casino. Without an anchor they were relying on his good will at this point.
“What kind of guy?” said Jack. “Another architect?”
“No. Someone more specialised. I wasn’t the only person Danton brought in on the job. She needed security, but like I said, specialised.”
“Vaults, locks, that sort of thing?” said Fingers. “I got that covered.”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean. Magical,” said Vincent. “It doesn’t seem so dumb, now. Back then I couldn’t see why she’d need a stage magician at all. In my current state it makes a bit more sense. Don’t get me wrong, you probably still need a locksmith, but I guess anyone who can steal hearts needs to be paranoid about the dead.”
“So we couldn’t have done much surveillance ourselves?” said Kat, standing by the door. Her room was starting to feel crowded, she wished they met in the church. “There are, what, barriers, alarms, and so forth to keep out the dead too?”
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