The Same End (The Lamb and the Lion Book 3)

by Gregory Ashe

  “No,” Jem said, leaning back in the booth. “We’re not going.”

  “What’s going on with Jager?” Tean asked. “Do they have any idea what happened?”

  “Sure,” Ammon said. “It’s all tied up with a neat little bow: Tanner, Blake, and Antonio had something going with Kalista and Nick, something with drugs. Then things fell apart. Some kind of internal disagreement. Tanner killed Andi and tried to kill Antonio, but Antonio got away. He came back here and killed Blake, left him in that gully. Jager was involved at some level. Tanner must have tried to eliminate him too, only Jager got the upper hand, and Tanner ended up dead in the canyon, trampled to death. When Antonio showed up, Jager went after the missing piece. Now they’re all dead and Jager is being transported by air to Vegas’s University Medical, and nobody knows if he’ll live long enough for them to hang it all around his neck. Frankly, they’ll probably be relieved if he doesn’t.”

  “Vegas?”

  “It was supposed to be Denver, but there’s a storm over the mountains. Then it was supposed to be Albuquerque, but something happened, and their trauma center is overloaded. After that it was a toss-up between Phoenix and Vegas; I guess Vegas answered first.”

  “But that’s bullshit.” Jem flattened his hands on the table as he broke into the conversation. His fingertips blanched from the pressure. “That’s all bullshit. Tanner’s not dead. Tanner did this. Tanner is still out there, and in two days, he’s going to walk away with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life in Venezuela or Thailand or God knows where.”

  “What about Nick and Kalista?” Tean asked. “When you got the information about the drugs, what did they say?”

  “They’re gone, Tean. No one has seen them since the hotel called in the gunshot. I don’t think we’ll see them again anytime soon, and if we do, what are they going to tell us? They were trafficking meth, and they asked the wrong guy to help them score an unprotected shipment? They hooked Tanner, only he ended up turning the tables on them?”

  “They’ll be able to tell us where the drop is going to happen. They could give us Tanner.”

  Ammon grunted. “It’s a moot point; they’re gone, and we will be too.”

  “No,” Jem said.

  “What about Weckesser? Somebody’s got to be asking questions.”

  “Yeah, McEneany freaked out when I told him about what you’d found. You should have seen how fast that kid got on the phone; I think he was so panicked he actually sprouted his first pube. He talked to the parents right there in front of me; Weckesser’s camping in Yosemite. Good luck getting through to him on a call until he’s back at the end of the week.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Jem said. “You don’t see how convenient that is?”

  “Am I supposed to believe his eighty-year-old parents are involved in this conspiracy too?”

  “What about the dispatch log we found? Why would Jager care about that if Weckesser was still alive?”

  “The current theory is that Jager altered the log and took those copies because he wanted to make sure that nobody ever remembered anything strange about that night—including the callout asking for a check on the Richardson Amphitheater.”

  Jem was clenching his teeth so hard that the cords of his neck stood out. “This is bullshit. I’ve got things to do.”

  “You’re going to get arrested.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I heard you the first time.”

  “You’re going to get Tean arrested.”

  Jem hesitated.

  “And he’s going to lose his job,” Ammon said.

  “Don’t do that,” Tean said. “That’s not fair to him.”

  “When word gets out about the trouble you two have been in down here, when his supervisor learns he was using his job to interrogate potential witnesses.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “The neighbor,” Ammon said. “Weckesser’s neighbor. And if I figured it out, somebody else will too.”

  Bright spots burned in Jem’s cheeks. He was taking shallow, rapid breaths.

  “Jem, don’t worry about that right now. Ammon, I told you not to do this. Drop it. Right now.”

  “Then he can go,” Jem said, staring at Ammon. “He can go with you.”

  Ammon snorted. “That would be the day.” Glancing at Tean, he said, “You’re not going to leave him, are you?”

  Tean swallowed, his throat so dry he was amazed he managed it, and shook his head.

  “There you go. So, you get to be selfish and play vigilante and ruin his life.”

  “Tean, go home. Go back with him.”

  Tean was silent.

  Jem finally looked at him. “Go back with him. You’re done here. Don’t be stupid.”

  The sound of a dozen conversations filled the dining room. The fountain machine hissed and gurgled. Little feet slapped the tile floor.

  “I don’t think I should do that,” Tean finally said.

  “God damn it.” Jem put a hand over his eyes for a moment and then dropped it. “God damn it, Tean. Will you please just do what I’m telling you to do?”

  “I don’t think I should.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Jem shouted, and he turned and kicked an empty chair. It squeaked along the tile and fell over with a clatter. A shocked silence cut through the dining room.

  From the door, Tean could hear Kat say very quiet, “This is a shitshow.”

  “Everything’s all right, folks,” Ammon said his voice calm and full of authority as it carried through the dining room. “Police business. Nothing to worry about.” Then, more quietly, he said, “Maybe I can offer an alternative to pitching a hissy fit in a fast-food restaurant and getting yourself arrested that much faster.”

  “I need to go,” Jem said, his gaze swinging wildly. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Jem,” Tean said, “hold on. Please. Just wait.”

  “We go to Vegas,” Ammon said. “And we talk to Jager.”

  Jem plucked his Goosebumps shirt, which was filthy from the ash in Jager’s wood-burning stove, as though trying to cool himself. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. Tean wondered, again, what had happened? What had these men done to Jem so that the hurt ran so deep?

  “You said he might not survive,” Tean said.

  “He might not.”

  “And he’ll be in police custody.”

  “He’s tied up in my case now; he killed the man I arrested for murder, the one who escaped custody. I’ve got a right to question him.”

  But his voice held a note of doubt.

  “What happened?” Tean said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that. Tell me what happened.”

  “It’s all going to blow over, but McEneany, Nobles, and Haggerty have all complained to my lieutenant. He wants me to quit, in his way of putting it, fucking him over like the rent boys I pick up.”

  “That’s sexual harassment.”

  Ammon gave a tired grin. “I’ll make sure he understands that. He wants Kat and me back in Salt Lake today. And Kat agrees with him; she doesn’t like how things went down here.”

  “Based on how she’s glaring at you,” Jem said, his voice sounding a few degrees closer to normal, “she blames you.”

  “She does. And she’s not wrong. I let the two of you get away with a lot that I wouldn’t have put up with from someone else.”

  “That’s cute,” Jem said. “You think you were letting us.”

  “Look, if you’re right about Tanner and this drug shipment, he’s not going anywhere for two days.”

  “Two days I could be looking for him. Two days I could use to find him.”

  “Two days that you’ll spend sitting in a jail cell. Maybe longer. They can hold you for seventy-two hours before they even have to file charges, and then you’ll sit around some more while you wait to either be arraigned or make bail. Or both. You might still be sitting in a cell whe
n Tanner steps onto a plane for Argentina. If we go to Vegas, though, we don’t lose anything. Tanner will still be here in two days, and maybe we’ll get something out of Jager we can use.”

  “Jem,” Tean said quietly, “it’s not a bad plan.”

  “Then you go. Go to Vegas. I’ll be careful. I’ll—I’ll stay out of sight.”

  “I thought you said he was smart,” Ammon said.

  “He is smart. Ammon, will you give us a minute?”

  “Don’t take too long; your family wants to have dinner tonight. In Vegas, I mean.”

  “What?”

  Ammon shrugged. “Amos has been calling me for two days straight, asking me to find a way to get you down there.” To Tean’s surprise, scarlet dusted Ammon’s cheeks. “He invited me too, actually. I didn’t say anything because I assumed you didn’t want me to go.”

  “Amos invited you?”

  “He said you wouldn’t come without moral support. Kat’s already volunteered to take Scipio to your sister’s place.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “Ok, she didn’t actually volunteer, but she did agree to do it.”

  Tean pushed his hair back. “This is—ok, let me talk to Jem, please.”

  Squeezing Tean’s knee, Ammon slid out of the booth and joined Kat by the door. Tean took a few deep breaths, wondering if smashing Amos’s face with a rock would fall under the guidelines of brotherly love, and then raised his head. Jem was looking at him, his face a sickly white, expressionless.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” Tean said. “But I think Ammon’s right.”

  “Of course you do.” Jem took a shuddering breath, like he was on the verge of breaking into sobs, but his eyes remained dry. “Ok. Fine. Let’s go.”

  30

  It wasn’t quite as easy as that.

  Jem went insane when Kat tried to load Scipio into the back seat of the Impala.

  “He’s not a criminal. He’s not a fucking criminal. He should get to ride up front with you.”

  It went on and on like that. Scipio, completely unaware that he was the object of contention, was climbing around inside the car, investigating every inch of upholstery with thorough sniffing. Tean finally had to drag Jem back to the truck. The look on Kat’s face could have fried both of them.

  “Jem, you’re freaking me out. What is going on? Did you—” Tean hesitated and then took the plunge. “What have you been taking?”

  Jem just kept shaking his head. “He’s not a criminal. She shouldn’t be putting him in the back seat because he’s not a criminal.”

  “What the hell is his deal?” Ammon asked when he joined them. He was carrying a roller bag, which Tean tied down in the Ford’s bed. Jem was pacing by the side of the truck, muttering, gesticulating, the word criminal carrying on the desert air.

  “Can you drive?” Tean asked, fishing out the keys. “He hasn’t slept, not real sleep, in days, and he’s having some sort of panic attack or anxiety attack. I don’t know. I just need you to help me right now.”

  Ammon nodded and accepted the keys, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Tean took two Xanax from his bag and forced Jem to take them. They climbed into the cab, Tean in the middle, and Ammon guided the Ford north toward I-70. They were three miles outside Moab when Jem fell asleep. It was so abrupt and complete that for a moment Tean worried. But Jem was breathing softly and evenly, and he let Tean adjust him until he was slumped against Tean, sleeping on his shoulder.

  When Jem was finally settled, Tean risked a look at Ammon.

  “He’s lucky he has you,” Ammon said.

  Tean watched the rolling miles of ephedra and bitterbrush and sage, rock the color of coral, rock the color of sun-bleached straw, rock the blue-black of the bottom of the ocean. Fissures spread through the white clay hardpan.

  “I don’t think he’s the lucky one,” Tean finally said.

  Ammon’s hand settled on his leg, warm and heavy. “Don’t rev yourself up,” Ammon said with a soft smile, his fingers flexing once around Tean’s leg. “I just—I just need this, ok? I’m not going to make any attempts on your virtue.”

  “Thank goodness,” Tean said.

  Laughing softly, Ammon squeezed his leg again.

  After that, they drove in silence, except for two stops to get gas and use the restrooms. The drive was longer than Tean had expected, and by the time they reached Vegas, night was settling in: a band of amethyst haze along the rim of the world, shadows pouring in like a flood, the sodium lights and fluorescents and neons of the Strip violent after so many days in the quiet and emptiness of the high desert.

  Caesar’s Palace had a parking garage that was like every other parking garage Tean had ever seen: rough cement, the sound of brakes squeaking, the smell of urine and motor oil. When Tean’s phone made a yowling noise, Jem woke from his third nap. He glanced over, eyes puffy, and said, “Prowler.”

  Tean jammed buttons on his phone, trying to silence it.

  Jem gave a lopsided smile and tried to fix his hair in the mirror; his color looked better.

  “Come on, pretty boy,” Ammon said. “You can fix your hair in your room.”

  “Nobody’s going to see me in my room. I need to fix it now.”

  Tean’s phone yowled again.

  “Really?” Ammon said.

  “I’m trying to turn it off,” Tean said, tapping frantically through a maze of options.

  Tean had never been to a Vegas casino before; five feet into the building, he knew why. It was fake. It was all fake. The pseudo-classical architecture: columns and friezes and painted domes; murals and tilework and mosaics; fountains and statues. Replicas, imitations, thefts from another place and another time. The light was fake; there were no windows, only the intense artificial brilliance of the lobbies that contrasted with the dim labyrinths of the casinos, where screens flashed and alarms rang out. The sounds were fake; ringing bells, chimes, and the jingle of coins competed with laughter, shouts, and drunken cries. Even the air was fake, a mélange of smoke and perfume and pure oxygen forced through the vents to keep gamblers alert and active.

  At the reception desk, they got their keys. Tean already had a room reserved, courtesy of Amos. Ammon booked one for himself, although he was so slow about it and threw so many questioning looks at Tean that Tean just about lost his mind. Jem wandered off. When he came back, the grease- and ash-stained Goosebumps shirt was turned inside out, and dark smudges of something—some of the ash, Tean guessed—hollowed out Jem’s eyes like exotic makeup. A puppy-eyed young man was following him. His name tag said Victor, and below that, it said Concierge.

  “Miranda,” Victor said as he trotted up. “These gentlemen have been upgraded, and we need to process Mr. Berger’s complimentary suite.”

  “What the frick?” Ammon muttered.

  Miranda, who had an Audrey-Hepburn neck and a lot of fake gold jewelry, was smiling and typing like she’d polished off a bottle of Adderall. She couldn’t have been happier about the upgrades. She couldn’t have been more pleased about the complimentary suite.

  “No need for a suite,” Jem said with a laugh that made Victor vibrate like a plucked string. “Just a room on the same floor as these guys, thanks.”

  “Did you blow him in the bathroom?” Ammon asked when Victor and Miranda stepped away to talk.

  “Do you hear how he talks to me?” Jem asked Tean, hitching a thumb at Ammon. “Do you like guys with dirty mouths? You ought to scrub that out with soap.”

  “So you did blow him.”

  “I didn’t give him oral pleasure, Ammon. I’m a gentleman. I like someone to buy me a nice dinner first. Remember?”

  Ammon’s face colored. Tean felt his own face heating; he had tried to forget that Ammon had once cruised Jem—or maybe it had been the other way around—at a Salt Lake bar.

  “Right,” Ammon said. “I forgot it takes a six-piece nugget to get you to go down.”

  Jem just
smiled, and Ammon’s face got redder.

  “Seriously,” Tean whispered as they rode up the elevator of the Augustus tower, “what did you do?”

  Jem moved his tongue against the inside of his cheek to create an obscene bulge.

  “I hate you,” Tean whispered.

  Jem worked his tongue back and forth.

  “Gosh, I hate you so much sometimes.”

  “I might have convinced him I work for a famous street magician,” Jem whispered. “Maybe. Just possibly.”

  “What are you two talking about?”

  “Blowing each other,” Jem said.

  “Nothing,” Tean snapped.

  Then his phone betrayed him, yowling again.

  “You can delete that app, you know,” Ammon said, fixing Tean with a flat stare.

  “Leave him alone,” Jem said. “Hot boys want to rip his clothes off; it’s his God-given right as an American to be informed when they’re nearby.”

  “Do you ever know what he’s talking about?” Ammon said to Tean.

  “Not really.”

  The phone yowled twice more as Tean was letting himself into his room.

  “Is that number five or number six?” Jem called from where he was opening the door to the next room.

  Tean hurried inside, shut the door behind him, and threw his phone under the bed. The hotel room was like so many others he’d been in: geometric patterns on the carpet; innocuous watercolors on the walls; a big bed with crisp, white sheets. The air conditioner was set to Arctic Blast, circulating the smell of hotel laundry, and Tean shivered as he adjusted the temperature. He washed up in the bathroom to the sound of three more yowls. Then he crawled under the bed to retrieve his phone, stared at the stream of ‘claws’ that guys had sent him on Prowler, and dismissed all of them.

  Next, he did some exploratory searching, looking for Kalista Sweet and Nick Reddick. He pulled the last names from the pictures of their luggage tags that he’d taken the first time he and Jem had broken into the villa. He got results on a Nick who was a lawyer and possibly a politician, but the picture didn’t match the man with the swishy hips whom Tean had met in the Tafone’s villa. There were other Nick Reddicks, and Tean got through ten pages of results before giving up. Kalista Sweet was also a dead end: results on Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, and more, but none of the pictures matched the woman he had met. Then he tried their names together, using various search limiters. One combination finally turned up a result: a short article about a charitable relief organization in St. George, Utah, from a newspaper called the St. George Mercury. The story only had a single photo of Kalista and Nick in formal wear; presumably whatever charitable work they were doing required a tuxedo and an evening gown. Nick’s hair was still in the ridiculous low bun, which was probably because he was trying to hide elf ears, Tean decided. After that, Tean checked several of the links on the page, which all dead-ended in 404s.