Выбрать главу

“You know,” Charlene muses, “I really think we should talk with the FBI. Fionna, maybe you can copy the drive and I can give the original one to the Feds.”

“They’re not going to do anything,” Xavier declares firmly, iterating his distrust of the federal government. “Except maybe get in the way.”

“Well, we’ll see. I can be rather persistent and strong-willed when I want to be.”

“That’s true,” I agree.

A slight eyebrow raise. “Careful now.”

“I’m just saying, you are a woman who knows how to get what she wants.”

“Ah.”

Our eyes linger over each other, she offers me a slight smile and it feels nice.

In truth, Charlene is a lot more diplomatic and patient than either me or Xavier, and I figure she really is the right choice to talk with the FBI.

“Good.” I collect our plates and slip them into the dishwasher. “In the morning, Charlene, you can go to the federal building with what we know and see if they’ll look into Emilio’s death, Fionna and Lonnie can attack the USB drive, extract the files, work on decrypting them, and maybe Xavier and I can go to Emilio’s house to have a look around.”

“You’re not a detective.” Charlene’s objection seems halfhearted, as if she realizes it’s something she’s supposed to say but doesn’t really believe will convince me.

“No. But Fionna already tried the police and they’re not doing anything. Emilio doesn’t have any family here; we’re the ones who had to put his funeral together. Besides, the police wouldn’t know what to look for. Emilio was my friend. I’ve been over to his place dozens of times. If something’s not right, even something small that the police would miss, I might be able to notice it.”

When you’re doing mentalism, you train yourself to notice things — the little things most people miss. So-called mediums and psychics are experts at picking up on nonverbal cues, clothing choices, subconscious habits, anything that’s out of place on a person or in a specific setting. I’ve found that if you’re going to debunk them, you have to think like them. It’s taken me a few years, but I’m pretty good at noticing things that are easy to miss unless you’re keeping an eye out for them.

“Alright.” Xavier grabs his things to go to his RV. “I’ll see you folks in the morning. Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Mr. Wray.”

“Good night, Ms. McClury.”

I invite him to stay the night in the house, even though I suspect he’ll decline the offer, which he does. “I sleep best in my own bed,” he tells me. His bed is a thin mattress lying on a wooden platform in the RV.

After he leaves and Fionna heads down the hall, I walk Charlene to her room.

From the start she made it clear that if we were going to try to make things work between us, I had to respect her boundaries and her spiritual views about marriage and chastity.

Her deeply held convictions were part of what attracted me to her, though admittedly it wasn’t going to be easy to live up to them. “I’ve made mistakes in the past,” she told me when we started going out. “I don’t want to make them with you. Do you know the odds of people who sleep together staying together long-term, versus those who get married first?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

“Reams of research. We’d be shooting ourselves in the foot if we were intimate now. I really care about you and I want to see where this can lead, so let’s do what we can on the front end to make sure the odds are in our favor.” From anyone else it might have seemed prudish, but from her it seemed genuine and respectable.

One thing was for sure: it was definitely countercultural — especially in Vegas — but as long as it was the best route for us to take toward making this work, I was on board.

I had to hand it to her for setting down some ground rules, and I wanted her to know that I thought she was worth the wait, that I was in this for the long haul.

Outside her room I brush the back of my finger against her cheek. “How are you doing?”

“Good. I guess. Yeah. Considering everything.”

“Come here.” I hold her, and after a few minutes it feels as if we’ve given strength to each other — strength that neither of us had before.

It’s a mystery to me how love can offer you more than you’d ever imagine and allow you to give away what you don’t even realize you have — and somehow end up richer for it all in the end. The more you give, the more you have to give; the more you keep love to yourself, the less of it you have. It’s the paradox at the heart of every relationship.

After a moment she steps back. “Everything that happened in the Philippines seems like it happened weeks ago instead of just during the last day or two.”

“It feels that way to me too.”

“It’s strange how memory works.”

I read somewhere that a philosopher had written, “We are the selves we remember.” I mention that to Charlene and she considers it. “But what about the parts of our lives we forget?”

“Hmm…” Not a bad point. “That’s all part of the equation too, I suppose. Maybe there’s a reason we forget some things — the pain, you know? So we can move on.”

I have the sense that she knows I’m thinking not just about Emilio but also about the loss of my family, but neither of us brings it up and that’s okay with me.

A slight awkwardness edges in between us, for reasons I’m not even certain of, then we kiss, say good night, and I head to my room.

Even as tired as I am, I’m not expecting that I’ll get the best night’s sleep.

The idea of going to my dead friend’s house to look around is troubling me as I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and climb into bed.

Emilio.

My family.

Memories that will always be with me.

If we are the selves that we remember, then I expect I’ll always have a self that’s wrapped up in far too many layers of pain.

* * *

Calista took the hand of the man she’d been flirting with. He seemed like a nice enough guy, a little overweight, you know, but not too bad, and he was kinda cute in a middle-aged, balding guy sort of way.

They left the bar and walked together toward his hotel room.

A secret.

Yes.

He would not be getting what he expected tonight. Derek would be paying them a visit before they could get started, would drug him, and he would wake up tomorrow morning and not remember anything about the night.

Date rape drugs can come in handy. And Derek was an expert at using them.

She knew their mark for tomorrow night, but tonight had given her a chance to note the location of the security cameras so she could be sure to keep her back turned to them tomorrow.

The dry run had gone according to plan. She would be fine doing her job tomorrow evening when everything was on the line.

Not that she was concerned. After five years of doing this, she was confident in her abilities, but it was good to know that she could even work her magic in the Chimera Club, among the LA escorts and with the highest rollers in Vegas.

* * *

Tomás Agcaoili landed in San Francisco and took the shuttle to his hotel.

He would spend the rest of the night here and then fly to Las Vegas later in the afternoon to meet with the man who’d hired him to kill Emilio Benigno.

Tomás had gotten half of his money up front. Now that he’d done his part he was ready to get paid the rest, and then he could disappear forever.

But he’d failed to get the drive.

Amid the confusion beside the coffin following Emilio’s death, he was supposed to have slipped away and gone through the man’s things. But he hadn’t gotten the chance before Banks and Wray chased him into the jungle and then took Emilio’s luggage with them when they left.