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“Sure.” Nelson smiles kindly. “Times Square, Central Park . . .”
“Heard about this club in an old factory,” Argent says, nearly frothing at the mouth with excitement. “A different famous band plays there every night, but you never know who it’s gonna be.”
“Did you hear about that on TV?” Nelson asks. “Like the House of Voodoo?”
It takes a moment to settle, bouncing around Argent’s mind like a pinball until it drops dead center. Game over.
When he looks up at Nelson, there is nothing kind about his smile. It’s more predatory. Like a tiger anticipating its kill.
“Lassiter never said anything about Mary LaVeau or ‘the green lady,’ did he?”
“I . . . I was gonna tell you . . .”
“When? Before or after you got your all-expense-paid tour of New York?” Suddenly he flips the table. Dinnerware flies, a plate smashes against the mantel, and Nelson pounces, pinning Argent against the wall so hard Argent can feel the light switch digging into his back like a knife—but it’s nowhere near as deadly as the steak knife Nelson now holds to his throat.
“Did you say anything that wasn’t a lie?” He presses the knife harder against his neck. “I’ll know if you’re lying now.”
Argent knows the truth won’t help him, so he avoids the question. “If you kill me, there’ll be a lot of blood,” he says desperately. “And you wouldn’t have fed me if you really meant to kill me!”
“Every man deserves a last meal.” His presses the knife harder, drawing a bead of blood.
“Wait!” Argent hisses, pulling out the only ace he has to play. “There’s a tracking chip!”
“What are you talking about?”
“My sister! When she was little she always used to wander off, so my parents had them put this tracking chip in her skin behind her ear. If she’s still with Lassiter, we can find them. But I’m the only one who knows the chip’s tracking code. Kill me and the code dies with me.”
“You son of a bitch. You knew about that chip all along!”
“If I told you, you’d have no use for me!”
“I have no use for you now!” He drops the knife and uses his bare hand to close off Argent’s windpipe. No blood. No mess. “Now that I know, I can find that code without you.” Argent tries to fight him off, figuring he’ll lose and that this is the end—but to Argent’s surprise, he’s stronger than Nelson. In fact, the man seems uncharacteristically weak. He pushes Nelson off, and Nelson stumbles, falling to one knee.
“Stay still and let me kill you!” Nelson says.
Argent grabs the knife from the ground, ready to defend himself. But Nelson doesn’t come after him. His eyes roll. His lids flutter. He tries to stand, but falls again, this time on all fours.
“Damn it!”
Then his elbows give way, and he lands facedown on the carpet, as unconscious as if he’d been tranq’d.
Argent waits a moment. Then a moment more.
“Hey. You alive?”
Nothing. He reaches down to feel Nelson’s neck. There’s a pulse, rapid and strong—but he’s hot. Really hot.
Argent can run. He can just take off and get the hell out of this situation . . . but he hesitates and stares at the unconscious parts pirate on the floor before him. He lets the pinball bounce around in his head a bit, then puts the knife gently down on the mantel. The ball is still in play, and there are plenty of points left to be scored.
44 • Nelson
When he regains consciousness, it takes him a few moments to realize where he is. The OmniWilliam Penn in Pittsburgh. The presidential suite. A detour on a wild-goose chase he should never have allowed himself to be on.
The TV in his bedroom plays an action movie at low volume. The waste-of-life grocery checker sits there watching it while eating room service French fries. He turns to Nelson and, seeing he’s awake, pulls his chair over.
“Feeling better?”
Nelson doesn’t dignify him with a response.
