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Owen puts his phone down and gives us a thumbs up. “Let’s go, boys. Victor is going to be another hour or two.” The three of us move down the hall toward the elevator, catching stares as we go. I imagine the sight of three large men in suits with determined looks on their faces would intimidate the average Vegas tourist. But no less than three women also whipped out their phones and snapped a picture of us.
When we step into the room on the eighth floor, my eyes go wide. The bed has been stripped of all the linens, and the photos and decorations have been pulled off the walls.
“Did she do that or did maintenance?”
Owen shakes his head. “No idea.”
A woman with ratty hair steps out of the bathroom and glares at us. “Who are you? Why am I here? I demand to be released.”
Owen just shakes his head and leans against the dresser. “You’re here because you were screaming like a lunatic in my lobby. Care to explain what that was about?”
“Zara is a witch and a whore, and she must be made known to all.”
“A whore, I’ll grant you. But a witch? What does that even mean? And why do you call her Zara?” Owen asks.
I fight the urge to punch him for agreeing that Zara is a whore. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way and is just trying to understand what’s going on.
“You’ve seen her eyes. They’re a witch’s eyes. Allison is dead, Zara the witch took over her body.”
Not only is she homeless, but she’s also mentally unstable. Just great.
“And you thought coming to the hotel you think she’s staying at to scream about her sins was the way to make sure she gets what’s coming to her?”
The woman nods excitedly, as if Owen gets it. Owen does not get it. At all. And neither do I.
“How did you find out she was in The Pink Sapphire?
“The man in the coat told me.”
Man in the coat?
“You mean on the television? Was one of the reporters wearing a coat?”
“No. He came to me and told me it was time for Zara to pay and that I should tell everyone what she’s done. I don’t watch TV. It’s just a box of sin that will rot your brain.”
I can’t say I disagreed about it rotting one’s brain, but even I enjoyed the occasional movie or sporting event.
“If you want us to take you seriously, you need to tell us more about this man in the coat,” Owen said.
We were on his turf since he ran security for Novak, so I was mostly staying quiet and observing.
“He tells me things. He told me something about you, too.” She glares at Matteo, and I can’t help the smirk on my face. Thankfully, my beard and mustache mask most of it. What sin has Matteo supposedly committed?
“What did he tell you about me?” His voice is dark, the kind of dark that says he might break his rule about no violence against women if she kept pushing his buttons.
“That you keep running from your destiny.”
“Why would someone tell a homeless bum that I’m running from my destiny?”
She looks confused, as if he’s an idiot for asking but shakes her head and moves back to Zara.
“My sister has disgraced our family and God. She should be punished. The man in the coat said he would help me with that. We just have to find her. Can you help me find her?”
I step forward with my fists clenched, but Matteo and Owen both stop me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you tell us where he found you?”
“At my camp. He brought us food.”
