Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

Goodlin had dealt with the Arab before and he knew the house would make thousands before Lababiti called it a night.

“Chivas and Coke,” Goodlin ordered the bartender as he raced to greet his guest.

Swinging the door open, he smiled, showing thin, pointed teeth. “Mr. Lababiti,” he said with all the warmth of a snake encased in ice, “how good of you to join us this evening.”

Lababiti detested Goodlin. He was all that was wrong with the West. Goodlin sold sin and depravity—the fact that Lababiti was a frequent buyer made little difference.

“Evening, Derek,” Lababiti said quietly, taking the drink from the waiter who had raced over. “Still running your crooked game, I see.”

Goodlin smiled his evil smile. “I just supply what people want,” he said.

Lababiti nodded and motioned for Amad to follow him inside. Walking over to the ornate carved mahogany bar in the pub room, he slid into a chair alongside a round table with a lit candle on top. Goodlin followed behind like a lapdog.

“Will you be gaming this evening?” Goodlin asked once the pair was seated.

“Maybe later,” Lababiti said, “but for now, bring my friend here an Araq and then have Sally brought down.”

Goodlin signaled the waiter to find the bottle of the strong licorice-flavored Middle Eastern alcoholic drink, then looked down at Lababiti. “Sally Forth, or Sally Spanks?”

“Forth for him,” Lababiti said, pointing, “and Spanks for me.”

Goodlin raced off to alert the women. A few seconds later the waiter slid the bottle of Araq and a glass onto the table. Amad, who was due to die in a day, looked scared.

DEREK GOODLIN CLOSED the door behind Lababiti and his friend, then walked back to his office. He sat down and began counting a pile of bills while he sipped from a snifter of brandy. It had been a good night. The Arab and his silent friend had added five thousand pounds to the nightly take. That, along with a Japanese regular who had lost heavily at the roulette wheel, gave him a 30 percent increase over last night’s business.

He was wrapping a pile of pound notes with a rubber band to hide in the safe when there was a knock on his door. “Hold on,” he said as he placed the cash in the safe and then closed it and spun the dial.

“Okay,” he said once the safe was closed, “come in.”

“I’m here for my pay,” Sally Forth said, “my final pay.”

The socket around her left eye was purple and swollen.

“Lababiti?” Goodlin asked. “I thought you were supposed to be with the kid.”

“I was,” Sally said. “He got a little mean after…”

“After what?” Goodlin asked.

“After he couldn’t get it up,” Sally Forth answered.

Goodlin reached into his desk drawer for one of the envelopes he had prepared for the girls who had worked that night and h

anded it over. “Take a few days off,” he said, “and be back at work Wednesday.”

Nodding a weary nod, she left the office and walked down the hallway.

LABABITI WAS DRIVING the Jaguar west on Leadenhall Street. Amad was sitting in the passenger seat quietly.

“Did you have a good time?” Lababiti asked.

Amad grunted.

“Are you going to be ready tomorrow?”

“Allah is great,” Amad said quietly.

Lababiti turned and glanced over at the Yemeni, who was staring out the side window at the buildings they passed. He was beginning to have his doubts about Amad, but he kept them to himself. Tomorrow morning he’d give the Yemeni his last instructions.