Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

ected results so soon and didn't want them conveyed over the telephone.

I KEPT AN eye out as I left the building. No one in the gang knew where I was staying--even Guy hadn't asked. But I could see him putting new recruits under surveillance.

When the cab dropped me off, I saw Troy across the road, standing by a storefront, studying a map. His gaze flicked my way as I got out, but he didn't budge.

The restaurant was an anonymous little diner, the sort you can find anywhere. I took a booth at the back and had a full coffee cup before Troy came through the door.

He slid in across from me.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. The cloak-and-dagger stuff is just protocol."

He seemed in no rush to get down to business. We ordered breakfast and he asked how I was settling in, how the apartment was.

"You need anything, don't be afraid to call," he said. "When Mr. Cortez opens his wallet, take advantage. I do."

He gave me some pointers on the neighborhoods--recommending shops and restaurants near my apartment and the club, along with ones to avoid. If I needed a break, he said he'd be happy to squire me around on his night off, maybe get out of the city, show me the area. The invitation was half flirtatious, half friendly, open for me to interpret as I wished.

When breakfast arrived, we shifted to business.

I told Troy what Jaz had said about Guy and his issue with the Cabal.

Troy snorted. "Same shit, different day. I've been hearing that crap since I was a teenager. Cabals are businesses, not charitable organizations. Sure, they use their employees. Doesn't every corporation? That's the point: use your resources to build your capital. And yeah, there are sides to Cabals that are just plain ugly. You won't catch me waving pompoms and spouting the party line, not even in front of Mr. Cortez. But you know what? As far as he's concerned I'm entitled to my opinions...as long as I don't share them with the stockholders. Whatever my beefs, you don't see me quitting either, and that's not because I'm afraid I'd be fitted for cement shoes. Maybe in the Nast Cabal or the St. Cloud or the Boyd, but where I am, Mr. Cortez doesn't want me here unless I want to be here."

"Makes sense."

"You want some guy watching your back if he's only doing it because he has to? I don't do this for a good medical package or to protect some Cabal ideology. I don't believe in that crap. But I do believe in the guy whose back I'm watching."

He speared a home fry and chomped it down before continuing. "That's what really burns me about some gang punk spouting that bullshit about Lucas, that naming him heir proves Mr. Cortez doesn't care about the Cabal."

"So it's true."

"It's true that Lucas is the named heir, but that's all anyone but Mr. Cortez himself can say for sure."

He slowly drained half his cup of coffee, as if deciding how to continue.

"You've never met Lucas's brothers, have you?" he said. "Hector, William, Carlos...?"

"No."

"Let's just say that anyone who knows them and Lucas doesn't think Mr. Cortez's idea is completely crazy. Not that the others couldn't run the Cabal--Hector and William, that is. But the best person to do it?" He shook his head. "If Benicio Cortez didn't care about the Cabal, he'd pass it on to Hector and say, 'good enough,' and it'd run just fine. You know anything about Cortez Cabal history?"

"Not much. They were the first Cabal, and they're still the most powerful--"

"Not 'still.' They're the most powerful again." He leaned back, stretching until his leg brushed mine. "Now this is all way before my time, but I've heard the stories. When Mr. Cortez was growing up, the Cortez Cabal was locked neck-and-neck with the Boyds for third place, meaning they sometimes slipped to fourth out of four. And it wasn't because things had changed but because they hadn't. For a couple hundred years, the Cortez Cabal kept chugging along, doing what it always had, not changing with the times. Benicio Cortez changed that. And that means he's sure as hell not passing the Cabal over to Hector and saying, 'good enough.' It also means he's not going to hand it over to Lucas just to...what, win over his rebellious son?" He laughed and shook his head. "You know Lucas. How would Mr. Cortez have a better chance of winning him over? Handing him the Cabal? Or promising never to bug him about it again?"

He was right. So in trash-talking Lucas, had I only added fuel to the fire? I told Troy what I'd said.

"You did the right thing. If you said any different, it would definitely put you on the 'no-invite' list when they're Cabal-bashing. If they ask you for more on Lucas, you should tell them--" He stopped. "No. Your instincts are good. Stick with them."

"Thanks. There is something you might be able to help me with. An incident with the gang that Mr. Cortez may have...forgotten."

"Forgotten?" His lips twitched in a barely suppressed grin. "Or neglected to tell you?"

"Sorry. I'm not implying--"

"If you aren't, then you should be. The chances of Mr. Cortez forgetting to add something are near zero. Intentionally withholding information that he'd consider sensitive? I'd count on it. What seems to be missing?"