Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

"You? If apologies are due, they should come from me. It's just--well, after the problems with my folks, I freaked out."

Pause. My heart started hammering. Did he doubt my story? I instinctively tried to read his vibes but, of course, I couldn't over the phone.

"I'm sure there was a problem with your parents," he said finally. "I know what that's like. But, well, I wouldn't blame you if you went outside last night, got some fresh air, cleared your head and realized that going back in wasn't what you wanted."

"No, that's not--"

"I was pushing it. Pushing hard. I could tell the tequila was going to your head, and I took advantage of that. I was riding high, not just on the booze. After a big job I get...pumped, I guess you'd say. I got carried away."

"You weren't the only one. In fact, I'm pretty sure I started things. But, yes, it was a little...public, after I thought about it."

"Which is cool with me. Would a private lunch be more your style, then?"

I smiled. "It would."

He gave me an address where I could meet him in an hour, just enough time to change, put on the watch he'd given me and slide back into being Faith Edmonds.

JAZ TOOK ME to an upscale tapas bar with the assurance, as we walked in, that he was buying. Obviously, Faith could afford a nice meal, but he seemed to think it was only polite to announce that he was paying when he'd made an expensive choice. From the way he grinned as we walked in, his arm around me, he was happy to be taking me to a place he considered more my style.

Had he not been flush after collecting his share from Guy, this would be a luxury he couldn't afford. From the clues I'd picked up, Jaz's and Sonny's parents had worked menial jobs for the Cabal. They'd grown up in working-class lives that had dipped dangerously close to the poverty level after they left home. To them, joining the gang was like winning a lottery, and as much as I'd love to tell Jaz to keep his money, I knew this was important to him. I kept my mouth shut, ordered a moderately priced meal and enjoyed it.

As we ate, I knew I should ask more about the gang-Cabal encounters, but I wasn't eager to remind myself I was here under false pretenses. When conversation did circle to the gang, Jaz started it. He'd talked to Guy that morning. It seemed the police hadn't been notified about the heist. The Herald had run a tidbit about the contribution after Guy's tip-off, and he'd delivered the money, via courier, to the agency.

"Guy might not say it, but he was really pleased with your idea about the charity. He said it was brilliant."

I must have looked surprised.

He laughed. "Yeah, he let it slip that it was your idea. But only to me. As far as everyone else knows, it was his. Which is for the best. Saves you from getting crap from the others, who don't appreciate handing over a cut of their share to charity."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Sure. With Guy's original plan, the robbery would have been reported. That's not a big deal--Guy knows his stuff and we haven't had the cops sniff around since I joined. The big concern, though, is the Cabals. The minute it showed up in the paper--hell, the minute it went out on the police scanner--the Cortezes would know it was us. Then they'd make sure we know they have us covered."

"In other words, letting you know they're watching."

"And, even if we don't need their help, we're--" He chewed as he searched for a word. "--obligated to them. Reminds me of this guy I knew in school. His uncle was a politician who'd always take his nieces and nephews aside and tell them, if they ever got in any trouble with the cops, even a speeding ticket, just come to him. Well, my friend never got a single ticket, but when his uncle needed help campaigning, you can bet he called the 'debt' in. With the Cortezes, they don't call in the debt. They just let it hang over our heads, which drives Guy crazy."

"I'm sure it does." A sentiment voiced with complete sincerity, having lived with just such a ticking bomb for two years.

"Your scheme, though, meant it was never reported to the cops, meaning the Cabal won't be on Guy's back about it. So he's grateful."

And here was my chance, as much as I hated to take it. "I suppose he's especially sensitive about that now, after the recent problems..."

"Yeah."

Jaz took a drink of his beer. I struggled against the urge to let it drop, and tell Benicio I couldn't get anything more. I reminded myself why I was here and felt a prickle of unease that I needed the reminder.

"Is that what it's been about?" I pressed. "These dustups? About the gang owing the Cabal for its protection?"

"Some of it. Normally, like I said, the Cabal just lets us know we're covered, maybe raps our knuckles if we call too much attention to ourselves. But the last big job we pulled?" He shook his head. "They went all Sopranos on our heads."

"What happened?"

He hesitated, as if he shouldn't go on, but the urge to talk won out. "It was the next afternoon. Sonny and I collected our share, and we were heading back to our place, goofing off, buzzed by the windfall. Sure, we had our guard down but, shit, it was the middle of the day, and South Beach isn't exactly downtown Miami. But on this back road, we get jumped by four guys. Two in front, two behind, cutting us off. A magician's powers are nearly useless in a fight. And, I gotta admit, I'm not much of a brawler. Sonny neither. Just not our thing. So we see these four guys surrounding us and we didn't put up any resistance. They must have been disappointed, 'cause one smacks me into a wall. When Sonny jumps in to help me, he gets a pistol in the temple."

"Shit."

"And they say we're the thugs. You should have seen these guys. Wearing golf shirts and slacks like they're off for a day on the course. Only time they swing a club is to bash someone's head in. Anyway, Sonny and I, we're down for the count, barely conscious and I'm looking at these guys in their nice shirts and slacks and dress shoes, probably ten years older than me, and I'm not getting it, you know. I'm still thinking this is just a mugging, or maybe a case of mistaken identity.