Page 97 of Bitter Burn
“So sorry,” I tell the woman and the bats. “One moment, please.”
I see Jago’s name as I accept the call. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says the minute I pick up. “I didn’t notice them if they were following us before, and I only just now saw them as I was circling the block?—”
As he’s explaining something that makes absolutely no sense to me, the door to the back of the church opens, and I see the glimmer of pearl-colored hair, the outline of broad shoulders. “Thank you, Jago,” I say tiredly as I get to my feet and step out into the aisle between pews. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I hang up as I meet Tristan and Isolde near the pile of organ pipes, Tristan looking around the church and Isolde assessing the woman who’s still sitting and smoking like nothing’s changed. Isolde’s posture shifts subtly into something slightly more feline and aware. She also recognizes a fellow monster.
“Tristan, Isolde, this is…” I pause politely, and the woman correctly interprets the prompt.
“Barbara,” she says. Finishes off her cigarette. “Pleasure to meet you both.”
“Marvelous.” I turn to my two troublemakers. “Now can I ask why you two are here and not in Manhattan doing any number of productive and pleasant things?”
“The doorman gave me this when I returned with Petitcrieu from a walk.” Isolde hands me a piece of paper, thin but finely milled. I still have the gunmetal rosary twined through my fingers, and the beads clank as I unfold the note to see a typewritten address.
The address of the auto shop.
“It’s from the Scales,” says Isolde. “There was no good reason I could think of that the Scales would give me an address in Albany on the same day you told me you had an errand upstate. I was worried. So we left Petitcrieu with Goran and the others and came up here in a cab.”
“Have we met before?” Barbara asks, staring at Isolde. “You look familiar.”
As my wife shakes her head, my phone rings again, the bats lose their shit again, and I pick it up with an irritated sigh. “Yes?”
“We have a problem,” says Andrea. “The FBI is here, and they have a warrant. Do you remember the congressman whose toothbrush you poisoned last year? The warrant says that you obstructed a congressional proceeding, committed wire fraud, and a whole lot of other shit. Anyway, the FBI is claiming that Lyonesse and everything in it are now forfeited assets, and they’re trying to seize the club. That would mean the servers too.”
Fuck.
This is Cashel’s doing, I’m certain of it. I’m not sure how he learned about my date with the congressman’s gastrointestinal biome, but there’s only one entity that could topple my carefully balanced bulwark of local bribery and international sin peddling, and that’s the Church and its saints. I might woo bodies, but Cashel deals in the seduction of souls, and the faithful are everywhere.
“Call Anguish,” I say quickly. “She needs to come to the club right away. The assets are fully hers, not mine, so they can’t be seized in connection with any of my alleged crimes.”
“Fully hers? But?—”
“Remember when I told you that I sold Anguish half the club?”
“Yes,” says Andrea slowly. “I reviewed the contract before you signed it.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say that you reviewed the version I wanted you to see. I sold Anguish the entire club in exchange for unlimited access to the data in perpetuity. But everything physical about Lyonesse is hers, including the servers. No one can touch the club, for now at least.”
“They’ll be able to take your work computer and any personal electronics here though…”
“I’m quite hygienic when it comes to information,” I assure her. “Don’t fight them on taking anything from my office or apartment. They won’t get anything of value there.”
Andrea blows out a long breath. “Why didn’t you tell me that you sold all of Lyonesse to Anguish?”
“You hating it was fantastic cover,” I explain without regret. “It made it look like I sold off part of the club as an inadvisable whim and not as a planned strategy. Now call Anguish, get Dinah, and tell the FBI that they can serve me the warrant in Manhattan.”
“Are you really going to let them arrest you?” she asks disbelievingly.
“Andrea, even with Cashel’s maneuvering, no one has the stomach for a headline with president’s aunt and sex club anywhere near each other. And that’s exactly what will happen when they arrest me. Amid the embarrassment and Embry Moore being very grumpy with everyone, my extremely well-paid lawyers will have me home and in my own bed in a matter of hours.”
“As long as you’re confident,” she grumbles.
“Call Anguish. We’ll talk soon.”
I hang up and look at my audience.
“You’re a busy man,” remarks Barbara. And then to Isolde, “Are you sure we haven’t met?”
