Page 25 of Joker's Ghost
“That can happen, right?”
“Gus is even more anal than me when it comes to safety in the garage, and he said he changed the hydraulic fluid two days ago.”
“So, you think somebody sabotaged the lift at the garage?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Just like Rattler said he changed out the plugs on my bike.”
“Just a slip-up.” Cobra shrugs.
“You play cards, you know the odds, so . . .” I trace the rim of my shot glass. “Shit’s been happening to me a lot lately.”
“You’re talking about that Shoshone thing?”
“It makes sense. None of this bullshit was going on before that old man started spitting his shit and I got that black stone.” Which right now was in my pocket along with the silver feather amulet from Warrior. I wasn’t taking any fuckin’ chances.
Cobra claps me on the shoulder and motions to Rattler. “I think he needs another shot.” He eyeballs me. “Love the costume. Swear to fuck, you really look like Bugsy.” Then he heads off into the crowd with Python.
Shit, why the fuck did he have to say that? I down another shot, and the whiskey flowing through my blood eases some of the tension, but I still have a nagging in my gut, and that’s when I see it.
Way on the other side of the room, someone is dressed in traditional American Indian regalia, including an intricate headdress. I squint through the crowd and the dim lighting. I swear to fuck it’s the face of the Nomad we offed at the safe house—but that’s impossible, right?
CHAPTER 9
JOKER
I flag Rattler over to my side of the bar and point across the room. “You see that guy over there?”
“Which guy? The fuckin’ place is packed.”
I turn to Rattler. “The guy against the wall in the Indian costume.” When I turn back, he’s gone.
“I don’t see him.” Rattler pushes off the bar to help another customer, and I search the room with my head on swivel.
A hand runs up my back, and I jump.
“Relax,” Daisy coos in my ear. “What’s got you so edgy?”
“Nothing.” I draw in a deep breath and slosh another shot into my glass from the bottle of Jack Rattler left in front of me.
“I thought that stuff was supposed to cool you out, not amp you up.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“They’re going to start judging for the best costume soon.” She waves her hand between us. “I really think we have a good shot of winning this year.”
Daisy’s words jumble together as I stare across the room.Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the same guy heading for the exit.
I push off the bar stool, and Daisy grabs for me. “Where’re you going?”
“I’ll be right back,” I throw over my shoulder.
I elbow my way through the crowd, keeping the Nomad in my sights. I’m about twenty feet behind him when he pushes through the main door. Five seconds later, I do the same, but when I get outside, he’s gone.
I push past the line on the sidewalk waiting to get into The Gold Mine and through the single line of cars parked at the curb. I jerk my head in all directions, but it’s like the guy evaporated.
