“Wonderful,” I said. “Screwed and blued before I even start. What else can go wrong?”
“I have made out a list, if you’re interested,” said Frankie, reaching for an inside pocket. He stopped when he saw my look.
“You’re so good to me,” I said. “Does anyone at Casino Infernale have any idea who I really am?”
“Not as far as I know. Your cover alias is still solid.” Frankie looked at Molly. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“I get that a lot,” said Molly. She didn’t sound particularly disappointed.
“As long as I’m still safely Shaman Bond, we still have some time to work with,” I said, thinking hard.
“Yes,” said Frankie. “But not a lot.”
“So, I have to win at the games, and win big, and win fast,” I said. “No pressure there. But what am I supposed to bet with, if I can’t use my own soul?”
“There is still Molly’s soul,” said Frankie, very carefully.
“What?” said Molly, extremely dangerously.
“Yes, I admit it is a somewhat compromised soul, with many claimants already attached,” said Frankie, even more carefully, “but it’s all you’ve got to work with, Shaman. You’re not blood relatives, but you are . . . attached. They’ll accept that, at the Casino. As long as Molly goes along . . .”
“I am going to turn you into a small squishy thing with your testicles floating on the surface!” said Molly. “And then stamp on you!”
“Please don’t let her turn me into a small squishy thing,” said Frankie, hiding behind me.
“Not in public!” I said to Molly.
“Never get to have any fun any more,” grumbled Molly.
“Are you sure about this?” I said to Frankie, as he reluctantly appeared again from behind me.
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Frankie. “Souls are currency at Casino Infernale. And before you ask, no you can’t bet with my soul. It’s already . . . under contract.”
“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” I said. I looked at Molly. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t risk you losing your soul.”
“You have to,” said Molly. “It’s the only way to get your soul back. I give you my permission, Shaman.”
“You’re going to hold this over my head for the rest of our lives, aren’t you?” I said.
“Bloody right I am,” said Molly.
We shared a moment.
“Warms the cockles of my heart, to witness such true love,” said Frankie. “I may cry.”
“I will stamp on your cockles if you piss me off any further,” said Molly. “Take us to the nearest first-class hotel. I want a shower and a whole bunch of drinks, not necessarily in that order. And I think Shaman could use a little lie-down. . . . Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Weren’t you told?” said Frankie. “Didn’t you get any kind of briefing before they sent you here? Maybe they were afraid to tell you, in case you wouldn’t go. . . . All players at Casino Infernale are required to stay at the Casino hotel. It’s a condition, if you want to play the games. So no one can sneak out on their debts.”
“Like Patrick and Diana just did?” I said.
“Yes!” said Frankie. “It’s supposed to be impossible to get past Casino Security! They’re still tearing their hair out trying to figure out how that happened. Anyway, you two already have a room booked at the Casino hotel. As Shaman Bond and Molly Metcalf.”
“Just how long ago did my family commit themselves to this mission?” I said.
“I didn’t ask, and they wouldn’t tell me if I did,” said Frankie. “I find it best not to ask the family questions because the answers are always going to upset you. I got you a really nice room! At a really good rate.”
“For a really nice kickback,” I said.
“Well, naturally,” said Frankie. “I have a reputation to live down to.”
“Have you at least arranged for a car to take us there?” I said.
Frankie winced. “I want it clearly understood that none of what is to follow is in any way my idea. The Regent left a car for you. He had it imported, specially, just for you. Did you by any chance do something to make him really mad at you?”
“It’s always possible,” I said. “What’s wrong with the car?”
“Oh, see for yourself,” said Frankie.
He gathered up as many of our bags as he could, and I took the rest, because Molly doesn’t do things like that. Says it’s bad for her image. Frankie led us off the bridge. He shot a look back at Molly.
“Did you really . . . ?”
“Almost certainly,” said Molly.
“I was afraid of that,” said Frankie.
Off the bridge and around the corner, parked in a space all by itself because nothing else wanted to be anywhere near it . . . was a 1958 scarlet and white Plymouth Fury.
“Oh, no . . .” I said.
“Told you,” said Frankie.
“Yes!” said the car. “It’s me! Back again, by popular demand! The Scarlet Lady, her own sweet self. I knew you wouldn’t be able to cope without me, so I volunteered to come over and help you out! Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Words fail me,” I said.
“I heard that!” said the car.
“Oh, I am so glad you can hear that thing talking,” said Frankie. “I thought it was just me. . . . Is it an Artificial Intelligence?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Molly.
“I am wise and wonderful and know many things!” said the car happily. “What am I? I’ll never tell!”
“So,” said Frankie, “you three have a history?”
“We’ve worked together,” said Molly. “And my nerves may never recover.”
“You’re just saying that,” said the car.
“She’s very impressive,” I said. “In her own loud and vulgar and utterly appalling way. She helped us bring down Crow Lee.”
“The Most Evil Man In The World?” said Frankie. “Well, colour me officially impressed.”
“Knew you would be!” said the car.
Frankie and I loaded the baggage into the trunk, and then he hurried forward to pull open the driver’s door. But when he tried to get behind the wheel, the Scarlet Lady flexed the front seat and threw him right back out again.
“You get in the back, underling, where you belong,” said the car. “I know all about you Grey Bastards.”
Frankie picked himself up off the curb, recovered as much dignity as he could, and got in the back seat. I settled in behind the wheel, and the car started her engine while Molly was still taking her place beside me as shotgun. We both fastened our seat belts immediately. We’d never been able to forget what it was like, riding with the Scarlet Lady. Much as we’d tried. The car lurched forward and out into the traffic, driving herself, slamming through the gears in swift succession, her engine roaring like a predator let loose among unsuspecting livestock.
“Just sit back and leave the driving to me,” the Scarlet Lady said cheerfully. “It’s all right, I know the way. I have SPS. Supernatural Positioning Systems. Satellites? We laugh at Satellites!”
We roared through the narrow city streets, the Scarlet Lady’s engine revving for all it was worth, while the rest of the traffic hurried to get out of our way. But we hadn’t been driving for long before we realised we were driving down an empty street. All the other vehicles had disappeared down side streets, thrown themselves into back alleys, or hid themselves in cul-de-sacs. Leaving the road entirely to us.