“You smell bullshit,” Moni said.
“If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
“Stay with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“They’re going to try to scare us. Maybe the threat won’t be real. Maybe it will. Either way, I want to be with the strongest guy in the room, and that’s you.”
Tom nodded.
“We can…” Moni smiled slyly, “seal the deal if you like. I’ve done lots of cops.”
Back when Kite had done that to her, Moni was a prostitute. Apparently the attack hadn’t scared her out of the profession.
“Kind of you to offer, but I’m okay.”
“Is it because of the scars?”
“It’s because I’m in a committed relationship.”
Moni pulled her shirt down, revealing her pock-marked cleavage. “So this doesn’t disgust you?”
She jiggled a bit. Tom didn’t reply. Moni continued to pose for another five seconds before saying, “So are you disgusted or not?”
“I’m still deciding,” Tom said. “Give me a minute.”
Moni giggled, walked over, and gave Tom a friendly punch on the shoulder. “You’re okay for a pig, you know that?”
Tom wasn’t offended by her use of the word pig. If anything, it amused him. “Thanks. And I promise I’ll do my best to protect you if things get crazy.”
“I believe you. Who’s the special lady?”
“Her name is Joan. She’s a Hollywood producer.”
“She have any interest in the story of a plucky whore who survived multiple attacks by maniacs and then went on to become a millionaire?”
“I’ll ask her.”
“What’s that?” Moni pointed at a wrapped plastic disk in Tom’s kit.
“A Bolin chest seal. For sucking chest wounds.”
“Like getting stabbed in the lungs?”
“Or shot.”
She continued to point. “I know that’s a tourniquet, and that’s one of those airway breathers. What’s in that package? Celox?”
“Clotting powder. Stops bleeding quickly.”
“You came prepared. But I bet you don’t have one of these.”
Moni reached for her purse, then stopped. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“A Chicago pig has no jurisdiction in South Carolina.”
“True.”
Moni pulled out a large syringe and held it up, triumphantly.
“What is that?” Tom asked, feeling like he already knew.
“Heroin. Enough to make a charging bull OD. I didn’t think I could get a gun through TSA because I’d get into trouble, so I brought this to protect myself.”
“Instead of a gun you brought a lethal dose of heroin,” Tom said. “You don’t think if you got caught with that, you’d be in more trouble?”
Moni’s eyebrows crinkled and her lips pursed. “When you say it like that, it sounds like a bad idea.”
“Am I interrupting?”
They looked at the open door and saw Mal, the sports reporter missing a hand.
“The more the merrier,” Moni said, waving him in.
“Forenzi wants us to line up for our physicals, but I just wanted a moment of your time, Detective. Are you both… busy?”
“I’m just showing the pig my heroin,” Moni said.
Mal frowned. “I could come back…”
“How can I help you, Mr. Deiter?” Tom asked.
“At dinner. You didn’t seem excited about Forenzi’s experiment. You seemed like you knew something no one else did.”
Both Mal and Moni stared at Tom. He wondered what to do, but strangely he felt comfortable around them, in the same way he felt comfortable around Frank and Sara.
In that moment, he decided the benefits of telling them outweighed keeping it a secret.
“My partner, Roy Lewis, came to this house last week, supposedly doing the same thing we’re doing tonight. He never came back.”
Tom watched Mal’s frown deepen. “Shit.”
“You look so sad,” Moni told him. She offered the syringe. “Need a little pick me up?”
“Moni,” Tom kept his voice even, “can you please put away the heroin? And Mal, I don’t know what happened to Roy, so I can’t cry foul play yet. Maybe Forenzi is legit, and this will all be smooth sailing.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“No. I don’t.” Tom felt like he was telling a child there was no Santa Claus.
Moni put her hand on Mal’s neck. “Buck up, little soldier. Would a little three-way action with me and your wife make you feel better?”
Mal choked out a laugh. “You know, it probably would.”
“Is she into chicks?”
He lost his mirth again. “No.”
“Too bad. Well, maybe some figging will take your mind off things.”
“What’s figging?” Mal asked.
“It’s when you take a—”
“Mal?” His wife, Deb, stuck her head into the room. “Everything okay?”
“He’s moody,” Moni explained, “so I offered him smack and a three way.”
Tom decided it was time to take some control of the situation. “I don’t know how this is all going to play out tonight, but I think we all need to stick together, and watch out for each other. Did anyone bring weapons?” He looked pointedly at Moni, who was waving her hand. “Weapons other than narcotics?”
“I packed a .38 in our suitcase,” Mal said.
“Extra rounds?”
Mal shook his head. “Just the five in the cylinder.”
“Are you a good shot?”
“I’m so-so. Deb is better.”
Tom took out his Sig, removed the magazine, and pulled back the slide to make sure the barrel was clear. Then he did a quick explanation of how to load, how to use the decocker, and what double action meant. As he was passing his gun around, one of the suited guards knocked on the door frame.
“We’re ready for you.”
Tom took his Sig back, tucked it into the holster, and followed the others into the hallway. They’d been given rooms on the second floor, all in a row, and there was an ornate wooden railing that overlooked the great room. As they headed for the stairs, they passed a marble statue of a cupid on a pedestal. Tom did a double-take, then went back for a closer look.
In the baby’s mouth were sharp fangs.
Moni, who was behind him, said, “Wouldn’t want to breastfeed that little bastard. And look at the wings.”
At first glance, they seemed like typical, feathered cherub wings. But the individual feathers weren’t feathers—they were tiny daggers.
“Dr. Madison is waiting.”
Tom turned, startled, and was surprised to see yet another guard in a gray suit standing next to him. That made five he’d seen so far. Why did Forenzi need so many guards? To protect him from ghosts? And how had he managed to sneak up on Tom? Like the others, this guard was tall, muscular, and wearing military boots. But he hadn’t made a sound during his approach.
“What branch of the military were you in?” Tom asked.
The man’s face remained blank, and he didn’t answer.
“Do you work for the government, or for Forenzi directly?”
“Please move along,” the guard said.
Tom shrugged, and he followed Moni and the others down the stairs, across the great room, and to a hallway lined with drab paintings depicting plantation life. They looked old, paint peeling and a decade’s worth of grime on them. Slaves in the field, picking tobacco. Blackjack Reedy astride a horse, whip in hand. An endless field of cattails, stretching off into the horizon. Everyone had stopped next to a closed door, and Tom assumed it was the queue for the examination room. But he quickly figured out the group had huddled around another painting, this one of Butler House.
It was massive, perhaps a meter tall and twice as wide, in an ornate frame and protected behind some non-reflective glass. The picture depicted the house in the 1800s, when it was still new, and the fields were filled with cotton. Tom didn’t understand the interest until Frank pointed to a figure in one of the windows.
It was a woman, her hair tied back, a pensive look on her face. Tom squinted at it, then turned to Sara, who had gone ashen.
The woman in the painting was a dead-ringer for her.
Tom moved in closer, checking the figures in the other windows.