“We’re not ready yet—”

“I know. But you mind if we just stroll through, take a look? That way we can tell the boss we did.”

The tattooed man shrugged, said, “Sure, I guess.” He stepped aside, held the door open. “Not really much to see.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure it will be—” The slamming door cut off the rest of whatever lie Daniel was telling.

Bennett took out the earpiece, glanced at his watch. What’s your plan, kids?

He had a bet. A couple, actually. Bennett reached into the bag again, pulled out a sandwich wrapped in paper, tore it open, took a bite. Needed salt.

The necklace had looked every bit as spectacular in the video as it had when he’d gone into Harry Winston to pick it. As with a lot of jewelry at that price point, some of the value was in the craftsmanship and the style. But what had sold him on this piece was the number of high-quality stones, all about the same carat. If it felt too risky to sell the necklace as a whole, he could move it a diamond at a time. Even if he had to sell it cut-rate, it would still be worth three, three-fifty. More than enough to get him clean papers, a safe location, and operating expenses for his next move.

He’d just crumpled the paper around the crusts of his sandwich when the front door opened and Daniel and Laney walked out. They headed straight for the car. Bennett didn’t bother with the mic, just watched them drive down the block and around the corner. He waited ten minutes, then shouldered his bag and went downstairs. A foreman in a hard hat glanced at him, and Bennett nodded, kept walking.

It only took a couple of seconds of banging for the tattooed guy to open the front door. “Yeah?”

“Hi. Listen, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m John Freyer’s assistant. The guy who was here a few minutes ago? The woman he was with, Belinda, she just called me, said the dumbass thinks he might have left his cell phone. You happen to find it?”

“No.”

“Mind if I take a look? Only be a minute.”

The guy shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” He stepped back, and Bennett followed him in.

The entrance hall was bright with houselights. There was a coat check to one side, and a winding staircase to the other. Double doors led to the main body of the club. An enormous chandelier of dripping crystal had been lowered almost to the ground, and a guy was fiddling with it, replacing lightbulbs. Thick fabric draped the walls. Liquor boxes were stacked five high, two set by the front, where Tattoo must have dropped them to open the door.

“Nice place,” Bennett said.

Tattoo grunted. “VIP’s upstairs, he probably left it there. There or the can.”

“Where’s that?”

Tattoo pointed to the bar area. “Halfway down, to the left.”

“Thanks. Listen, I don’t want to waste your time, go ahead with what you were doing. I’ll just be a minute.”

Bennett went up the curling staircase. The VIP room was a balcony overlooking the main floor. Couches and cushions were scattered about. The space was divided by huge black-and-white photos suspended from the ceiling. Steamy stuff, all tangled flesh and fabric tight across thighs and backs. A Hispanic woman maneuvered a vacuum, dodging photos and shoving chairs aside with her hips, headphones in her ears.

Would they hide it here?

He didn’t think so. Too many variables. The cleaning woman, the VIP-ers. With Daniel wanted and Laney supposed to be dead, they wouldn’t risk running into someone they knew. A costar, a C-lister, a paparazzi. The kind of folks who would hang out here.

Bennett went back downstairs, wandered through the main floor. It was a cavernous room hung with speakers. Bars ran the length of both sides, and Tattoo and another man were moving the liquor boxes behind them. Thousands of crystals hung like stars above the dance floor.

The men’s room had marble floors and a drop ceiling painted black. The faucets and towel dispensers and even the trash can were plated gold, or something meant to look like it. He checked the first stall, found nothing. Likewise the second and third.

In the fourth, duct taped behind the toilet tank, Bennett found the gun. He smiled. He did love predictable people.

Careful not to tear the tape, he peeled the edges from the bottom and freed the pistol. A Sig Sauer P250 Compact. A nice weapon: modular, precise, small. He ejected the round, caught it onehanded. Forty-five ACP. Excellent stopping power.

Not a bad little plan, Daniel’s. Get here early, plant the gun. Then he could walk through the metal detectors without a worry. When everything went down, Daniel would be armed and Bennett wouldn’t.

Unfortunately for them, they weren’t the only ones who’d seen The Godfather.

He could take the gun, but when they got here and found it missing, they’d panic. Better to keep them calm, let them think they were a step ahead of him.

Bennett slotted the round back into the magazine, then replaced the Sig and smoothed the tape down. Let them have it if it made them feel safe. Now that he knew what they were planning, the pistol wasn’t a threat. People who watched a lot of movies tended to equate holding a pistol to winning a fight. He knew better. Besides, he didn’t intend to let Daniel keep the gun long.

He stopped to wash his hands, dried them on his pants, and stepped out, whistling.

“You find it?” Tattoo stood behind the bar.

“Yeah,” Bennett said. “I found it.”

5

The suit was Armani. Gray, lightweight, single-breasted, 41R. Daniel slung it over his arm, moved to a long row of bins holding oxfords in every imaginable color. They glowed in the shadowless light of the department store. A rainbow of fabric, every shade vibrant. Green like sea glass smoothed by a decade of waves. Blue the color of a nursery ceiling. Yellow of lemon sorbet on the first really hot day of summer.

The world was so beautiful. There was magic everywhere, even in the most mundane bits.

He glanced at his new watch. Five-twenty-seven. Jesus. He must have looked at the thing a hundred and fifty times, and only an hour had passed.

He picked a blue shirt with delicate gray stripes, took two sizes.

“I think I’m ready.” Laney had come up behind him, a handful of dresses draped over her arm.

Chamber music drifted from somewhere. The air bore traces of a hundred perfumes. Glass display cases caught the light and made it dance. He followed Laney, watching the graceful sway of her hips. He could have walked behind her all day, all night, all the rest of his life, considered himself a happy man.