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Mario wanted everybody to join him at his pet restaurant for an after-party. They'd agreed to stay open late for him, and he was extending the invitation pretty broadly; the comprimari, even the chorus and the orchestra were all asked.
Neither Camilla nor I were all that enthusiastic; we would have preferred to celebrate privately with Asmedogh. But it wouldn't look good for us to skip out, and ultimately the three of us along with Sam, Marilyn and Fabio got into the limo for the trip. A lot of the cast, along with a very few late diners, were already there when we arrived, and late-comers continued to straggle in for the next half hour until the place was so full not everybody could find tables.
Everyone was famished, of course, and more food came pouring out of the restaurant's kitchen than I could have imagined possible. Nobody ordered, nobody needed to, it just kept flowing—antipasto tray after antipasto tray, huge bowls of pasta, platters of lobster and fish and chicken and veal and God knows what-all else, clean plates and tableware and glasses for the clouds of wine that also kept coming always seemed at hand, and people ate and drank standing up if they could find no place to sit.
I learned later that Mario had paid for the whole spread, even though it had to have eaten a pretty big hole into even his impressive appearance fee. But Mario loved to party, and he also seemed to recognize that we'd done something pretty special that evening. Even though both Cam and I offered to split the tab he wouldn't hear of it. There was always more money coming in from the next engagement and the next after that, and he spent it freely; it was simply his way.
Once we'd eaten our fill, though, Cam and I were ready to leave. Fabio told us—in Italian, of course, his English really was God-awful—that he and Mario would find their own way back. We gave Sam and Marilyn the option to stay if they wanted, but they decided they'd join us; the by-play between them gave me a pretty good indication why. So the four of us took the limo back to our hotel.
We said our very brief good nights in the lobby, and Cam and I snagged the penthouse elevator for our trip up to what we expected—at least I know I did—would be a pretty short rest of the night. I was really tired, and she was looking ready for bed as well. That lasted until the elevator door opened again.
God damn it! Sitting there in the small foyer in front of our suite door were the same two DHS jerk-offs we'd seen twice before. And they weren't, it seemed, in a good mood—not surprising, given that it was about 1:00 a.m. and they'd probably been waiting quite a while for us.
"Where the hell have you been?" snarled Smith as we emerged.
Well, fuck that. I wasn't Scarpia any more, I'd left him back at the opera house, but even Nick Volker didn't have to take that kind of crap. "That's none of your Goddamned business," I barked. "What in God's name are you two back again for?"
Smith was clearly about ready to come back even harder, he seemed to be loaded for bear, but Brown gestured at him quickly; there wasn't much question of which of them was in charge.
Brown, however, was also apparently pretty pissed off. "Mr. Volker, we don't much care for it when people jerk us around," he said aggressively. "We've come back to correct that."
Cam was wide awake again. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice as sweet and pleasant as always but with just enough hint of metal to let it be known that she, too, could play hardball if necessary.
"When we asked to see your cat the other day, you showed us one cat," he told her. "We've since learned, though, that you have three of them with you. Now, people who were trying to cooperate with us might have told us that at the time."
"So we'll see all three cats right now," put in Smith. "And we're coming in to see 'em all together and make sure you don't play any more friggin' games."
This wasn't looking good; the high I'd been walking around with all evening evaporated in an instant. There was no way Asmedogh's cat impression was going to protect him from the kind of intense scrutiny they'd apply. But I had another card to play.
"And you have a search warrant for this?" I demanded. They both looked suddenly, well, both surprised and uncomfortable. Actually I'd been pretty sure they hadn't, if they had they'd have made the management open the suite up even before we'd returned. I was glad the hotel had at least some scruples in refusing them access even though it had been a lot too easy for my taste in letting them use the penthouse elevator at all.
"Then, gentlemen, return when you can show me one," I said. "In the meantime we're going to bed. Good night." I took Cam's arm and walked past them to key open our door.
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