Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He would wind up in Vegas.
She marveled at how much of the surrounding landscape around Las Vegas remained untouched.
The strip glowed as brightly as any tourist trap on any pleasure planet, but the chaos of lights and signs maintained its focus on the single winding stretch of road.
No matter how far technology advanced, some structural hurdles to population growth could not be surmounted.
Deserts were inhospitable on any planet.
It was a testament to the bloody-mindedness of Earthlings that Vegas had flourished at all.
The scenery came into sharper and sharper relief as the ship soared closer.
Ivan gave the subtlest of nudges to a flight control, and they were banking left, toward the spaceport.
Within minutes he had executed a flawless dock and had the ship de-pressurizing.
The hatchways cracked open, and the hiss of fresh air permeating the seals sent a shiver down Pearl’s spine.
She picked up the photo array she’d prepared while Ivan had been plotting their course.
It had a selection of official ID photos of the Dawn’s crew members, plus an old candid photo of the target.
Pearl hated including it, but needs must. All of the target’s other photos were highly formal society stills, and nothing screams, “Hey, we have a missing princess!” louder than showing around photos of a woman in a tiara, no matter how tasteful the headpiece.
They’d learned that lesson the hard way. They could learn from their past mistakes.
Sometimes.
Ivan rose from the controls. He cracked his back and took a deep breath in before stretching out his arms. When he was piloting their small craft, he tended to lose focus on everything else, and he’d been hunched over the controls for hours.
He picked up his own copy of the photo array and slapped it against his hand.
“You know, we could have avoided this whole leg of the trip if you’d just make a comm call.”
Pearl glared at him. “And forfeit the billable hours? Anika would not approve.”
“You could bill for the call,” he said, shrugging. “Hell, if you made small talk, you could stretch it a whole fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t do small talk.”
Ivan snorted. “No, you don’t.”
“You wanna call so badly, you know how to dial the comm. Be my guest.” She gestured at the communications array with her copy of the photos.
The paper smacked a screen, and a commercial for a local brand of soda started blaring.
Pearl ordered the screen off, then locked it.
“That jingle’s going to be in my head all fucking day. ”
“They don’t like me,” Ivan said. He had grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. “Besides, I’m not the one that was sleeping with one of the crew.”
There wasn’t much sleeping.
“I don’t think they like me anymore, either.” Pearl slung her satchel over her shoulder and headed to the exit of the craft. “We’ll find out where they went and be off planet before you know it.”
Ivan followed her off the ship, whistling a tune that seemed to sing “fine, we’ll do this the hard way” with every note.
The airspace port was a sprawling affair.
Expanding McCarran International Airport to accommodate small, private interstellar aircraft must have cost Clark County a fortune, but the return on investment was clearly worth the price.
Cheerful, primary colors welcomed them to Las Vegas in a logo that hadn’t changed in years, thanks to the copyright-free donation to the city from the designer.
Pearl headed to the information station located closest to the docking bay for spacecraft. The representative on duty was a little slip of a thing, string-bean thin with bouncy blonde curls and the widest eyes Pearl had seen. Her name tag declared her name was Lucinda.
Ivan gestured to the desk, letting Pearl take the lead.
Sighing, Pearl took her place in line and waited.
Lucinda was apparently quite efficient at her job, because before Pearl had the opportunity to weigh the pros and cons of just pulling out her blaster and shooting her way to the front, she found herself at the desk.
“Hello ma’am, how may I help you today? Filing a flight plan?” Lucinda asked.
“I need information,” Pearl said.
“Of course, I’m happy to help. Would you like information about the sights and activities available here in fabulous Las —”
Pearl cut her off. She couldn’t deal with the spiel today. “I need information about a ship that was here approximately thirty-six hours ago.”
Lucinda shifted on her stool, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m not really supposed to give out that sort of information, ma’am.”
Pearl nodded. “Can you look at these photographs for me? Just tell me if you recognize anyone?”
Lucinda nodded slowly; her training obviously was heavy in customer satisfaction.
Pearl pulled out the photos and slid them across the desk to her.
Her eyes lingered on the most handsome crewman far too long for Pearl’s satisfaction, then the woman let out a soft whistle of appreciation.
Pearl did a quick combination breathing and visualization exercise that included pretending to blast the bimbo’s head off her body.
Pretending to murder people accrued a lot less paperwork than the actual deed.
Eventually, Lucinda pushed the photo array back across the desk.
“Again, ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I’m not supposed to give out this sort of information.”
Pearl looked her up and down, considered her. “Lucinda, you need to use your fingers to do your job, right? Lots of data entry?”
At the woman’s slow nod, Pearl leaned forward, maintaining stony eye contact, and whispered, “I bet you don’t need to use your toes much, though, do you?
We could start slowly, cut off the pinkie toe.
You barely need that sucker, Lucinda. Would you be willing to let me know about these people, then? How many would it —”
Lucinda’s eyes fluttered before she slumped in her chair in a dead faint.
“Way to start out strong, killer,” Ivan said.
Pearl walked around the desk to fan the woman’s face. She should have started off with bribery. She knew better than to let jealousy drive her tactical decisions.
Besides. The woman had eyes.
And Pearl had been the one who’d left.
When Lucinda came around again, Pearl found out that she’d been on vacation for the last week and had only returned to the service desk that morning.
They’d questioned all the employees they could find at the space station. The Rising Dawn had vanished off the planet without filing a flight plan.
A few people were able to pick a photo or two out of the array, but most couldn’t commit to a yes or no answer when presented with the pictures.
Ivan had finally bribed the head of security a small fortune to look at their video feeds for the past week.
He was always more generous with the expense account when he didn’t like the client, and he had no love for Emil.
He would be paying out the nose for this op, anyway.
Expenses were always non-negotiable when you hired the Twins.
Anika Kahn made sure her contracts were very carefully worded.
Pearl and Ivan had learned early on to hoard receipts for everything they bought on the clock.
The Rising Dawn was clearly seen landing at the spaceport, and there was plenty of footage of the crew and the target disembarking.
But twenty hours into their stay on planet, the footage of the ship had been scrubbed from the system.
It had been a very clean hack, and Ivan didn’t bother to try tracing the removal. They both knew who was responsible.
Pearl stomped up the stairs to the entryway of their craft and flung her satchel down before launching herself into her desk chair for a well-deserved pout.
They could be anywhere by now. The galaxy was a big place.
What had she done to deserve being on the trail of her stupid, luscious ex-boyfriend?
Realistically, plenty. My karma is fucked.
Ivan was still whistling that insipid tune as he hung his jacket up, but now it seemed to sing “I told you so”.
“I’ll make the stupid comm call,” Pearl said, staring at the ceiling. She hated when he was right.
“Tell you what, I’ll report to Emil. That way we can both make a call we don’t want to make,” Ivan said. The peace offering was kind, but it did nothing to help the churning in her gut.
“You scare him. You’d want to make that call anyway.”
“I mean, yes. It’s fun watching him flinch. Big, bad planetary leader can’t take direct eye contact from someone unafraid to shoot him. But I don’t want to ever have to use the comm. It’s a waste of time. Clients are the worst part of this job.”
Pearl snorted. “You mean the part that means we get paid?”
“I didn’t say they weren’t necessary.”