King Of Fools. Amanda Foody

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       LEVI

      The Catacombs nightclub wasn’t much to look at on the outside, all decrepit and centuries-worn. It’d once been a church to the old Faith, and the flying buttresses and unlabeled crypts along its walls still gave off the air of someplace sacred.

      Levi only knew its owner, Narinder Basra, by reputation—the Catacombs was the most famous nightclub in the city after all. And while Harrison trusted Narinder enough to recommend him to Levi as a contact, Levi wasn’t sure he could trust anyone while he had a three-thousand-volt bounty on his head.

      Not that I have much of a choice, he thought as he rapped on the back door.

      The music inside paused. A moment later, one of the musicians—a violinist, which seemed a strange choice for a dance club—answered the door, and a cloud of pungent smoke escaped from inside. He ran his eyes over Levi with a bored expression and spoke with his cigar between his teeth. He didn’t seem to recognize Levi’s face. “We’re not open.”

      “Is Narinder here?” Levi asked.

      “Who’s asking?”

      “A neighbor.”

      The musician rolled his eyes and opened the door.

      The Catacombs was an apt name for this place. The decor varied somewhere between macabre and distastefully irreverent. Surrounded by chandeliers of human bones, clacking and vibrating with each note of the music, the stage stood where the altar once had. The band was a half orchestra—complete with a grand piano, a saxophone, a variety of strings and woodwind instruments, even a harp. Skeletons unearthed from their crypts had been cemented to the walls, piece by piece, casting unnatural red and purple shadows in the light from the stained glass ceiling. The pipe organ in the back had been painted ivory, its gold crowning lined with teeth.

      It was pretty over-the-top, even for Levi’s taste. “Cozy,” he commented sarcastically.

      “I’ve always thought so, too.” The voice came from the bar, where a lone young man sat on a stool drinking a mug of coffee. He had dark brown skin with a delicate face and straight black hair tied at the nape of his neck. Beneath his jawline, on the left side, was a tattoo of a pair of dice.

      Levi’s voice dropped somewhere deep in his stomach, and he gaped at him, speechless. No matter how drunk he’d been, he never forgot a face. The memory of him felt like the trace of lips against his neck.

      “Neighbors, indeed,” Dice murmured. “All this time you’ve claimed Olde Town, yet only now we officially get to meet.” His eyes roamed over Levi’s body, pausing on places he’d previously claimed himself. “Don’t you look dashing with your designer suit and matching black eye.”

      Levi cleared his throat. “You never mentioned, um—”

      “My name? No, I didn’t.” Dice smiled wickedly. “I’m Narinder Basra. I own this place.”

      Levi had met Dice—Narinder—at the Sauterelle, a burlesque cabaret in the Casino District where he and Enne had gone searching for information on Lourdes Alfero.

      Narinder finished his drink and left it on the bar. “Come on. We can reacquaint ourselves in my office.”

      Just because Narinder had helped Levi once didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell him out now. There was no loyalty between them. When they’d met before, Levi hadn’t even asked his name. He had no idea how to treat their relationship.

      He followed Narinder to his office, which was plainly decorated and well-lit—far different from the rest of the nightclub. He kept a number of instruments behind his desk: a flute, a sitar, and a harp. The Basra family must’ve had a musical blood talent.

      Levi’s gaze fell on the couch, then, remembering his last encounter with Narinder, he flushed and loosened his shirt collar.

      “You look terrible,” Narinder commented.

      “Eh, just a few broken ribs is all,” Levi said, wincing as he lowered himself onto the couch. “A friend of mine suggested I pay you a visit. I’m recruiting. He seemed to think you were well connected.”

      Narinder lifted an eyebrow as he sat behind the desk. “I hear things about the Irons, us being neighbors and all. Like how Chez Phillips went missing two nights ago, and now here you are, looking for replacements. I guess dead chancellors make the news, and dead gangsters get nothing.”

      Levi stiffened. “I didn’t kill Chez.” He would never have gone so far.

      “I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.” Narinder leaned back in his chair and aimlessly plucked a few strings on the harp. “That’s how it works in the gangs, isn’t it?”

      “Not mine,” he said.

      Narinder rolled his eyes. “You can’t have a heart of gold and do the work you do. The greedy would only carve it out of you.”

      Levi thought a heart of gold might have been stretching it. “I’ll take my chances. As I said, I was told that you have a lot of connections, and I came here to see if you knew anyone who might be interested in working for me.”

      “Joining a gang has just been made a capital offense, and either way, yours hasn’t exactly been doing too well lately,” Narinder said in an accusatory tone. “Why should I recommend anyone to you?”

      He doesn’t like gangsters, Levi realized. Considering their last encounter, Levi liked to think he was the exception.

      “Because my luck has changed,” Levi said smoothly, “and because this ‘street war’ is about more than crime. It’s about the rich watching from their ivory towers in the South Side while the North Side becomes a battleground. This is our city, not theirs.”

      “You sound like a politician,” Narinder said.

      “But what I said is true,” Levi told him.

      Narinder gave him a look of approval and stood up. He sat beside Levi on the couch, and Levi noticed he still smelled like honey. He stared at the dice tattoo on Narinder’s jawline, pushing away intrusive thoughts of the look on Enne’s face when he’d lied to her about how he felt. Jac’s request had been reasonable, but that didn’t make it ache less.

      “It’s funny,” Narinder said with a smirk. Levi could see why the musician was well-liked; he had an easy smile. “At the Sauterelle, you were so preoccupied with being recognized yourself, you had no idea everyone else there recognized me.”

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