Devils in Exile by Chuck Hogan Read Free Book Online Page B

hotel drinking glass. One brother then produced a vial from a small, zippered pouch and squirted it into the glass, swishing the solution around until it turned blue.
    There was more conversation then, and Maven lost focus, what with the TV fight blaring, armed men in the room with him, and the edge of the city spread out twenty-nine stories below.
    The Latino guy looked over at Royce and nodded. “Same Bat-time,” he said quietly. “Same Bat-channel.”
    Royce pulled down his ear wire and said, “Pack up, check out, then reregister under a different credit card. A regular room, a few floors down.”
    He started toward the door, making his exit without any formalities. Maven started after him, glancing back at the man on the bed, whose fingers were still laced behind his head, watching Maven go.
    Royce turned right out of the room, walking boldly past the door to the adjoining room and continuing to the corner. He pushed the button to summon the elevator, and they waited in silence until the doors opened. Inside, Royce pressed the starred button for the lobby, and the doors closed. The car started to descend.
    At about the twelfth floor, Maven said, “You’re a cop.”
    Royce smiled, checking the fit of his jacket in the mirrored wall, brushing some lint off his lapel. He said, “That’s strike two.”
    They walked through the lobby and the revolving doors to the circular driveway outside. Royce passed the ticket to the same valet as before, who jogged off.
    Maven stood next to Royce, near an ash can, trying to figure out which question to ask first.
    Royce said, “Why did you rotate out, Maven?”
    Maven’s mind felt wobbly, like a table with one short leg, which Royce kept leaning on with his elbow. “Because my contract was up.”
    “You could have stayed. They offered a bonus to retain you. Sure, it sucked over there, but for someone with your level of training, it took a lot to walk away. What was the real reason?”
    Maven shook his head. He was waiting for Royce to tell him.
    Royce said, “Maybe you were worried you weren’t cut out for anything else.”
    Maven stared at Royce, in the way you watch a magician up close to see that his talent really is sleight of hand and not some mystical power.
    Royce said, “Maybe you were afraid that was all you were. A soldier. A killer. So you opted out. You wanted to see what life was like back home. To see if it’s for you. The job, the car, the house, the wife, the kids.”
    Maven said, “What was that up there?”
    Royce ignored him, taking out the room card and jamming it into the ash can. “Every fear reveals a wish. You know what that means? The reason you fear something is because part of you secretly desires it. Or desires what it could get you. Or what it might turn you into.”
    “I don’t desire to reenlist.”
    Royce smiled to let Maven know that he was missing the point. “You come back home looking to find your way in this world, to stake your claim. That’s what warriors have done for centuries. But you can’t figure out how to take these military skills you have anduse them to get ahead. You can’t find a way back into the peacetime world.”
    Maven stared at him. “Those guys up there, in your room.”
    “Associates of mine. All ex-military, like yourself.”
    “And the guy in the two-thousand-dollar jacket? The one we saw at lunch?”
    “An importer, wouldn’t you say?”
    “A drug dealer. We just watched them do a deal.”
    “The prelude to a deal, a meet and greet. A taste test. The Venezuelan with the Mulberry briefcase, he is a courier, but at the highest level. This is no mules-shitting-balloons operation. The two mooks in the Patriots shirts, they are the Maracone brothers out of East Saugus. Someone’s fronting them the financing to take a giant step forward in the local powder trade. The substance they were testing in there is pure, uncut, top-quality cocaine, no more than one week removed from processing plants in the