3 of a Kind (16 page)

Darkus knelt by his dad, who was currently propped unconscious in the shade at the entrance to the caves. He gently drip-fed water into his father’s mouth. Knightley’s swallow reflex activated, his eyelids fluttered and he appeared to smile gratefully for a moment, before returning to his trance-like state.

‘How
did
you find us?’ Darkus asked the Scotsmen.

Bill removed a cigar from the corner of his mouth and pointed it at the chain around Knightley’s neck. ‘Miss Khan took the liberty o’ concealing a homing device inside that there Saint Christopher medal.’

Darkus read the inscription again:
Saint Christopher Protect Us.
More like
Miss Khan Protect Us
, for it was his faithful science teacher who had saved them from certain death in the desert. Darkus made a silent promise to hand his coursework in on time, every time, from now on.

‘We also brought some of these,’ announced Dougal, digging in his poncho and pulling out a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. ‘A taste o’ home. They’re a wee bit melted, ah’m afraid,’ he admitted. ‘And the other packet went missin’.’ He shot an accusing glance at his big brother, who looked away, ashamed.

‘Did you find out anything more before you left?’ enquired Darkus.

‘Not a Scooby,’ replied Bill. ‘Clorr Entertainment is sewn up tight as a fankle. We cannae work out who they are or where tae find ’em. It’s all smoke and mirrors, farts ’n deception.’ Bill’s horse whinnied accusingly from the mouth of the cave. ‘Haud yer wheesht!’ the Scotsman shouted back.

‘What about Underwood?’ said Tilly.

‘Still clammed up, sleepin’ like a bubby,’ Bill responded. ‘Under roond the clock supervision. He’s not goin’ anywhere, I can guarantee ye that. Hou ’bout ye?’

‘Time is short,’ said Darkus. ‘I’ll fill you in on the way.’ He packed the MRE rations into Bill’s saddlebags, then glanced at the sun which was rising steadily and gaining in intensity.

‘Awn the way where?’ asked Bill.

‘Las Vegas,’ said Tilly.

‘We believe that’s where Bogna is being held,’ explained Darkus.

Bill’s clammy face broke into a cigar-chomping grin. ‘Belter!’

After a lot of heaving and struggling, and the horse bolting more than once, Knightley Senior was loaded face-down, doubled over the back of Dougal’s steed. His unconscious body was secured with a thick leather belt
and a blanket to protect him from the sun, causing Knightley to resemble a captured outlaw from the Old West, being transported to the Sheriff’s office, ‘dead or alive’ – it was hard to tell which.

Darkus and Tilly climbed aboard Uncle Bill’s horse, sitting one behind the other, as if it were a three-seat tandem bicycle: Tilly holding on to Darkus, who spread his arms wide to hold on to Bill.

Following several minutes of adjusting, readjusting, cinching, cajoling, and one final adjustment, Bill shouted, ‘Yah!!’ But the horse didn’t budge an inch. Bill shifted in his saddle, as if he was trying to kickstart a motorbike. ‘Boo-yaaah!’ Bill deliberated for a moment. ‘Giddy up, ye stinky hogbeast!’

The horse took off at a gallop with Bill, Darkus and Tilly holding on for dear life, leaving a trail of billowing dust in their wake.

‘Yah!! Yah!!’

A full five minutes later, Dougal was still coaxing his stallion into action, until he dropped the reins and collapsed forward with exhaustion – at which point the animal unexpectedly took off after the others, with Dougal clinging to its neck, and Knightley’s limp body flopping and waving from behind the saddle.

The unlikely posse of riders made surprisingly good progress through the desert flats, navigating deep red
canyons and dry river beds, progressing into the ‘badlands’: dense, arid mountain ranges so gnarled and eroded by wind and rain that they were near impossible to traverse. Still the horses pressed on, carrying their motley cargo under the granite blue skies – Tilly wearing a creased sun hat and Darkus uncrumpling a straw trilby that he’d bought at Heathrow. After spending the best part of the day on horseback with only the occasional rest stop, the shadows grew longer as the sun sank in the western sky. The badlands became more ominous than ever, their jagged gouge marks darkening as dusk threatened to fall.

‘Are we there yet?’ demanded Tilly.

Uncle Bill didn’t answer. Darkus peered round the Scotsman’s massive torso to find he’d fallen asleep at the reins, his cowboy hat tipped forward to shade him from the light.

Darkus glanced at the position of the sun. ‘I estimate we’re over halfway.’

Tilly turned to Dougal’s stallion trotting beside them, then examined Knightley Senior’s body still draped unconscious over its hindquarters, occasionally being swished in the face by the horse’s tail. ‘He’ll wish he never woke up once I’m done with him,’ she menaced. ‘I’ve been brushing up on my “enhanced interrogation” techniques.’

Darkus realised it was easier to talk to her without looking her in the eye. ‘We need to stay focused on the case, for all our sakes,’ he advised.

‘You stay focused on your case,’ she warned. ‘I’ll stay focused on mine.’

‘Tilly …’ He tried to word his next sentence carefully, realising his stepsister needed something more from him and his dad – more than finding Bogna; more than the dangerous thrill of playing a game with the Combination. She needed answers. Darkus took a deep breath, then confessed: ‘Dad said something when we were in LA. I was half asleep at the time, but I heard him say … that there was something I
needed to know
.’

Darkus felt Tilly’s body flinch behind him on the horse. Her fingers tensed up, almost digging into his waist. He could feel her anger as an electrical charge, running from her hands into his body like a pair of cattle prods.

‘What d’you mean?’ she demanded. ‘
What was it?
’

Darkus paused. ‘I don’t exactly know.’

He felt her whole body sag behind him, as if the disappointment was too much to bear.

‘Great,
Dorkus
, that’s really helpful,’ she snapped, then silently winced – acknowledging that the use of that name for her loyal stepbrother was a new low, even for her.

‘What I’m saying is …’ Darkus went on, undeterred, ‘I think Dad
does
know more about how your mum died than he’s told you. And I promise, one way or another, we’ll get to the truth.’

Tilly swallowed, finding it hard to say: ‘Thanks.’

‘We’re your family too, Tilly. Remember that.’

She nodded slowly, and Darkus thought he felt her grip gently tighten just a little, almost becoming a hug – impossible as it might have been to believe.

‘I’m going to get some shut-eye,’ she said, putting on a brave face then, yawning.

‘OK,’ replied Darkus, and felt her head lower on to his shoulder.

The horses trooped on as the sun went down and dusk cast a swathe of blue light over the proceedings.

In the distance, Darkus saw something that looked like a shooting star. Then another, and another. They were travelling horizontally in twinned clusters – until he realised they were the streaks of headlights from passing cars.

‘Uncle Bill …’ He roused the Scotsman from his slumber.

‘Aye.’ Bill adjusted his cowboy hat and poncho.

‘I think it’s civilisation,’ said Darkus, seeing a neon shroud in the southern sky.

The horses tentatively approached a fast-moving
expressway beating its own path through the desert, causing the animals to whinny and stomp their hooves at the speeding vehicles.

‘Nae, Doc,’ replied Bill with a smile. ‘It’s
Sin City
…’

For beyond the road was a far greater light show. Off in the distance, nestled in a vast dust bowl, was a humming oasis of neon, dotted with palm trees and vertical beams strafing the heavens. In the centre was a dazzling skyline of every conceivable shape, style and colour – completely man-made and completely alien. All wrapped in an alluring, golden glow.

‘Welcome tae Las Vegas …’

Bill and Dougal first returned the two valiant steeds to their surprised-looking owner at a local ranch off the highway.

‘Found what you folks were lookin’ for?’ drawled the genuine cowboy, cocking his hat as Bill unstrapped the body that was tied to the back of Dougal’s horse.

‘Aw, this mucker?’ replied Bill, slapping Knightley’s unconscious behind. ‘He’s an old pal. Still got some lookin’ tae dae, but we won’t be needing onie horsies where we’re going.’

Bill’s steed stomped its hooves and whinnied loudly in his direction.

‘Same to ye!’ the Scotsman replied.

‘Won’t be needin’ this get-up either,’ added Dougal as the two brothers wriggled out of their cowboy hats, ponchos and chaps, stripping down to their boots and matching tartan undergarments.

The spectacle was fortuitously obscured by an arriving yellow minicab, which had been hailed to take the team into town.

‘That’s not a dead body, is it?’ asked the driver, pointing at Knightley’s limp form leaning against a hitching post.

‘Just sleepin’ off a big night,’ explained Bill, who emerged with Dougal, both having changed into colour-coordinated red and green leisure suits, while retaining their cowboy boots.

‘Good, ’cause that’d be extra,’ replied the cabbie, perfectly serious.

Bill hoisted Knightley up by his armpits while his brother took hold of the feet. ‘Keep yer end up, Dougal! Tae mae!’

The Scotsmen loaded Knightley into the accommodating boot, alongside their luggage, then Bill rode shotgun and Dougal joined the teens in the backseat as the cab pulled away.

The dark desert highway soon made way for a grid of brightly lit streets, lined with palm trees and sweltering with heat, as they closed in on the pulsing centre of ‘Sin City’.

Darkus had informed Bill of the word
Trap
next to the word
Vegas
in Bogna’s message. But, throughout history, Las Vegas had always been a trap: it was a make-believe
El Dorado, a fairy tale built by Italian-American mobsters to relieve people of their hard-earned money, with extravagant hotels, casinos, card tables and cabaret shows. Then the city passed into the hands of other gangsters, with names like Bugsy, Moe and Lucky – though some weren’t lucky enough to dodge a hitman’s bullet. And more recently Las Vegas had fallen into the hands of corporations and big businessmen who recreated it as a family mega-resort, with themed hotels complete with costumed employees, superstar concerts, boxing matches, DJs and nightclubs. ‘Gambling’ was now known as ‘gaming’. Instead of
Sin City
, these days Las Vegas preferred to be known as
The Entertainment Capital of the World
.

And Darkus could see why. Pressing on through the city limits, they saw multiple beacons each seeking their attention, towering buildings of all imaginable shapes, elaborate light shows in every direction. They passed a vast electricity substation that took up an entire city block. The town was glowing with power, heat and colour. As they drove along Las Vegas Boulevard, they saw tourists filling the streets, alongside caped superheroes, knights in suits of armour, pirates and Roman emperors. Street promoters, or ‘hawkers’, fanned flyers through their fingers and flicked them to gain attention, before handing them out to advertise every conceivable
entertainment. This was a place of extreme fantasy. Where inhibitions were left at home and indulgence ran rampant. It was a city of games and deception.

If the Combination were planning their ultimate play, there was no better place to do it than here.

Darkus’s phone began buzzing incessantly, picking up a mobile signal for the first time in some twenty hours. The screen flashed on with eleven missed calls, all tagged
Mum
. Feeling too guilt-ridden to check his voicemail, Darkus pocketed the phone and decided to wait until they’d found a room for the night. It may not have been the most logical decision, but logic appeared to feature less and less in his mind these days. Perhaps that was part of growing up. He justified his reluctance to call her by reasoning that it was the early hours of the morning in the UK, though it was evening in the Western US. He resolved to get in touch before she had breakfast on her side of the world. Then she would receive his full and humble confession of where he was and how he’d got there.

Meanwhile, Tilly obsessively checked her own phone signal, watching the timer enter its final hour: 00:59:46 – 45 – 44 …

‘This is the centre of the action,’ the driver announced. ‘The Las Vegas Strip. Where to now?’

Bill looked to Darkus and Tilly.

‘I don’t know … yet,’ admitted Darkus, searching his detective instincts, but coming up blank. ‘Just drive.’

Outside the cab, hotels started popping up, as if out of nowhere. First the Stratosphere Casino, Hotel & Tower, its space needle extending up into the sky like a rocket on a launchpad, with a rotating observation lounge a thousand feet up, and a roller coaster ride above that. Then Circus Circus, with its big-top-shaped building and a giant clown beckoning customers inside. Darkus, Tilly and the Billochs craned their necks to see each subsequent attraction, their faces painted in a kaleidoscope of colour, while Knightley simply snored from the boot.

Next was Treasure Island, with its own pirate ship docked in a man-made bay outside the hotel. Then the more upmarket Venetian hotel with Italian-inspired architecture and water fountains leaping into the sky to music. (The driver told them that imitation gondolas cruised along imitation Venice canals inside the shopping mall.) They continued past the faux-Roman columns of Caesar’s Palace, then the Paris Las Vegas hotel with its absurd half-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower – which the driver informed them was intended as a full-scale replica, but it would have obstructed air traffic.

‘Wait a second …’ Darkus stopped him. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed through the windscreen to a giant reflective glass shape against the skyline.

‘That’s the newest development on the strip,’ replied the driver. ‘It’s called the Egyptian Hotel and Casino.’

As they got closer, the other buildings seemed to make way to reveal the Egyptian’s true dimensions: it was a massive
pyramid
. Darkus did a double take. The pyramid was some forty floors high, made up entirely of mirrored glass, its walls leaning in towards the apex.