Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
She shakes her head. “She might as well. She has a system in place. She has a private driver pick her up from Aces Underground every night. This driver takes her to a garage located in an undisclosed location. Rouge owns several vehicles of varying makes and models that she keeps in the garage. She selects one at random and drives herself home from there.”
“So we could follow her to the garage?” I ask.
“That would be futile,” Chet says. “The garage in question is a very busy one. The kind that has drivers filtering in and out at all hours, even late at night when Rouge departs Aces. By the time she arrives at the garage, she is in disguise, and the car she selects to drive herself home will have tinted windows.”
“There won’t be any security cameras in the parking garage either,” Bianca says. “And I’ve already told you my sister doesn’t have a driver’s license. If she owns a home, it’s likely under an assumed name, like the one I used to book the hotel.”
Chet begins to hum.
“Will you stop that?” I ask. “If the home is owned under a pseudonym, then the public records would be of no use to us.”
“And I doubt she’s registered to vote.” Bianca paces the room.
Chet hums louder. The tune is familiar, and grating.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell at him.
Bianca widens her eyes. “Wait. He’s humming the birthday song. Rouge’s birthday!”
“What about it?” Vanya asks.
“Her birthday. No one knows it except me. That’s why she uses it as the code to the employee entrance. No one would guess it because she’s wiped it off all official documentation. It’s the tenth of June.”
“A Gemini…” Chet mumbles.
I roll my eyes at Chet’s utterance. “Like that matters.”
Bianca holds up a hand. “You never know. My sister loves a game.” She pulls out her phone. “Zero-six-one-zero. What if that’s a zip code?”
“Zip codes have five numbers, though.”
“Right. But we know that all zip codes in Illinois begin with a six,” she continues. “So what if I search six-oh-six-one-oh?”
“Why not?” Vanya says.
She pulls up her map app and punches in the code. “That particular zip code covers most of the Gold Coast Historic District. Definitely a place I could see my sister laying down her roots. Very ritzy, very self-contained. Low crime rate.”
“Besides her own,” I add.
“Fair point.” Bianca scratches her arm. “But I’m not sure where to go from here. A zip code is a pretty broad area.”
“Wait!” I grab my own phone out of my pocket. “Rouge does have a pseudonym we know of. The fake name she uses as the CEO for Shinzo Life Center, the place that distributes the organs she harvests. Romeo Sturgeon. It’s an anagram of her name. What if we search within that zip code for that name?”
Bianca widens her eyes. “You do the honors.”
I pull up the White Pages website and search for “Romeo Sturgeon” within the 60610 zip code. “Oh my God. I think we found her.”
“Really?” Bianca asks.
“Yeah.” I read the text on the phone. “Ten East Burton Place, apartment six hundred ten.”
“Her birthday again!” Bianca throws her arms around me. “It has to be her!”
I plug the address into my GPS. “Looks like it’s about a half-hour drive from here. Let’s fucking roll.”
34
CHET
Her Highness and Dr. O’Rourke embrace again, and the four of us leave the room, locking the door upon our departure, leaving His Majesty’s body behind. I assume they will come and collect him later.
I don’t give a fig either way.
“How did you get here, Chet?” Her Highness asks.
I blink several times. “I got a ride.”
“So you’ll need to come in my car,” she says, her voice quivering slightly.
“I suppose I shall.”
“I’ll drive,” Dr. O’Rourke says. “You can sit in the back with Vanya.”
“My legs are quite long, like rivers,” I say.
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not putting you in the back with my girlfriend.” Dr. O’Rourke glares at me. “Take it or leave it.”
I grin. “Take it.”
They are always so unpleasant to me, despite the fact that I hold their fates in the palm of my hand.
But I won’t provoke them. I will allow them to think they wield their own wheel of fortune.
The three of them go to Her Highness’s car, a silver vehicle with headlights resembling cat eyes. They set my soul at ease. It is as if they are the eyes of the Egyptian goddess Bast, beckoning me toward Paradise.
“One moment,” I say. “I need to tie my shoe.”
They ignore me.
They always ignore me.
I reach into my pocket, remove my cellular telephone. It’s a newer model, the main one I use when I’m in contact with Her Majesty.
I don’t like text messaging—it is so informal—but this will have to do.
I type in Her Majesty’s number, and then a short message.