Card Shark

Tom and Rachel hit Las Vegas on a case that takes them to casinos and bordellos in search of a kidnapped woman and a playing card with magical powers. 

Card Shark, Part One

 I sat between an elderly woman in a hoodie and a young Black man in a business suit and a bolo tie. Gary Lake, middle-aged and balding, sat two stools away. Twelve of us sat at the table, watching the dealer, who showed a Two of hearts up, shoved cards our way.

I had a king of spades and a two of clubs. At the end of the table, Rachel, in a floppy hat and sunglasses, had a nine of diamonds and a five of hearts. Lake had a three of clubs and a seven of spades. 

I was betting five-dollar chips. Lake was betting $100 chips.

The dealer, a young Hispanic woman, waited as I checked my cards. Then I motioned. Hit me. Ten of diamonds. Busted.

The woman with the hoodie took a card, then shook her head, holding at 17. When the deal came to Lake he nodded for a card. Ace—21. Rachel took a card and held at 19. 

The dealer flipped her hole card. Five of hearts. She kept going until she busted. 

The dealer paid out. We turned in our cards.

Rachel collected her chips and stood up. Without looking at me she wandered into the crowd. I played one more hand—losing again—then scooped up my remaining chips and thanked the dealer. Lake stayed put.

I found Rachel with her fingers on the handle of a Real Housewives of Las Vegas-themed slot machine. “I would almost play this.” She loves reality TV. I tolerate it because, well, she’s my girlfriend. 

“So what about Lake?”

She blinked, as if the answer was obvious. “Oh yeah. He’s got something. He knows what the next card is going to be.”

 

“My husband goes to Las Vegas every two or three months.” Marcia Lake sipped a cup of tea in her small suburban house outside of Chicago. Not big or fancy, but nice. “He won’t let me come with him. I want to know what he’s doing there.” 

            I nodded. “Following someone around a city like Las Vegas could be complicated. Or expensive, if I have to hire other people to help.”

            She shivered. “We’re not rich. I can’t pay for an army of private detectives.”

            “I’ll do my best, if I can take one associate with me. She won’t be working at my full rate.” Mostly because the “associate” was my girlfriend Rachel. She’s psychic—at least a little—and she’s also a good investigator, after helping me out on my cases over the years.

            “Okay.” Marcia Lake opened a checkbook. “He’s leaving this Friday. Can you do that?”

            Today was Tuesday. I hadn’t had a new case in a week or so. “I can clear my schedule.”

 

So I got tickets on Gary Lake’s flight. 

            At the terminal Rachel yawned in the chair next to me. Wide sunglasses covered her hazelnut eyes, and she wore a droopy hat over her red hair. “Did we have to leave at the crack of dawn?” The flight was scheduled for 8:37, so we’d had to get up ridiculously early to reach O’Hare in time to get through the check-in line and reach our gate.

            “Part of the biz,” I said. Around us passengers checked their text messages, watched CNN on the TVs or movies on their iPads, drank coffee or soda, or napped. Japanese tourists, families with kids, businessmen tapping their laptops, giggling girls sharing videos on their phones.

            “That’s him?” Rachel gestured with her head at the next row of boarding area seats. Middle-aged and balding, Lake wore jeans, a cheap gray blazer over a T-shirt, and sneakers. A canvas carry-on bag sat next to his feet. He read a newspaper, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the boarding call.

            “Yeah. Anything?” 

            She shrugged. “Restless. Nervous. Nothing you can’t see.” 

            I sipped my own coffee. “Yeah.”

            They finally called our flight. Rachel and I hefted our own carry-ons and headed down the tunnel into the plane.

            Rachel read a biography of Ruth Bader Ginsburg while I dozed. She jabbed an elbow into my ribs as we started to land. “Wake up, shamus. How are we going to do this?”

            “Follow him as best we can.” I rubbed my eyes. “We know what hotel he’s staying at, and where he’s renting a car.” Lake had shared all the details with his wife. “Either way, I told the client this would be complicated.”

            I jostled a 60ish white-haired man bickering with his girlfriend as Rachel and I made our way up the aisle. Out in the terminal, I spotted Lake walking quickly away from the gate. “Let’s go.”

            Slot machines were waiting for us just outside the gate, eager visitors already loading them with coins and yanking their levers, hoping for an instant payoff. Lake walked past them and headed toward the car rentals.

The white-haired man from the plane was ahead of us, pulling a suitcase and still bickering with his girlfriend. “Yes, my queen, we’ll do it your way.”

            She glared at him. Then she glared at me. “What are you looking at?”

            I held up a hand. “Just on the way to rent a car. And wondering where the best casinos are. This is our first trip.”

            “Stay off the strip.” That came from the white-hair man. “That’s for tourists. Stay downtown.”

            Lake stopped at a rental counter. I smiled. “Thanks.”

            Rachel slugged my shoulder. “Are we going to go to the pool? I bought a new bikini.” 

            “Of course. As soon as we get to the hotel.” 

            I was close enough to overhear the model and make of the car Lake rented, a blue Hyundai. He didn’t seem to notice us as he picked up his keys and headed for the lot. Rachel and I saw him pull way as we got into a white Nissan. 

            Fortunately we knew where he was going, so I didn’t have to tail him closely on the streets of Vegas. The casino/hotel was off the Strip, at the edge of downtown, and it had a big parking lot to one side. I cruised, looking for Lake’s Hyundai, and found it after ten minutes of searching. At least I hoped that it was his, but the hood was still warm, so it had been driven recently. I parked a few spots away.

            We checked in, but our room wasn’t ready this early, so we checked our bags and headed into the casino, looking for Lake.

            I’d seen Las Vegas casinos in movies, but I wasn’t ready for the full real-life experience. I felt like I was entering a cave promising wonders and delights—loud, dark, crowded, smoky, with joyful shrieks and vicious curses rising and falling from rows of slot machines stretching to infinity. A platoon of miniskirted waitresses in fishnet stockings handed out drinks and packs of cigarettes with cheerful, pasted-on smiles. Blinking lights and crashing music blared from every direction—it was like Disneyworld, a magic kingdom of its own, but without Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck. Everyone around us seemed like they were enjoying the happiest place on earth, even as they lost their money over and over again.

            Rachel and I split up. She walked through the rows of slots, and I made my way toward the tables—poker, blackjack, craps, roulette. I found Lake playing blackjack. I would have joined him, but I hadn’t gotten chips. So I stood back, leaning against a slot machine with two people pulling the lever, and called Rachel. “Got him. Over by . . .” I looked up. “Somewhere they’re playing blackjack. Does GPS work in a place like this?”

            “I’ll find you.” She hung up.

            Two minutes later Rachel was at my side, her sunglasses on top of her head, chips in her hands. “So now what?”

            “We play a little blackjack.”

Card Shark, Part Two

 Rachel fed coins into the RHOLV slot machine as I watched Lake. He played for 20 more minutes, then stood from his stool, tipped the dealer, and headed for the cashier’s window. “Come on,” I said. “Unless you’ve got a gambling addiction you never told me about.”

            She jumped up and punched the screen. “Stupid machine.”

            Lake collected his money and stuffed it into a paper bag. He followed him outside. The sunlight was blinding after hours in the dark casino. We followed Lake at a distance, hoping I’d parked near the right Hyundai. I was unlucky at blackjack, but lucky with cars, and we pulled out just as Lake headed toward the street.

            Another car backed out unexpectedly. We exchanged angry horn blasts, and I lost sight of the Hyundai for a moment. But Rachel was on him.

“He went right.” She pointed. “There’s a red light, I think he’s still up there.”

I got another blaring honk and the finger from a driver I cut off making the turn, and swerved out of my lane to cut in again two cars behind Hyundai. I was not popular among the drivers on this street.

“Who are you, Steve McQueen?” Rachel punched my shoulder. “Let’s not get in an accident two yards behind him!”

“I’m Starsky, you’re Hutch.” I stared at Lake’s car, hoping the commotion hadn’t attracted his attention.

“Who?” Rachel gaped at me.

“You’ve never watched classic TV? Wait until I get you home.” I nudged the accelerator as the light changed.

I didn’t have to do any fancy driving after that. I just had to stay close enough to Lake’s car without being obvious. After a few miles he got into the highway, which made things easier. 

“How much money do you think he won?” I stayed a few car lengths behind. The hot desert sun gave our air conditioner a workout. At least the Nissan handled smoothly.

“A couple of hundred, maybe? You were watching him, not me.”

So where was he going?

We found out after about 40 miles, when he took an exit, drove for ten minutes, and pulled into the parking lot of a long building. It had two floors, no windows, and pink aluminum siding. A big sign on the roof read THE BUNNY HOLE in flashing neon in the daytime.

A bordello. Out in the legal zone.

“Okay.” I parked two cars away from the Hyundai. “This could explain a lot.”

Rachel sighed. “Men are scum.”

I wished I could argue, but years of trailing cheating husbands and boyfriends have led me to the same conclusion. I reached for the door handle. “Maybe I should go inside and—ow!” Rachel jabbed her elbow in my ribs.

I winced. “Okay, we’ll just wait out here.” I looked around and saw at least one security camera mounted on the roof. “Until they run us off.”

We sat for 10 minutes with the A/C running full blast in our faces. A man appeared from around the side of the building, walking fast. He was tall and bulky, like a retired linebacker, with a thin goatee, wearing jeans and a loose denim jacket. He stood beside a pickup truck for a minute, staring at the front door, then clambered into front seat and drove away. Another happy customer?

Five minutes later Lake marched out of the bordello. He slouched in his car for a moment, then turned the key and started up.

“That was quick.” I waited to start up until he was turning onto the road again, back toward the highway. 

“That’s usually what the girl says.” Rachel crossed her arms.

“He barely had time to get his pants off.” I turned the wheel and hit the accelerator. “This is something else.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

 

Back at the hotel I roamed the parking lot until I found Lake’s car. We picked up our bags and headed for our room. Rachel wanted to go to the pool, so I went down to look for Lake in the casino.

            His reservation was for the whole weekend, Friday through Sunday. Would he spend three full days gambling? I found him at another blackjack table, but I didn’t join him this time, in case he recognized me. He played for half an hour, won a stack of chips, and cashed them in before picking up his bag from the luggage check and heading to an elevator. 

            I found Rachel by the pool in a zebra-striped bikini, and for a moment I forgot all about the case. She peered over her sunglasses at me. “So where is he now?”

            “Up in his room, I guess.” I sat down. “I should probably stake out the lobby in case he heads out again.”

            “Isn’t that him now?” She pointed. “Over there.”

            I turned. Lake was in shorts and a T-shirt, carrying a towel and a book. He walked slowly to a deck chair fifty yards away and sat down, looking tired.

            “That makes it easy.” I leaned back. “Except for the distraction of you.”     

She smirked. “I’ll leave you alone for a while.” She stood up and walked to the pool for a swim.

I kept an eye on Lake, occasionally sneaking glances at Rachel as she swam. Lake read his book. I checked messages on my phone for a few minutes, then concentrated on Lake and tried not to look at Rachel.

Suddenly Lake stood up, dropping his book, his phone pressed to his ear. Leaving the book he walked, then ran through the row of chairs to the hotel, pushing between a young guy and his girlfriend on their way to the water.

I followed as fast as I could without drawing attention—past the casino, through the lobby, and out into the dazzling sunlight over the parking lot, but Lake was too fast. I saw his Hyundai heading toward the exit before I was halfway to my rented Nissan.           

What the hell? I stood in the lot for a minute, then headed back inside. Out by the pool Rachel had toweled off. “What happened?”

“Looks like he got a phone call. He ran.” I shrugged. “Lost him.” It happens.

“Oops.” She wrapped herself in a terrycloth kimono. “Now what?”

“I’ll stake out the lobby. He’s got to come back.”

So she went up to the room to change, and I bought a paperback novel at the gift shop so I’d look like I was doing something while I waited for Lake to return. It turned out to be Stephen King’s latest, but I’ve seen enough supernatural monsters myself that it wouldn’t distract me. Or scare me. A cute waitress in tight shorts brought me a beer. 

Then my phone buzzed. Rachel. “Find a bar or something where the news is on TV.” She sounded urgent. “There’s a fire at that whorehouse.”

The hotel bar had slot machines in every booth and at both ends of the polished bar. It also had a TV, tuned to the local news station. After a segment on some political scandal, the picture changed to show smoke billowing in the clear sky. The camera lowered to show fire trucks in front of the Bunny Hole.

People were talking and slot machines were ringing, but the TV had captioning on. “—say gunshots were heard but no injuries were reported, and everyone got out safely, employees and customers. Manager Crystal Hartwell—” 

A busty middle-aged woman in a pink pantsuit, her curly blond hair scattered, came on the screen. “The smoke alarm came on, and we just evacuated. We run fire drills once a week, right? I was just making sure all my girls are fine—”

Back to the exterior, the smoke now gone, soot staining the aluminum siding, firefighters packing up. “—say the cause of the fire is not yet known. Since the structural damage is minimal, Hartwell says she plans to reopen tomorrow. Stay tuned for weather from—”

I already knew the weather. Hot. 

Rachel sat down next to me. “So what do you think, Sherlock?”

I shrugged. “Could be a coincidence—nah,” I said before she could punch me. “I think I’d better go out there again. You hang out in the lobby and watch for Lake.” I handed her my Stephen King.

She snorted. “You’re just dying for an excuse to visit a whorehouse, aren’t you?”

“I walk the mean streets.” I stood up. “Call me if you see our target.”

She looked at the book. “Stephen King? Really?”

“Buy your own book. Just make sure it isn’t anything really want to read. And get a receipt.” I kissed her. “Wish me luck.”

“In a whorehouse? No way.”

 

Crystal Hartwell crossed her arms under her chest. “We’re closed. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”

I’d seen the sign and ignored it. I tried to ignore her chest too. Good thing Rachel wasn’t here. 

I’d expected the Bunny Hole to look like a cross between a saloon in an old western movie, with a player piano in the corner and bottles of rotgut whiskey on the bar, and a modern-day strip joint with brass poles and flashing neon lights. Instead it was more like the lounge of a high-end hotel, with leather chairs and couches, TVs mounted on the walls—blank—and a long marble bar with taps of craft beers, bottles of high-end liquor, and boxes of cigars around a gurgling fountain in the back. Pink wallpaper lined the room, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

The place was empty. Apparently the working gals had gone home because of the fire. I showed her a picture on my phone of Gary Lake. “He was here right before the fire started—”

            “Can’t talk about my customers.” 

            “I’m not sure he was a customer. His name’s Gary Lake. He was only here a few minutes—”

            “Sorry.” She shook her head without looking at the phone.

            A blonde woman walked out from a hallway in sweats and a sports bra. “Those guys are almost done pulling out the drywall. I’ve got fans going everywhere for the smoke.”

            “Good. The company should show up to put in new drywall and paint soon.” She looked at me. “Get Tonya. Hey, any sign of Sara?”

            The woman shrugged. “I figure she just left with her—”

            “Just get Tonya.” Crystal folded her arms. “Anything else?”

            I wondered who Tonya was. “Did you get a look at who started the fire? You’ve got security cameras—”

            “We’re working on that.” Crystal turned her head as a tall Black woman in jeans and a tank top emerged from a door behind the bar. “Tonya, this guy was just leaving.”

            Her tank top showed muscles in her arms and shoulders. Not that I’d fight her. I smiled at both of them. “Thanks. Good luck with the repairs.”

            Another woman appeared from the hallway. Long black hair, she wore a short yellow sun dress, possibly without a bra. “Hey, Crystal, can I go home? Double-A is having some kind of a crisis. Jerk.”

            “Whatever. We’ll be open tomorrow.” Crystal turned to me. “Come back then if you want to party.”

No heart of gold here. I went back out to my Nissan, cranked up the air conditioning but stayed in the lot. Two men lugged plastic garbage bags from a side door and dumped them in the back of a pickup truck. I took out my phone and called Rachel.

            “No sign of him,” she said. “I did a walk through the casino too. What about you? Are they offering a fire sale discount there or something? I just hope you didn’t pick up something disgusting.”

            “She wouldn’t let me through the door. Keep an eye out, I’ll be back soon.”

            “Grab some extra condoms if you can.” She hung up.

            I called Marcia Lake. “I’ve lost track of your husband,” I told her. “Nothing to worry about, but could you call him? Make up an excuse? Ask where he is?”

            “Just a minute.” She left me on, and I heard four buzzes. Then: “Hi, this is Gary Lake. Please leave me a message and I’ll call you back soon.”

            “Gary? It’s Marcy. Just wondering how you’re doing. Hope you’re having fun.” She paused. “Call me when you have time. Love you.” She cut the connection. “That’s kind of funny, he usually picks up when it’s me. What’s going on? How did you lose him?”

            “He gambled in the hotel, won some money, and then he went to, well . . .” I hesitated, but she was the client. “A bordello. But he only stayed for a few minutes. Not enough time to, uh, do anything,” I added quickly. “Then later he was out at the pool and got a phone call, and left in a hurry. I couldn’t follow him.”

            She was silent a moment. “I can’t believe—well, I hired you, obviously, but still—I don’t know. All right, let me know if you find him. I’ll call you if he calls me.”

            We hung up.

            I waited a few more minutes, trying to think of something to do. When one of the workmen came from the side door again carrying another garbage bag, I figured I could do what I do best—ask some questions.

            “Hi.” I walked up to him. “Tom Jurgen. How’d the fire start?”

            He gave me a skeptical look. “You a reporter?” He was Hispanic, young and muscular.

            “Nah, I’m a detective. Not police. Just curious.”

            He tossed the bag into the back of the pickup. “Looks like someone poured some gas inside over a bunch of trash. Clothes, cardboard, papers.”

            I pointed to the roof. “They must have caught it on the camera, don’t you think?”

            He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just tearing out the drywall.”

            The other guy came around the corner just then. “Hey, Hector! Stop talking and help me with this last piece!”

            “Thanks.” I headed to my car.

            Back on the road my phone buzzed. Marcia Lake. “He called back. He said—he said he just got kicked out of one place, but now he’s at someplace called the Empress. And he said—he said he might have to stay a few more days. This is weird. What’s going on?”

            “Huh.” I didn’t know. “I’ll try to catch him at the Empress. Do you want me to contact him directly?”

            “Y-yeah. I think so. He won’t tell me, but . . . I don’t know. This is so weird.”

            “I’ll do what I can.” I pulled over onto the shoulder. The Nissan had GPS, and I found the Empress fast. 

            I called Rachel. “Take a cab to a casino called the Empress. It’s on the Strip. Look for Lake. Follow him if he leaves. I’ll meet you there.”

            “You’re kind of sexy when you take command like this.” Rachel giggled. “Okay, ahead warp factor one.”

Card Shark, Part Three

 The Strip was a neon runway of towering hotels and casinos, fountains shooting multicolored jets of water high in the air, and sidewalks crammed of people laughing, dancing, taking pictures, staggering, arguing, and one man throwing up. A cop rescued that last guy.

            The Empress had a wide driveway filled with limos, sports cars, and one Hummer. A valet handed me a ticket and I headed inside. 

Their casino was wider than an aircraft hangar, with plush carpeting and a high vaulted ceiling. No windows or clocks anywhere—no sunlight or sense of time. It was jammed with people of all races, generations, and hairstyles yanking on slot machines, crowding around craps tables, watching and playing blackjack, tossing chips to ante up for Texas Hold’em, and probably betting on how long ice would melt in their drinks. The service staff darted around, smiles on their faces like surgical masks, keeping everyone happily supplied with drinks, cigarettes, and snacks to keep them gambling as long and as much as possible. Security guards roamed with sharp eyes.

            I found Rachel playing a slot machine with a view of the blackjack tables. It was an Avengers game, and I stared at rolling images of Iron Man, Thor, the Hulk, Black Widow, and two other characters I didn’t even recognize.

            “Hi, pretty lady. Wanna hit the jackpot?”

            She looked up. “Oh. I was hoping somebody was hitting on me.”

            “Win anything?”

            She yanked the lever. Two Hulks, one Doctor Strange, Black Widow, and a Thanos. “Not so far. Our friend, on the other hand, seems to be doing well for himself.”

            Lake had a pile of chips in front of him. Still in his shorts and T-shirt from the pool, he wasn’t even the most casually-dressed person at the table—a hairy, overweight man in a tank top and cutoffs won that award. 

            “He’s been there half an hour.” Rachel pulled again. “He’s nervous—I can feel that from here.”

            Five minutes later he stood up. We followed as he carried his chips to the cashier and jammed the cash into a paper bag, then headed out the door. 

            The sidewalk was crowded. He dodged between two men drinking beer in plastic cups and a three young women in shorts and halter tops passing out balloons with the logo of a casino on them, then crossed the street at the corner. We darted after him through a parade of honking taxis and squealing bikes, and evaded a throng of Hare Krishnas dancing near the door to another casino. Rachel pulled me through a revolving door into darkness and freezing air conditioning. I spotted Lake at a cashier buying more chips

Again he went to the blackjack table. He played for 20 minutes, winning what looked like a several hundred dollars, then left and headed back across the street. 

Outside the sun was setting, but the neon almost made up for it. Lake made his way to yet another casino, and I was considering splitting up from Rachel so one of us could get something to eat when a security guard blocked Lake from entering.

We couldn’t hear the guard, but Lake’s voice was loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. “What do you mean, banned?”

“Uh-oh,” I whispered to Rachel. “Somebody caught on.”

“I’m not counting cards!” Lake stomped a foot on the sidewalk. “I have every right . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware of people staring at him, and a second security guard behind him. His shoulders sagged. He nodded and turned, looking at the revolving door as if pondering where to go next.

This was getting ridiculous. I took Rachel’s hand. “It’s time.”

She came with me as I walked up to Lake. He tried to veer around me. His face was red, and his T-shirt was streaked with sweat. “Excuse me—”

I blocked him. “Gary? Mr. Lake?” 

“Huh?” He peered at me. “Are you a cop? Look, I’m really not doing anything—”

“My name’s Tom Jurgen. Your wife hired me.” I pulled out my phone. “Here, talk to her.” I found Marcia Lake’s number.

“What?” Again he tried to get past me, but Rachel got in his way, and he hesitated. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Jurgen?” Marcia’s voice came through. Lake heard her. His eyes went wide with shock and fear.

“I need you to talk to your husband.” I shoved the phone into his face. “Go ahead, Gary.”

“M-Marcy? What’s going—” He clamped the phone to his ear. “Really? A private detective? How could you . . .” He stared at me. “All right. I’ll call you later.” He hung up. “Okay. What do you want?”

“What’s going on?”

His body sagged. “I can’t—you won’t believe it. I can’t.”

“You might be surprised what I believe,” I told him.

“Come on.” Rachel pointed down the street. “Let’s go somewhere and sit down.”

 

We found a bar. “So what’s going on?” I sipped a beer.

            Lake sliced his steak with a sharp knife. I bit into a hamburger, starving. Rachel stabbed us both with her eyes as she speared her Caesar salad. She’s a vegetarian.

            Lake groaned. “My kid sister Sara is . . . well, she’s on the spectrum. You know what I mean?”

            Rachel nodded. “Okay.”

            “We grew up here.” He gulped some whiskey. “Outside the city. We all took care of her. My dad died, and then my mother and me . . . She did the best she could. But I got a job offer in Chicago, and my mom told me to take it. That was six years ago. Mom was friends with a woman named Crystal, who worked in a, uh, bordello. Somehow Sara—imprinted on her. When Crystal got the money to open the Bunny Hole, she agreed to take Sara in—no, no!”  He waved a hand at Rachel’s glaring eyes. “Not like that! Sara’s not a whore. She washes dishes, sweeps and vacuums, does the laundry—but she has her own room, and she listens to music, and Crystal takes care of her.”

“For a price?” He had the cash-stuffed bag next to him in the booth. 

Lake nodded. “A couple of times a year, I have to pay her. It’s not . . . Crystal does actually care for her, but . . . she’s running a business, and so . . .”

“So what happened at the Bunny Hole?”

Lake sighed. “I went in and dropped off the money. I saw Sara for a few minutes. She was folding sheets. We just said hi, and she kissed me on the cheek, and then she went back to the sheets.” He shuddered. “I left.”

I crossed my arms. “And then the fire started?” 

“I didn’t . . .” He turned away. “I heard about that later. I didn’t do that.”

Crystal had asked one of her hookers where Sara was. I figure she just left with—Lake, probably. But she wasn’t here. I changed the subject. “So how do you keep winning at blackjack?” 

“I’m just . . . lucky?” 

Rachel snorted. “How much money have you won today? That’s more than luck.” 

He stared. “Who are you again?”

She stretched her arm to shake Lake’s hand. “Hi, I’m Rachel. I work with Tom. I’m sort of psychic.” 

Lake shook, then reached into his back pocket. “Okay. This.”

He flipped an ace of spades on the table between us. “It’s sort of . . . I don’t know. But when I play blackjack—and that’s the only game—I can see what card is coming up next. I can use it to win lots of money—but I only use it here. To take care of Sara. That’s all.”

Rachel touched the card, then pulled her hand away. “Okay. I can feel that. Where’d you get it?”

Lake hung his head. “I, uh—I stole it.” He put it away.

            “From who?”

Lake sighed. “Aaron. We were friends in high school. We played blackjack for pennies, and he always won. It wasn’t until we were grown up that he showed me how. So one night, we were both drunk, and he passed out, and . . . I took it.” He grinned. “It worked. He knew it was me, but I was visiting from Chicago, and I was leaving the next day. I just went home, and I used it at a couple casinos up there—not too much, just making sure it really worked. Aaron was mad, emailing me, calling me, but I just ignored him, and eventually I didn’t hear from him.”

He paused for a gulp of whiskey. “Anyway, my mom died a year or so ago, and that’s when I had to make sure Sara was okay. Crystal calls me, and I just come out here once or twice a year to make some money for her. That’s all it is. Really.”

“Okay.” I sat back. “So you visited the Bunny Hole once today and dropped off a payment, and now you’re gambling all over the Strip. What’s going on?”

Lake frowned. “This is why you’ve got to let me go. I’ll—explain everything to Marcia. She doesn’t know about Sara, I never told her—not that I’m ashamed of her, just, uh, mom never wanted to tell anyone where she is. She only met mom once, before we were married, and then at the ceremony, I guess too—”

“Gary.” Rachel lifted a hand. “What’s going on?”

“Aaron’s got Sara.” His gulped his whiskey, finishing it. “He called me. I don’t know how—but he had her talk to me. He’s got her, and he wants the card. And fifty thousand dollars, or—I don’t know.” He looked up again. “I can’t believe he’d really kill her, but—I don’t know.”

I didn’t need Rachel to tell me Lake was under a lot of stress. “How much money do you have?”

“A little over ten thousand. It’s going to take me days to raise that. More, if they keep kicking me out.” He waved his hand to a waitress for another whiskey. “Look, I can’t stay here. I’ve got to get back out there.”

“How did he find you?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t—I don’t know. He just called me when I was out by the pool. Taking a break.”

“He knew where to find Sara . . .” I sat back to think. “How did he—wait, what does he look like?”

“He’s uh—here.” He pulled out his phone. “He’s on—give me a minute. Facebook.” Lake tapped the screen a few times. “That’s him.”

Heavyset, wide shoulders, a sparse goatee—I turned the phone. Rachel nodded. “That’s him.”

“We saw Aaron at the Bunny Hole today, when you went in to drop off the money.” Lucky coincidence? Or something else? “He must have seen you, without you seeing him.”

“So he set the fire?” Rachel looked at me. 

I nodded. “Then he must have grabbed Sara when everyone was evacuating.”

“The news said there were gunshots.” Rachel shuddered. “So what was he doing there?”

“We’ll have to figure that out later. What number is he using?” I took Lake’s phone, scrolled through his recent calls, and added Aaron’s number to my contacts. 

“So now what? The case is solved, right?” Rachel patted my shoulder. “Can we just go home now?”

She knew me better than that. I looked at Lake. “Do you want us to leave?”

The waitress brought him another whiskey. He gulped half of it. “Can you do anything?”

“Are you kidding?” Rachel rolled her eyes. “He’s a tough, fearless private eye, aren’t you, Tom? You should see him run and hide when the bullets start flying.” 

“You forgot handsome.” I finished my beer. I wanted another, but I needed a clear head to think. 

“We could call the police,” Rachel said. “Duh.”

“They’d never believe me. About the card. Would they?” Lake seemed uncertain.

“They believe in kidnapping.” I crossed my arms. “Look, how long would it take you to raise $50,000, anyway?”

He looked upward, calculating in his head. “A few days at this rate. If they’re blacklisting me everywhere, longer than that.”

I leaned forward. “He’s really after the card, right?”

Lake nodded.

“So call him. Tell him you’ve got $10,000, you’re getting banned from casinos, and that’s all you can get, but you’ve got the card for him.”

He hesitated. “But—the card . . .” He finished off his whiskey and started to wave for another.

Rachel grabbed his arm. “Do you want your sister back or not?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” He dropped his arm. “All right.” He picked up his phone. 

Rachel and I watched. He punched numbers, waited, and then—“Aaron? Look, it’s going to take me days to come up with fifty thousand. —What? I just got kicked out of a casino! If I get blacklisted all over town—Ten thousand. Yeah, ten thousand. Okay. Okay. Yeah, I’ve got it.” He sighed. “Is Sara all right? Let me talk to her.”

A minute. “Sara? It’s Gary. Are you okay?” Long pause. “Yeah. Right. Okay, I’ll see you soon. Aaron? Aaron—” He put the phone down. “He hung up.”

“He’ll call back.” I hoped I sounded confident. I don’t know anything about dealing with kidnappers—vampires and cheating spouses are more in my wheelhouse. 

Lake seemed unconvinced. He stared at his phone, not taking his eyes off it while tapping his fingers on the table.

The phone buzzed. “Put it on speaker,” I told him. 

“Gary, you asshole.” Aaron’s voice was gravel-rough. “All right. Bring what you got to the Bunny Hole in an hour. And the card. The goddamn card you stole from me. Asshole.” He hung up.

“The whorehouse?” Rachel blinked. “Why there?”

Good question. But Lake was already on his feet. “I better go put some clothes on.”

“Hang on.” I dropped a credit card on the table and waved for the waitress. “Where’s your car?”

Card Shark, Part Four

We’d both valet parked at the Empress, so I picked up our Nissan and Lake got his Hyundai. Back at the hotel I waited outside his room while he changed clothes. I wasn’t taking any chances on losing him again.

            Then we headed out to the Bunny Hole.

            The setting sun sent neon streaks across the horizon. Lake drove behind us down the highway. I spotted Aaron’s pickup as I rolled into the parking lot—only three other vehicles sat there. I parked at the end of a row of cars, but Lake pulled up right behind the pickup, blocking it.

            He jumped out of the Hyundai with the bag in his hand. He grabbed the driver’s door of the pickup, then stopped and looked at us, shaking his head.

            Rachel and I got out. Even in the twilight, the heat felt like an electric blanket on our shoulders. We walked to Aaron’s truck.

            The pickup was empty. I looked at the door to the Bunny Hole. The Closed sign still hung inside the screen. “Why would he come here, anyway?”

            “I don’t know.” Lake clutched the bag. “I guess we better go inside.”

            He knocked on the door, waited one second, then knocked again harder. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Be calm. We don’t know—”

            Crystal Hartwell yanked the door open. “We’re closed—Oh. You.” Then she frowned at me. “You again? What’s going on?”

            “Is Sara here?” Lake held up the bag. “I’ve got the money.”

            Her eyes widened for a moment. “Okay. In here.”

            She backed away from the door. We went in. 

            Rachel lifted her eyebrows, looking around. “So this is what it looks like inside a—” She stopped. “Oh.”

            Aaron sat on one of the leather couches in a T-shirt and dusty jeans in front of a glass table with a six-pack of beer at one corner. He had a shotgun across his knees.

            A woman with short sandy hair cut close to her scalp sat next to him, hands on her knees, her face blank. Her eyes stared forward into nowhere until Lake stepped forward. “Sara? Are you all right?”

            Sara blinked. “Gary.” She glanced at Aaron, then dropped her face. 

Aaron patted the butt of the shotgun. “She’s fine. Got the money?”

            I scanned my eyes around the room fast. Tonya stood behind the bar, her arms crossed and her eyes fierce. A blond woman in a sleeveless yellow sun dress sat in one chair, a leg over her knee, watching Aaron with a bored look in her eyes. I’d seen her before—the woman who’d wanted to go home because “Double-A was having a crisis.” Double-A. Was she Aaron’s girlfriend?

Crystal stayed near the door, as if hoping to make a quick getaway if bullets started flying.

            Lake tossed the bag into Aaron’s lap. “Here. Let her go.”

            He smiled. “That’s not all, is it?”

            With a sigh, Lake dug a hand into his back pocket. He took one long last look, then set the ace of spades on a table next to a mostly empty beer bottle. “Here.”

            Aaron smiled and leaned forward. The card was well worn, faded. He held it in front of his face, tilting his head. 

            “Looks right.” He smiled. 

            Lake held out a hand to Sara. “Then let’s—”

            “Hang on.” Aaron stood up. “Olivia, get a deck of cards.” 

The blonde in yellow rolled her eyes. “Where do I get them?”

“Here.” Tonya bent over behind the bar, then dropped a pack of cards next to an empty glass. “Knock your socks off.”

Olivia stood up and got the cards, then knelt in front of the glass topped table. Rachel jammed her elbow into my ribs. “Stop checking out her cleavage.”

“Who, me?” I tried to concentrate on Olivia shuffling the cards.

Aaron hunched forward. For a moment I thought Lake might try a grab for the shotgun, but he just stared at his sister, as if trying to communicate telepathically.

Olivia dealt a blackjack hand. Aaron had a king and an eight. Olivia had a nine showing. Aaron frowned and stared at her hidden card. “Give me a second. I remember this . . .” He slapped the edge of the table. “Three!”

Olivia flipped her card to show a three of clubs.

Aaron grinned. He pulled the deck from Olivia and stared at the top card. “Jack.” He turned it over to reveal a jack of diamonds. He laughed. The next three cards were a 10, a queen, and an ace. He called them all correctly. “Yes!” He scattered the rest of the cards, shooting them across the table and onto the carpet, then grabbed an open beer. He drained it, then stood up. smiling. “Thanks, Gary. Asshole. Let’s go, Olivia.”

“Okay.” Lake held out his hand. “Come on, Sara. Let’s go.” 

“Wait.” Crystal glanced at Tonya, then pointed a finger. “Sara stays. You get out of here, Aaron. Olivia, you’re fired. Bitch.”

Olivia laughed. “Whatever, skank. Let’s just go, Aaron.”

“Yeah, we got places to be.” He reached for the card on the table

“Just a minute.” That came from Tonya, behind the bar. She held a thick handgun in her fist.

I moved in front of Rachel, my heart suddenly pounding. One gun makes me nervous enough. Two guns tend to nudge me toward full-on panic. “Let’s everyone stay calm here, all right?”

Aaron’s shotgun was on the sofa. He looked back at it, but apparently decided not to risk a grab. Good. He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll leave.” He leaned over to scoop up the card.

Then Tonya fired her handgun.

The bullet went over Aaron’s head and into the ceiling—a little too close to my head for comfort. Rachel yelped. Bits of glass from the chandelier dribbled over my scalp. 

Aaron jerked up, his face red. “What the hell?”

“Leave the card.” Crystal’s eyes were icy. “Right where it is.”

Sara sat on the sofa, eyes forward, as if trying to ignore all of us. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to do the same thing.

“Good.” Lake started forward. “I’ll just—”

“That’s mine!” Aaron glanced nervously at Tonya. “Don’t let him—

            “Leave it.” Crystal’s voice was steady and determined.

            “It’s mine,” Lake said. “You can’t just—”

            “You stole it from me, you son of a bitch!” Aaron roared.

            I looked at Rachel. “We could just get out of here while they’re arguing about it,” I murmured.

            “Sounds good.” She edged toward the door.

            But Crystal saw us. “You guys stay here until this is over,” she snapped. We froze.

            Aaron took advantage of the momentary distraction to duck, whirl, and reach for his shotgun. Tonya fired again, shattering a TV in the corner, and Rachel and I hit the floor, flattening our bodies on the carpet. I tried to shield her, and she tried to protect me, and we were both tangling with each other when Lake dived forward to snatch at the card.

            Crystal darted forward and kicked him in the leg. Lake collapsed with a grunt, knocking the table over, spilling the beer and the cards Olivia had dealt—and sending the black ace spinning through the air.

            It landed on the carpet, next to Rachel’s face. Without thinking, I grabbed it and rolled over.

            Sitting up, breathing hard, I grasped the card with both hands and held it over my head. “Put the guns down!” I shouted, my voice hoarse. “Now! Or else I’m going to—”

            “Tom!” Rachel shrieked.

            Aaron had the shotgun in his hands. Its barrel looked deep and dark. For a moment all I could hear was my own breathing, rasping in my dry throat, and my vision narrowed until all I could see was the shotgun’s snout, glaring in my face. I bit my lip and hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much when—

            Another gunshot roared. Olivia screamed. Aaron swore, dropped the shotgun, and clutched at his shoulder, blood seeping through his shirt. “Goddamn it!” He fell to his knees. “Bitch!”

            Tonya lowered her handgun, her eyes dazed.

            Sara suddenly leaped from the sofa and pounced on Lake. Not attacking him—that’s what I thought first—but trying to cover him with her body. “Gary,” she murmured in a soft voice. “Gary, Gary . . .”

            Rachel crawled away from me, swearing under her breath, and yanked the shotgun out of Aaron’s reach. “Idiot.” I wasn’t sure if she meant him or me. Probably me.

            I stood up on shaking legs. “Call an ambulance,” I said to no one in particular.

            “Yeah!” Aaron rolled on the floor, staining the carpet with his blood. “Fast, goddamn it!”

            Tonya reached under the bar and lifted a phone. Crystal staggered to a chair and collapsed, looking suddenly a lot older than she had on TV this afternoon. 

            Lake helped his sister to her feet. “Are you okay? Sara?”

            She nodded, staring at the floor. “Okay. Okay.” She patted his arm awkwardly.

            Tonya put down the phone. “Paramedics on the way. Cops too.” She rubbed her hands together, as if wiping away the feel of the pistol.

            “All right.” I took a breath, wishing for one of the beers rolling on the floor. Then I glanced at Rachel. “You okay?”

            She glared at me. “Come to Vegas for a weekend, you said! It’ll be fun, you said! Hardly any work at all, you said! Jerk.”

            I laughed. Then I held up the card. “Everybody watch.”

            Aaron looked up, gritting his teeth against the pain. Lake blinked, holding Sara’s hand. 

            With trembling fingers, I ripped the card in half.

            Aaron groaned and closed his eyes. Lake opened his mouth, then looked at his sister and changed his mind. He nodded.

            I handed the two halves of the card to Rachel. She took them in one hand, pressed them against her palm, then held them back. “Gone.”

            I looked at Lake. “Sorry.”

            He sighed. “Yeah. It’s probably better this way.”

            Crystal lurched up. “What the hell are we going to tell the cops? About that card, I mean? They’ll think we’re crazy.”

            I shrugged. “What I always do—tell them everything and let them sort it out. They should be used to crazy stories in Vegas. Wasn’t there a vampire here in the 70s?”

            Olivia ran to the back. I figured she was trying to flee, but she came back with some towels to press over Aaron’s wounded arm. 

            I stood next to Rachel. “So—where do you want to get dinner?” My heart was still returning to normal.

            “Room service.” She shuddered. “Hey, do we have to go back tomorrow? Now that you’ve got it all wrapped up?”

            I glanced at Lake. “The reservations are for Sunday. I can only charge the client for today, but—”

            “You owe me a vacation.” She punched my arm. 

            I smiled. “You got it.”

 

We told the cops everything. I’m not sure how much they believed, but they had Aaron and his shotgun and a lot of witnesses to the fact that he’d kidnapped Sara and threatened the rest of us. Olivia immediately turned on him, insisting Aaron had forced her to go along with things—including helping him set the fire. 

            Back at the hotel I reported to my client, who sounded as happy as I could reasonably expect. “At least it’s not an affair,” she sighed. “Just send me your bill when you get back.”

            The next day I ran into Lake at the pool while I was fetching a margarita for Rachel. “Yeah, I’ll be taking Sara home with me.” He shook his head. “Marcia doesn’t like it, but what can I do? Crystal kicked her out. I guess I should have handled this different all along.”

            “How is she doing?”

            He glanced over at a deck chair, where Sara sat watching him. “Real clingy. But okay. It’ll all be okay. Somehow.”

            I took Rachel’s margarita and a beer for me back to our chairs. Rachel was reading the Ruth Bader Ginsburg bio, and I had my Stephen King, which was actually pretty good. Her zebra-striped bikini only distracted me a little. 

            “Feel like some blackjack later? Roulette? Slots?”

            “Hell, no.” She glared at me over her sunglasses. We hadn’t gone near the casino.

            “Good.” I sipped my beer and opened my book. I hoped it wouldn’t be too scary. 

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