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?”
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