CASINO SHUFFLE (22 page)

“Thank you, Rosey,” said Antonio, demonstrating a formal bow.

She turned her attention to Mark.
 
“You, I’m not so fond of.”

Mark bowed as well.
 
“Another travesty.”

Antonio not-so-gently nudged him aside.
 
“Now then, Rosey.
 
I was wondering if there have been any casino employees who’ve complained that one of their uniforms have been stolen in the past week.”

“Not that I know of, course, coulda been another shift or something.
 
I go home at five in the morning.”

“So let’s say that I myself made such a complaint.
 
What would be the procedure?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.
 
Employees say all kinds of things to get out of paying for a new uniform.”

“Suppose you felt I had an honest face?”

She reached behind the counter and withdrew a blue binder.
 
“Then we’d start the paperwork.”
 
She flipped it open and turned it to face him on the counter.
 
“This is where we log uniforms that get reissued.
 
Most of it’s done in the computer but we still need their signature, so we just got a one page form.”

“Do you empty the binder each week?”

“Every month or so.
 
Depends on how full it gets.
 
See here?
 
This is where the employee fills out the reason why they need a new uniform.
 
That’s usually the spot where they get creative.”

Antonio and Mark scrutinized the pages one by one.

“Here we go,” said Mark.

“This says the uniform was never returned by the dry-cleaning service.
 
Is that a local service used by the casino?”

Rosey nodded.
 
“Regal Cleaners.
 
Employees gotta pay for it themselves.
 
Comes outta their check.”

“Does the dry-cleaning company often lose uniforms?”

“First one I ever noticed,” she said.
 
“But could happen on other shifts.”

“Could you make a copy of this form for me?”

“No problem.”

Mark lifted his hand with the cuff mike.
 
“Mark to dispatch.
 
Get me engineering on the phone.”
 
As Rosey walked into the back of the uniform office he said, “You smell cigarette smoke in here?”

Antonio nodded.
 
“She’s the only one working.
 
No one to break her.”

Mark’s cell phone rang and he answered it.
 
“Hey this is Mark.
 
You still got that dry-cleaning bag from the toilet in that room?
 
Dig it out, I want to know the name of the cleaners.
 
No I’m not kidding.
 
I’ll wait.”
 
He turned to Antonio.
 
“She’s smoking back there.
 
Little Miss Follow the Rules.”
 
He went back to the phone.
 
“Got it thanks.”
 
He snapped his phone closed and said, “Regal.”

“So he’s stolen an Engineering uniform.
 
This young man is quite the adversary.
 
I would bet that we find an Asian engineer getting access to the Sachem Suite last night on your surveillance tapes.”

“Were you ever on the force?
 
Be honest with me.”

Antonio stepped over to the full-length mirror fixed to the wall in the hallway.
 
“Since my mother and I escaped to this country when I was a boy, I have been many things.
 
None of them have demanded as much intuition, insight and rationale as when I became a butler.
 
The challenge of servitude is one that tests the mettle of men, and that challenge has become my life’s work.”

“When you say you’ve been many things…any of those things dangerous things?”

“Life is dangerous, my friend.”

Mark stepped up beside him and choked the knot of his own tie into submission.
 
“You think I’d look good in a tux?”

“Tuxedos have a way of compelling an individual’s finer points to step forward.”

“I got a few of those.”

“Indeed?”

“I can juggle.”

“Ah-ha.
 
Most excellent.
 
Perhaps you could start with a bowtie, and work your way towards the ultimate goal of a tuxedo.”

“I’m not a bowtie kinda guy.
 
I don’t have the right disposition.”

“What type of disposition is required to wear a bowtie?”

“I dunno, one of the polite ones.”

“I noticed you’re not fond of Rosey.”

“She’s miserable about everything and she can’t stand me.
 
Reminds me of my ex-wife.”

“That explains things.
 
Which ex-wife was that?”

“All of ‘em.”

Rosey returned with their copy of the uniform reissue form and swirling in a cloud of cigarette smell.

Mark snatched the form from her.
 
“Stop smoking in the back or I’ll come back here and tell your supervisor.
 
I’ll make sure I wear my badge.”

She blinked at him.
 
“Do I still get the strawberry torte?”

“Sorry,” he said.
 
“We’re in the middle of a crisis.”

Chapter Seventeen

In a casino that boasted 945,000 square feet, it wasn’t feasible to believe that such a structure would have a basement.
 
Split-level ranches with attached garages had basements.
 
Not casinos.

However, there is space in every structural diagram that is somewhat ignored by architects and interior designers.
 
Blank squares of nothingness used to represent the footprint of a particular building, and are generally considered the playground of the trades.
 
Pipes, ducts, cables, drainage systems, air-handlers, footings, boilers, electrical boxes, transformers, their multitudinous fixtures and fittings, and in some cases, remote offices well-concealed behind dark and dusty walls.
 
Such was the hidden population of the back-of-the-house surveillance unit.

“These freaks know everything about everybody,” said Mark.
 
“By the way, the Director of Catering is having an affair with one of the cocktail waitresses.
 
Can’t remember her name.
 
The one with the tattoo of a falcon on her left shoulder.”

“That’s Sophie, and I believe it is a phoenix.”

“These are the guys that caught the coat check attendant getting naked and prancing around in the guests’ fur coats last winter.”

“She preferred fox to mink, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Reminds me.
 
One of the cage cashiers picks her nose and rubs it onto the chair in her boss’s office before she clocks out.
 
Keep forgetting to say something.”

“It may be prudent to mention it sooner rather than later.”

“I hate that they’re all the way down here.
 
Stairs are killing my knees.”

“They are the gatekeepers of gossip.
 
Gossip of the most damning variety.”

“What variety is that?”

“The truth.”

“No wonder they’re stuck down here.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

They navigated blank corridors, humming machinery, pipes dripping with condensation and electronic panels blinking a staggering array of multi-colored lights.

“I have to say I don’t believe I’ve ever visited this part of the casino,” admitted Antonio.
 
“I usually view surveillance tapes in the boardroom on the Executive Floor.”

The stopped in front of a green door with an electronic swipe lock.

“You’re about to realize that I’ve been doing you a favor all these years,” said Mark.

“Come now,” said Antonio.
 
“They can’t be that bad.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ve always pictured them to be a sharp-eyed group of seasoned professionals.”

Mark swiped his security access key in the lock.
 
“That’s
casino
surveillance,” he said.
 
“These yahoos just spy on employees all day.”

The doorway led them to a cinderblock hall.
 
One of the overhead lights flickered towards certain death.

“Like being inside a haunted house,” said Mark.
 
“Are you scared?”

“I assume that’s rhetorical.”

“You go first.”

After a haphazard series of turns they arrived at another door.
 
Instead of a swipe key there was a speaker box and a camera mounted to the wall.

Mark pressed the intercom button.

The voice that crackled forth sounded like a teenager answering the phone for his parents.
 
“Yo.”

Mark glared at the box.
 
“I want to review some tape.”

The voice replied: “Duh.
 
Who’s the guy with you?”

Antonio leaned down.
 
“Antonio Cruz, Head
Butler
.”

Silence.

Mark tried the door.
 
“Damn it.”
 
He stabbed the button with his finger.
 
“Hello!”

From the speaker: “I can’t see him.
 
Get out of the way.”

“I’m going to kick this door down and I hope it hits you.”

Antonio stepped forward.
 
“They’re only exercising diligence, Mark.”

Not from the speaker, but from the other side of the door, a voice cried out, “That’s him!”
 
It was quickly followed by, “Shh!
 
Shh!”

As Antonio and Mark exchanged expressions an angry buzzing sound emitted from the door.
 
Mark snatched the handle and yanked it open.
 
The surveillance room looked like a dark studio apartment inside of which a UFO had recently landed.
 
Fifty 8x8 LCD screens were bolted into a framework that filled most of two walls.
 
Each screen glowed with its own patina of fuzzy images.
 
Otherwise the room was cast in varying degrees of shadow and residual monitor lighting.
 
There was the form of a man sitting at a laptop terminal in the right corner.
 
In the center of the room stood a shapely figure with a wide breadth of hair and holding a shining soda can.

Mark slid his hand along the wall and found the light switch.
 
The room snapped into full-color brightness.

“ACK!”
 
The surveillance tech sitting in the corner wrapped his arms around his head.