Innocent in Las Vegas (5 page)

Oh well, it had been worth trying. I shrugged and headed down to the Café de la Rue. Time to put my original plan into action – what had I finally decided on, pancakes or tiramisu?

Café de la Rue was dark with soft jazz music piping through. The tables were private and secluded and the staff was discreet. It was the kind of place you went to break up with your melodramatic girlfriend.

I ordered a cappuccino and a triple-chocolate cupcake, and settled at a table at the back. When my order arrived, I munched happily, immersing myself in the joys of caffeine and chocolaty moistness. I was mid-bite and drowning in the pleasure that only a triple-chocolate cupcake can bring, when the chair opposite mine was pulled out and a short, stout man sat down.

I swallowed rapidly and stared in surprise. The man had salt-and-pepper hair, a squarish face and puffy jowls. He looked like a bull-dog and was craning his neck forward like one.

“Tiffany from Alpha Investments?”

His voice was dry and I nodded quickly.

“I’m Steven Macarthur. You have two minutes, before I ask you to leave.”

Stay calm, I told myself. “I’m here to ask a few questions about your financials,” I said rapidly, “Sales, growth projections, that kind of thing.”

“No you’re not. Ninety seconds.”

I stared at him and he stared back. I wondered how he knew – had Neil told him?

“I’m a private investigator. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Ethan Becker and his family. I’m sure you knew him very well.”

Steven stood up and pushed his chair back in. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. The police have done their work and I don’t think you should make Ethan’s family relive their trauma. I recommend you leave immediately. I’ve settled your bill.”

I watched as the man turned around and walked away rapidly.

What had just happened? Neil had been perfectly friendly to me and there was no reason I couldn’t sit and have some food in his café. If Steven didn’t want to talk to me, he didn’t have to. There was no reason to order me to leave. I appreciated the man’s loyalty to Ethan’s family, but I had been looking forward to my snack and the cupcake was delicious.

On the other hand, my throat had gone completely dry and I didn’t know if I could even swallow any more food. The man wanted me out of here badly enough to settle my bill before coming and intimidating me, and chocolaty goodness or not, my heart was pounding and I needed to get back to the safety of my tiny condo.

I stood up and grabbed my purse, not bothering to look at my half-eaten cupcake. Nobody else had heard our exchange, but I felt the cafe’s dark walls pressing in on me, and I walked out, trying to look unconcerned.

The hallway outside was brightly lit and I took a few slow steps forward. I noticed as though for the first time the way the place smelled like lavender and the soft chamber music being played.

There were two men standing in the hallway, looking at each other. They were barrel-chested and muscular, dressed in matching black suits and white shirts. I had seen enough men like them to know they worked in security. I wondered why they were just standing around in the hallway instead of being in the gaming pit, but they stood silent and alert, as though they were waiting for something.

The men didn’t bother to glance at me as I walked down the hall, but as soon as I stepped between them, one of them moved forward and wrapped a hand around my forearm. I jerked back instinctively, but his grip tightened and I looked into his eyes. They were small and beady and glittered like tiny dark marbles. He smiled thinly.

I narrowed my eyes and kept my voice steady as I said, “Let me go. I was leaving anyway.”

“You’re not leaving,” he said, in a deep, gravelly voice. “You’re coming with us.”

Beady Eyes kept his grip on my arm as we headed down the hallway and the other suited man followed right behind. There was no way I could wrench my arm out of Beady Eyes’ vise-like grip, so I allowed myself to be pulled behind him.

I wondered if I should scream for help. But the thought must have occurred to Beady Eyes at the same time and he pulled me around in front of him and clapped his other hand over my mouth.

The other man stepped to our left and I slid my eyes to look at him. He had a French-cut beard, a shaved head, and a vacant expression; he was opening a heavy door labeled ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’ Through the open door I saw a flight of stairs and Beady Eyes shoved me towards it. I walked down the steps, pushed along by Beady Eyes, with Mr. Beard following close on our heels.

The stairs were gray cement and the walls were a dirty white. I heard the door close behind us with a dull thud and a heavy silence descended. Everything down here seemed sparse and from a different, older era. Even the air was thinner, and my throat caught as I tried not to hyperventilate.

Beady Eyes kept his grip on my arm as we descended, but he removed his other hand from my mouth and said, “No-one can hear you down here.”

I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. My pulse throbbed between my ears and I gulped, glad the men couldn’t see my face. There were no cameras down there and I wondered if anyone knew where I was. But there had been cameras along the hallway. Surely someone on the 37
th
floor had seen what was going on. But maybe they had seen and hadn’t cared. Or worse, they had seen and they approved.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and Beady Eyes pushed me to the right. I walked down the narrow passageway in front of him and Mr. Beard opened a door to our left. Beady Eyes pushed me into the room and let go of my arm.

The two men stood blocking the doorway and I stared at them. Both of their faces were impassive and I thought I caught a hint of uncertainty. They stepped out and closed the door, locking it from the outside with an audible click.

“Wait here,” Beady Eyes called through the closed door, as though I might decide to wander off.

I heard their footsteps grow fainter and fainter, until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Once Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard were gone, I breathed deeply and felt my heartbeat slow a little. I wasn’t going to die. Not yet.

I looked around the room. It was about the size of Neil’s office upstairs. Which is to say, it could fit a dining table that seated twelve people. Not that twelve people would ever want to have dinner in this dingy place.

The walls were a grayish white and I could tell they hadn’t seen a coat of paint in the last twenty years. There was a massive rectangular mirror on wall, a small table in the middle of the room, and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. I couldn’t see any security cameras anywhere.

I drank it all in and felt a sudden rush of relief: I knew what this place was. It wasn’t a place where you took people to brutally murder them. It was a place people could leave with their heart still beating properly and all their organs intact.

This was the holding room. There was one in every casino, from the place where I worked to the grandest of them all. It was customary for a casino to use these rooms as waiting areas for cheats or petty criminals, before handing them over to the police.

Although I’d never seen a holding room without cameras before.

The realization made my heart squeeze tightly and I looked around once more, trying to detect something I’d missed. Nope. No cameras anywhere.

Who was I waiting for? Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes were obviously unsure as to what to do once they’d gotten me down here. They didn’t seem like the smartest cookies around and I remembered the look of mild confusion on their faces. Someone else was telling them what to do and they’d probably left me alone to seek further instructions.

I took a deep breath. I was completely out of my depth and didn’t know what was going on, but I could handle it. I perched on the edge of the tiny table and rehearsed a speech in my head: “I came here to meet Neil Durant and I would like to leave now.” Surely the two buffoons wouldn’t dare displease their boss.

But then I remembered how they’d brought me down here despite all the cameras in the hallway. My heart sank. Nobody cared what happened to me.

I waited quietly in the room, my mood oscillating between hopefulness, despair, and terror as I glanced at my watch every couple of seconds.

Almost thirty minutes later, I heard footsteps, and then I heard the door being unlocked. It was opened, and I saw my two old buddies, Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes.

They were both smiling and this time they stepped into the room and shut the door behind themselves. Mr. Beard positioned himself near the door and Beady Eyes walked toward me.

I stood up and promptly forgot my rehearsed speech. “I’d like to go,” I stammered. “Neil Durant – I met him, I need to talk to him again.” I had a sudden flash of insight. “I’ll have to tell him how you two are treating me.”

The two men exchanged a look, and I took a step towards the door.

Beady Eyes grabbed my arm immediately. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low and menacing, his fingers digging into my skin. “Tell anyone about this meeting, and we’ll deny it, and so will our boss.
Everyone
will deny it.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“That doesn’t matter. All that matters is your cooperation. And we’re here to make sure we get it.”

I stared at him and my hands went cold. I wanted to ask what was going on but I couldn’t speak. I knew that if I opened my mouth, no sound would come out. So I left it shut.

Beady Eyes took another step forward. “So,” he said, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re not going to come in here, ever again. You’re not going to talk to anyone who works here, ever again. And you’re not going to investigate this Mr. Becker’s death anymore.” He bent down so his eyes were level with mine. “Do you understand?”

I nodded rapidly.

“And you agree to all those things?”

Once again, I nodded hastily like one of those bobbing dolls you see on car dashboards, my head moving up and down quickly like it was being pulled by a tight, invisible wire.

Beady Eyes smiled, pleased with my reaction. “Do you know what happens if we find out you’re talking to anyone about the casino or Mr. Becker?”

I stared at him and tried to shake my head.

He moved his face closer to mine. I could smell his bad breath and the lingering scent of a cigarette. “We’ll make sure you end up like Mr. Becker,” he said. “Dead on the side of the road. Or maybe we’ll take you out to the desert; more convenient that way. We’ll make sure no-one can recognize you. Though it would be a shame to cut up someone as pretty as you.”

He moved his face away and let go of my arm before he turned to Mr. Beard and said, “What do you think? Think she’ll remember?”

Mr. Beard’s face broke into a wide smile. “Nah. But we can make her remember.”

Beady Eyes slipped his arm around my waist and smiled down at me. I felt as if I were being choked by my fear.

And then suddenly my brain-fog cleared. I knew what I was going to do. I smiled and tilted my head, lowering my eyelids flirtatiously. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stepped closer.

I watched as the confusion spread over his face, and was instantly replaced with hope and curiosity.

I slid my right leg in between his legs and lifted my knee sharply. It was a high cheerleading kick, except it made contact with his scrotum. Beady Eyes’ face went white and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His mouth opened in a silent ‘o,’ and I moved back and let go.

Mr. Beard was still standing near the door, looking puzzled. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Beady Eyes double over in pain, and the other man took a few worried steps towards me. My fingers balled into a fist and my arm swung out. My heavy cocktail ring caught Mr. Beard sharply on his jaw and he let out a muffled groan as he reeled sideways.

Just to be on the safe side, I quickly pulled off one stiletto and rammed the sharp, pointy heel through Mr. Beard’s neck. It went straight through his flesh, and the man let out an agonized scream. Blood gushed out in dark, red spurts.

I pulled off my other shoe, grabbed my purse, and ran out of the room. I ran all the way down the corridor and up the stairs, and Mr. Beard’s screams continued to echo through the air like the bad soundtrack of a carnival funhouse.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I wrenched the heavy door open and found myself back in the hallway.

I felt like Alice coming back from the rabbit hole. Everything on this floor was unchanged: the place was well lit, the comforting scent of lavender wafted through the air and the chamber music was a soothing contrast to Mr. Beard’s funhouse screams. I glanced up at the cameras on the ceiling. There were so many of them, blinking away silently, capturing my every move. I stared up at one in particular, sure that someone on the 37
th
floor was watching me. I didn’t know who it was, but I raised my arm up towards the camera, made a fist and stuck out my middle finger.

I stood like that for a second. Having made my point, I ran down the hallway, past the lobby and out the door. I didn’t stop running until I reached my car. I jumped straight behind the wheel and tore out of the lot like a mad woman.

I drove without thinking, taking turns and ramps by instinct, checking my rearview mirror occasionally. My spidey sense was on alert. I couldn’t see anyone tailing me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I swerved and made sudden turns and lane changes, but my tactics didn’t seem to do anything but make other drivers honk loudly and yell at me. That feeling of being watched never went away and I wondered if this was what a descent into madness felt like.