The Disciple of Las Vegas (12 page)

“Things won't work on my end if he blows up.”

“I have been telling them that.”

“And?”

“Chang agrees, but Ordonez is a man who needs to be in control and needs to be doing something. He is not accustomed to being made to wait.”

“I need time.”

“I will do what I can.”

Ava knew he would. Anything more she had to say would be redundant, if not insulting. “I'll call tomorrow around the same time,” she said.

“Just a second,” Uncle said. “Jackie Leung — I found out that he is back in Hong Kong. Sonny is looking for him, and knowing Sonny, he will find him soon enough. In the meantime, I have been talking to Guangzhou. They do not want to unilaterally cancel the contract. They feel they have made a pact with Leung that they need to honour.”

Ava felt a tiny knot of anxiety in her stomach. “What does that mean, that they don't want to unilaterally cancel the contract?”

“As long as Leung is alive we have to assume they will continue to look for you.”

“And if he's dead?”

“No Leung, no contract.”

“And in the meantime what am I supposed to do?”

“Be careful. I cannot imagine they will find you before Sonny finds Leung. Leung is in Hong Kong, and not many people know Hong Kong better than Sonny.”

“How hard are they looking?”

“They are professional,” Uncle said.

Ava shook her head. She didn't need this distraction, not now, not ever. “I'll be careful,” she said.

By 9 a.m. Ava was running along Las Vegas Boulevard. It was as if she were in a different world than the one she had arrived in nine hours before. The sidewalks that had been clogged with tourists and locals the previous night were now blissfully vacant. She ran south, retracing the route the limo had taken from McCarran Airport.

The desert air was crisp and clean. The streets had been washed and cleared of the beer bottles, empty cigarette packs, and other debris that the drunken revellers left every night. The casinos, so gaudily lit at night, now looked almost naked to Ava's eyes.

She ran for close to an hour, starting on the west end of the Strip, past the Bellagio, with its man-made lake set before the façade of an Italian village nestled in mountains; on to the Luxor Hotel, which was shaped like a pyramid; and past the Paris Las Vegas with its Eiffel Tower and the Venetian, where gondoliers were now stationed in the canal. Vegas brought the world to America.

Back at Wynn's she showered, put on a black Giordano T-shirt and her Adidas training pants, and then made herself a Starbucks VIA instant coffee. She opened the drapes, sat at the dining table, and turned on her computer. The golf course offered a pleasant view: ribbons of green punctuated by pale white bunkers and man-made ponds.

Ava's plan for the day was low-key. She wanted to find out a bit more about The River, Ashton, and Douglas. Online she found The River's website and its office address, which was on Korval Lane, the first street south of Las Vegas Boulevard. Then, using the information Martin Littlefeather had provided, she located Ashton's residence, a condo near the Hard Rock Hotel, and Douglas's house, in what looked like a ritzy neighbourhood southwest of the city called The Oasis. With time to kill, she decided to take a look at all three.

Ava left her room and took the elevator to the hotel lobby, then walked outside and joined the queue for a taxi. There were ten people ahead of her, but with typical Vegas efficiency she was in a cab in less than five minutes. With the luck of the draw, she got a driver who was Chinese. She spoke English to him at first, but when he answered haltingly, she switched to Cantonese. His Cantonese was as rough as his English, so Ava changed to Mandarin. The driver smiled at her in his rear-view mirror and introduced himself as Au.

“Could you take me to Korval Lane?” she asked.

The River's office was only a few minutes away. They drove a kilometre south from Wynn's to Flamingo Avenue and then turned left and drove towards Korval, which was at the next intersection. Even though they were only a block away from the Strip, the neighbourhood was decidedly plain in contrast. They passed small office complexes, low-rent motels, and several rows of townhouses that rented by the week or the month. The River was in a three-storey brown stucco building whose walls were starting to peel. A sign outside listed two dentists, an accountant, a chiropractor, and a podiatrist. There was no mention of The River. She had Au stop outside, just as he was telling her that he was from Beijing and his wife was from Hong Kong. She got out of the car and walked into the lobby. A tenant board listed the same occupants on the first and second floors and, in smaller letters, The River on the third.
Why such a dumpy building?
Ava thought.
Why so inconspicuous a presence?

Ava got back in the cab and directed Au to Ashton's condo. They drove west along Harmon, past low-rise apartment buildings, strip malls, and gas stations to Paradise Road, and then turned south. Ashton's condo was close to twenty storeys high and one of several in a row just beside the Hard Rock Hotel. It was set back from the road, with no security at the driveway entrance. Au drove up to the front door and Ava got out.

The door to the building required a code. Through the glass door Ava could see inside, where a security guard sitting behind a desk was eyeing her. Another guard appeared from a side door and glanced in her direction. Ava knew there would be security cameras as well.

“Do you know where The Oasis is?” she asked Au when she got back into the idling taxi.

“It's about a thirty-minute drive beyond the Strip,” Au said.

“Take me there, please.”

They wormed their way through the suburbs, stopping at nearly every intersection until they reached the desert. Ava knew that distances in the desert were deceptive; the complex came into view at least five minutes before they got to the gated community. The Oasis was essentially in the middle of nowhere, a sprawling mass of houses whose roofs peeked above a ten-foot-tall brick wall crowned with razor wire. Across the entranceway sat a lonely looking service station.

“Drive slowly past the entrance,” she said. When they were just past it, she asked him to pull over and park.

Ava noted the double-barrelled security system. First there was a security gate with a barrier activated by a card and a speaker set up for visitors to identify themselves. A car drove past them and into the complex; the driver waved a plastic card in front of the box and the barrier rose. Two guards were manning a security checkpoint about fifty metres past the barrier. When the driver got to the checkpoint, one of the guards came out of the hut to look inside the car. The guard was young, fit, and alert. Ava noticed he carried a gun on his hip in an open holster.

“Let's go back to the hotel,” she said.

As they drove back to the Strip, Au continued to chat, but Ava's mind was elsewhere. It wasn't until they were back in the city that she finally tuned in. He had just finished telling her about his arrival in Las Vegas five years before, as an acrobat in a Cirque du Soleil show, when they pulled up in front of Wynn's. “I injured myself, and I've been driving cabs ever since,” he said.

A Wynn's doorman knocked on the driver's-side window to tell Au he was blocking traffic. Ava opened her door. “Are there any Chinese restaurants you'd recommend?” she asked him.

“Go to Chinatown, on Spring Mountain Road,” Au said.

“Anything closer?”

“There's a noodle bar at the Venetian.”

“I'll go there for lunch,” she said. “How about dinner? Are there any good Japanese restaurants outside the hotels? I can't stand paying those prices.”

“Ichiza,” he said.

“Where is it?”

“It's on Spring Mountain Road as well, just past the Chinese mall, on the second floor of a strip mall.”

“So far again?”

“It's worth it,” he said. “That's where all the Chinese chefs from the hotels go at night when they've finished work. It costs two-thirds less than Japanese on the Strip, and the food is great. You'll save enough on the food to pay for a taxi, and then some.”

“I'll try it,” she said.

He passed her a business card. “My cellphone number's there. Call me whenever you need a cab. I'm usually no more than ten minutes away from anywhere.”

Ava walked back to the Venetian and into the noodle bar. She sat at a Formica table that would have felt at home in any American diner. All the chefs and servers were Chinese but the customer base was nearly all
gweilo
. Ava's waiter fussed over her in English until she responded in Cantonese. He responded in Mandarin. Ava made a mental note that she wasn't in Toronto anymore, where Cantonese was dominant because of the influx of Hong Kong immigrants.

She ordered baby bok choy and har gow noodle soup. When the soup was served, Ava grimaced. Two shrimp dumplings and a sprinkling of chopped green onion floated in cloudy chicken broth. The waiter noticed her reaction.
It's one thing to stick it to the
gweilos, she thought,
and another to take advantage of a fellow Chinese
.

When she had finished eating, the server asked her how her meal had been. “Adequate,” she said. As he picked up her bowl and plate, she asked if he had heard of a restaurant called Ichiza.

“I go there all the time,” he said.

“Good food, good value?”

“Better than here,” he whispered.

It was almost two o'clock when she strolled back into Wynn's to wait for Douglas. She leaned against the wall directly across from the room's entrance and took in the action. There were twenty-six tables and fifteen were in play, most of them on the ground level. The upper level, where she assumed Douglas played, had only three active tables. Ava searched for a silver halo but didn't see one.

She had a thing about being prompt, even early. Marian shared the same characteristic; she said it was in reaction to a mother whose idea of being on time was within two hours of a scheduled appointment. Ava was thinking about her mother when she caught her first glimpse of the Disciple. He was taller than she had thought, well over six feet. His belly was particularly prominent and his hair had receded since the photograph, the afro more wispy than wiry. He walked slowly through the casino, greeting patrons who had left their tables to approach him. She watched as he stopped to chat, shake a hand, sign a cocktail napkin. In this place he was a celebrity.

She waited until he was ten yards away from the host's desk before she intercepted him. He looked down at her with eyes that were a watery, washed-out blue. “And what can I do for you?” he asked.

“My name is Ava Lee,” she said.

“And what can I do for little Ava?”

“You can talk to me about The River.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I believe you've been involved, perhaps inadvertently, in a fraud perpetrated by some people playing on The River. I would like a chance to talk to you about it.”

He twitched, turning his head away from her. “Get away from me,” he said.

“Mr. Douglas, that isn't helpful. If you can give me fifteen minutes of your undivided attention I'm sure we can sort this out.”

“What's your name again?”

“Ava Lee.”

“Get away from me, Ava Lee.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” she said.

He stared down at her. “Don't make me call security,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can have you carted off.”

“If that's necessary, then do it,” she said.

He hesitated and looked up at the ceiling. “Where are you staying?” he finally asked.

“Here.”

He looked at the host, who was pretending not to listen. “Is my seat open?”

“Waiting for you, sir.”

“Ms. Lee, I play poker for a living, and that's what I'm going to do right now. I'll be finished around midnight. If you're still here, then maybe we can talk.”

She thought about her options. “Okay, I'll be here.”

“See you then,” he said with a nod.

Ava wandered the casino floor for fifteen minutes and then found a spot where she could watch the poker room without being seen. Douglas was on the upper level, looking completely relaxed. She left again, this time for half an hour. When she came back, Douglas hadn't moved. She headed for her room.

At six o'clock she came back downstairs and saw that Douglas was still holding court. Ava decided it was safe to leave the hotel. The Disciple, true to his reputation and his word, wasn't going anywhere.

Ichiza was only ten minutes away by cab. Ava hadn't known there was a Chinatown in Las Vegas, and when they drove past it she knew why: it was basically one mall with about thirty restaurants and stores. Ichiza was exactly where Au had said it was, on the second floor of a strip mall next to Chinatown. She climbed the stairs, past a Chinese bakery and a Korean barbecue restaurant, and entered sashimi heaven.

The restaurant was small and unassuming. It held maybe sixteen tables that were strictly mix and match. There were no shoji screens or tatami mats, no pictures of Mount Fuji on the walls, just a poster advertising Kirin beer and colourful notices about special dishes handwritten on oddly shaped pieces of paper. The young Asian servers were in jeans and T-shirts, and the six young chefs wore baseball caps.

One of the servers tossed a menu at her that listed more than a hundred items, and that didn't include the specials. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay, seaweed salad, red snapper carpaccio, and a sashimi platter with yellowfin tuna, surf clams, octopus, and salmon.
That's enough
, she thought, until she saw that chawanmushi was on the menu. She couldn't resist adding the steamed egg custard served with soy sauce, dashi, mirin, boiled shrimp, and shiitake mushrooms.

By seven o'clock she had finished her meal, which was truly exceptional. Ava called Au as she settled the bill; he promised to be there in ten minutes. With time to kill, she went into the Chinese bakery and bought two coconut buns for breakfast. As she descended the stairs she noticed a man wearing a black T-shirt and jeans standing off to one side in the shadows. His large head almost disappeared into his barrel-shaped, muscular chest.
A steroid user
, she thought as she passed.

As she neared the bottom of the stairs, the man began to edge after her. She turned left, towards the parking lot. Sensing that he was following her, Ava turned, just in time to see his right fist heading for her face. She moved her left foot back and swivelled out of the way, his fist gliding harmlessly past her chin. Before he could recoil, she drove the middle knuckle of her right hand into his ear. He screamed, staggered, and lurched sideways. Ava moved closer, the man's nose her next target.

Then she hit the ground. Her legs had been swept from under her by a man wearing a white tracksuit and black boots. She looked up at his pale, fleshy face and manic eyes. He was aiming a kick at her head when she rolled away from him. Ava tried to leap to her feet, but the man caught her on the hip with his second kick, throwing her onto her other side. As she tried to move away, the man she had struck earlier jammed his boot into her ribs. She lifted her arm to protect her face, in the process exposing her ribs to another kick.

She was still struggling to get to her feet when she heard someone yell, “Cut that shit!”

She looked up at the two men standing over her. They were looking up at Gilbert Jackson, and another black man who was at least Jackson's height and maybe fifty pounds heavier. They stood at the top of the stairs, their fists clenched at their sides. Ava's two attackers ran to a car that was idling in the parking lot. She tried to get a read on the licence plate as they drove off, but it was just past dusk and she couldn't make out the numbers.

“What the hell was that about?” Jackson asked when he reached her. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

Her ribs were aching, but Ava's keenest pain was from humiliation. “I'll live,” she said as she struggled to her feet.

“What did they want?” Jackson asked, his hand on her arm to steady her.

“I have no idea. They jumped me when I came down the stairs.”

“We need to call the police.”

“Forget it. It would just be a waste of time.”

“You can't let them get away with this!”

“I don't know who they are, and neither do you. What would we tell the police? That two guys with roid rage tried to rob or rape me? That description would fit a quarter of the men in Vegas . . . I'm fine.”

“We should get you to a hospital,” Jackson said, still holding her arm and looking down at her.

She winced. Her side was sore, but she knew there wasn't much to be done for a bruised or broken rib except tape it. “No, I don't need a hospital.”

“We'll take you back to your hotel then. That's the least we can do,” he said.

“No, that's not necessary. I'd already called for a taxi,” she said. As if on cue, Au drove into the parking lot. “Look, thanks for the help. I really appreciate it, but I want to leave this thing alone. I'm leaving tomorrow anyway. I just want to put it behind me . . . But thank you,” she said, and squeezed Jackson's arm.

Ava walked over to the cab. Au was standing beside it with a look of concern on his face. She knew what he was thinking. “Those two guys helped me,” she said. “I had a problem with two other men.”

Her hip hurt when she sat down. Despite what she had told Jackson, she contemplated going to a hospital or a walk-in clinic. Then she decided again that they wouldn't do much more for her than she could do for herself. “Can you stop at a drugstore?” she asked.

Au drove a block south and then pulled into a strip mall. Ava bought two rolls of medical tape and extra-strength Tylenol. When they got back to Wynn's, she asked Au to wait outside with the meter running and his phone turned on. “I may need you,” she said. He nodded.

Ava went directly to the poker room. There was no sign of Douglas. As she stood at the rail peering into the room, the host walked over to her. “David Douglas has left?” she asked.

“No more than five minutes ago. He left this note for you,” he said.

She read it as she walked to the elevator.
I hope you enjoyed the visit from my friends. Those are two of the nicer ones. Stay away from me and you won't have to worry about seeing them again.

She called Au from her room to tell him she'd be down soon. She was packed and checked out of Wynn's in less than fifteen minutes.

“Where are we going? Airport?” Au asked as he threw her bags into the trunk.

“No, I'm staying. I just need to change hotels,” she said, easing gingerly into the back seat. “I need one that isn't quite so mainstream.”

He peered at her in the rear-view mirror. “Miss, if you have a problem, I don't mind helping. I have a house with a spare bedroom. And my wife won't mind. It would give her a chance to speak Cantonese again.”

“That's really kind, but it isn't necessary. Can you suggest a hotel?”

“The Mandalay Bay is at the end of the Strip.”

“I don't want to be on the Strip.”

“Near the Strip?”

“That would work.”

“There's the Hooters Hotel across from the MGM, tucked in behind the Tropicana.”

“Take me there, please.”

By the time they were about two hundred metres from the hotel, Ava had booked a room for thirty-nine dollars a night under the name Jennie Kwong, one of her backups. She looked at the Hooters logo lit up in brilliant orange. The place advertised itself as Vegas's discount hotel.
That's certainly truth in advertising
, Ava thought as she got out of the cab.

Au got out and went to the trunk to take out her bags.

“I may need you in the morning. Could you keep it free for me?” she asked, slipping him a hundred-dollar bill.

He reached into his pocket for change. “No, that's all for you,” she said.

“Okay. And thank you, Ms. Kwong . . . It is Ms. Kwong, right?”

“Call me Jennie,” Ava said. “And Au, if anyone asks where I am, you don't know.”