The Disciple of Las Vegas (17 page)

David Douglas's lips were tightly set. He wiped his mouth, staring hard at Ava as if he was trying to commit her to memory.

“You do remember me, don't you?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you do remember why I wanted to talk to you?”

He shook his head. “You can't get away with this. This is the United States, not some fucking Asian backwater. We have laws and we have people who enforce them.”

“You seem to be selective about which laws you want enforced. For example, you don't seem to be overly concerned about a massive case of fraud.”

“You're going to talk about that shit again?”

“That's the only reason I'm here.”

“Those guys who hired you, they're nothing but a bunch of sore losers. They think because they're online, knowing how to really play poker doesn't matter. I've been playing the game my whole life and I've forgotten more than they know. Losing to me is no upset. Beating me would be,” he said, still looking hard at her.

“You don't even know who hired me.”

“I can guess.”

“Well, just so we're clear, the people I work for represent Chinaclipper — Philip Chew. So your Asian remark was at least partially apt.”

He started to get up. Ava held out a hand, palm facing him. “I took out the one who wasn't shot, so don't even think about it,” she said.

The door to the backyard opened. Carlo and Andy had returned from depositing Ashton in the dog cage. “Get two chairs from the kitchen,” she told Carlo, and then turned to Douglas. “They don't understand English, so I have to speak to them in Cantonese. I just asked for two chairs to be brought in here. I'm going to have them tape your arms and legs to one, so basically you're not going anywhere unless you take the chair with you.”

“This is such shit.”

Carlo and Andy came back into the room, each carrying a chair. Ava watched Carlo tape Douglas's hands behind his chair back and his ankles to the chair legs. She handed the gun to Carlo, positioned the second chair directly across from Douglas, and sat down. She opened her bag and took out the paperwork she had been reviewing that morning. “This is what we're here to resolve,” she said. “Over the past six months or so you stole more than sixty million dollars from Chinaclipper, Brrrrr, and Felix the Cat.”

“I won, not stole. And it was nowhere near that much money.”

She noticed that his hair was beginning to rise. It was very fine, and thinning on top. Her guess was that he got it permed. From a distance it might look angelic; up close it looked absurd. “You used your own name some of the time, but mainly you played under the names Kaybar and Buckshot,” she said. “I have all the play data here. I also have a letter from the Cooper Island Gaming Commission confirming that you used both those names. Do you want to see it?”

“No. What's the difference? Using a different name didn't diminish my talent.”

“Mr. Douglas, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Right now you're headed for the hard way. I would prefer that you cooperate and make this as easy on all of us as possible.”

He hesitated. “What do you want?”

“I want, as a start, for you to admit that you were all those people.”

“You have the letter.”

“I want to hear it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“I played as Kaybar and Buckshot.”

“There, that wasn't so difficult,” she said. “Now I want you to admit that the money you won playing under those two names was stolen.”

“No, and you and your little friends can go fuck yourselves,” he said.

“Let's not get emotional,” Ava said, holding the report that Felix had prepared in front of Douglas's face. “Look at this. It's an analysis of the hands you played against my client and others, and it says that the numbers are statistically anomalous.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“They don't make sense. The report says you won all that money in the face of all logical probability. That means you cheated. And we think we know how you did it — you breached security and manipulated your own software. We're convinced that you could see all the cards at the table. The Gaming Commission is running cross-checks on this analysis as we speak and will confirm it all. When they do, you will be exposed as a cheat, a liar, and a fraud and the River website will be ruined.”

“Is that your threat — that I'll be exposed?”

“Perhaps.”

“What if I don't care?”

“You'd throw away a lifetime of building a reputation so easily?”

“I'm a poker player, not a priest. Moral expectations are low to begin with.”

“And your website?”

“We're losing money.”

“The money you stole didn't help?”

“I've never believed in throwing good money after bad.”

Ava took a deep breath. “Mr. Douglas, are you right-handed or left-handed?”

“Right. Why?”

She turned away from him and spoke to Andy, who looked at Douglas, nodding. When she had finished, he went into the kitchen. “Mr. Douglas, I've just asked my colleague to cut off your left thumb,” she said. “He's gone to turn on one of the elements on your stove. After he's cut off your thumb he'll press the open wound against the element until it stops bleeding. When he comes back, you will have exactly five minutes to start cooperating with me. If you don't, the thumb comes off. Now, I can't stand to watch, so I'll stay here until he's done. He'll bring you back to me afterwards. Do you understand?”

He blinked, his eyes uncomprehending. She saw beads of sweat form on his upper lip.

“This is nuts. You wouldn't dare do that.”

“You won't feel much pain at first,” she said. “Shock will set in, adrenalin will be pumping like mad. The thing is, there will be a lot of blood, and I don't want you to lose too much. That's why we need to cauterize the wound. Now, that you will feel. You might pass out and you'll probably mess yourself. You don't have any adult diapers, do you?”

Douglas shook his head. “You aren't going to do this.”

Ava reached for his chin and pulled his head in her direction. His eyes were darting around the room in panic. “What you need to understand is that it won't end with your left thumb. Five minutes after you lose that thumb, he'll take off the right. Five minutes later you'll lose the big toe on your left foot, and then the big toe on your right foot. And he'll just keep going until you won't be able to count to one on either your hands or your feet.”

“Fuck off,” he said.

She let go of his chin. “I'm sorry,” she said, standing up. She spoke quietly to Andy. Carlo tucked the gun into his jeans, moved in behind Douglas, and dragged him in the chair to the kitchen. Andy followed with the cleaver. “Five minutes, starting from now,” Ava said.

She stood still, waiting. Logic dictated that he would cooperate. If he were Asian he would no doubt understand the thumb would come off, and that more pain would follow until he capitulated.

After four minutes Ava walked into the kitchen and stood in front of him. He stared at her defiantly. She looked down at him and, without a word, grabbed the duct tape, cut off a strip, and sealed his mouth. She nodded at Carlo, who ripped off the tape binding Douglas's hands, and then nodded at Andy before walking back into the living room.

Even with the tape on his mouth, she still heard Douglas scream.

She heard another scream, and guessed that the stub of Douglas's thumb was being pressed onto the red-hot element. She had watched it done only once, and that was enough for a lifetime. She was sure he had convulsed and emptied his bowels and bladder.

Andy and Carlo were talking to each other, their manner calm and professional. The tap was running and she knew they were cleaning up Douglas before bringing him back to her.

Carlo dragged him into the living room and Andy followed, holding the thumb by the nail. Douglas's eyes were rolled back in his head, and she was afraid for a second that he had had a heart attack or a stroke. His pants and underwear were gone, exposing scrawny thighs and thin, meagre calves. She tried to pull his shirttail down over his genitals, but his round, hard belly was too large. If there was anything uglier than a man's shrivelled penis, she didn't know what it was. Carlo and Andy, she noted, had done a decent job of washing him; there was only a light streak of feces on the inside of each thigh.

“Andy,” Ava said, motioning at the thumb, “throw that in the garbage or give it to the dogs.”

She turned her attention back to the Disciple. “So, Mr. Douglas, here we are again.” His head lolled back and his pupils were dilated. She reached into her kit bag, took out the smelling salts she'd bought the day before, and held the bottle under his nose. “The clock is ticking,” Ava said as Douglas came back to life. “You have four minutes before the other thumb comes off. I'm going to take the tape off your mouth now, in case you want to speak.”

He grunted. She ripped off the tape and he roared at the pain. He then sat still, breathing heavily. When he looked up at her, his glare was defiant.

She was about to tape his mouth shut again when he whispered, “What do you want?”

“I've already told you.”

“You're crazy.”

“That could be, but it's only going to get crazier until you decide to be honest.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Your minutes are passing.”

“Fuck you,” he said without any passion.

“We can forget about the time that is left, if you want. I'll turn Andy loose with his cleaver right now if this is how you're going to act.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Straight answers.”

“To what?”

“Did you cheat my people?”

“We toyed a bit with the software,” he said, his voice devoid of energy.

“No, I want to hear it my way. Did you cheat my people?”

His head sagged to his chest. Ava put her hand under his chin and lifted his face. “Did you cheat my people?” she said.

“Yeah.”

She held the smelling salts to his nose. His head snapped back, his eyes took on more life.

“Why did you do it?”

He groaned, but his voice was clear enough. “The company was in the hole, big time. And when we saw how easy it was to make that kind of money, we kept going.”

“Why did you stop?”

He closed his eyes. “A couple of players began to complain. Ashton thought they'd picked up on what we were doing. We decided it was time to stop, to not press our luck.”

Barking erupted in the backyard. Ava went to the back door and looked out. Ashton had moved to the front of his cage, probably to test the padlock, and the dog had him pinned against the front bars. Ava opened the door. “I'd stay still if I were you,” she shouted, “because if that dog decides it wants to have you for dinner, we won't interfere.”

When she came back to the living room, Douglas seemed to have passed out again. Another dose of smelling salts revived him. She tapped his naked knee. “Now, Mr. Douglas, we have to talk about how you and Jeremy Ashton are going to give that money back.”

“I don't —”

“If we can make that happen,” Ava said, “then you get to keep your reputation — even though it doesn't seem to mean that much to you — and your various body parts. That's the deal.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“You can start by telling me where the money is.”

He shook his head as if trying to clear it of some bad memory. “My thumb is killing me,” he said, his voice cracking.

“First you tell me where the money is and then I'll see if we can do something about your thumb.”

He shook his head again. “You'll need Ashton.”

“He's next on my list. Where's the money?”

“Most of it is in Cyprus. We moved it to the holding company. That's where it banks.”

“You moved all of it?”

“Yeah, most of it anyway.”

“And it's still there?”

“Yeah.”

“So a bank transfer is doable, I would assume.”

“Sure.”

“See how easy that was? If you'd taken this approach half an hour ago you'd still have that thumb.”

“That's not funny, and it also ain't that easy.” He closed his eyes and licked his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Explain to me why it isn't easy,” she said.

“To take any money out of that account needs three signatures.”

Ava blinked. “You and Ashton.”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the third?”

“His woman.”

“Lily Simmons?”

Douglas peered at her through hooded eyes. “You've done your homework.”

“How does she come into this?”

“Her father put up nearly all the money for The River.”

“And left you and Ashton to manage it?”

“No — are you kidding? Jeremy was running off to London every month to report in.”

“And this Lily, she is his what — girlfriend, fiancée, wife?”

“They're engaged, he says.”

“But no wedding plans?”

Douglas shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did Ashton meet with her father during any of those trips?”

“How would I know?”

“How about this Lily Simmons — did you ever meet her?”

“Once, in New York.”

“What was she like?”

“Tall, skinny, no tits, no ass, red hair.”

“Doesn't sound like the kind of girl who would attract a man like Ashton. Maybe he has a thing for red hair.”

“Yeah, as long as it comes with money attached to it.”

“Okay, let's get back to the money. Tell me, how do things get signed around here? I mean, how do you move money in and out?”