The Good Thief's Guide to Vegas (26 page)

‘So there’s really no risk to Maurice.’

‘Hardly any. But I’d still like to think that I can sweeten things for him.’

‘Oh?’

‘I was hoping you’d come with me to Mount Charleston tomorrow. I’m going to suggest that Caitlin should meet Maurice. He as good as told me he could build a show around her underwater endurance act, and I think having her perform at a dump like the Atlantis should be sufficient punishment for what she did.’

Victoria’s mouth puckered. ‘She won’t agree to that, Charlie.’

‘She will if she has any sense, and she’ll persuade her brothers too. After all, Ricks isn’t the only one who knows what really happened, and I’m quite handy with a pen and paper. It wouldn’t take me long to write it all down.’

‘But that’s blackmail. Why, it’s no better than their stupid list.’

‘Actually, it’s more like that short story you’ve been nagging me to write. And I have it in mind to pull something together along those lines, anyway – with the relevant details changed – once we’ve moved on from Vegas.’

‘We?’ She blinked. ‘Does that mean you’re planning on flying back to London with me?’

I offered her a rueful grin. ‘Not this time, I’m afraid.’

‘So where then?’

I spread my arms wide and gestured at the square surrounding me. Victoria cocked her head in puzzlement.

‘But you just said you were moving on from Vegas.’

‘I am, Vic. I’m going to Venice. The real one this time. And I’m going to do some real writing. I’ve had my fill of burglary for a while. My readers deserve better. You deserve better.’

She flushed and glanced down at the table. ‘Oh Charlie, I am relieved to hear you say that. I’ve been so scared this last day or so.’ She raised her head and peered at the blue-faced clock-tower above my left shoulder – a replica of the one in the genuine Piazza San Marco. ‘You know, it’s just a few minutes before the deadline the twins set us. At one point, I really didn’t think we’d live beyond it.’

‘It was never in doubt.’

‘You can say that now.’ She tapped her nose. ‘But I know otherwise.’

‘No, you don’t.’ I tried (and failed) not to smile. ‘You can’t honestly have believed I’d put you in that kind of danger, can you? Listen, the bottom line was that the Fisher Twins wanted their money back. And my first edition of
The Maltese Falcon
is worth almost enough by itself. I’d have been distraught to lose it – I’m superstitious enough to believe that I can’t write for toffee without it beside me – but I’d have handed it over if that’s what it came down to. I would never have let them harm you, Vic. You mean far too much to me for that.’

I reached for her hand from across the table. She stared at me, eyes agog, and then her eyes narrowed with menacing intent.

‘You bloody idiot. I’ve been worried half out of my mind.’

‘But focused, right? Willing to help? I couldn’t have done what I did without you. I’d have lost Hammett’s novel for good. And you might have lost me as a writer for good, too. And I really want to improve, Vic. I want to write the kind of novel you can be proud of.’

‘I don’t know what to say. I’m going to have to—’

She broke off as she gazed down to where our hands were touching. For a moment, I thought she was caught up in the meaning of the gesture. Then I saw her eyebrows fork and her lips press together into a thin line. She snatched her hand away and pointed an accusing finger at my wrist.

‘What the bloody hell is that?’

‘Ah,’ I said, and rolled back my shirtsleeve. ‘That’s the other reason I wasn’t too worried. This watch used to belong to Josh.’

‘Used to? Dear God, please tell me you didn’t take it from the poor man’s body.’

‘No,’ I said, as though scandalised. ‘I stole it when we broke into his apartment.’

‘Oh. And I suppose that’s better?’

‘Well, yes, I think so. And to my mind, Josh was really no more than a custodian of this watch anyway.’ I raised my hand to my mouth and coughed discreetly. ‘By the way, do you happen to have the Houdini biography in your handbag still?’

She scowled at me. ‘I sincerely hope you’re not comparing the two thefts. I wasn’t the one who stole the book, if you remember?’ ‘Please, Vic. Just pass it over and allow me to explain.’ Victoria huffed and grumbled, but she did as I asked and unhooked her handbag from the back of her chair. Once she’d removed the Houdini biography and handed it over to me, I turned the pages until I found the section I was looking for, and then I cracked the spine and tapped at a highlighted passage with my fingertip.

In order to commemorate the first modest performance of his Water Torture Cell illusion, Bess selected a gift for her husband – a gold wristwatch with a white pearlescent dial. She had the watch engraved to him, with a short expression of her love. ‘To my Upside Down Houdini, Love Always, Bess, 04-29-1911’.

As Victoria studied the passage, I unfastened the fragile leather strap from my wrist and placed the watch face-down on my white linen napkin. I pointed to the back of the casing and Victoria looked across and read the inscription, her lips moving increasingly slowly as she mouthed the words.

She fumbled for her wine glass and took a huge gulp. ‘That must be worth a bloody fortune,’ she gasped.

‘Not a fortune, no. But enough to fund a good few months in Venice. It turns out that there was an auction of Houdini memorabilia in Vegas a few years ago. The magic store in this very casino sells copies of the auction catalogue, so I know roughly how much Josh paid.’

Victoria shook her head and reached for the wristwatch, but before her fingers made contact I whipped it away and folded it up inside my napkin. She frowned at me, but I smiled broadly.

‘What would you say to a small trick?’ I asked. ‘Seems fitting, doesn’t it?’

Her face paled. ‘What kind of a trick?’

‘You do remember the
Thief in the Theatre
, don’t you? You know, the part about the opera diva’s necklace being smashed inside a velvet bag?’

I leaned down to my side and removed my right shoe, then gripped it by the toe and held the heel above the folded napkin.

‘I don’t have a velvet bag or a claw hammer, so I guess this will have to do.’

‘Oh, Charlie.’ She waved her hands. ‘No. Don’t do it. Please.’

‘It’s just an illusion, Vic.’

‘I don’t care. I don’t want to see it. In fact, I forbid it.’

I wiggled my eyebrows. ‘You forbid it?’

‘That watch is too precious. Here, why don’t you use mine instead?’

‘Oh, relax.’ I hoisted my shoe up above my shoulder. ‘I mean, what do you take me for? A complete idiot?’

AUTHOR’S NOTE

As anyone who has been to Las Vegas will know, real estate is at a premium along the Strip, and some major construction work was required to accommodate the imaginary casinos in this book. For those with an interest in fictional geography, the Fifty-Fifty is situated on the current site of the Imperial Palace (with Harrah’s on one side and the Flamingo on the other), while Space Station One occupies the plot taken by Bally’s, alongside Paris-Las Vegas and opposite the Bellagio. The Atlantis is squeezed in between the Mandalay Bay and Silverado Ranch Road.

My heartfelt thanks go to Susan Hill and Jessica Ruston, who made Charlie’s career in larceny possible in the first place. Thanks also to Jim Brimer of Pink Jeep Tours, who was willing to detour back from Mount Charleston through the outskirts of Naked City, to Allison, April and Colin, to my wonderful agent Vivien, my brilliant editors Kate and Hope, all at Sheil Land Associates, Simon and Schuster and St Martin’s Press, and especially to my wife, Jo, who accompanied me on three trips to Las Vegas without ever winning that elusive accumulator jackpot.