As if in a trance, she moved to a blackjack table and entered a double deck game. Since making the decision to leave last week, she had drained a couple thousand dollars from their joint bank account. Darren wouldn’t know it was missing until they were long gone, since she handled the finances. It was the only money that she and Nick had to survive on.
The dealer was a good-looking thirty-something with a shiny shaved head. His bulky chest was busting out of his tuxedo. He read down the rules—players could double down on any two cards, when splitting aces players receive one card on each ace, and late surrender was offered. Lilly never surrendered in anything.
From the card games with her brothers, and on their Vegas trips, she had picked up the ability to effectively count cards. In fact, she had become so good that she had been banned from this very casino. So she took her act to the Gila River Casino on an Indian reservation south of Phoenix. They eventually cut their losses, and instead of banning her, offered her a job as a blackjack dealer. It was the first step toward her new life. The one that wasn’t real. She used the job to put herself through school, and toward her teaching degree. It was also where she met Darren. She thought of his devastated face on TV this morning and wished she’d never agreed to go on that date with him. She knew she’d eventually hurt him.
Lilly won the first game when the dealer “busted a stiff.” He wasn’t as good as he looked. On the next hand, she doubled down with a ten and a three and won again. The dealer then made a brief comeback, winning the next three hands.
Lilly’s card-counting abilities were rusty at first, but as the hands progressed, she regained her confidence. She didn’t use a particularly sophisticated method—typical high low—but methods were overrated. She’d found it to be a myth that you have to be some math-whiz savant like Rainman to count cards. It was all based on concentration. Casinos are strategically built to distract—constant noise, free drinks, and perhaps the stress of knowing you’d just wagered your kids’ college fund—but Lilly had been conditioned her whole life to deal with chaos, so casino conditions never fazed her.
The other key component was to make sure the casino surveillance didn’t know you were counting. This was always her downfall, hence, her banishment. But she’d become a good actor the last few years—she convinced the world that she was Lilly McLaughlin, perfect wife, when deep down she was always Liliana Rojas, danger junkie.
On the next hand, Lilly was sitting pretty on an eighteen, while the dealer had a soft seventeen. But then the lucky bastard hit a three to go to twenty. She should have surrendered and cut their losses. But she did the opposite, betting the remainder of their savings.
The dealer gave her an “it’s your funeral” look. Nick grabbed her hand and said, “That’s all we got, Lilly.” Still no hint of fear, but she had him concerned.
“Nick—you either trust me or you don’t.”
“I trust you, Lilly.”
She grabbed his tie and drew him close. Then she kissed him. She couldn’t help herself—he looked so good in that suit. But the risky bet was still not enough. She smiled devilishly. “You’re too trusting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Would you trust me if I raised the stakes higher?”
“I don’t know how you could—that’s all the money we’ve got.”
“I’m not talking money, Nick.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“If I win, we get married today.”
He looked flabbergasted. So did the dealer, who said, “Lose all your money or get hitched? Sounds like a lose-lose proposition to me.”
Lilly turned to the dealer. “You’re our witness.”
He looked at his twenty. “I’d hold off on booking a band if I were you, sweetheart.”
The moment of truth came quick. The dealer slapped the card down. A two! She had tied the house, a miracle in itself. But Lilly wasn’t done. “Hit me again,” she instructed.
Nick looked like he wanted to get off the suicide train. “Lilly, c’mon.”
The dealer obliged. It was an ace—the only card that could win. She had hit blackjack! The winnings for hitting blackjack were three to two, so they had significantly added to their travel chest. Now it was time to collect, before the casino figured out who they were.
She looked into the camera and winked. Then she kissed Nick again for the world to see—the FBI, the Russian mob, whoever. She was so filled with the drug that she couldn’t see straight. She craved the dangerous chase they were on, and couldn’t help but to smile.
It was her wedding day.
Chapter 18
Jessi Stafford knocked on the weathered door of the apartment in Mesa. No answer. She took a baby wipe out of her purse and wiped any residue from the door off her hands and then repeated the process.
As she impatiently waited, she glanced at the peeling paint on the sun-beaten door, wondering again how Brandon could live in such a dump. But it wouldn’t be her concern for much longer. With her Darren McLaughlin interview having gone national on TV, and viral on the Internet, she was confident she wouldn’t need Brandon Longa to be feeding her stories much longer.
On the twelfth knock, Brandon finally answered. He was wearing just a towel—his abs much more impressive than his apartment—and he looked annoyed. “If you came by for a nooner, I think you’re still on New York time because it’s only ten in the morning.”
She held up two bags filled with food and smiled. “I brought you breakfast, even though you don’t deserve it.”
“Would this food be to say you’re sorry for screwing up my case, or a ploy to obtain more information?”
“You should be thanking me.”
“For trying to punch me in the balls, or stealing evidence?”
“After what you pulled in that bathroom last night, you deserve whatever you get. The credit card might have helped, but let’s be honest, I got more out of McLaughlin in my short interview than you guys did in an hour of grilling, and I didn’t need the FBI to burst in like the cavalry to bail me out.”
“Darren McLaughlin doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, so I have no idea what you think you got out of him.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I don’t know, I’m only the lead investigator in the case.”
Jessi pushed past him into the apartment. The place looked like a bomb had gone off, as it always did.
Brandon reached into the bag and removed some green frilly looking items. “What the hell is this?”
“Bean sprouts. I think it’s time for you to start eating healthier.”
He tossed the bag in the garbage. “That’s not breakfast—pancakes is breakfast. Now I gotta take a shower and meet up with Gutierrez, so make yourself at home.” He thought about what he said. “By make yourself at home, I mean don’t touch anything.”
She wouldn’t touch anything in this place if he paid her. She stood in the middle of the room, afraid to sit on any of the furniture, when she heard the shower start. Then she heard a beeping sound. It was coming from Brandon’s cell phone that sat on the kitchen counter. It was an incoming text message.
Maybe she’d make an exception to her “no touch” rule this one time.
Jessi moved to the bathroom door and listened. She could hear the water splashing off him, and his off-key singing—she had some time. She picked up the phone and read the message. It was from Gutierrez, Brandon’s partner—a reply to Brandon’s last message, which read: Gotta go Goot ~ someone’s here~ prob JS.
On the incoming text, Gutierrez wrote: Is she gone yet?
Jessi had a brief moral dilemma, but after last night she could have rationalized dropping a lethal dose of arsenic in his food. She typed: JS all gone ~ free 2 talk
Been a change in plans, amigo
Change?
Coo Coo Cachoo Mrs. Robinson, she’s on the move
Jessi had no idea what he meant, but played along: Where she headed?
LML & BB spotted in Vegas
What r they doing in LV?
Haha can only imagine! But LML used a credit card at mirage. I guess what happens in LV doesn’t always stay in LV
LOL. Whats our next move?
I say meet me in an hour at Sky Harbor ~ catch next flight and bring em home.
See ya there, Goot
The shower water turned off, causing Jessi to jump. But then Brandon started blow-drying the hair he loved so much, which bought her some time. She scrambled, needing to check the past conversations with Gutierrez where they discussed the case in detail, but Brandon had deleted all of his past messages.
She reached into her purse and took out a small device called the SimSpy, better known as the UR Busted Machine. A palm-size gadget that could read a phone’s SIM card.
She popped the SIM card from the back of the phone and placed it into the SimSpy. She then hooked the gadget up to Brandon’s computer, to transfer the information. She quickly found his conversation with Gutierrez and tracked back to the beginning where Gutierrez typed: There gotta be more to it
I’m thinking same way
Y wld the feds jump on ths? Shouldn’t they b looking 4 terrorists or something?
Maybe they wanted the publicity
My gut says its something more. Esp how secretive thr being
Wht abt drugs? Kid at Chandler High last yr busted 4 running ecstasy ring ovr state lines. Drug traffiking wld outweigh r case and crossing state lines
By all accounts BB a gd kid w/ no record & diligent. May b we shld b looking more at LML
Her parents wr members of a drug cartel in Mexico. I’ve hrd abt cases whr the teacher used students 2 b the runner. The kid could b the victim
LOL ~ I wish sum1 wldve victimized me lk that in high skool
Strange that the feebies wld b interested in teacher/student sex scandal, even if she took him ovr state lines
In my day you’d get a high 5 & a raise in allowance. 2day the FBI is after u!
LOL
Shit
What is it?
Gotta go Goot ~ someone’s here ~ prob JS
Jessi couldn’t stop smiling as she placed Brandon’s SIM card back in his phone—he shouldn’t have left out his cell phone if he was going to invite a reporter in.
Just when she didn’t think this story could get better, she had hit the jackpot. Now she understood what Mrs. Robinson meant—older woman and young student from The Graduate. Lilly McLaughlin was having an affair with her student—Brett Buckley—and they ran off together! While abductions of attractive white women were ratings booms, and the “did he or didn’t he do it” husband angle was intriguing, viewers could not get enough of these scandalous affairs between good looking female teachers and their male students, that had practically become an epidemic over the last decade in the US. The story had all the elements of the modern day trashy novel—and it was going to be a bestseller!
The way things were trending, Jessi figured she might as well book her flight back to New York and remember to pack her “I told you so.” But first she had business in Las Vegas.
Chapter 19
Darren wandered around his empty home like a man lost. It was his first time alone since he saw the news about Lilly.
Once he rid himself of Jessi Stafford, the FBI showed up at his house. His supposed new best friend, Agent LaPoint, didn’t act too friendly, giving Darren a tongue-lashing over his television interview, which according to LaPoint: “Might very well cost your wife her life.”
Those words turned him into a zombie. He just sat quietly on the living room couch, while the FBI searched through Lilly’s things like she was some sort of criminal. They even took her computer and journal. He didn’t ask them what they were looking for, convinced that they wouldn’t have told him anyway.
The FBI stayed about an hour, before leaving him alone with a stomach tied in painful knots. He couldn’t believe he was actually wishing it were a gang initiation. Who knew what this Brett Buckley psycho would do?
The house was too quiet and Darren desperately needed to drown out the morbid thoughts shooting through his mind. So he turned on the television. The first thing he saw was Jessi Stafford. She was the last thing he wanted to see, but before he could turn the channel, she froze him with her words.
“This is Jessi Stafford reporting live from outside the Mirage Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. The very place where wanted fugitive Lilly McLaughlin spent the night.”
Fugitive? Las Vegas? Darren had no idea what she was talking about. The Mirage’s fountains exploded into the air behind Jessi like they were competing with her for attention. He turned up the volume.
“Earlier this morning, I broke the story that Lilly McLaughlin, a teacher at South Chandler High, was not abducted by a gang, as our so-called competitors reported, but was taken by one of her students, named Brett Buckley.”
Darren watched as the pictures of Lilly and Buckley flashed on the screen, side-by-side. Then Jessi reappeared—she wore the same revealing top and ditzy smile from their interview this morning.
“But while Buckley’s motive was thought to be related to a teenage crush gone wrong, through my sources deep within the Chandler Police Department, I have learned that Lilly McLaughlin, thirty-two, and her student Brett Buckley, seventeen, were having an illicit affair. It was being investigated by the local police, with charges pending.”
Darren couldn’t believe what he just heard. All his senses froze.
“And while our competitors suggested that the couple most likely had traveled to Mexico, I have acquired Mrs. McLaughlin’s credit card activity, which led me to the Mirage for this exclusive report. I have also talked to witnesses that spotted the cozy couple in the casino.”
Darren tried to reach for the remote to turn off this horror movie, but he couldn’t. His arm wouldn’t move.
“This case is very fluid, and I will continue to break news from Las Vegas all day.”
The screen split, and a blow-dried looking anchor now took up the other half.
Darren’s lungs felt like he was trying to breathe under water, and his chest burned—his life was being ripped apart in crystal clear HD. The room began to spin and he no longer could fight off the images. He had visualized the boy with the intense eyes threatening his wife with a knife...but the two of them together? It couldn’t be!
The anchor spoke in a deep voice, “Jessi, you have been on top of this story for Channel-6 all day and night, including your exclusive interview with Lilly McLaughlin’s husband this morning. Knowing what we know now about the motive for her disappearance, it seems as if this is just another in what has become a national epidemic of teacher/student scandals, and it appears that Arizona is not immune from such predators.”
“That’s correct, Gil. My research has found that there have been well over a hundred arrests in the last decade in situations like this, and no telling how many that were never reported.”
“It sounds like Lilly McLaughlin could be in big trouble when she is apprehended. Arizona law prohibits sexual conduct, intentionally or knowingly, with someone under the age of eighteen. Since Mr. Buckley was only seventeen, this would be a class-six felony that could result in five to fourteen years in prison for her.”
“It might be a sad commentary on our society, Gil, but female teacher predators convicted over the past decade have done very little prison time, while their male counterparts convicted of similar crimes have received more severe sentences.”
The anchor added, “I was working in the Seattle area at the time when Mary Kay Letourneau was convicted of multiple liaisons with her underage lover, Vili Fualaau. If I remember correctly, she did prison time.”
“That is true, but she also was reported to have received a half million dollars from a national publication for rights to her wedding photos when she married Mr. Fualaau, following her release. The amount she actually suffered for her crime is very much up for debate”
“Prison time
or not, I assume Lilly McLaughlin has put both her career and marriage in jeopardy. What could she possibly have been thinking?”
“What drives these woman is a mystery, Gil—is it lust, the thrill of the forbidden, or perhaps a form of mental illness? Nobody really knows. While cases like Letourneau and Debra Lafave have made national headlines, there have been hundreds of other cases ranging from a mother of four and wife of a prominent Albany, New York banker, who taught English at Christian Brothers Academy, to a twenty-nine-year-old Social Studies teacher from Colorado who had sex with one of her students on a field trip she chaperoned, the topper being that she was also the principal’s wife.”
“Thank you for the informative report, Jessi, and I’m sure if anyone will get to the bottom of Lilly McLaughlin’s motives, it will be you. But one last question about the husband you interviewed this morning, and who might be learning this about his wife right along with the rest of us—how do think he’s feeling right now?”
Darren concluded that if you are dead you have no emotions. To answer the anchor’s question, he felt nothing.
As they mercifully went to commercial, Darren saw his life floating away. He tried to get up and chase it, but he was paralyzed.
Chapter 20
Darren finally found the strength to turn off the television. He sat in silence for a few moments, and he started to put the pieces together. And his conclusion was that Jessi Stafford was an opportunist, and none of her sensationalism should be taken seriously. She had practically accused him of killing Lilly for God’s sake!
But while the report couldn’t possibly be accurate, he would concede that this was the theory being put forward by the police. And Jessi was their unofficial mouthpiece, which is how she got Lilly’s credit card in the first place. Longa also likely provided her the “affair with a student” theory.
Now the strange interrogation made more sense. The reason they weren’t in a hurry to find Lilly was because they didn’t believe she was in danger. It’s what Longa was going to tell him when the FBI burst in, guns blazing. But Darren was convinced they were wrong.
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