“Is his name Ang Wang?” Antonio asked.
Shannon seemed surprised. “You know him? If you’re a celebrity, he’s like the boogey man. Hiding under your bed, in your closet. Ang Wang, the Kamikaze Cam.”
“Catchy name,” said Mark.
“He sells to all the gossip rags. States, overseas. Sleazy websites, which pays more than anybody now. Most of his stuff is celebrity skin. He just got Jennifer Lopez sunbathing topless last week.” She took off her sunglasses. “Just now he was trying to get an upskirt shot. Good thing I’m wearing panties.”
Mark Ford choked and coughed, hitting his chest with a closed fist.
Both Antonio and Shannon Moon turned to him.
“Sorry, must be allergies.”
Antonio arched an eyebrow at Mark and frowned. “Shall we escort Miss Moon to the Sachem Suite?”
“Love to.” He listened to something in his earpiece. “My guy’s down there now.”
Antonio gestured down the hall. “There’s a private elevator at the end. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Thanks,” she said, and headed down the hall, curls bouncing.
Antonio withdrew a folded paper from his jacket and handed it to Mark. “The man who jumped into the Escalade was the same paparazzo who was hiding in the armoire. I found this on the floor of the suite. It’s a cash receipt made out to Ang Wang.”
Mark unfolded the receipt. “He’s got a room.”
“Temporarily.”
“Want me to eject him?”
“Please, before he can harass our guest even more.”
“What color is that bowtie, Bud Light?”
“Champagne.”
“Fancy. Hey, I think Shannon likes me. She reminds me of my first wife.”
“Young and beautiful?”
“In love with another man.” He shook his head. “Women.”
They caught up with Shannon Moon at the private elevator. Antonio pressed the button.
“Hey,” she said. “Got any more of the umbrellas?”
Antonio held out his own. “Of course. Would you like one?”
“No, you’ll need it. Plus a few dozen more if you’ve got them.”
Antonio and Mark exchanged a look.
As the elevator doors opened Shannon stepped inside and turned. “When Brandon gets here that port is going to look like a riot broke out.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Mark. “Now we know where all the photographers will be hiding.”
“I’m not talking about them,” said Shannon, smiling at the two men as they entered the elevator. “I’m talking about the BranFans.”
Mark turned to Antonio. “What’s a BranFan?”
Shannon Moon put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t spoil the surprise.”
Chapter Three
“Nice place you got here, boys.” Shannon did a twirl in the center of the parquet floor of the Sachem Suite. Her voice echoed off the cathedral ceiling. “Lots of places for the paparazzi to hide.” She selected a pink jellybean and popped it into her mouth.
Mark chuckled. “One of ‘em already found a hiding place. In the armoire.”
Shannon turned her head so sharply her curls rebounded. “Is that true?”
Antonio said, “It was the resourceful Ang Wang, Miss Moon. He must have slipped into the suite before our security measures were in place. Mark has assured me it won’t happen again. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m going to post a security guard outside both doors of the suite,” said Mark. “And I’m kicking Ang Wang out of the casino as soon as I get done here. Antonio gave me his room number.”
Shannon dropped her purse on the leather sectional. “When you kick him out, kick hard. If Brandon sees him he’ll go ballistic and end up in jail.”
Antonio said, “That would be unfortunate since tickets for his show have sold out. You looked surprised.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think Bingo ladies and old people would even know who Brandon was.”
“Our casino marketing has been courting a younger demographic for the past several months.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Our commercials look like music videos.” He turned to Shannon Moon. “No offense.”
“Bran will attract the young girls.” She shook her head dismissively.
“BranFans,” said Mark. “Whatever that is.”
“I call them sluts,” said Shannon.
“That’s easier to remember.”
“Mark and I will regroup and discuss some tactical security measures.” Antonio discreetly checked his watch as he brushed imaginary lint from his jacket sleeve. “Before I show you the suite, do you have any special requests for this evening?”
Her smile was much more dazzling in person than on magazines or movie screens. “I’d like to have a late dinner ready when Bran gets here. I doubt if he’s eaten anything today.” She waved her hands around. “Something intimate, but fancy. You know, romantic? It’s very short notice. I should have called but I just now thought of it.”
Antonio nodded. “Not to worry. We have a unique staff whose resources are nearly limitless.”
She chewed the tip of a fingernail in thought. “I’d like to have just one guy with us through the weekend. Someone I can trust. No offense to your staff but some people get weird around us. A manager at the Four Seasons lost his job a couple months ago for trying to sell our bed sheets on EBay.”
“I heard about the incident. I’d worked with that particular manager in the past and found him fairly devious in most regards. I personally hand-picked my team and vouch for them unconditionally. I’ll introduce you to one of them in particular who I believe you’ll be pleased with. If he meets your approval I’ll assign him to you and Brandon for the weekend.”
She dug out a pack of cigarettes from her purse. “Do all of them know how to lock paparazzi into the back of SUVs?”
Mark shook his head, grinning. “The Native Sun has the best butler team in the states. But there’s only one Antonio.”
Antonio finished lighting the lady’s cigarette, lighter disappearing into his inner jacket. “I would say that our team rivals some of those in Europe as well, but I am slightly biased since I trained them.” He offered his arm. “Now then, would you like to see what our premium suite has to offer?”
Mark Ford excused himself, wishing Shannon Moon a good stay and promising to update Antonio on the outcome of ousting Ang Wang. On his way out he took a final look at the back of the young actress and waggled his eyebrows at Antonio.
After he left Shannon asked, “Do I have time for a Jacuzzi before Bran gets here?”
Antonio withdrew his BlackBerry and dialed the butler pantry. “I would like a container of Rosemary Mint bath salts and a chilled Roederrer Cristal ’99. Have them by the upstairs Jacuzzi in five minutes and turn on the jets.”
“Rosemary mint? Cristal? You’ve either done your research, or you’re a great guesser.”
“Though I reside within a casino, I try not to gamble. Especially when it comes to the preferences of my guests.”
Shannon kicked off her sandals and accepted the offered arm. “Antonio, you’re on your way to becoming my new best friend.”
Antonio extended his free arm towards the hall. “Shall we start with the master bedroom? There’s a small touchpad device that commands everything electronic in the suite, including the fireplace. Once you master it, you’ll find that you’re carrying it in your pocket everywhere you go.”
“I don’t usually wear clothes when I’m just hanging around.”
He patted her arm. “Perhaps I’ll show you the locations of the manual switches.”
“Okeedokey.”
Their tour ended when the compact en suite elevator deposited them on the second floor. Antonio excused himself momentarily to check the arrangements in the guest bath.
“This bath is somewhat modest compared to the master bath downstairs,” he called out to her, eyes scanning the iced Cristal ’99 breathing in t
he champagne stand in a packed mold of shaved ice, the crystal flute and bath salts on the ledge of the Jacuzzi, and the frothing water within. He dipped a finger into the water, found the temperature suitable and dried his digit with his handkerchief. “But I think you’ll agree that the view of the Connecticut woods is spectacular.”
Smiling, he stepped out of the bathroom and stopped short, averting his eyes to a nearby arrangement of fresh-cut tulips.
“I thought I mentioned that I walk around naked?”
“My apologies. I assumed you were referring to when you were alone.”
“Well, mostly. But I’m about to get into the Jacuzzi. Now you know why I hate paparazzi.”
“I can see where you might value privacy.”
“My mom calls me a free spirit.”
“An adoring quality.” Antonio stepped closer to the flower arrangement. He peered at one particular tulip that was slightly wilted. “When would you like to begin setting the dining room for dinner?”
“Maybe an hour?”
“Very good. I’ll leave the envelope with your room key right here. Your luggage will be delivered within the hour. Is there anything else you require before I go?”
“No thanks,” she said.
The platinum lighter was produced and extended. Antonio found yet another wilted tulip as the actress exhaled smoke.
“You must have eyes in the back of your head.”
He slid the lighter into his jacket pocket. “I heard you open the cigarette pack, though I can’t imagine where you might have been holding it.”
She laughed. “You’re funny. I like you. Where are you from, Antonio?”
“I was born in El Salvador.”
“Your complexion is very nice. I’m trying not stare at your skin.”
“The feeling is mutual, Miss Moon. I’ll phone the room when dinner preparations are underway.”
The sound of her bare feet padding quickly towards the bathroom was followed by, “See you then!”
Before leaving the suite he folded her clothing and sat it on a corner table outside the bathroom, then withdrew the two wilted tulips from the vase. As soon as he was in the hotel hallway he withdrew his BlackBerry and checked the screen. One voicemail. One text.
He dialed voicemail first.
“Antonio? This is Office Stillson down at loading dock 8. We have the Brinks truck with its police escort down here, but can’t get by one of your limos.” Speaking away from the phone the officer asked, “What’s his name again?” Into the phone he huffed. “Max Allen. Says he knows you.”
BlackBerry pressed to ear, Antonio began to jog.
“Says he doesn’t want to move because you said you were coming down here to get him. Says you might not find him if he moves. He don’t move, our big armored truck full of money don’t move. And I don’t move. So you got a problem. Call me back at this number.”
Antonio rounded a corner and paced quickly towards the center elevators and accessed his text messages.
It was from Mark Ford:
Max limo blocking Brinks. State Police pissed. This weekend sucks already.
Chapter Four
Antonio crossed the Absolute Black marble of the hotel lobby. Even at this hour he had to maneuver around guests rolling their luggage and gazing wide-eyed across an expansive field of carpet to the hotel registration desk. The mahogany desk, inlaid with a cut glass Connecticut countryside bas-relief, accommodated twelve check-in stations plus concierge. But behind the desk was what drew the eyes: A ten thousand gallon wall tank holding a four foot short fin Mako. The short fin Mako, caught by a member of Tribal Council during a shark fishing tournament, had been named Lizzy by staff members familiar with the infamously biting personality of the Executive Assistant to the Casino President, Liz Fiore. Spectators watched the lazy swim of the silvery-blue shark as it circled the tank. Many guests remarked that the predator seemed oblivious to the hundreds of bright saltwater fish dashing in and out of the coral like swirling confetti. Antonio always felt that perhaps it was biding its time, but of course he knew Liz Fiore quite well.
“Who’s in that limo?”
Antonio kept pace without turning. “Good evening Jonathon. I’m on my way to take care of it.”
Jonathon Michael, hotel manager, slipped sideways through a flock of bingo matrons in red-feathered hats. “Reason I ask is that the State Police came to the desk and…” He tripped, sliding away from Antonio’s peripheral vision.
Antonio’s central vision was locked onto the glass doors of the porte-cochere.
The hotel manager stumbled back into step. “…they wanted to fine the limo driver for not cooperating. I said no way. I said wait for you. Nice roses.”
“Thank you Jonathon. They’re tulips.”
“Then the State Police said…” He was stopped by a man holding a suitcase in each hand.
“Where can I check my bags?”
The hotel manager shuffled around the intruder. “Right over there. Bell desk. See it?”
“There?”
“No – there.”
The man jerked a bag sideways. “That way?”
“No THAT way.”
“Over there?”
The hotel manager snapped his fingers and shouted, “BELLHOP! Over here!” He forged onward.
Antonio was five paces away from the glass doors.
“Then they said to call a locksmith to pop the lock on the limo so they could open it and make the driver get out. Know what I said?”
“You said to wait for me.” Antonio pushed on the glass door, allowing a female patron to enter. He smiled at her, presented her with two slightly wilted tulips and welcomed her to the Native Sun casino. He turned towards the hotel manager. “Thank you Jonathon. I appreciate your diligence.”
“So who’s in the limo? Is it Brandon?”
A new voice joined them. “It’s Max Allen and he’s mine.”
Antonio did not turn. He took a calming breath. “Good Evening, Damien.”
Damien Valentine, casino host, stepped between the hotel manager and Antonio. At five foot three, he was a plucked and streamlined version of the beefier, hairier stereotypical Italians with which he associated himself. His pin-striped suit was crisp, silk tie glossy, Rolex polished to match his polished platinum pinky ring. Antonio knew for a fact that both of these lavish accessories were unauthorized gifts from high rollers in exchange for favors within the casino.
“Executive orders!” Damien used this pinky to poke Antonio’s lapel. “You’re under executive orders from Player Development to inform me when Max Allen is on property. You know we’ve been trying to sign him up for the Player’s Club.”
Antonio allotted ten more seconds to try and defuse the casino host. “He was invited here to compete in the Million Dollar Texas Hold ‘Em Tournament, Mr. Valentine. If he does not wish to be a member of the Player’s Club, that is his choice. Since he is not a member, and does not wish to become a member in the foreseeable future, there is no reason for Player Development to be informed of his arrival.”
“You know how I had to find out? A limo supervisor talking about it in the cafeteria. Fucking lunchroom gossip, is how I found out.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t tolerate vulgar language in a public area.”
“Won’t tolerate.” Damien Valentine swiveled to the hotel manager and cuffed him on the shoulder. “He won’t tolerate.” He swiveled back. “You know what I won’t tolerate?” Poke. “You ignoring executive fucking orders and where the hell is he going?”
The hotel manager said “Looks like he’s going outside.”
Antonio crossed the porte-cochere for the second time that night. Valet jockeys jogged to and fro. Cars shifted into gear. Moths swarmed the dome lights. There were no limousines in the VIP lane. The only vehicle was a twelve-seat party bus. A group of young ladies clustered nearby. Each wore a silver miniskirt and a pink shirt printed ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID. They were playing hot-potato with what appeare
d to be a rather tumescent sex toy. To Antonio’s further annoyance the apparatus glowed in the dark. Vividly.
He whistled a jockey over. “Lou. Try to get those ladies into the privacy of their bus.”
“What’s that they’re playing with?”
“That is the part that requires privacy.”
“Is that a dildo? Look at the size of it!”
“Please remove them with haste.”
“Okay, okay.” He cupped his hands over his mouth and announced to the bachelorette party. “I’m coming over there! Don’t anybody hit me with that thing!”
Antonio scanned the port. Crossing the furthermost lane was Damien Valentine. Antonio nearly followed, but caution won out. He withdrew his BlackBerry.
Max Allen answered on the first ring. “Hi Antonio.”
“Max. First, my sincere apologies.”
“No problem.”
“Second, where are you?”
“On the back of a tow truck.”
Antonio felt his heart flutter. “Dear God. Are you still on property?”
“We’re by the loading docks.”
Antonio pivoted and was off. “Moving or stationary?”
“Parked. Too many people around to move, I think.”
“State police?”
“State police. Casino cops. Mark Ford is out here. He says hello.”
“I’m seconds away.”
“Oh geez.”
“What’s happened?”
“Damien’s out there. He’s yelling at everybody.”
“I can hear him. I’m right around the corner. Sit tight.”
Antonio chastised himself for not trusting instinct and following Damien. His polished shoes flew over the walkway, brushed the top of the bushes as he hopped over them, cutting his path in half.
It looked like a crime scene.
The Brinks truck was immobile, banked in by State Police cruisers, red lights swirling. A flatbed tow truck sat at an angle. On the flatbed was the limousine, hooked, chained and strapped down. A man in a red jumpsuit, whose logo matched the door of the truck, was smoking a cigarette and holding a clipboard. Seven State Troopers with stiff uniforms, nylon holsters, leather gloves and jackboots stood in formation. Two casino security officers lingered nearby. Mark Ford, more rumpled than he’d been less than an hour ago, scowled at Damien who was making angry notations on his touch-screen phone.
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 3