“Okay.”
“And I will require a brandy to do so. How about if we retire to my office quarters? It’s been a very long day.”
“You can say that again.”
The butler office was a tidy room with sparse suite furniture that had been nicked, or was visibly worn along the upholstery, and thus relegated to the butler offices. There was a large rosewood desk with a green blotter and library lamp shining on a single Mont Blanc pen aligned perfectly with a blank legal pad. On a sidetable was a stack of three folded towels and assorted miniature toiletries. An open door across the room revealed a half-bath. Next to a full-length gilded mirror was a large armoire, atop which were silver framed photographs of celebrities caught in the tangles of their own inked signatures. Antonio motioned for Max to take a seat on the couch and opened the heavy armoire doors. Inside the cabinet proper were three rows of leatherbound books. On the bottom of the cabinet sat two bottles of unopened wine, both adorned with shiny bows and ribbons, next to an oak box fitted with a brass clasp. Antonio thumbed the clasp, opened the box and withdrew a dusty bottle of cognac.
“A gift from a guest,” he explained, sliding open the top armoire drawer and taking out two short glasses. “I trust you’ll join me, Max?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had brandy. Is it gross?”
Antonio smiled patiently. “The term brandy comes from the Dutch word brandewijn, meaning ‘burnt wine’. That is how the Dutch traders introduced it to Northern Europe. The process involves boiling wine in order to distill it. I believe the ratio is ten gallons of wine for each gallon of brandy.” Antonio held up the six-ounce glass of dark liquid. “This is Cognac, from the Cognac region of France.”
“Shouldn’t we be drinking it in those glasses that look like fishbowls?”
“A myth,” said Antonio, handing the small glass to Max. “Though favored by movies, the fishbowl glass concentrates the alcohol, causing it to overwhelm the aroma of the brandy.”
Max sniffed the glass. “Ugh. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Take a sip, like so.” Antonio brought his own glass to his lips for the briefest of moments and then closed his eyes. “Let it coat your mouth to ready the palette. You should taste jasmine, fig and orange flavors, some more subtle than others.”
Max sipped his Cognac and his tongue started to burn. He managed to get it down his throat. “All I taste is lit match.”
“Cognac is as individual as people. You must search to find the one that is best suited to you.”
“I’ll keep searching,” said Max. “Do you have any Coke?”
Antonio sighed. “Of course I do.” He walked behind the rosewood desk and opened a small minibar refrigerator. He brought Max a Coke along with a Native Sun cocktail napkin. “Now then, perhaps you should begin telling me the events of your evening.”
“You want me to start at the tournament?”
“Where I last left you, yes.”
When Max had finished relaying the events of his evening, there were three empty Coke cans on the glass coffee table in front of him.
Antonio had nursed his single Cognac while sitting on a chair across the room, jacket unbuttoned. When Max had finished he sat for a moment in thought, contemplating the empty glass held lightly in his fingertips. Finally he said, “I must say, Max, you managed to elicit surprise in me that borders on astonishment. An hour ago I would have said it was impossible to surprise me to such an extent.”
“I know what you mean,” said Max. “I know me pretty well, and I surprised myself a bunch of times tonight.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“Worried.”
“What are you worried about?”
“Brandon shooting me in the head.”
Antonio nodded. “A valid concern.”
“But after what happened in my suite tonight…”
Antonio interrupted, “Which will remain undisclosed.”
“…right, the secret cosmos. I feel kind of…alive.”
“At no point did you feel nauseous, anxious or discomfited?”
Max shook his head, thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Well maybe a little bit here and there. When I was inside the Sachem Suite, and then again when I was trying to clean up so Shannon wouldn’t know I was giving her my room. But not when she was tickling me with her naked feet…surprisingly enough.” He laughed. “Then she felt this wet spot…”
“I believe I have the pertinent details of your evening, Max.” Antonio stood up and took out his BlackBerry. “Let me see if I can find another room for you to stay in tonight.”
Max looked around at the butler office. “Can I sleep in here?”
Antonio lowered his BlackBerry. “Would you find it suitable?”
“Looks a little like a corner suite. Same furniture.” He bounced lightly up and down on the couch. “Is this a pull-out?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Do you have pillows and blankets?”
“Sonny has furnished a set, I can retrieve another.”
“Cool.”
“There is one question that I have for you.”
“Shoot.”
Antonio placed his empty glass in the armoire cabinet. “During excessively busy weekends I, myself, stay over in the hotel. It allows me instant access to guests, and makes me readily accessible in emergency situations. This weekend is such a weekend.”
Max blinked a few times. “You lost me. Sorry, it’s late.”
Antonio spread his hands. “I was going to sleep here tonight. If you’re not opposed to the idea I will bring in a rollaway bed.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Max clapped. “This is awesome!” He swiveled to the side and kicked his feet up onto the couch. “It’ll be like summer camp. I mean, I’m guessing it will be like summer camp. I never really went to one.” He sat up suddenly. “Did you ever go to summer camp?”
“Yes. I was an Eagle Scout.”
“Can you teach me how to start a fire?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Tie a slip knot?”
“If today was a foreshadowing of what we have in store for tomorrow, we will both require sleep in order to recharge our wits.”
“You’re right. As usual.”
Antonio retrieved a pillow, sheets and blanket from a closet in front of the office. He helped Max pull out the sleeper bed and arrange the linens.
“It even smells like a villa in here,” said Max.
“The office is cleaned by the same staff. There’s a small TV to the right of the armoire. Would you like me to turn it on?”
Max removed his jacket and yanked his tie loose. “Nah, I’m beat. Tony?”
Antonio paused, unmoving.
“Antonio?”
“Yes, Max?”
“Do you think there’s really a chance that Shannon and I might…I don’t know, date or something?”
Antonio arranged the linens on the pull-out as carefully as he weighed his options for a response. “Instead of an opinion, may I offer you some advice?”
“If it’s about the birds and bees, I already know. A burlesque showgirl had a flipchart she showed me when I was ten.”
“Shannon is from a world that deals in hyper-reality. I’ve been acquainted with many actors in my years of service. Their profession requires short bursts of passionate emotion. Their private lives have a tendency to follow suit.”
“So she might fall in love with me, and then yell cut!”
“Time spent enjoying true emotion is never wasted. But as with everything, we cannot control time.”
“So she might break my heart.”
“Or, she may mend it.” Antonio placed the bottle of brandy back into the cabinet.
“I’m not sure if you’re giving me hope or warning me off.”
“I wouldn’t be as bold to do either when it comes to romance. Fate has brought you together for a reason. I’m simply sugge
sting that you enjoy the time you share with her.”
“I’m enjoying it so far.”
“Most excellent. Is there anything I can get for you before you retire?”
“Can you grab a Snickers out of the hallway?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Antonio’s BlackBerry hummed. He looked at the screen, expecting to see an incoming call from Mark Ford, feeling it was certainly time for the pendulum to swing their way and allow the night to end with favorable news.
He was vividly wrong about both the caller and the pendulum.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ang Wang was back down on the roof.
Getting to the roof after descending wasn’t easy. He’d actually had to shove off the wall and get his feet firmly onto the rooftop. This took about three tries, meaning that when his feet slipped he fell backwards and slammed into the wall again.
But he had it, holy shit, he had the pic!
He wrestled out of all the climbing crap, tossing it aside, glad to be rid of it. He went through the pics stored on his camera, practically drooling. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he popped a boner, that’s how excited he was.
And rich. He was gonna be so freaking rich.
He put the strap back around his neck and through his jacket he pressed the camera close to his heart, like a precious treasure. He could practically feel his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
Kami-fuckin-kazi!
He jogged over to the small roof access door. He ducked back through, feeling the heat of the interior building and realizing he hadn’t thought of how cold it was outside since he’d begun climbing the rope. He closed the door firmly behind him. He wished he could be there when the tuxedo went outside and figured out how he’d gotten the picture from Shanndon’s balcony. Maybe then he’d realize who he’d been trying to mess with.
Ang nearly frolicked through the rows of furniture. The world was a happier, brighter place. His whole life was about to change.
“Hey,” said the guy who was sitting in the velvet wingback chair, feet up on the leather ottoman, eating one of his SlimJims.
Ang Wang stared at him, feeling the smile melt away on his face. “No speak Engrish.” He began walking quickly away.
“Good idea,” said Mark Ford, not bothering to stand. “There’s State Police outside in the hallway. One of them speaks fluent Mandarin.”
Ang Wang halted in his tracks. “Fuck.”
“Now that’s a language I can understand.” Mark took another bite of his beef jerky. “You wearing an Engineering uniform under there by any chance?”
“I’m not showing you anything. I’m not saying anything.”
“Oh boy.” Mark chewed his SlimJim thoughtfully, staring at Ang Wang. “I been married five times.”
“Erectile dysfunction can be a bitch.”
“Good news is,” said Mark, “I learned something from every marriage. Bad news is it was the same thing every time. Know what it was?”
“You’re gay?”
“That I like being alone. So now I’m all alone, except for my dog. He’s leftover from my last marriage.” Mark belched and thumped his chest. “I hate SlimJims.”
“Am I in trouble or anything here?”
“Shut up,” said Mark. “So this dog, he’s the perfect roommate, he’s only got one hang-up. I don’t get home by 7pm he shits right in the middle of the living room floor.”
“So you gotta put him down, is basically what you’re saying.”
“What I’m saying is I got shit waiting for me when I get home. Are you gonna give me shit right now?”
The camera hanging around Ang’s neck felt suddenly heavy and warm beneath his jacket. It vibrated with the promise of wishes waiting to come true, like a genie lamp humming with energy.
Ang said, “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna give you shit.”
Mark Ford nodded and stood up slowly. “I thought so.”
Ang took off at a run into the maze of furniture.
Mark spoke into his cuff mic. “M1 to base. I want an officer stationed outside the attic ASAP. Also posted at the lobby level stairwell exits and elevators. Contact surveillance for a picture of Asian suspect.” He rattled off a quick physical description. “Detain and contact me if found.” He turned and addressed the labyrinth of furniture. “Ready or not, here I come!”
From somewhere within Ang’s voice shouted back. “You lied about the State Police!”
“I also lied about my marriages – it was six times,” he called back.
Ang sprinted down an aisle, took a few quick turns, and ran until he found himself in a far corner of the attic. If nothing else, he could wait for an opportunity to get back to the roof access door and hide outside. He stopped short and let himself into a caged area that was full of mattresses, careful not to let the metal squeak. He wedged himself between two California King Pillow-Tops, and found a second row of what looked like twin-size mattresses. Here he ducked and crawled into a triangular space created when a few mattresses had been removed, causing the two sides to pitch against each other like a castle made out of playing cards.
Mark Ford ambled among the rows of nightstands, occasionally stopping to bend over and look behind them. “You know,” he said loudly. “I used to be on the force. Had suspects run all the time. I was pretty good at finding them. Wanna guess why?” He paused, and took a turn that led to the back corner of the storage space. “Because everybody that runs is in such a hurry they bump into stuff, knock things over. They leave a trail that looks just like someone ran like hell from point A to point B.” Mark continued walking. “This concrete floor, for instance, is pretty dusty. In fact, all this furniture is dusty. Not like anyone comes up here and polishes the stuff in storage, ya know?” He stopped. “Yup, see right here is a hand print where you probably turned a corner pretty quick and reached out to steady yourself. A natural thing to do.” He kept walking. “My nose is starting to tickle a little. That means the dust that is usually lying around was disturbed, now it’s all floating in the air.” He sneezed robustly. “Oh yea, you’re around here somewhere.” Mark paused, cocked his head to the side. “I think I heard you just now. Shift your weight just a little? Getting braced to take off running again?”
Mark was startled as a man toppled out from between a row of stacked patio furniture. He was young, dark-skinned, shaved head, wearing a Housekeeping uniform.
Mark asked, “Who the hell are you?”
“Jean.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m on medication. Makes me tired.”
“You were sleeping up here?”
“Yes.”
“Well get the hell out of here, Jean.”
“Yes I’m going,” and he turned and ran down the aisle towards the door.
Out of curiosity Mark side-stepped between the stacked lounge chairs and found a very cozy little space with lounge cushions spread around on the floor. On the cushions was a young Haitian woman struggling back into her retail attendant uniform.
“Hi,” said Mark. “Friend of Jean’s?”
“I’m on break.”
Mark noticed that the haphazard spaces between the stacked chairs created a number of good viewing holes. “Have you seen an Asian guy wearing a blue jacket and tan pants?”
“He’s in the mattresses.”
From somewhere nearby Ang yelled out, “You bitch!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Pardon me for sounding like a bitch, but what the hell is going on Antonio?”
After viewing the name of the caller on the screen, Antonio got a very clear vision of a Mako shark clamping firmly onto one of his lower extremities. “Good evening, Liz. You’re working late.”
“When the Casino President gets a phone call about a riot in the hotel porte-cochere, I get a phone call from him.”
“As his Executive Assistant I would expect no less.”
“So as Head Butler, may I ask what the hell you’re doing?”
“Brandon is rather self-motivated and somewhat addicted to media attention. They followed him from the airport. I understand his fan club has an itinerary of his appearances posted on their website.”
“So a few thousand teeny-boppers knew there was going to be a riot, and you didn’t?”
“I am not a member of that particular club.”
“Don’t get witty with me, Antonio. It’s too late, and I’m too fucking tired for your polished repartee bullshit. Do have these celebrities under control?”
“Yes, short of leather restraints and medication.”
“Was that sexual innuendo?”
“Not in the least.”
“Don’t fucking flirt with me. I’ll shove that bowtie so far up your ass your colon will look like the best man at a wedding.” There was a clink of glass on glass. “And yes I’m having some wine, so turn off your super butler senses.”
“I assure you that I’m doing everything I can to limit the impact of our celebrity guests’ unrestrained lifestyle on our property and business.”
“Mmm.” She swallowed loudly. “Another thing. What is a Kamikaze Cam and is it going to ruin my weekend?”
Antonio cleared his throat and relayed all the pertinent information regarding Ang Wang and his reputation as a paparazzo. “I’m awaiting a call from Mark Ford at any moment to see if he’s been apprehended.”
“Jesus Christ. I hope I have another bottle of wine in the frig.”
“I can have a nice Bordeaux sent over by town car if – ”
“I said turn that shit off. I’m not one of your rich bitch Villa guests who can’t wipe their own asses without you standing there with a silk handkerchief on a silver tray.”
Antonio exercised silence.
“Even you being quiet annoys me because you know it’s what I want and that’s the only reason you’re doing it.” A click, pause, an exhale that continued through her next few words. “Yes you have me smoking again. What is it about you that makes me confess everything before you can call me on it? Don’t answer that. Shut-up and listen. I don’t want to hear about Brandon again until I hear the revenue generated from his appearance at Twilight, which is projected to be over one hundred and fifty thousand between door and bar sales. I don’t want to hear about his bubbly bare-chested girlfriend unless she’s going to sign autographs and make us some money. If she’s just staining our sheets and eating our food, she’s a non-entity to me. She’s a house pet. She’s not paying the bills. Are you keeping up with me so far?”
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 17