by Rick Reed
He thought back to this morning when he was outside enjoying a smoke because the assholes wouldn’t let them smoke inside. A nice-looking car came down the street and stopped outside the shelter. The driver rolled down a window and motioned him over. At first he thought it might be another of those damn faggots that hung out around the riverfront parks. He’d just gotten out of prison for beating one of them nearly to death. But this guy didn’t talk like a fag. He was all business, and he said he had some work. He said it would pay well.
His first instinct was to walk away. Something about the guy’s eyes was scary. The man must have sensed his distrust, because he hauled out a wad of cash that would choke a mule. So he’d gotten in the car and went for a short ride while the man explained that all he had to do was hang out on the sidewalk in front of the casino. At exactly ten thirty he was supposed to pick a fight with someone going in. The man even gave him a watch so he could keep the time. It was a cheapo Timex, but what the hell. He hadn’t had a watch since he got out of prison.
He’d thought about asking for more money, but his mama didn’t raise no fool. No sir. This wasn’t someone he wanted to get acquainted with.
He sat on the bench and watched closely as a rich-looking dude and his girlfriend dropped off their Lexus with the parking attendant. They were coming across the street, holding hands and grinning like the rest of the yuppie bastards he had come to hate. Always looking down their noses at him. He checked his watch again. Ten thirty. Time to go to work.
* * *
Major Ellert checked his watch. At exactly ten thirty, Smith had promised to create a diversion at the pavilion entrance. He said it would take care of all the outside security cameras and most of the guards on the boat long enough for him to bring the smudge pot on board.
It was ten thirty now. Ellert hurried down the stairs to the lower level and hid the donut boxes in an equipment closet that only he had a key to. He would have to take the Halloween masks and weapons up to the restrooms after he brought the smudge pot onboard.
He hurried to the portside emergency exit. That door was equipped with an alarm, and would be on the monitors. But he knew the monitors would be drawn to the diversion and he could manually override the alarm. He hoped he had enough time to get the smudge pot, get back on board, lock the door, set the alarm and get downstairs before the cameras were back in position.
He stood by the exit and waited.
At the agreed time he heard screaming and cursing coming from outside. He punched in the code to disable the alarm and opened the door with a key. He hurried out on the port deck and could hear a woman screaming her lungs out in the direction of the pavilion. He walked to the railing, opened a small section of the gate, and jumped to shore. The smudge pot was right where he had left it.
He grabbed it, leapt onto the deck, and carried the pot inside. Then he secured the door and reset the alarm. So far, so good.
He carried the container down the empty hallway to the fan room. Only he and the engineers had keys to this room.
He shoved the canister under the air intake vent and set an empty crate on top of it. The crate was a fire hazard and did not belong in the fan room. He’d discovered it about two days earlier and supposed that one of the lazy engineers was using it for a place to sit and hide. Instead of disposing of it, as he would normally do, he left it just for this purpose. If anyone discovered the canister by accident, it wouldn’t matter. The fun would start soon.
He listened at the door for movement in the hall. It wouldn’t do to run across that nosy state trooper. The casino security staff may be a joke, but the troopers were all business. Satisfied he was alone, he went back to the room where he’d left the donut boxes. He took the blocks of Semtex out, laid them on the floor, and put the detonators in his shirt pocket. He then carried the donut boxes with the pistols and masks to the aft stairway and up to the second-floor men’s restroom. If the surveillance cameras were watching him, he could claim he was doing a routine check of the restrooms.
Two men were inside the restroom sharing a doobie until they noticed Ellert’s uniform, flicked the joint in a toilet, and disappeared like cockroaches.
He used his key to lock the bathroom door from inside and set the case on the floor. He unlocked the wall-mounted paper towel receptacle and swung it out on its hinges. It was almost full but there was room on top of the paper towels for one of the silent pistols and a mask. He locked the cover back in place, unlocked and left the bathroom. Now to the third level.
He hoped Moon Pie had remembered to bring the key. He hoped the little asshole wouldn’t do something stupid and get them all caught. This last thought caused a trickle of sweat to run down the back of his neck.
* * *
Jack called Stu’s direct office line but got no answer. He called the number for the casino security office. A woman answered. “Dispatch,” she said.
“Stu Sanders, please.”
“He’s not in his office,” the dispatcher answered.
“Find him. It’s urgent police business.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a bored voice. “Wait one.”
In seconds, she said, “Patching you through now, sir,” and Stu was on the line.
“My dispatcher said it was urgent, Jack. I hope this ain’t a prank, buddy, ’cause I’m kind of busy right now.” He sounded agitated.
“Stu, it’s not a joke,” Jack said. “Listen carefully. I think something is going to happen there tonight. I need to know if you’ve seen Moon Pie, or if anyone strange has come aboard.”
“The boat’s always full of assholes. Look, Jack, I got my hands full right now.” In the background Jack could hear a woman sobbing and then someone said, “Screw you, cop!”
“What’s going on?” Jack asked.
Stu yelled something at one of the security guards that Jack didn’t quite catch before Stu answered.
“This jerk-wad just started beating on a guy in front of the pavilion, and now he’s pissed off because I’m sending him to jail.” Stu snorted a laugh. “I just happened to be walking from the garage and saw the fight, so I grabbed this turd and now he says he’s suing me.” Stu let out a deep breath. “Can you believe that? The victim and his girlfriend had just turned over their car to the valet, and I guess Mr. Personality here objected to the distribution of wealth.”
“Stu, you need to hear this.”
“This jerk wad had a ton of money on him. I’m trying to find out if there are other robberies before I bag and tag him.” That was Stu-talk for “put him in jail.”
“Goddammit, Stu,” Jack said through clenched teeth, “you have bigger problems.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The detonators were in Ellert’s shirt pocket. Mr. Smith was very specific about how and where to place the explosives and when to set the timers.
Ellert was amazed. When he’d gone through his security training for this job, his teachers had come up with almost every scenario possible for robbing the casino. Smith had outsmarted them all and made their precautions look like child’s play.
He wiped the perspiration from his brow. It wouldn’t be long now.
* * *
Shirl saw the commotion in front of the pavilion as he walked across the skywalk from the hotel garage. The guy sporting prison clothes came off the bench, ran across the street, and started pounding a guy who stepped from a Lexus LS. He knew it was a Lexus LS because he planned to be driving one himself before long.
The girl who had gotten out of the car wasn’t bad either. Maybe he’d get one of those too. His live-in, Angel, had become tiresome. Nice body, but she couldn’t carry on a conversation that wasn’t about dope. Of course, he wasn’t interested in talk when he’d let her move into his apartment.
Shirl thought about Angel’s body and had to push the thoughts out of his mind. She was getting to be a liability, and he suspected that she was even bringing dope into the apartment. That he wouldn’t tolerate. The police department’s inter
nal affairs assholes would love to have another go at him.
He’d made a lot of money off Angel, selling her to traveling businessmen; always someone from outside town, but it was time to get rid of her. The thing was, she knew a lot and had guessed a lot more. She had “accidental overdose” written all over her.
He stopped on the skywalk to watch the action down there. The guy was getting a first-class ass whipping. It was fun to watch, but he had to go. He wanted to get on early and make a show of playing the slots and drinking. Hopefully Ellert hadn’t screwed up or chickened out. Anything was possible with a rent-a-cop.
He watched as a muscled-up state policeman got into the middle of the fracas below. He recognized Stu Sanders. This would be a short battle. He hoped Sanders wouldn’t interfere with them. He ignored the escalators and took the stairs two at a time to the main floor.
At the ticket counter, a cute blonde took his money and handed him a pass.
“They’re boarding shortly, sir.”
He took the ticket and was about to make a cute remark when a cocktail waitress came by. He turned to watch her ass as she walked by. She had a nice rack too, but her hair was chopped into one of those severe haircuts you see on butch lesbians. What a waste.
He turned back to the cute blonde behind the ticket counter. She was busy with another customer so he moved on.
He didn’t trust Smith. His experience told him to be there early and watch. That was why he’d hidden a Seecamp 9mm semiauto pistol in an ankle holster. He would pick up the silenced pistol that Ellert had hidden in the third-level restroom, but he wanted to have his own weapon as well. “Never trust a gun you didn’t load yourself,” was his motto. He hadn’t gotten this old by being stupid.
A line was forming as he approached the boarding gate.
* * *
Moon Pie slouched against a wall on the second level by the craps tables. He was watching the cashier’s cage. The idea that in the next hour he would be a millionaire brought a smile to his face. He could bet anything he wanted from now on.
His mouth was dry, so he motioned to a nearby cocktail waitress. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking, but what the hell. The slim redhead accepted the twenty he gave her for a beer and smiled. She didn’t offer any change, and he didn’t ask for it.
He downed the beer in one go, thought about getting another, then thought better of it. His mouth was still dry. He licked his lips and ran a hand through his greasy hair under the porkpie hat. His movements were robotic, almost as if someone else controlled his body, but he couldn’t help it. He had never been this nervous before, but then, he had never been this close to being rich. There were no clocks on the boat so he looked at his watch.
The restroom was next to the cashier’s cage. The silenced pistol would be behind that toilet seat thing. Ellert had gone over the plan with them several times but now, with all the lights, beeping machines, excited chatter, and drunken laughter, Moon Pie’s brain was filled with a deafening white noise. He struggled to remember what Smith had told him to do. “What’s the damn plan?” he asked out loud.
He looked around the room for Shirl. He’d know what to do next. But Shirl wouldn’t be on the second level, would he? Shirl was supposed to be on the third floor. Moon Pie had gotten to his own spot so early he was sure he would have seen Shirl passing through. “Where the hell is he?” he said through clenched teeth. Maybe Shirl had also come onboard early. Or worse yet, maybe Moon Pie was late?
He remembered the plan. Get the gun from the restroom and put it under your shirt. There was to be an explosion belowdecks, and that was his cue to rob the cashier. No. No. Get the gun and mask down. Put the mask on and wait for the explosion. That was it. He moved across the floor in the direction of the men’s room.
“Screw Smith. Screw you too, Ellert,” Moon Pie said but no one near him noticed. They were so busy watching their money circling the drain.
He went into the restroom and unlocked the metal receptacle on the wall, lifted the cover off, and dropped it to the floor. The blued steel Smith & Wesson, silencer already attached, lay on top of the mask. He took the gun out, stuck it in his back waistband, and pulled his bowling shirt down over it. He took down the mask and rolled it up and stuck it in the back of his waistband, almost down to his crack.
When he came out of the men’s room he tugged at the back of his bowling shirt. Having the likeness of Bill Clinton stuck in his butt crack made him smile. “Eat shit, Bill,” he muttered with a chuckle.
Wearing masks of presidents was Mr. Smith’s idea, but Moon Pie was sure he had seen it in a movie. Maybe that was where Smith got the idea. Maybe Smith wasn’t as smart as Shirl thought he was.
“Where the hell is Shirl?” he said out loud. He knew they were supposed to pretend like they didn’t know each other, but he’d like to know if the job had been called off. How would anyone be able to tell him if it was? When he’d tried talking to Ellert earlier, that asshole acted like he was shooing a fly.
Moon Pie motioned for another beer, and a cocktail waitress brought it right over. He gave her another twenty. She smiled, but he didn’t pay much attention this time. He was looking for Shirl. Or Ellert. Or Mr. Smith. Perspiration dotted his forehead as his mind ground through the next part of the plan. He tipped the beer up and tugged at the back of his waistband.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Pons worked the slide of his Smith & Wesson 10mm and chambered a round. He reached into a drawer of his desk, took two more loaded clips, and put these in his jacket pocket.
“Can you hit anything with that hand cannon?” Jack asked. “Or are you just planning to make a lot of noise?”
Pons slipped the weapon into his belt holster. “Have you got a gun?”
Jack pulled the Glock .45 from his waistband.
“And you’re talking about my hand cannon?”
Jack already had a round chambered. A .45 caliber bullet makes a hole about the size of a pencil eraser when it enters a body, but it makes one hell of a mess when it exits.
“If you guys are through comparing the size of your guns,” Susan said, “you can tell me what we’re doing next.”
“Killian was doing his job. Now I’m going to do mine,” Jack said. “You ready, Special Agent Pons?”
“Let’s do it.”
“Wait a minute,” Susan said. “What are we doing? I haven’t heard any type of plan for us yet.”
Jack said to Susan, “I want you to do something important.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” she protested.
“Someone has to alert the troops. Captain Franklin needs to know what’s going on. If this goes sideways, I need someone to tell them I didn’t kill Khaled. Someone needs to know the truth about what’s going on. Give us twenty minutes before you go to the police. Don’t talk to anyone but Captain Franklin or Liddell.”
Her expression showed it was obvious she didn’t like it. But he thought she saw the logic.
She said, “You owe me a lot of money, buster. You’d better be around to pay off.”
* * *
Pons drove south on Court Street toward the casino.
“The gas pedal is that thing by your right foot,” Jack said. The speedometer of the agent’s Pontiac showed thirty miles per hour, the speed limit on downtown streets.
“I’d let you drive, but this vehicle is owned by the federal government, Jack, so you’ll just have to buckle up and enjoy the ride.”
“I could get out and push you faster than this. Hell, we could walk faster.” The federal building was a mere ten blocks from the casino, but the distance wouldn’t matter if the robbery went down before they boarded the boat. To his credit, Pons passed the parking garage entrance and parked in front of the pavilion.
Jack had called Stu and told him they were coming. Stu met Jack and Pons at the door to the security office. He had the surveillance monitors on his desk cranked up.
“Watch this,” he said and hit some keys on the computer. A picture cam
e up of Moon Pie walking onto the boarding ramp. “That was about thirty minutes ago.” The camera picked up Moon Pie at different points where he continued onto the second level of the casino. Moon Pie then stood against a wall near the craps tables. He was gazing toward someone or something just out of range of this camera. Stu hit another set of keys and said, “I’m running facial recognition so it will pick him up wherever he is. Now we’re in real time.”
Moon Pie was coming from a restroom.
Stu said, “See something odd here?”
“He’s moving kind of funny. Got something in the back of his pants,” Jack said.
“Either that or he’s shit himself,” Pons said.
“It’s bigger than a pistol,” Stu said. “Sawed-off shotgun?”
“Are there cameras in the restroom?” Pons asked.
Stu grunted. “If there was, the surveillance crew would ignore the rest of the boat.”
“Can you zoom in on him, Stu?” Jack asked.
“Are you kidding? I can put the camera right up his nose.”
Stu punched a few more keys and the camera zoomed in on Moon Pie’s face.
“That’s close enough,” Jack said. “He’s not watching the craps table. What is he looking at?”
Stu brought up another monitor and tapped the screen. It showed people standing in line at a cashier’s cage.
Pons said, “You were right, Jack. They’re going to rob the casino.” He asked Stu, “Can you find Shirl?”
Stu went to another keyboard and searched for Shirley West in the casino database with no luck. “He’s not in the casino’s computerized system. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been on the riverboat. He just hasn’t come to our attention for any reason, like if he has a Gold pass or he’s been barred from coming onboard for causing trouble. If you can get me a photo of him I could scan it in, and the facial recognition software might find him.”