The Highest Stakes

by Rick Reed

  Jack didn’t think they had time to wait for that. Jack looked at his watch. The boat left the dock on the hour so they had about fifteen minutes to board. “Can you get us on the boat?”

  “Does the Lone Ranger wear a mask?” Stu said, and headed out the door. “I already called the gate and asked them to stall departure until we get there.”

  On the way Stu said, “Moon Pie has lost about fifty grand this year. Here and at other casinos.”

  “I didn’t know you guys got paid that well,” Pons said.

  “We don’t,” Jack said.

  “That’s not all,” Stu continued. “The Blue Star is holding a twenty-thousand-dollar marker for Moon Pie.”

  Pons let out a low whistle. “Man, oh man! I joined the wrong department.”

  As they neared the metal detector at the gate Stu asked, “Are you both carrying?” Jack and Pons said they were. Stu said, “Just don’t shoot anyone that doesn’t need shooting or I’ll be doing paperwork until I’m a hundred.”

  The lone security guard didn’t look up as they passed through the metal detectors and walked through the double glass doors and onto the boarding ramp.

  “Did you alert security?” Jack asked, hoping he hadn’t.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo. Besides, none of these guys carry weapons, and half of them are likely to jump overboard if there’s trouble.”

  They entered the second level, and a young crew member said, “You just made it, Stu.” The crew member was wearing a stark white coverall with a light blue stripe running diagonally up to the left chest where a prominent blue star was sewn over the heart. Over the star, white embroidery proclaimed “Blue Star Casino & Hotel.”

  “Where’s Major Ellert?” Stu asked the man.

  “Haven’t seen him,” the crewman said. “I didn’t talk to no one just like you told me, and I’ve been right here waiting for you.”

  Stu thanked the crewman, and they went into the second level. “That was my buddy, Leon. He’s probably the only guy I trust. He wouldn’t have said anything even if he knew what was up.”

  The room was crammed with slot machines, blackjack and craps tables, and people. At the far end was the Crystal Room, a private area that was hardly more than an elegantly decked-out sandwich, chip, and drink bar with a few dining tables scattered along the wall. To Jack’s left were the big-money slots and the poker room. On the video Moon Pie had come from a restroom that was past the poker room, near the cashier’s cage.

  Stu nudged Jack and pointed toward the big-money slots. “There’s your boy now.”

  Moon Pie’s short stature made him barely visible over the top of an obese, elderly woman. She was melded into a doublewide wheelchair, manically feeding a slot machine. His porkpie hat bobbed up and down when he fed his own machine and pulled the handle.

  “Yeah. That’s Moon Pie,” Jack said. “Looks nervous, doesn’t he?”

  Moon Pie was lifting his hat and swiping his hand through his hair, and then wiping perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Each time he did this, his eyes would dart toward the cashier’s cage and then back over at the slot machine where the woman was playing and then back at his own slot machine. The men moved to a better position. The bulge in the back waistband of Moon Pie’s tacky bowling shirt was more obvious than it was on the video.

  “What about Shirl?” Jack asked.

  “Probably watching the cashier’s cage on one of the other floors. I don’t really know him. He’s older, right?” Pons asked.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Jack said.

  * * *

  Paul White watched from where he sat playing a slot machine just outside the Crystal Room. He was impressed, and it took a lot to impress him. He hoped Detective Murphy wouldn’t figure it out, but the man was like a dog digging for a bone. Jack had been told to stay out of this and when that didn’t work White had Jack charged with killing Khaled. Now, Jack was not only here, he’d brought some friends. White recognized the ATF agent named Greg Pons from his briefing before starting this mission. The other guy was a state trooper.

  With Jack, Pons, and the trooper that made at least three other armed men on this boat besides himself, Thompson, and Crenshaw. Shirley West and Skippy Walker were almost certainly armed, courtesy of the deceased Khaled Abutaqa, but he couldn’t imagine Ellert being given any kind of weapon. And, of course, Quinn would be armed. He would be the most dangerous of all. It would be a war when it started. People would get killed. But that wasn’t his concern. He was here for Quinn.

  “Update,” White said into a wireless microphone pinned inside his jacket collar. To the casual observer, it would appear he was talking to his slot machine like most of the other players.

  Agent Thompson, stationed on the third floor, said, “No change yet.” The body mikes they were wearing were space-age technology and worked perfectly, even within the steel-hulled casino. They didn’t worry about local radio buffs picking up their transmissions because this system transmitted on such ultrahigh frequencies that anyone listening would hear only a hiss.

  Crenshaw’s voice came over their earpieces, “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

  White looked around and spotted Crenshaw standing behind one of the dealers.

  “Jack Murphy, ATF Agent Pons, and a state trooper are watching Skippy Walker,” she said.

  “Stay put,” White said.

  * * *

  Agent Thompson sat at the bar on the third level. He was dressed in jeans and a dark knit shirt, just one of the hundreds of other customers who had come for entertainment and a drink. In his peripheral vision, he watched Shirl sitting at the other end of the bar with a beer in front of him. Shirl had only glanced his direction once, focusing instead on the mirror behind the bar. No one had approached Shirl. No one else paid him any mind, except the bartender, and Shirl had spoken to no one except to ask for more peanuts.

  They had known about Shirl and Skippy, or Moon Pie as he was called, for several days. The surveillance devices they had put in Shirl’s apartment enabled them to receive more than just telephone conversations. The little gizmos they planted included video capability. Thompson thought about some of the “activity” he had watched over the last two days and smiled. Shirl was a pretty energetic man for his age.

  This little piece of equipment had also come in handy while they sat outside that parole officer’s house listening to Murphy’s discussion of Shirley West and Moon Pie as the men working with Quinn. They knew about Coin and Reverend Payne and Ellert too. They knew about the meetings at that dive hotel in Henderson, although they had come across the information too late to finish their business with Quinn. Murphy had put all the pieces together like a pro. In fact, White was talking about recruiting him into their ranks. That would never happen because he was going to kill Murphy.

  He had to hand it to White. The senior agent had read Murphy’s personality like a book. White knew that Quinn was planning something sensational, but they needed to know the target. Jack had led them to all the right players and had even guessed Quinn’s target. If he didn’t hate Murphy so much he’d be impressed.

  Quinn had built quite a maze, and Murphy was the perfect rat to run through it. The whole thing was a win-win situation for Thompson. Murphy would lead him to Quinn. Quinn would die. Thompson would kill Murphy and make it look like one of the cops had done it.

  In Thompson’s earpiece he heard, “Be ready.”

  “Upper deck. I’m clear,” Crenshaw said. Her responsibility was to move around, see what they had missed, and act as backup.

  “Clear,” Thompson said. He moved to an empty slot machine and watched Shirl enter the restroom.

  Shirl came out a minute later and sat at the bar again. He ordered another beer and kept an eye on the cashier inside the money cage.

  Thompson wondered if the die-hard gamblers on the boat would place a bet on how many lives would be lost before this was over. He could guarantee a high body count.

  *
* *

  Jack knew he couldn’t stay where he was for much longer. Moon Pie had competed with Stu in bodybuilding contests. And since he was a VIP on the boat, he probably knew Stu from the casino too.

  “Pons is going to the third floor, but do we know where Ellert is?” Jack asked.

  “I take it you want me to locate him,” Stu said.

  “You have the run of the boat,” Pons said.

  “If I find Ellert, do I watch him or take him out of play?”

  “If Ellert tries anything do what you think best,” Jack said.

  Stu agreed. “You know, when I was taken off the street and assigned to this job I felt my police career was over. I never thought someone would try to rob the casino. I assumed there was a system in place that would prevent a robbery.”

  “Is there?” Pons asked.

  “How would I know? The casino doesn’t let us near the money and the upper brass treats us like mushrooms. Covers us with shit and keeps us in the dark,” Stu said.

  “Our best bet is to take these guys down quickly,” Jack said. He didn’t want to even think about a shoot-out in there.

  “If I find Ellert, I’ll disable him, then come back to help you guys,” Stu said. “Hopefully they’re not in communication. Cell phones don’t work worth a damn inside here and not at all downstairs. I’ll be back.” He turned and headed down the stairwell.

  Jack said, “He makes a good point. Think we can take them all at the same time?”

  “If we had about ten more guys, maybe. But that boat has sailed, no pun intended.”

  “I’ll stay with Moon Pie. Shirl definitely knows me,” Jack said.

  “He’ll probably be in the same spot as Moon Pie on this floor.”

  Jack said. “Don’t underestimate Shirl. He’s been around the block.”

  “Be careful yourself,” Pons said, and headed toward the stairs to the third level.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Ellert tossed the Donut Bank box that had contained the Semtex, now empty, among the clutter of pipes in the plumbing chase. He had planted all the explosives Quinn wanted. He was still a few minutes ahead of schedule. He had no desire to kill anyone, but the more he thought about the freedom the money would bring, the more he thought about getting even with Kenny Taylor and his ex-wife, the more accepting he became of some collateral damage.

  He unlocked the door to the mechanical room and found the smudge pot undisturbed. It was directly under the intake vents that drew air from the outside and circulated it throughout the boat’s ventilation system. The air exchangers were enormous. They could completely change the air inside the casino every three or four minutes.

  Now to light the smudge pot. The gas would hit first, and then the explosions would rock the boat. He would wear the mask until he was sure most of the gas had dissipated. Then he would mingle with the panicked patrons until the cops showed up. He would be a hero for restoring order. His part in this affair was almost complete.

  He had only hesitated to place the charges in the surveillance room because it would surely kill the crewmen who were stationed in there. He knew them. Knew their families. But there wasn’t any choice. If he tried to send them out of the room before the explosion, they would figure out that he was involved. It was too bad they had to die.

  He pried the lid from the smudge pot and was almost overcome by the fumes before dropping the lid back in place. “Holy shit!” he said. He put the gas mask on and pulled the straps tight. He could breathe better but his nostrils and throat still burned from the first whiff. His eyes watered and he could barely read the face of his watch. The first explosion would be in five minutes. It would take at least that long for the gas to do anything.

  He lifted the lid an inch or so and saw some type of brackish liquid floating on top. It wasn’t like any tear gas he’d seen in his military training, but it was what Smith had given him.

  He wiped a cold sweat from his brow and could feel nausea coming on. He focused back on the canister. There wasn’t a fuse, so he was unsure how to ignite this thing.

  He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette lighter. As his hand closed on the lighter, he felt a tingling in his nose and throat. A sneeze erupted from him and then another. The inside visor of the gas mask was covered with red droplets. He panicked and yanked the mask off and was immediately sorry when he was hit full in the face by the fumes coming from the canister. He backed into the hall and swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. His cuff came away bloody.

  There was still time to disarm the charges, or at least the one that would almost surely kill the surveillance room crew. But Ellert, the soon-to-be-millionaire, asserted himself again. He used his handkerchief to wipe some of the blood out of the gas mask and was pulling it back on when a fist came out of nowhere.

  * * *

  Stu Sanders pulled Chief of Security Ellert to his feet and locked a handcuff on one wrist. He pushed Ellert against the wall and yanked his arms over his head. He then handcuffed him to an overhead pipe. Ellert’s nose was bleeding and he was unsteady, but he would live. A gas mask was on the floor at his feet. “You always were a dickhead, Ellert,” Stu said.

  Stu held his breath and entered the room where he saw a large canister under the air intake vents. His eyes were burning as he stomped the lid back in place and shoved the container away from the vent.

  The chemical smell left in the air was overpowering, but, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be hurting anyone on this ship. Stu went back in the hall and shut the door to the A/C room behind him. Ellert was trying to stand. Stu patted Ellert’s clothing down for weapons. Finding none, he checked Ellert’s pockets to be sure he didn’t have a handcuff key hidden on him.

  “Wakey, wakey, asshole,” Stu said, and slapped Ellert’s cheeks.

  “What the . . . ?” Ellert said, coming around. Blood was still running from his nose, and he seemed too groggy for the punch Stu had delivered to his jaw. Ellert stood up and tried to yank his hands free and then saw he was handcuffed. Stu could see fear in his eyes. “You can’t leave me here!” Ellert whined.

  “You should have thought of that before you became a dick,” Stu said. If the surveillance cameras caught all of this it would be enough to hang the three of them—Ellert, Moon Pie, and Shirl. And it would get the Feds off Jack’s back.

  “Your buddies are going to jail, asshole,” Stu said, and turned to walk away.

  “There are bombs!” Ellert yelled.

  Stu walked back. “Where?” Stu asked. Ellert licked his lips but didn’t answer. “There are over a thousand people on this boat,” Stu said. “And we’re in the middle of the Ohio River, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Take the handcuffs off and I’ll tell you.”

  “You’re full of shit, Ellert,” Stu said, leaving.

  “You gotta let me go, Stu!” Ellert turned his head and spit a wad of reddish phlegm on the wall.

  Stu said through clenched teeth, “I’ll leave you here like a rat. Talk.”

  “There are bombs, Stu, Sergeant Sanders. I’ll die if you don’t take these off. We’ll both die. Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything,” Ellert begged.

  Stu grabbed him by the neck and drew one huge fist back.

  “I’ll tell! I’ll tell!” Ellert wailed and turned his face but the blow didn’t come.

  The story Ellert told was ridiculous. So ridiculous in fact that Stu believed him. Ellert told Stu where he had placed the Semtex and the order in which he had set the detonators. Stu ran down the hallway and found three of the charges. He pulled the small cylindrical detonators from them but he didn’t know how to stop the timer. He guessed these were like blasting caps. Spotting a sturdy metal trash can, the kind that is fire safe, he dropped the devices in the can, hoping this would contain the blast. He didn’t have time to search for the charge that was planted near the ballast tank. The surveillance room was more important.

  He ran to that room and pounded on the door.

  “We can
’t open up, Sergeant Sanders,” one of the surveillance crew yelled through the steel door. “Major Ellert gave strict orders not to let anyone in until he personally came back.”

  Stu didn’t have time to drag Ellert’s ass to the door to give them the okay, so he yelled a warning, drew his gun, and shot at the lock several times. He kicked at the door and still it wouldn’t open. “Ellert planted explosives in there,” Stu yelled. “Search if you don’t believe me, but don’t touch anything. Just run.”

  One of the surveillance crew sounded concerned but still wouldn’t open. “You’ll have to get the casino manager if you can’t find Major Ellert.”

  “Get your asses out of there. There are explosives in there. Go to the upper decks. Do it now!”

  Stu hoped their survival instinct would override their orders, and they would head for the safety of the upper decks. He rushed up the stairs to warn the ship’s captain about the explosives.

  * * *

  Jack worked his way across the room to come up behind Moon Pie. He had looked in Jack’s direction several times, but didn’t give any sign of recognition. The glazed look in Moon Pie’s eyes was almost primal, as if he was having an out-of-body experience. Jack was going to give him another out-of-body experience in just a minute when he stroked him with the butt of the Glock.

  Jack closed in and reached for Moon Pie’s shoulder when someone shoved something hard into his ribs. White said, “Don’t turn around. Walk to the stairs or I’ll kill you. You believe me, right, Jack?”

  “I take it you’re not arresting me?”

  White shoved the silencer into Jack’s spine and pushed him toward the stairwell.

  * * *

  Moon Pie felt sick. He rushed into the bathroom just in time to throw up on the floor.

  “Damn it. Damn, damn!” He punched the closest stall door with his fists.

  “Hey! What the hell’s going on?” a voice said from inside the stall. “Goddamn drunks.”