Lost In Vegas

by Ian Jones

  John backtracked. He decided these offices behind the glass door would most likely be Pablo’s own space. Secure, private and quiet. One of the doors was slightly open so he took a chance and prodded it wider with a foot. Inside it was empty, just a small office, with only a desk and a couple of chairs. On the desk there was a printed copy of a photograph. It was John standing in immigration at McCarran Airport. So Pablo had connections, that was no surprise he reasoned. John folded the photo and stuck it into his jeans pocket. He followed the corridor to the glass door and then back out to the main room and into Reception which was a big round space with pretend ruins and a waterfall in the centre. Opposite the counters were the doors to the outside world, and to his left everything opened out straight into the casino where the slot machines began. There were cameras everywhere. With a wide smile John took off the baseball cap and T-shirt and walked around the room looking directly at all the cameras, and then went into the casino. Every member of staff he saw he showed them the photo of Abby, but if anyone recognised her they didn’t admit it. Nobody wanted to talk. Worth a try. He found the two men and gave them back their tools and uniforms and then sauntered out of the hotel.

  Chapter Six

  Pablo slowly put the phone back in its cradle and sat there staring it. Just as things couldn’t get any worse he thought to himself. Money would make all his problems go away; even John Smith would be nothing other than a pain in his ass. He shouldn’t be facing all these problems; it was time to take action. He called Stefan.

  Fifteen minutes later the two men were seated in the Acropolis’s coffee lounge next to the high stakes casino, which was pretty much empty at six in the evening. Pablo fussed around stirring a cappuccino while Stefan sat sipping a black coffee waiting for his boss to speak.

  ‘So, tell me Stefan any news on Mr Smith?’

  ‘Not so far, but you know it takes a while. I got feelers out with the hotels, I’m talking to people and Tony and Skinny are hunting. We’ll find him.

  ‘So we got everyone on this?’

  ‘Yeah. I thought it was important.’

  Pablo nodded and took a drink from his cup.

  ‘Well, I hate to say it Stefan it ain’t your fault but they ain’t doing too well are they?’

  ‘Come on Pablo, it’s only been a day, and they are all we got.’

  ‘Yeah, this I know. But then Ron calls me telling me some Brit guy turns up at Honeys asking for me.’

  Stefan looked up surprised.

  ‘Honeys? Why the hell did he go there? How did he even know about it?’

  ‘Well I don’t know. But he described him. It was Smith alright.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You know Ron. He told him to fuck off. He wasn’t to know we wanted him, too bad.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Stefan, we got friends in this town, right?’

  Stefan looked at Pablo incredulously. Friends? In this town? Pablo had run out of friends here a long time ago, his constant scheming, bad attitude and appalling business sense had put paid to that. It had been a whole lot easier when Francesco was running the show. Pablo owed money everywhere and Stefan was one of the few who knew how bad it really was. Nobody could spend money like Pablo, nobody, and nobody could borrow like he could either. But Stefan had been around a while, and just did what he always did, he agreed.

  ‘Yeah, sure Pablo. We got lots of friends.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Make sure they are helping us OK? I can’t have Smith running around like this, making me look like some kind of asshole.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They sat in silence for a while; Stefan knew Pablo had more on his mind.

  Finally, Pablo gave a long sigh and looked slowly around him, then spoke quietly.

  ‘Stefan, we got another problem. And this is between us OK?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So we talk a lot right. Me and you, and you know the ins and outs. You know things have been changing. We ain’t doing so well, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’m dealing with all the shit, you know, working hard. It’s a downturn, is all it is. You mentioned New York yesterday. They just rang me. They’re sending someone down here.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Stefan was genuinely concerned at the news. This was worse, way worse that some British guy running around on some bullshit revenge mission or whatever it was. New York was serious, he had attempted to get the importance of this over to Pablo on many occasions but he wouldn’t listen, he never listened. And this was a big deal. New York wouldn’t go away. The fact they were coming out here meant that they needed to get their house in order. Stefan wasn’t surprised to hear the news, but he had sincerely hoped they would have something solid in place before it got this far.

  Pablo waved a hand; feigning nonchalance.

  ‘Stefan, let them come. Like I give a fuck right? It’s only money. We’ll turn things around. I’ll deal with it, but just do me a favour and get this Smith thing put to bed. I need that distraction like I need another hole in my ass.’

  Stefan’s phone suddenly buzzed loudly, he glanced at the display and looked at Pablo and then answered.

  ‘Yeah?’

  Stefan suddenly looked up sharply and nodded at Pablo.

  ‘Right, say the room number again.’

  Stefan shut the phone off and stood up.

  ‘That fucker. He’s staying here! Room 1518. He checked in at seven yesterday.’

  Pablo jumped up cursing loudly. Stefan made another call and ordered Tony and Skinny back to the hotel and to meet them on the top floor, and then called the head of security and ordered him up there too.

  The five men converged in front of the elevators. This floor was all suites, which Pablo found even more irritating. They marched down to room 1518. The head of security went to knock but Pablo pushed his hand away.

  ‘Just open the fucking door,’ he growled.

  They burst into the suite, but it was immediately obvious that not only was it empty but also nobody had been in it. The bed had never even been sat on, the complimentary bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of water instead of ice. Still, they searched all the rooms.

  ‘He ain’t here,’ Tony said out loud, secretly relieved.

  Pablo rubbed his hands over his face and told everyone to go. He stood in the middle of the lounge and looked around, willing himself to spot something. Why did it feel like they were being played for fools?

  John went through the same drill as the previous night, eating room service and watching through the binoculars. He was starting to get a feel for the place. He got the idea something may have been going on, a dark 4x4 pulled up sharply right outside the doors and two men went running into the hotel about quarter past six. He stored their images mentally for later. One thing he did notice was the hotel didn’t seem as busy as those around it. He knew the Mandalay Bay of course, which was packed and he had used the footbridge through the Luxor which seemed similarly full of people. Then the Excalibur, MGM Grand, in fact all the hotels at this end of the strip were all buzzing. Apart from the Acropolis. There were people there, coming and going, but not in the same volume. He wondered why that was.

  After a few hours, with weary eyes he put the binoculars down and checked his watch, nearly quarter past eleven. He pondered the situation he was in. He had a job to do which was clear, but he was in danger of becoming distracted. The idea of revenge for his welcome at the airport was very attractive, but probably wouldn’t ultimately lead him to the whereabouts of Abby. He realised that in all likelihood as he did get closer then he would no doubt end up under Pablo’s nose anyway, so he would have to take any action necessary when the time came. So right now he had no idea where Abby was, or if she was even in Las Vegas. Or alive. He had hoped for an early breakthrough, that someone would either recognise her or Thomas but that hadn’t been the case. If she was here, then where could she be? It didn’t help there were hundreds, probably thousands of places she could be holed up.

  He
could of course just march straight over and ask Pablo, but he had the distinct impression that would be self-defeating. Pablo was hardly going to be particularly helpful, and violence could be satisfying but often not very helpful. Even with the pass key the chances of getting in there unannounced would be very unlikely, and Pablo could easily also just disappear.

  For now, the only information he had at his disposal said that she was in Vegas, if that was the case then she was probably somewhere that Pablo had put her. If she was at the Acropolis there was no sign, and not everyone he had asked would know not to say anything. So maybe he had other properties in the city other than the hotel and Honeys. As he considered this he realised that this was actually highly likely, Richard Cromwell obviously believed Francesco, and presumably Pablo were wealthy. He wished he had asked Jimmy more questions. He needed more information. He considered what he knew so far, and made a decision.

  There was someone he could speak to. Possibly. Maybe. A long shot, but the only one he had.

  He sent a text message, and while he waited for a call back looked up getting to LA. He discovered it was less than 300 miles away, which was good as he could hire a car and avoid the airport altogether. His phone rang.

  ‘Hello John’

  ‘Hello’

  ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘I need an address for an Eduardo Escola, home and work plus anything on his finances. Los Angeles, California.’

  ‘No problem.’

  John asked for the details to be sent via text and hung up. It would take a while. He picked up the binoculars and resumed watching the Acropolis, but decided it was pointless at the moment. He stretched and decided to go down to the bar.

  The hotel was as busy as ever, but after wandering around he opted for a sports bar which was quieter than the rest with plenty of empty seats. He sat at the counter facing the casino with his mobile in front of him and ordered a beer from a pretty blonde barmaid. As he sipped his drink he carefully studied his surroundings and the people in it. It looked to him like they were mostly businessmen and women, probably attending a conference or an exhibition. Just outside of the bar in the casino a large group of Japanese tourists gathered round a roulette table laughing and cheering. Even after midnight the place was full of people moving around enjoying themselves.

  His phone beeped. Casually he glanced at the display. A concise message with two addresses and phone numbers and a healthy bank balance.

  That was that. Decision made. He finished his beer and headed for bed.

  Pablo was sitting in the cocktail bar moodily sipping a Bellini and ignoring everybody around him when he spotted Stefan making his way over. He sat up and twisted round on his stool to face him. Straight away he knew it was more bad news.

  ‘Go on,’ he told Stefan wearily.

  ‘Sorry Pablo, I heard back from some of the boys around.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘John Smith has got rooms at Caesars, Bellagio and The Venetian. He’s checked in at the lot, all within an hour of checking in here, but it don’t look like he’s stayed in any of them.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Yeah. And that’s only the ones that have helped me out. My bet is there are others.’

  ‘Right.’

  Pablo picked up his drink and stared at it, holding it up to the light. Then he drank it straight down. Immediately the barman starting preparing him another.

  ‘So Stefan, we don’t know where the motherfucker is. That’s where we are am I right?’

  ‘Er … yeah. That’s about the size of it. But we’re still looking. You’re right, this is our town. If he’s here we’ll find him.’

  ‘I wish I had your confidence Stefan, I really do. We got New York here tomorrow. I can get it all sorted out but these kind of distractions I don’t need. In two days we can be free and clear.’

  Pablo sipped his new drink and gestured to the barman who jumped and quickly poured another cocktail, placing it in front of Stefan, who sighed, grabbed a stool and sat down.

  Pablo drummed his fingers on the bar top, a sign Stefan knew well; he was worried.

  ‘So, you call Leon?’

  Stefan sighed.

  ‘Yeah, I spoke to him.’

  ‘And? He gonna help?’

  ‘He’s thinking about it. He’s still pissed. I guess that ain’t a surprise.’

  ‘I can’t do nothing about that. My money too good for him?’

  Stefan didn’t want to get into this conversation, things were difficult enough.

  ‘Pablo, he don’t want to work for you again. But I’ve asked, as a favour to me. Like I said, he’s thinking about it.’

  ‘Just do what’s needed.’

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’

  Pablo looked scowling around the room.

  ‘I’m gonna ring our so called good friend in England. Make sure he knows how much he got this wrong,’ he declared grimly.

  Stefan nodded and rested his chin on his hand. Silently they drank and Pablo ordered two more. It could be a long night.

  Chapter Seven

  John was in the gym by six and at the airport Avis rental desk at seven-thirty. By eight he was on the road in a shiny black Mustang with the roof down, rolling along the freeway headed west. After an hour or so he stopped at a diner for breakfast and called the number on his phone; introducing himself as a writer for a UK technology magazine who was in the area and hoping for a quick interview. It was surprisingly easy to get through and he found himself talking directly to Eduardo who said he was welcome to visit, he could spare some time at 3pm. John thanked him and hung up, he should easily be in LA by then. The journey was simplicity itself; all he did was follow the road signs and it was freeway after freeway only stopping to fill up with petrol and buy an LA street map. The Mustang was powerful and perfect for the journey; squat and wide, it just ate up the miles. By midday he had passed Barstow and was on the home straight. He had been to LA a couple of times over the years and worked out that he would pass into LA not too far from the factory, which was near Pasadena. He hit the city limits and the traffic slowed, but he still had plenty of time. He had the map open and followed his progress, eventually leaving the freeway and heading through suburbia north into Pasadena main. He stopped at a strip mall and had a sandwich for lunch, then made his way over to the industrial park where EEC Manufacturing Inc. was located. It was a nice place to work, groups of single and two story white buildings huddled on varying levels around a man-made lake. Although he was confident he hadn’t been followed he drove around a couple of times anyway, stopping and starting and leaving altogether to then re-enter. Satisfied, he drove slowly through the park and pulled up in a visitor slot outside EEC which was an L-shaped single-storey building. Through the tinted windows John could make out people working, many in white coats.

  He entered the building into a small, functional reception area and introduced himself to the young man behind the counter, who smiled and nodded then made a phone call. A couple of minutes later Eduardo Escola came through a door behind the desk and they shook hands. Eduardo was a dapper man with middle-age spread just starting and an open, cheery face. He wore a black polo shirt with an EEC badge on the front, and cream chinos. He asked the counter guy to rustle up some coffee and led the way through the building. They passed several areas of glass partition walls with production lines and rows of workbenches. It was busy, everywhere people were working. They reached his office, which was simple with a desk, a couple of chairs and a bookcase. There were photos of a smiling woman and young children dotted around. Eduardo sat down behind the desk and told John to take a seat opposite. John thanked Eduardo for seeing him, and asked basic questions about how he started.

  Eduardo was happy to talk, he was justifiably proud of what he had achieved. He had done well at college and got into UCLA, leaving when he was 21 and immediately going to work in Silicon Valley for a company which made parts for HP computers. After a couple of years, he realised there was a spa
ce in the market for well-priced, complex high quality manufacturing and spoke to his father about it. Pleased and proud of his son’s eye for potential Francesco backed him and they started EEC, quickly winning a contract making printed circuit boards for burglar alarms and rapidly building a good name. They started small and built the business up. Eduardo spoke fondly about his father but didn’t mention his brother or Las Vegas. John nodded and scribbled down the odd word here and there in a notebook he bought in the strip mall, all the time watching Eduardo as he talked.