Lost In Vegas

by Ian Jones

  ‘The guy owes me. He is high enough up to make decisions. I don’t think I can tell him everything but I can certainly ask him to be careful. I think if I word it carefully and explain what I need to he’ll understand. It may not be in his interests to dig too deep because it could distract from everything else. I’m sure I can get the message across.’

  ‘Do it. For Francesco. But for Christ’s sakes let me know what’s going on.’

  They left the country club and John followed George out to the airport to a UPS shipping office. George was treated like an old friend, some cash from the ten grand John got on his first day changed hands, and the bag containing two and a half million dollars was packed in an official looking plastic crate and sealed. It was marked as sensitive material and sent to a postal address which John had the use of when needed.

  Once that was done it was already full dark. John dropped the Mustang back at the Avis desk and then travelled back to the strip with George and got out at the Venetian. He arranged to call later and walked into the hotel.

  Once inside he walked through and down into the shopping area, then looped around back out onto the strip. He moved as quickly and discretely as he could through the crowds, grateful for the tip off from George. He noticed that there were cops everywhere, it seemed like many more than before, but that could just be because he was looking out for them rather than the other way round.

  He crossed the strip down past Flamingo, and continued walking, in and out of hotels and shops, then through New York New York, then Excalibur, entered the Luxor and used the link to cross into the Mandalay Bay, then circled round and then crossed back through the casino, always moving, always looking around. As he went through the bar the pretty blonde barmaid stopped him.

  ‘Cops are looking for you Mr Smith,’ she told him with a wide smile.

  John affected a look of surprise.

  ‘Oh yeah? Why would that be I wonder?’

  ‘No idea. They didn’t say much, just showing your picture. I said I hadn’t seen you. Didn’t know you.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Come down later, you can buy me a drink. Thank me properly.’

  She gave him a look and then walked away. John watched her go. A drink with her later would be very good.

  He made it back to his suite without incident, and removed the remaining Glock. He packed it along with the other guns and ammo, his alternate ID’s and the wig into the holdall which had originally held the money. He called George who answered straight away.

  ‘George, you’re right. I got the police out and about looking for me.’

  ‘That figures. Pablo doesn’t like to do anything for himself. He got nobody else to do it now anyhow.’

  ‘Well, I’m thinking I may as well find out why.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’ve been here before. Getting set up is part of the game, but it’s not one I’ve lost so far. It’ll be OK. Can you get me a brief?’

  ‘Yeah, probably. What the hell is a brief?’

  John laughed out loud.

  ‘A solicitor, an attorney.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I can do that no problem. Yeah I see what you’re saying. I can get someone with you in a couple of hours latest. It’ll be the south precinct; Metro is cleaned up, least that’s what everyone is saying so it won’t be no good to Pablo anymore, and anyway that’s where MacMillan is based.’

  ‘OK, well I’ll make my way there. Listen George, I want to get all this sorted out tonight if I can; I got to find Abby, good or bad. I really don’t wanna get stuck in a cell for hours on end, so tell him whatever you need to.’

  ‘It’s a her, but yeah. I get it. She’ll know the situation.’

  ‘George I need to get Pablo out the way. I don’t mean like you think I mean, but I need to get rid of him and you might not like what I’m going to do, but like I said before I am going to do all I can to limit the damage. I’m getting a bad feeling now about Abby, and all the time he’s around it’s causing me a problem.’

  ‘Do what you got to do.’

  ‘Thanks George, I’ll be in touch.’

  John sent a text, and then sat looking out the window waiting for a response. Ten minutes later his phone rang.

  ‘John.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need work, home and mobile numbers for Special Agent Patrick Skelton. FBI. He’s a supervisor or something like that. Last I knew he’s based in Washington.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  John hung the phone up. He looked out the window at the Acropolis and flicked the television on to pass the time. The Simpsons was on, where Homer becomes an astronaut. It was one of his favourite episodes, had to be a good sign.

  Twenty minutes later as the credits were rolling his phone beeped. A concise message with three phone numbers. He decided to try the office phone first.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Special Agent Patrick Skelton was looking out the window of his office when the phone rang. In Washington, the temperature had really dropped, he could see trees bending in the strong winds and rain was bouncing high off the roofs of parked cars. Everywhere he looked headlights were crawling along in both directions. He was mulling over the best way to get home as the traffic was only going to get worse and twirling a pen in his left hand. He grabbed the phone up with his right and rocked back in his chair.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I have a John Smith for you.’

  Patrick dropped the pen on the desk with a clatter and sat up straight staring at the phone in shock. John Smith!!!! There was a name that he had believed he would never hear again. It had been what, more than five years? Longer? It was a period that he tried to put out of his mind, it was not a good memory. He had been working down in Atlanta on a relatively routine investigation which had suddenly spiralled out of control without warning. An agent was shot and killed getting out of a car in a hotel car park and then Patrick had been grabbed and bundled into a van by three men while he was on surveillance; sitting on his own in an all night fast food place watching out the window at a storage depot on the other side of the road. Due to the sudden escalation they were short on bodies and he had been working for over twenty-four hours straight. He didn’t take it in when the men came in to the restaurant and had been tied up with plastic ties and blindfolded. He bounced around in the back of a van for half an hour or so and then was dragged into a vacant old building and locked in a large store room. He had no idea where he was or who had taken him. He was left for a few hours then two men came in and ripped off the blindfold. He knew he didn’t have long left when they made no effort to hide their faces. He was thrown around the room and beaten; they were asking questions about the investigation and demanding details on what information he had. Patrick did what he could trying to buy time while knowing for sure he would be killed anyway. Just as it was getting serious they got a call on a cell phone, and they left him alone again. He was sitting on the floor bleeding when suddenly the door opened and John Smith was thrown in, similarly bound but also without the blindfold.

  As soon as the door shut, John Smith wasted no time. Explaining to Patrick they were basically on the same side but running out of time fast he prowled around the room, searching. Eventually he spotted something and laid down on the floor flat on his back, and after some exertion the plastic tie snapped holding his arms. Free, he made short work of the two men’s remaining ties and then began hammering on the door.

  Patrick recovered enough to try to take charge but it was fruitless, Smith was like a well-oiled machine moving rapidly in only one direction. He indicated for Patrick to stand in front and then went to the side, hidden when the door was flung open. One of the men came in cursing loudly and holding a gun, which he pushed into Patrick’s temple as he walked through the door. In less than a few seconds somehow Smith had it in his hand, and the man was out cold
with two broken arms and smashed hands. They went through the building side by side, disarming everyone they met, almost ridiculously easily. Smith just knew what to do at every obstacle they came across and dealt with everything methodically. He seemed to hardly have a scratch on him. They recovered Patrick’s belongings, and as Smith handed over the FBI badge he stated politely that he was never there and ran from the building. Still in shock Patrick agreed and gratefully called the cavalry.

  As quickly as he had arrived, John Smith had vanished.

  He owed Smith not only his life, but also the medal he won for valour and the promotion for bringing down a major people trafficking ring. John Smith was one man that he was never going to forget.

  But now Patrick couldn’t very well believe this being a social call, and his immediate thought was to avoid it; Smith could want absolutely anything. He could have been sitting in a room somewhere plotting for the last five years. But then the memories of his despair at being locked in the room and the desperate thoughts of his family entered his head, and he answered.

  ‘Patrick?’

  ‘Jesus Christ John, I thought I had dreamt you!’

  ‘No, no Patrick I’m real enough. Thanks for taking my call.’

  ‘It’s been a long time John. And I never really got to thank you. Nobody did.’

  ‘It has been a long time and just forget about it, as far as I can see we helped each other.’

  ‘So are you in town? You want to meet?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. I think I’ve got something you might be interested in, but it needs to be fast. Really fast. Tonight.’

  Patrick wondered where this was going; he still couldn’t work out whether John was looking for some kind of a favour; money even.

  ‘OK John, I’m listening.’

  Carefully John explained the situation in Las Vegas. Starting with Francesco, and then Pablo, and ending where they were right now and also telling Patrick that he was only really there looking for Abby.

  ‘I got kinda caught up in it to be honest Patrick. It’s not really my business, but I can’t help it if I get dragged in. But then I found out you guys had already been involved in the past anyway, and I got kind of confused about why it never led to anything if I’m honest. It’s clear as day that this Pablo is no good, I can’t imagine any way that your guys on the ground could have missed it.’

  While he was listening, Patrick logged on to his computer and began running through the names on his computer; something that he did every working day. There was a whole lot of files from 2005 onwards, which then suddenly ended. It had been handled by the FBI’s Las Vegas field office as he had expected. But as he quickly scanned through the files straight away he could see that something had been done to the records, one agent would file a report, next another would file word for word the same, and another, all within hours of each other then there would be no follow up. Something stank. The whole thing looked like a five year olds writing project.

  ‘I’ll tell you what John. I’m looking at the Escola files right now. And I have to say, this isn’t making a whole lot of sense to me either. You say this needs to be fast, what do you mean?

  ‘Well I think I’m getting close to Abby, hopefully still alive, and I’ve been doing a lot of damage to the organisation down here.’

  Patrick could well imagine.

  ‘So are you saying that there may not be a case soon?’

  ‘No, I’m saying that I think Pablo Escola is about to run. And that will leave his father on Death Row, every chance of a dead girl and a whole lot of people out of pocket.’

  ‘OK. John, let me read through all this stuff properly and get hold of some people and call you back. It could be a few hours. Is that OK with you?

  ‘As long as it’s tonight that’s fine. Thanks Patrick.’

  ‘OK John, talk soon.’

  ‘And Patrick, please be careful. There are some not so innocent people on the edges of this I could do without upsetting.’

  ‘Not so innocent?’

  ‘Look, if you could avoid looking too deeply into the hotel itself; especially the owners I would appreciate it. I probably don’t need to spell it out, but I’ve been getting some help, and I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble.’

  Patrick sighed. Things were never simple, but he understood exactly what John was asking.

  ‘I hear you.’

  John went downstairs and left the hotel. He walked south past the aquarium and toward the golf club. There was a line of bushes and he followed them along to a lamp post and wedged the bag deep inside, then he returned to Reception and asked where the police station was.

  Pablo’s phone rang; he saw it was Frank MacMillan calling. That was fast he thought gratefully as he hadn’t moved since MacMillan left; he was still in his office hiding from Shaun Farley. Pablo had been trying to revive a relationship he had from years before; a contact who had supplied a lot of cocaine in another of Pablo’s failed enterprises. But it had been cash on delivery, so no money was owed and the man was out the way; down in San Diego. Pablo was thinking he would do well to get out of town, for a while at least. So far, the conversation had not been too enthusiastic, so he was very happy to get the call.

  ‘Mac?’

  ‘Pablo, it’s Smith. He’s here.’

  ‘Wow that was quick Mac! What, not even two hours. Shit. My guys have been looking for two days and no sign anywhere.’

  ‘We didn’t find him. That’s why I’m calling. He walked in Pablo. On his own. Right through the front door.’

  The phone hung up and Pablo stared at it dumbly.

  Smith had just turned up at the police station?

  What the hell did that mean?

  Chapter Fifteen

  John sat in an interview room, there was a uniformed officer standing just outside the open door. He checked his watch; ten past nine. This was a gamble that could backfire; he didn’t want to get stuck here but it was important that Pablo and any corrupt cops knew he wasn’t going to be intimidated. He was well aware the police had nothing on him; this was nothing more than a tactic to scare him and find the money. So he didn’t need to worry about that, he just had to avoid being detained for too long. He looked out the window; he could see sporadic traffic on the road behind the police station and intermittent rain pattering lightly on the glass.

  He heard voices outside and a woman wearing a smart business suit entered the room. She was in her early forties and attractive, holding herself in a ‘I am way out of your league’ kind of way. John liked her immediately.

  ‘Hello John, I’m Helen Greengrove. Your attorney.’

  ‘Hi Helen, good to meet you.’

  They shook hands then Helen walked over and ignoring the officer outside pushed the door shut firmly.

  John gave her a brief rundown; the police were looking for him, he hadn’t done anything and George had offered to help.

  She nodded. Clearly she had been given some details and it was obvious she already knew exactly who and what George was.

  ‘No problem John. How long have you been here?’

  ‘In this room? Maybe twenty minutes, but I’ve been in this station for a couple of hours now. Maybe a bit longer. George said you’d be a while which is fine, no problem at all but I could do with getting out really.’

  ‘Two hours? Right.’

  She jumped up, then walked out pulling the door open and demanded a senior officer attend immediately, or John would leave. The cop outside was immediately out of his depth and scurried off. A sergeant appeared and started to tell her about ongoing investigations in progress but she cut him down.

  ‘You have three minutes. If a senior officer is not here before then we will leave. Mr Smith is not a US citizen and is therefore allowed the full courtesy offered by International law. He has committed no crime and came here of his own accord. He has done nothing wrong, and yet has been held here for over two hours. Every second late he is waiting while you attempt to get him to stay aft
er the three minutes are up I will personally ensure that he earns the same in hourly compensation. I advise that you do not doubt my word.’

  She returned into the room, smiled widely at John, sat down and crossed her legs.

  Less than three minutes later Lieutenant Frank MacMillan entered the room and took a seat opposite them. The officer from outside followed him in and closed the door, standing to one side.

  ‘Ah, Lieutenant MacMillan. The one and only,’ Helen said sardonically. ‘You still have a job then? That’s amazing, congratulations.’

  MacMillan pursed his lips then forced a tight smile.

  ‘Ms Greengrove, Mr Smith.’

  Helen wasted no time.

  ‘I’d like to know what the hell is going here Lieutenant MacMillan. Mr Smith is here on vacation. He is wasting his time seated in a police station after coming here of his own volition and has been here over two hours. I am very unhappy about his treatment.’

  ‘Why did you come here Mr Smith?’ MacMillan asked; totally unsure of the situation but at least trying to be business-like.

  ‘This police station? Civic duty I suppose. I heard the police were looking for me.’

  ‘No Mr Smith, not the police precinct, why here. Las Vegas.’

  ‘I’m looking for someone. Abby Cromwell.’

  ‘What’s that, a missing person? That’s a PD matter Mr Smith, whoever she is.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said. But I was asked to come regardless and actually I think I’m very close to finding her now.’

  ‘OK, So … what was the reason that you came to the police precinct.’

  ‘Because when I got back to my hotel I was told the police had called and were looking for me.’

  MacMillan nodded slowly.

  ‘Which hotel is that? Where are you staying?’

  ‘Bellagio, room twenty-seventeen,’ John lied smoothly in return with a smile.