Lost In Vegas

by Ian Jones

  MacMillan turned to the officer and asked him to check that.

  ‘Lieutenant, perhaps you can explain why you were looking for Mr Smith and why you deem it necessary to find out where he is staying?’ Helen was clearly ready for a fight.

  ‘Ms Greengrove, there has been an allegation of car theft against Mr Smith.’

  Car theft? John hadn’t expected that. Interesting.

  ‘I see. And what car is this?’

  ‘A dark blue Lincoln Navigator. The property of the Acropolis Hotel. A complaint was made, we have to investigate. I’m sure you understand.’

  Helen sat back, and looked at John, who shrugged and smiled.

  ‘No idea,’ he told her.

  ‘Lieutenant, I assume you have evidence of this?’

  ‘We are waiting for a full report from the examiner.’

  ‘OK, so you must have witnesses who have seen Mr Smith steal the car, or even drive it?’

  MacMillan kept quiet, buying time.

  The officer returned and spoke in MacMillan’s ear. The lieutenant pursed his lips.

  John Smith was registered and checked in at the Bellagio, room twenty-seventeen. That asshole Pablo, he couldn’t do anything right. The guy was right in front of him.

  Helen heard every word and tapped her fingernails on the desk impatiently.

  ‘In that case lieutenant, I assume then that Mr Smith is free to go?’

  MacMillan said nothing in reply, turning instead to John.

  ‘Mr Smith, I have to ask, if you are here looking for this person, in an unofficial capacity, then surely you would have contacted the police in the city on arrival? And now you are here, as an innocent party who has done nothing wrong, why would you wish to engage an attorney? Especially one as expensive and Miss Greengrove.’

  ‘Oh, I was really shocked to hear the police were looking for me. It was quite upsetting actually. So I spoke to a friend I have here. He suggested it would be a good idea, I don’t understand the law you see, I have very little to do with it.’

  ‘I see. And what friend was that?’

  ‘Oh it’s Pablo. Pablo Escola. He owns the Acropolis actually. So I am rather surprised about all of this I have to say.’

  MacMillan stared at John. That was clever, too clever. What did this guy know? Jesus Christ, he could know everything! Helen gave nothing away, she continued to look at him.

  There was a tap at the door, and the officer opened it. He was given a sheet of paper which he passed to MacMillan.

  MacMillan read it, but had already guessed the content.

  There was not one single fingerprint belonging to John Smith in the Lincoln.

  He stood up and fixed a smile to his face.

  ‘Mr Smith, clearly this has been a mistake. I am very sorry to have held you up. Sometimes we are given misleading information, and I apologise on behalf of the Las Vegas PD.’

  ‘Lieutenant?’ Helen looked enquiringly at him.

  ‘Er … yes Ms Greengrove?’

  ‘I notice that none of this is being recorded. So, I assume that as Mr Smith is here on his own volition this entire episode has been a waste of all our time?’

  MacMillan coughed.

  ‘Again, I apologise Mr Smith. Please enjoy the rest of your stay in our city, you are free to go.’

  Without bothering to pick up the report MacMillan left the room.

  Up in his office he called Pablo back and broke the news.

  ‘I’m telling you Mac, he is not staying at the Bellagio’

  ‘Pablo how exactly do you know this? You been over there yourself?’

  ‘Cos I have had guys watching out for him.’

  ‘Guys? You got nobody left.’

  ‘Whatever. This ain’t helping. What are you doing about this Mac?’

  ‘I can’t do anything. He hasn’t broken any laws. Helen Greengrove was in there with him, biggest ball-breaker in this city and she is already causing me enough problems as you well know.’

  ‘Well, you put a tail on him right? He will lead us to the money!’

  ‘Pablo, this ain’t the movies. No, I ain’t put a tail on him. I got nothing, there ain’t a single goddamn print in the car and he has a valid address which has been checked out by us and confirmed at the hotel. The captain is already gonna be looking real close at this, Ms Helen fucking Greengrove will see to that. This is no good Pablo, I cannot be in the spotlight. I gotta stay away.’

  Pablo’s voice raised a few octaves higher.

  ‘Mac you got to do something! Listen to me I need your help. You got to keep on him and find my fucking money!’

  ‘Pablo, he’ll turn up. I don’t think he’s finished with you yet. He’s saying the reason he’s here is he’s gotta find that fucking Abby, and Christ alone knows what the fuck you done with her. It’s got nothing to do with money or any of your bullshit. He’s connected Abby to you and it’s my guess is he’ll be coming to see you, and I get the feeling it won’t be long.’

  ‘That’s not helping!’ Pablo squeaked.

  ‘You know what he did Pablo? He told me you recommended Helen fucking Greengrove; said you were old pals. This guy is way too smart; and I know that means he’s most likely heading for a fall, but no way am I taking a chance. If I were you I would get everybody you got around you and just keep watching out; you could get lucky, maybe, but I’m done. No more Pablo, no more.’

  ‘Mac! Listen. Fuck! I need …’

  MacMillan saw the captain in the corridor and hurriedly hung up the phone, switching it off completely.

  In his office Pablo stared down at the phone in his hand, and redialled. It went straight to voicemail. He threw the phone across the room and buried his head in his hands. He was a prisoner, he couldn’t leave the room in case he ran into Shaun Farley. His office was right in the centre of the ground floor administration area, there were no windows and outside his door was just a bland corridor, which led one way to the lift up to the penthouse and the other back to the hotel. He was totally cut off. He had no idea of what to do next. Abby. John Smith was over here looking for her. He should have thought of that. All this shit could easily have been avoided. But it wasn’t his fault. He had been given bad information and worse advice.

  He sat there, perilously close to tears for the first time in many years then stood up, crossed the room and locked the door. Slowly he crawled around collecting the bits of the mobile phone and clipping them back together.

  He needed help, but there was nobody out there. Nobody at all.

  He needed to think. Maybe John Smith was staying at the Bellagio but Pablo didn’t have any friends there; Stefan had been the one with the connections. Pablo realised he should have done something, anything to keep Stefan. He had been a rock for years, and now Pablo really was on his own, he couldn’t rely on Skinny to get a cup of coffee without a detailed list of instructions and even then, it would most likely be screwed up. He could of course walk over to the Bellagio himself, but knew he would not be welcome there, plus that would put him back out in the hotel where Shaun Farley was apparently still waiting. Skinny had not done a good job at all of persuading him that everything was fine.

  Now, the fact that he didn’t know what to do was bearing down on him, hard. The money had gone, the only person he knew that had any chance of getting it back had let him down. He picked up the mobile and scrolled down to Stefan then dialled.

  He would make peace; Stefan would know what to do.

  A phone shrilled on his desk, he looked around and then stared down at it dumbly and remembered then that Stefan had given the mobile back. He hung up.

  He was completely on his own.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once he left the police station John thanked Helen Greengrove and went into overdrive. He walked north, went back to the strip and entered the MGM Grand from the rear, then circled around it several times and exited from the same door, before re-entering and emerging back onto the strip where he crossed the road, went back on himself
and entered Excalibur, then circled round the casino before using the footbridge to access New York New York. He carried on making his way up the strip, criss-crossing the busy road and merging with the crowds, entering and leaving the hotels until he walked through the Wynn and caught the monorail at the Convention Centre.

  He knew for sure he wasn’t being followed. It was raining gently and in the warmth of the Las Vegas evening it was pleasant.

  He got out at SLS and then headed east, sticking to the side roads until he saw the rear of Honeys. He crossed the car park and walked around the building to the front door then wandered in.

  It was busier than the last time, but still not exactly jumping. The music was loud; a US soft rock band playing and a girl was disinterestedly gyrating around a pole on the stage. There were men scattered around sitting at the tables, singly or in small groups. There was nobody at the greeter station but the fat man was behind the bar, along with another much younger man. John looked around carefully, there was no sign of Thomas.

  John sat down at the bar and ordered a beer from the young barman, looking around the room. There was a corridor leading off the back with toilets on either side of it, and then a fire exit at the end. There was another two doors further along the wall, maybe one of them was an office?

  The fat barman kept looking at him, trying to work out if he knew him. He was wearing a red cowboy shirt with an oval name badge bearing the name ‘Ron’. John ignored him. It was clear that the guys seated at the bar around were regulars, passing occasional comments between themselves. One of them, a thin guy with glasses kept laughing at everything Ron said.

  The act ended to scattered applause and a new girl appeared on the stage, Velvet Revolver started playing ‘Slither’, which was one of his favourite songs.

  John took a swig of his beer and caught the young bartender’s eye.

  ‘So, Thomas around?’ he asked.

  Ron’s head snapped up and he stared at John with narrow eyes. He slammed up the bar counter flap and walked around to stand right next to John, who remained seated and took another drink.

  ‘I knew I recognised you. Nosy fucker. I told you to fuck off before and I’m saying it again. Fuck off or you’ll see what you get.’

  John put his beer bottle down slowly and carefully on the bar and turned in his seat and looked at Ron impassively.

  ‘What’ll I get then Ron?’

  Ron face turned darker red.

  ‘I was nice last time. But you only get that once. So let’s step outside and I’ll show you, fuckface.’

  John finished his beer and stood up and leaned in close to Ron and patted him on the cheek.

  ‘So let’s go,’ he told him with a grin and walked out the door.

  ‘You want a piece of this Stevo? Ron called out to the thin guy with the glasses who jumped up and they both followed John outside.

  John walked across to the pavement and turned to face the door as the two other men emerged; Ron leading the way with Stevo grinning away behind him. It was raining heavier now, there were a few people around; most were heading in the direction of the strip. He watched the two men as they came down the steps and moved forward to meet them. Ron was the tough guy, but out of shape. Muscle turned to flab, probably at one time he had been more than capable in a scrap. There was nothing to Stevo other than skin, bone and the start of a pot belly from beer. He was staying back, grinning, confident that he could safely watch Ron smack the British guy around and afterwards he could take some credit for the backup. Probably a beer on the house.

  ‘I didn’t come here for this,’ John told Ron as they closed in.

  ‘I bet you fucking didn’t. You’ll be real sorry you set foot in my place.’

  The music was blasting through the open doors behind them.

  Ron moved forward, ‘I’m gonna ….’

  But John interrupted him, holding up a hand.

  ‘Wait, this is my favourite bit, the solo is about to start,’ he said.

  And bizarrely Ron stopped dead, a confused look on his face.

  The music paused, and then Slash let rip, shredding the notes to a crescendo, the final sustain ringing out.

  All the time John stood still, listening attentively, while Ron just stared at him, his frown getting deeper.

  ‘Thanks,’ John smiled.

  ‘You motherfucker, I’m gonna tear you apart,’ Ron moved forward again.

  John waited until they were less than a metre apart and then suddenly glanced over Ron’s shoulder, widening his eyes as he did so.

  It was way too easy.

  Instinctively Ron turned his head to glance over his shoulder and that was all John needed.

  Leaning into his left he threw a solid right hander which caught Ron squarely across the side of his jaw, instantly breaking it. Ron let out a muffled sigh and fell forward. Still moving John kicked out hard and connected solidly with the other man’s knee, causing the leg to buckle and as Ron fell he kicked out again catching him under the chin.

  Ron‘s eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed to the wet ground out cold. In panic Stevo turned heading for the safety of the bar but John grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back, then threw him onto the ground next to Ron.

  ‘Please!’ Stevo exclaimed wildly staring at John and holding his hands upward, rain speckling his glasses.

  John leaned in close and sat him up.

  ‘Look after Ron. Don’t disappoint me,’ he told him and walked back into the bar.

  With a nod to the remaining barman who now looked extremely confused John walked around the bar heading for the two doors at the rear of the place. The first one was locked, presumably a store room of some kind so he pulled open the second and walked into a small office, with just a desk, chair and a filing cabinet inside.

  Thomas was seated behind the desk, with a bottle of whisky in front of him. He looked up startled, and then a look of resignation came over his face.

  ‘Ah,’ he said as John leaned on the doorframe in front of him.

  ‘We need to have a talk.’ John told him.

  Thomas poured himself a generous measure of the whisky.

  ‘Well … you see …’ he replied desperately, then drank down the whole thing.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ John said patiently.

  Thomas played with the glass in front of him and then sighed.

  ‘Yes. Alright.’

  They left Honeys, outside Stevo had Ron sitting up and was trying to clean his face. Thomas stopped and looked down, scratching his head, bewildered. John threw a five dollar bill on the ground next to Ron.

  ‘I never paid for that beer.’

  They walked along past two blocks in silence. Thomas appeared to know where he was going and they entered a small, quiet shabby bar with a huge ‘Welcome to Vegas’ sign in the window. Thomas seemed to know the people working behind the counter and raised two fingers as he entered, then sat down in a booth at the side.

  John sat opposite and a man shuffled over and put two whiskies down on the table.

  Thomas immediately scooped one up.

  ‘Cheers,’ he muttered and took a sip.

  Thomas was short and slim, with a careworn look about him. Meeting him in the flesh John decided that all the suspicions about him and Abby were unlikely. He was hardly a catch. John leaned forward and looked at Thomas intently.

  ‘Hasn’t worked out has it?’ he asked.

  Thomas looked away and shook his head.

  ‘No. And I can’t go back. I’ve fucked up and I know it.’

  ‘So go on then, why? Because of Abby?’

  Thomas looked surprised to be asked, and then shrugged.

  ‘She played me, of course she did. Got me to bring her out here. Daddy wasn’t happy about it, said no to her for once so she sought me out. She was good at that. Manipulative. I was thinking that maybe she was interested. But Pablo treated her like royalty, so it was over before it began for me. If it ever was going to of course.
Now, she doesn’t even speak to me, and I’m not exactly high on the food chain.’

  ‘She came out here to be with Pablo?’

  ‘Not at first. I set up here and she wanted to come out, kept emailing me. It was my fault, I introduced them. Pablo was immediately all over her, calling her his English rose. They fell in love, left me high and dry.’

  ‘And now you’re working at Honeys?’

  Thomas miserably downed the rest of his drink. John gestured to him to have the other one and he reached for it gratefully.

  ‘I had a good life with Richard. Really good, but I was always behind the scenes, the faceless nobody. And that was the point. Pablo offered me excitement, the chance to be a big man, to work the stones operation for him.’

  ‘So you stole the money.’

  ‘No, whatever I did, that’s not true at all. Pablo never paid for the diamonds. There was a system Francesco set up, payments had to be made and the stones was the best way to do it. Avoided big amounts of cash appearing and he put it all together with Richard. But I never stole anything. Yeah, technically I was working for Richard but what else was I going to do? I was spending all my time over here. It was like paradise. I loved it. Pablo promised me the world once Francesco left.’

  Thomas shook his head morosely.

  ‘And I fell for it. I never should have done it. At first, I had everything. Nice apartment, car, and then this big blow out happened with his dad. Francesco. And next thing there’s no money.’

  John was taken aback.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘His dad. He went to prison, owed a fortune. Pablo has spent the last couple of years trying to pay everyone off but then it got to the point where there was nothing left. He told me all about it, explained why there was nothing there for me.’

  John rubbed his eye and counted to ten.

  ‘Thomas, how old are you?’

  ‘What? I’m fifty-five. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘You’re a bit old for fairy stories I would have said.’

  Thomas shook his head.

  ‘You’re like the others. Pablo confided in me. It’s just a matter of time. And he told me all about you, all about Richard getting heavy.’