by Wesley Lewis
“You can call me Boris,” said the man in the sharkskin suit.
Tom glanced at the other man. “I guess that makes you Natasha.”
The two Russians exchanged a puzzled glance.
“You have what we want?” asked Boris.
“Do you have what I want?” asked Tom.
“First we see money,” said Boris. “Then you get girl.”
Tom reached for his pants pocket. The man in black grabbed his arm.
“Relax,” said Tom, holding up his free hand in a nonthreatening gesture. “I’m just getting what you came for.”
Boris nodded, and the man released Tom’s hand.
Tom reached slowly into his pocket. The man in black stood ready to pounce. Tom pulled out a half-inch-thick brown envelope with a handwritten number four on it and handed it to Boris.
Boris opened the envelope and thumbed through its contents.
Jennifer had promised Larry she’d pay back the ten-thousand-dollar loan, but he hadn’t seemed overly concerned about it.
When Boris was satisfied, he closed the envelope and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Show me the rest.”
“Do I look stupid?” asked Tom.
“A little,” replied Boris.
“If I hand over the money now, that’ll be the last I see of it or the girl. You see the money when I see Ashley.”
Boris leaned forward and whispered something in Tom’s ear. He spoke too softly for Jennifer to hear. As he whispered, he opened his suit jacket so that Tom—and only Tom—could see what was concealed beneath. Jennifer didn’t need to see or hear to know what Boris had revealed.
“Known for being single-mindedly ruthless and having more balls than brains,” she thought, remembering Larry’s warning about the Russian mob.
“Is that a gun in your pocket,” asked Tom, “or are you just happy to see your money again?”
Jennifer couldn’t help but smile. It was a lame joke but a clever way of letting her and Crocker know that Dudka’s men were armed.
“I suggest you do not test me,” replied Boris, “unless you wish to chase after your phone.”
Tom snorted. “Tell you what, Ivan. If you came here to kill me, go right ahead and shoot me or toss me off the building or do whatever you’ve got to do. But if you came here to get your money, I suggest you show me the girl before this little powwow attracts the kind of attention you don’t want.”
Boris seemed uncertain. He glanced at the man in black, then back at Tom, then back at the man in black. Finally, he said something Jennifer couldn’t understand. She wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken Russian or was standing too far from Tom’s hidden phone. The man in black responded by pulling out a cell phone of his own and placing a call.
Jennifer remembered that she too was supposed to be on a call. She let out an unconvincing laugh, glanced around the room, and saw with some relief that nobody was standing close enough to eavesdrop.
Out on the observation deck, the man in black finished his call and said something to Boris, who in turn looked at Tom and said, “We wait.”
The waiting seemed to go on forever. Neither Tom nor the two thugs spoke. Jennifer grew nervous and found herself wondering if, should it come to it, Crocker could outdraw the two Russians.
After what seemed like half an hour but, according to the clock on Scarlett’s phone, was actually less than ten minutes, a short, round man who made Jennifer think of Humpty Dumpty appeared at the base of the stairs, leading a young woman by the wrist.
Jennifer saw the couple for only a second or two before looking away, but what she saw in that moment both excited and troubled her. Young Ashley Thomas was alive but virtually unrecognizable. She had on no makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a tangled mess of a ponytail. She was dressed in a stained and tattered gray sweat suit and wore a pair of worn-out sneakers at least three sizes too big.
Jennifer looked down at her phone, letting strands of fake red hair obscure her face as the rotund gangster and his disheveled hostage crested the stairs and crossed to the observation deck. When the door slammed shut behind them, she jumped to her feet.
She wanted nothing more than to see Ashley and Tom’s reunion firsthand, but this was her cue to exit. If things went according to plan, Ashley would be headed straight back to the elevators, and Jennifer needed to be waiting for her when she got there.
As she started down the stairs, Jennifer glanced over her shoulder and saw Crocker strolling toward the lobby doors. He would take her place atop the small landing and, should the need arise, provide cover as Ashley made her way from the observation deck to the elevators.
When Jennifer was halfway down the steps, the phone picked up Ashley’s distant voice exclaiming, “Tom! What are you doing here?”
Jennifer smiled.
“Are you okay?” asked Tom.
The phone didn’t pick up Ashley’s response, but it did pick up Tom’s audible sigh of relief. Reenergized, Jennifer cleared the last two steps in one quick stride and made her way to the elevator bank.
Out on the deck, one of the goons—Jennifer thought it was Boris but wasn’t certain—said something unintelligible.
“Not until she’s safe,” replied Tom.
Boris—this time Jennifer was certain it was Boris—said something in protest, but Tom cut him off. “You’ve made enough demands. Now I’m telling you how this is going to work.” Boris protested again, and again, Tom cut him off. “No, you listen, Boris. You’re about to get your money, and I’m about to get my girl, and we’re all going to walk away happy, so quit trying to fuck up what should be a win for everybody.”
Loitering near the elevators, Jennifer wondered what Ashley thought of being referred to as Tom’s girl.
“Now,” he continued, “you three stooges are going to wait here with me while Ashley gets back on the elevator. When she’s had time to get safely away, I’ll give you the money.”
There was a brief, indecipherable exchange of dialogue between the Russians; then Boris, clearly audible for the first time since Ashley’s arrival, said, “Okay. She goes. You stay.”
After another moment of silence, the phone picked up the sound of footsteps, followed by a loud rustling noise.
“Thank you,” said Ashley, her voice so loud and clear that she had to be touching Tom as she spoke.
Jennifer dried her eyes on the back of her free hand and hoped this wouldn’t be the young couple’s last embrace.
“Get out of here,” said Tom, his voice a bit shaky. “I’ll find you when this is over.”
Moments later, Ashley sprinted down the stairs, toward the elevators.
Jennifer turned toward the wall and did her best to hide behind Scarlett’s cell phone and Vegas’s wig. She didn’t want Ashley to recognize her until they were safely inside the elevator.
Just as Ashley reached the elevator bank, a bell chimed, and the doors to the elevator on the right slid open. Jennifer peeked out from behind the cell phone and saw two people waiting inside the car. One was the elderly operator who’d complimented Tom’s suit. The other was the yellow-shirted goon who’d found Crocker and Jennifer in the men’s room stall.
Jennifer’s heart stopped. She and the others had assumed that Dudka’s goons would try to retake Ashley on the ground floor, outside the security checkpoint. The man in the yellow shirt had just tossed a monkey wrench into their plan.
While Jennifer considered her options, Ashley stepped into the car, apparently oblivious to the danger.
This left Jennifer only one option. She surreptitiously unmuted the phone, faced away from the open elevator car, and, using the same New Jersey accent she’d used in the men’s room, said, “Okay, well, I’m ’bout to get on a crowded elevator, so I betta let ya go.”
She hoped that Crocker had heard her and that the three gangsters standing near Tom had not. She remuted the phone and listened for any reaction from the goons. Much to her relief, she heard none.
Speaking into the muted phone, she said, “Oh really? Well, we betta just talk ’bout that later.”
“Ma’am,” said the elderly operator behind her, “are you going to board the elevator, or would you prefer to wait for the next one?”
“Hol’ ya horses,” replied Jennifer without looking back. “I’m comin’.”
This contingency had been discussed in Larry’s cabin but only briefly. Jennifer needed to buy Crocker as much time as possible.
“Okay,” she said into the muted phone, “talk to ya soon. Love ya.”
She kept her eyes down, pretending to look at something on the phone, and turned toward the elevator. It was growing increasingly difficult to hide her face, but if Ashley recognized her now, it could prove fatal.
She took a step forward and, seeing one last opportunity to buy Crocker some time, plunged her stiletto heel into the gap between the door and the elevator. She stumbled, caught herself, and knelt to free the shoe.
The elevator operator stepped forward to help her up, and she pivoted so that he stood between her and Ashley. With Ashley’s view blocked, she rose to her feet and turned away from the other passengers.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed in front of her. Between her rude behavior and her deliberate clumsiness, she’d bought Crocker an extra twenty to thirty seconds. And she’d done it all without letting Ashley see her face.
“Next stop,” said the operator, “ground floor.”
“No!” exclaimed Jennifer, realizing she’d almost made a serious mistake. “I’m getting off at level 104, the private reception.”
“Not a problem,” said the operator as he pressed the button. “Next stop, level 104.”
The elevator began to move.
“Jennifer?” asked a soft voice in the back of the elevator. “Jennifer, is that you?”
Jennifer’s blood ran cold at the sound of Ashley’s voice.
How did she—
All at once, Jennifer realized her mistake. In her panic over almost forgetting to tell the operator which floor she wanted, she’d spoken to him in her everyday voice, a voice Ashley knew well.
She stiffened and watched the goon’s reflection in the polished elevator doors. Had he noticed? Had he put it together? Could she play it off like she had no idea what Ashley was talking about? They just needed to survive a few more seconds until—
The thug lifted the tail of his yellow shirt and reached for something underneath.
Without thinking, Jennifer spun and charged at him. She grabbed the hand clutching the pistol and knocked it into the wall with all her strength.
The gun dropped to the floor, and the goon turned his attention to Jennifer. His two massive hands grabbed her under each arm and drove her across the elevator, slamming her into the elevator doors.
She slumped to the floor, dazed and in pain.
“What do you think you’re doing?” screamed the elevator operator.
Dudka’s man turned to retrieve his gun. As he bent to pick it up, Ashley lunged forward and kicked it away. It bounced off the side wall and came to rest two feet in front of Jennifer. She reached for it.
The goon grabbed Jennifer’s outstretched arm and flung her to the other side of the elevator. She landed in a heap beside Ashley.
Jennifer watched from the floor as the yellow-shirted gangster bent and reached for the pistol. As he wrapped his fingers around it, the elevator doors parted in front of him.
The large man in the yellow shirt stood to find himself staring down the barrels of five handguns. Five handguns and one Taser.
While the five security guards with handguns tried to assess the situation, the security guard with the Taser apparently decided that the situation would be easier to assess when the man in the yellow shirt wasn’t holding a weapon. The Taser made a horrific crackling noise, and the goon collapsed into a convulsing pile on the floor.
Jennifer’s tired, bruised body begged her to lie on the floor and wait for the security guards to mop up the mess, but her brain overruled it. She sprang to her feet.
“Jennifer, what is this?” cried Ashley as the six security guards converged on the disabled Russian mobster.
“Just get out of the elevator.”
“But there’s no room.” The young woman watched the pile of security guards struggling to get handcuffs onto the uncooperative goon.
“Just go!”
Without further protest, Ashley stepped past the befuddled elevator operator, flattened herself against the side of the open door, and slid past the writhing pile of men. Jennifer followed.
When they were safely outside the elevator car, Jennifer took a deep breath and surveyed the chaos.
“Jennifer,” whimpered Ashley, “why are you dressed like a hooker?”
“I’ll explain later. Just do exactly what I say. We’re not out of this yet.”
Ashley nodded.
“Follow me.”
They crossed the lobby where Jennifer and Tom had waited in line to enter the private reception. By the sound of it, the party was still in full swing. It occurred to Jennifer that this would be a very inopportune time for her and Ashley to bump into someone they knew, but at the moment, professional embarrassment was pretty low on her list of concerns.
They ducked into the service corridor where Jennifer had done her drunk-woman routine for the guard. Thanks to the commotion at the elevators, the stairs were now unguarded, which greatly simplified this part of the plan.
Jennifer opened the door and held it for Ashley. “This way.”
They hurried down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the empty stairwell. When they reached the entrance to the Chapel in the Clouds, Jennifer stopped.
“Hang on.” She dug into her cleavage and pulled out Crocker’s ID card. She swiped the card over the card reader, waited for the beep and the green light, and opened the door. “Get inside.”
Ashley stepped into the service hallway.
Jennifer followed and shut the door behind them. “Okay, we’re safe for now, but we have to move quick.” She opened the door to the chapel where she and Crocker had left Tom. “This way.”
“Can’t you tell me what is going on?” asked Ashley as she followed Jennifer across the chapel.
“I’ll explain as much as I can while you change clothes.”
“Change clothes? What is going on? How did you get away?”
Jennifer stopped at the door to the second service hallway. “What?”
“How did you get away from the Russians?”
Jennifer tried for several seconds to make sense of the question, then, realizing she was wasting valuable time, opened the door and stepped into the service hall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we have to keep moving.”
Ashley followed her across the hallway and into the large, unlit chapel where Jennifer and Crocker had made love. “The Russians told me they were letting me go because they’d finally caught you.”
Jennifer stopped so abruptly that Ashley almost ran into her in the dark. “They told you what?”
“They said that you were the one they were after when they grabbed me and that they didn’t need me anymore. Then they brought me here and told me that they were going to let me go but that if I called for help or made a scene, they’d kill you.”
Jennifer finally understood. “They lied.” She stopped beside the row of windows overlooking the Strip. “They never had me. They were just trying to make sure you cooperated.”
While Ashley processed this revelation, Jennifer found the diape
r bag, hoisted it onto the same window ledge that had held her during her brief romantic interlude with Crocker, and began digging through the contents.
“So you were safe all along?” asked Ashley.
“I wouldn’t say I was safe, but the Russians never had me.” She tossed Ashley the red spandex dress. “Put that on.”
“Now?”
“Yes, right now. Do you have underwear? That dress is even shorter than this one, but I have these if you need them.” She held up the extra thong Tom had purchased at the hotel boutique.
“I have underwear.” The young woman hesitated. “It was the one thing I had on when they grabbed me, drugged me, and stuffed me in my suitcase.”
As Ashley pulled off the dirty sweatshirt, Jennifer paused for the first time to imagine what the ordeal must have been like for her. In the dim ambient light, Jennifer searched the young woman’s body for bruises or other signs of abuse. Nothing stood out.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, did they hurt you or—”
“No.” Ashley leaned on the window ledge and pulled off one of the oversized sneakers. “A couple of them acted like they wanted to, but the guy in charge kept warning them not to damage the merchandise.”
The phrase damage the merchandise made Jennifer’s skin crawl. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“I’m glad you’re safe.” Ashley tossed the second sneaker to the side. “When they told me they had you, I thought for sure they were going to . . . I mean, after what they did to Bryan . . .” She stood in silence, one leg in the baggy sweatpants and one leg out of them.
“Don’t think about it now,” said Jennifer. “Just get dressed.”
Ashley moved as if in slow motion, sliding her other leg from the sweatpants and letting them fall in a pile on the floor. She stood silent and motionless for a moment, then burst into tears.
Standing there, weeping in the glow of the Las Vegas Strip, wearing nothing but the pink cotton panties in which she’d been abducted, Ashley reminded Jennifer of a scared, lost child. Jennifer wasn’t sure if it was fair to think of Ashley’s tryst with Bryan as a betrayal, but even if it was, the poor girl had done her penance and then some. At that moment, any resentment Jennifer might have felt toward Ashley washed away in the young woman’s tears.