by Siegel, Alex
"That arrangement seems very unusual."
"The vendor demanded those terms, and we had to accept them. The monkey machines are our largest source of revenue. This casino was struggling before we acquired them."
"Who is the vendor?" she said.
He just stared at her.
She exhaled angrily. "The FBI believes those machines are at the center of a criminal conspiracy. If we find out you're involved, saving your career will be the least of your worries."
"I've done nothing wrong," he said. "I'm not a criminal. This casino is fully licensed and completely legal. You can threaten me all day, and it won't change those facts."
"The monkey machines are ruining lives. That is also a fact."
"This casino doesn't force anybody to play. Customers come and go as they see fit. What happens to them after they leave is not our concern or our legal responsibility."
"In other words," she said, "you don't care."
"I'm not supposed to care. That's what organizations like Gamblers Anonymous are for. If we turned away every patron who might have a problem, we'd go bankrupt."
"Ruining lives is just good business."
He shook his head. "You're twisting my words around."
"I'm just expressing your position in clearer terms. This casino takes advantage of human weakness. The profits you pocket along the way are even more disgusting. You may be legal, but that doesn't mean you're ethical."
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty so I'll talk?" He raised his eyebrows.
She snarled. "Let me be even more explicit. The monkey machines are very bad business. You will regret your involvement with them. By protecting your mysterious vendor, you're sealing your fate. The truth will come out. I strongly recommend you reconsider your position now."
Tawni realized Marina was telling the truth. People who opposed the Society usually paid with their lives.
"You don't scare me," Wilman said. "I know all my rights, and I have a first-rate lawyer. I also know you have nothing on me because there is nothing to get. I'm one hundred percent legal. If you want to pursue a moral crusade against gambling, that's your prerogative, but I don't have to help you."
Marina placed a business card on the desk. "When you change your mind, call this number." She stood up and walked out.
Tawni and Smythe hurried after her.
Marina didn't stop walking until the team was alone in the parking lot. It was a very warm, sticky day outside. Tawni immediately started sweating under the hot sun. She took off her jacket.
"That was a waste of time," Tawni said.
Marina cocked her head. "Why?" Her green eyes and freckled nose made her look mischievous.
"We didn't learn anything. The guy was too tough."
"He was scared out of his mind."
Tawni furrowed her brow. "I didn't get that."
"I knew he wouldn't talk right away," Marina said. "High-power executives like him never do, not without strong encouragement. This was just reconnaissance. I was looking for a weakness and got a good one. It's so perfect I have to thank the Lord for arranging it."
"What weakness?"
Marina smiled. "Let see if you or Smythe can figure it out. What did you notice when you walked in?"
"Books about ghosts," Tawni said. "The guy likes paranormal shit."
"And do we know a ghost?"
It was Smythe's turn to smile. "Indeed, we do," he said in a gleeful tone.
Tawni looked back and forth between them. "I don't get it. Wait a sec! Is this the casino where Sheryl got shot last night?"
"She died on stage," Marina said, "right in front of the audience. I imagine Wilman was shocked when he heard the news. How would he react if he met her again?"
Finally, Tawni smiled.
* * *
"Do it again," Aaron said. "Take a deep breath, hold it, and squeeze slowly. The only thing that should move is your finger."
Sheryl was lying on the cold, hard floor of the gun range. She was staring down the scope of a sniper rifle at a bulls-eye target one inch across. Her right shoulder ached from getting pounded by the rifle stock, but Aaron obviously didn't care about her pain. He was only interested in the lesson.
She squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked her in the sore shoulder.
"Come on, Sheryl," he said with annoyance. "You're still pulling to the left."
"I've never shot a rifle before, sir."
"This is the lightest one I have. It's almost a toy."
A toy that kills, she thought.
His phone rang. She was glad for the break in the training, however short.
He listened for a moment. Finally, he said, "That's a brilliant idea. We'll come up in the helicopter. Meet us at the airport."
He grinned at her, and the expression sent a chill down her spine.
"What's going on?" she asked timidly.
"It will be fun," he said. "You're going to play a ghost."
"Huh?"
He took the rifle from Sheryl and put it on one of the many shelves in the gun range. When she stood up, aching muscles made her feel crippled.
Aaron led her to the storage room where the costumes were kept. Long racks filled the space, and they were packed with all kinds of clothes. Wigs, false mustaches, beards, makeup, and other accessories occupied shelves along the walls. The team was prepared for all possible undercover assignments.
"Find a white dress," he said. "Something gauzy and flowing. It should be appropriate for a woman who is returning to Earth as a specter with a dire warning."
"Who am I giving this warning to?" She pushed through the crowded room. There was barely enough space to squeeze between the racks.
"John Wilman, a man who apparently believes in ghosts. You're going to scare him into spilling his guts."
She looked back at him in surprise. "Ooh. I get it. And where will this haunting take place?"
"I think the main stage will do nicely."
"Perfect. I can use some of my props. Hopefully, they haven't torn down the set."
"I'm sure it hasn't been touched," he said. "It's a crime scene. I murdered you there."
It took some digging, but Sheryl found a white gown that looked right. She grabbed a makeup kit and a pack of fake blood.
She suggested to Aaron what costumes he should bring. She already had ideas about the tricks she would perform. This show was going to be great. It was a shame only one man would ever see it.
When the preparations were complete, they went up to the roof. The blue helicopter was parked in the center on a big, white "H." She was excited.
"I've never been in a helicopter, sir," she said.
"Neither have I," he replied. "I hope I can figure out how to fly this thing."
"What?"
He gave her a little smile.
"Was that a joke?" she said. "Did you actually tell a joke? The feared commander has a sense of humor?"
He shrugged. "I'm not grim all the time."
"Close enough, sir."
She sat in the front beside him. There was glass all around, even below her feet, and it was like riding in a bubble. They wore headsets so they could talk over the engine noise.
The rotors began to spin. The jet turbine made a high pitched whine only a few feet from her head, but the headset blocked most of the sound.
"I have to go straight up," Aaron said. "We don't want the people inside the hotel hearing anything."
"How can they not hear a helicopter on the roof?"
"The glass exterior is air-tight and soundproof. I anticipated this problem when we were building the hotel, and the helicopter is designed to run quiet when it's not at full power."
The helicopter lifted off slowly and smoothly. Sheryl suddenly had a panoramic view of Rosemont and the surrounding area. She squeaked as her heart jumped into her throat.
O'Hare Airport was directly to the west. From above, she could see how the many runways crossed each other at odd angles. Airplanes were moving along
several of them. She wondered if the pilots ever chose the wrong runway by mistake.
The Forest Preserve was to the east. It was a strip of lush green vegetation that ran far to the north and south. She wanted to walk in those woods when she had time.
Much farther to the east, she saw the impressive buildings of downtown Chicago. Haze washed out the colors and blurred the edges, making them seem ghostly.
"Every time I fly," Aaron said, "I'm reminded of the size of my territory. All these millions of people are depending on us for protection. It's intimidating."
Sheryl had never considered that perspective. It seemed he didn't understand the meaning of the word intimidation. Maybe he was finally opening up to her.
"How long have you been a commander?"
"A little more than a year. Not long. Ethel ran Chicago before she was promoted to legate."
"You act like you've done it your whole life," she said.
"Projecting confidence is important. You don't need to hear about my private insecurities."
"You can't be a tough guy all the time."
"It's part of the job," he said. "The only person I let inside my head is Marina."
"You two certainly have a lot of sex."
"We don't see each other much these days, and we have to make up for lost time. She's going home tomorrow." His face showed pain.
"How did you meet?" she said.
"She was a legionnaire here. She was promoted last winter and sent to San Francisco to replace a commander who had died."
"That must've been tough for you."
"Very," he said, "but it was for the best. When we're together, I think about her too much. I lose perspective. I'm not as effective at my job. Ethel saw the danger and separated us."
"Harsh."
"It's a harsh business we're in, which reminds me. I never went over the rules with you. You're not allowed to marry or become pregnant. Members of the Society must commit fully to the mission. A family would get in the way. Relationships with outsiders are discouraged, and if you have one, you must use a false identity."
"That's an extreme position," she said. "You can't dictate how I lead my personal life."
"God made the rules. File a complaint with Him if you want them changed. You won't be the first. The penalty for a violation is death. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner."
"Have you ever killed one of your own people?"
"Not yet," he said, "but the possibility has come up."
"What happens if you break the rules, sir?"
"Ethel will kill me. It's a simple system." Aaron was staring out the windshield at the horizon. His expression was unreadable. "And she answers directly to God. We are all His soldiers."
Sheryl sighed. She didn't like the system but was clearly stuck with it. At least she knew exactly where she stood.
They were flying north at high speed over a vast suburban landscape. Sheryl had expected to see a uniform grid, but only the big avenues followed a regular pattern. The small residential streets had plenty of loops and dead ends. Each block used a different plan, and some seemed purposely tricky.
She settled back in her seat and listened to the engine whine.
* * *
Sheryl was standing on the main stage of the Huhawira Casino in the exact spot where she had died. Exit signs provided a little red light, but otherwise, the theater was dark. Even the usher lights were off. The quiet was eerie. She couldn't hear the slot machines outside the doors.
She was impatient to begin her performance. The show was going to be short but spectacular.
A door in the back of the auditorium opened, allowing a stream of light to leak in. A man walked through the opening. She couldn't see him clearly, but it had to be Wilman.
"Hello?" he called. "Is anybody here? I got a text from security telling me to come."
Spotlights slowly came up on the stage, and all of them were aimed at Sheryl. Marina was in the control booth operating the lights.
Sheryl knew exactly what Wilman would see. Her white gown flowed elegantly from her shoulders to the stage. A splotch of fake blood marked the middle of her chest. Fog effects from a smoke machine played around her feet and softened her appearance. A diamond tiara glittered in the bright light.
"Come here," she said.
He approached slowly. "You're supposed to be dead."
"I am dead."
He was close enough now that she could see him clearly in the gloom. His eyes were very wide.
"What's going on?"
"I came back from the grave to deliver a message to you," she said.
He took a step backwards and bumped into a shadowy figure. Aaron was there. Layers of black cloth covered the commander's body and black gauze enveloped his head. He was barely visible in the darkness. The unnatural shadows that clung to him made the effect more frightening. Even Sheryl was intimidated.
Wilman spun around. "Who is that?"
Aaron was silent.
"He is Death," Sheryl said. "I suggest you turn away and look at me instead."
The statement was meant to be dramatic, but it rang with truth. Aaron could be mistaken for an incarnation of Death.
Wilman faced her. "What do you want?" His voice was high and shaky.
She glided forward without moving her feet. She was standing on a platform attached to an electric forklift in the back of the stage. Tawni was driving the forklift. Wilman couldn't see the mechanism, and from his perspective, it would appear Sheryl was floating a few inches in the air.
He gasped.
"To save you from yourself," she said. "You have one chance for salvation. Otherwise, you'll be his."
She pointed at a high balcony, and a spotlight illuminated a large figure in black. It looked like Aaron, but it was actually Smythe in an identical costume. From this distance, it was impossible to tell the difference. Aaron had already ducked out of sight. Wilman would assume "Death" had teleported to the balcony. The twin assistant trick, Sheryl thought. A classic that never goes out of style.
The high spotlight went out.
Wilman was shaking. "What chance?"
"This casino has ruined the lives of thousands of people," she stated in a deep voice. "Many committed suicide. Their damned souls cry out for justice. You can help stop the madness."
"But I'm just an accountant."
He looked so terrified it was almost comical. She felt sorry for him.
Aaron slipped up behind Wilman and wrapped his hands around his throat. Wilman was lifted off the ground by the neck. He frantically struggled and kicked, but he was being held in an iron grip.
"No!" Sheryl said. "Don't take him yet. He still has time."
Aaron put Wilman down. Wilman gasped for air and looked back, but Aaron had already vanished silently into the darkness. For such a big man, he was astonishingly slippery.
Wilman vomited onto the carpet.
"A woman with red hair came to you today," Sheryl said. "She is your guide to salvation."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Smythe walking across the stage behind her, still in his black costume. To Wilman, it would appear that Death was everywhere.
Wilman wiped his mouth. "But she just wanted to know about the monkey machines."
"Machines made of lies, secrecy, and hatred. You've seen the evil with your own eyes. Don't deny it."
He swallowed. "You're right. You're absolutely right!" He raised his head. "Those machines suck the soul out of everybody who touches them. The guilt has been tearing at my guts for months. I attended the meetings. I signed the agreements and authorized the payments. I could've stopped it at the beginning, but I saw a revenue stream that was too juicy to pass up. What have I done?!"
Tears were rolling down his cheeks. The strong reaction made Sheryl hesitate. This scene was getting too real.
She pointed at the floor. Floodlights came up and illuminated much of the stage. Nothing had been touched since last night's performance. A big splotch of dried fake
blood was still there. Some yellow police tape and chalk marks had been added though.
"This is where I died," she said. "My time is up, and I don't have any more choices. You still do."
The platform she was standing on glided backwards, and simultaneously, a large mirror descended. It reflected black against a black background, so Wilman couldn't see it from his position. The motion stopped when she was towards the back of the stage. The invisible mirror was just above her head and a foot in front of her. She was surrounded by open space.
A waterfall of dense theatrical smoke cascaded down from far above and fell straight on her head. She held her breath. She didn't like the smell of the mineral oil used to make the smoke. Intense beams of light turned the smoke into a column of shimmering mist. It was a dazzling effect.
The platform lifted her up. She grabbed a ladder mounted on the back of the mirror. The platform withdrew into the backstage darkness, and the mirror rose straight up. Wilman would've seen a woman rise into the mist and vanish.
Sheryl's prerecorded voice boomed through the auditorium, "You still do."
All the lights went out.
She carefully got off the ladder and climbed onto a high catwalk above the stage. She couldn't see anything so she took her time. A fall from this height might kill her. Dying on this stage for real would be an ironic end.
She heard thumping noises below. She expected Wilman was desperately groping his way towards the nearest exit. A moment later, a door opened and closed as he successfully escaped.
Sheryl felt around until she found a flashlight taped to the catwalk. She turned it on, and being able to see again was a relief. Her teammates also had flashlights. Beams of light moved around the theater as everybody converged.
She walked to the end of the catwalk and climbed down a ladder as quickly as she dared. She had to hold the flashlight in her mouth during the climb. By the time she set foot on the stage, Aaron, Marina, Smythe, and Tawni were already there.
"Let's go," Aaron said.
They hurried through the darkened backstage area.
Suddenly, all the lights came on, and Sheryl heard yelling in the auditorium. Casino security had arrived.
Aaron silently opened an exit door and the rest of the team followed close behind. They emerged into muggy air and late afternoon sunlight. He kept running until everybody was safely crouched behind a van in the parking lot.