Jacks Are Wild: An Out of Time Novel (Saving Time, Book 1)

by Martin, Monique

  Whitmore’s expression was hard. “Oh, it’s somethin’ all right.”

  Whitmore paced back and forth in front of his desk, but stopped to glare at Jack. “You’re sure he’s tied up, tight?”

  Jack nodded. After he and the Crosses had driven back into town, he’d dropped them off at the Paradise. Then he drove Falco’s Cadillac with Falco still trussed up in the trunk back to the La Fortuna.

  “He’s not going anywhere.”

  Whitmore nodded thoughtfully and reached for his phone, but stopped mid-dial, thinking better of it. He slammed the phone down back into its cradle.

  “Dammit.”

  “Should we call the police?” Jack asked, although he had a pretty good idea what the answer would be.

  “No,” Whitmore said quickly. “No. They’ll call in the gaming commission and we’ll have them fumbling all over themselves.” He shook his head. “Bad for business.”

  “Then maybe we should return to sender?” Jack said.

  Whitmore frowned in confusion.

  “Well, Falco works for the Outfit, doesn’t he?”

  Whitmore paused as if he was taking a risk by admitting such a thing even existed to a virtual stranger. He eyed Jack thoughtfully.

  “I’m guessing they won’t be too happy with him. From what he said, he’s on thin ice with them already.”

  Again, Whitmore hesitated. “How much do you know about what happened?”

  “With Falco and you?” Jack shrugged. “Not much.”

  Whitmore considered this and sat on the edge of his desk. “Do you know what the skim is?”

  Jack nodded and sat down in one of the club chairs across from the desk. “I’ve heard about it. When cash from the casino floor is taken into the counting rooms some of it goes missing before it’s added to the day’s take. Skimmed off the top.”

  “Untraceable. Untaxable. It just walks out the back door,” Whitmore said, waving his hand. Then he sat up a little straighter. “Now, I don’t run a dirty house. There’s no mob money here. This is all my own.”

  Then, a darkness came to his eyes. “But the mob touches everything in this town. A little bit of tribute,” he said, nearly choking on the word, “is paid to keep the peace. You understand?”

  Jack did, all too well. It was an old racket. Call it tribute or protection money. It was a payoff to the mob to keep them from destroying you, or worse.

  “And Falco was a runner?” Jack asked.

  Whitmore smiled thinly and pushed himself off his desk. “Until he got greedy. I don’t like paying someone for nothing in return, but it’s part of doing business here. But Falco didn’t just take money for his bosses, he took a little for himself. And then more than a little.”

  Whitmore’s face grew grim. “Nobody steals from Carson Whitmore.”

  “You caught him and threw him out?”

  “I did.”

  Jack could see why Falco was so desperate. If his bosses found out what he’d done, he’d be, as they say, swimming with the fishes. And yet he wasn’t, at least not yet.

  “Why didn’t his superiors take care of him?”

  “I don’t know. But they’re not going to like this. I guarantee it.”

  Jack stood. “So, what do we do?”

  Whitmore grabbed a pad and scribbled out a note. “Take this and our friend over to the Flamingo. Tell them at the desk it’s for Marshall. They’ll handle the rest.”

  He handed Jack the note.

  Theft and attempted murder. And a big mouth. Am leaving this in your hands. Trust you will handle it. CJW

  “He’s their trash. Let them take him out.”

  ~~~

  Jack parked the Cadillac under the large overhang that ran the length of the Flamingo. It was temporary parking, but he didn’t have much choice. There wasn’t much shade to be had here, or anywhere in the city for that matter, and if he left Falco out to bake much longer, there wouldn’t be anything for the mob to do.

  It was a little pointless. Falco probably wouldn’t see another week, if what he knew about the Outfit was true. But Jack parked in the shade anyway and headed toward the front desk.

  The lobby was two stories high with a circular atrium and mezzanine above. That was classy, Jack thought. The shocking pink upholstery and green ashlar stone walls, not so much. But he wasn’t here for Better Homes and Gardens.

  He waited for a couple to check in and then handed Whitmore’s note to the desk clerk, telling him, as instructed, that it was for Marshall.

  At the mere mention of the name, the clerk stood up straighter and his eyes widened just a little.

  “Of course,” he said and then cleared his throat.

  “Car’s over at the east corner,” Jack said as he handed him the keys. He leaned forward. “I wouldn’t wait too long.”

  The clerk nodded quickly, hurrying to a rear corner behind the desk and picked up a phone.

  Jack’s mission accomplished, he walked back across the street to the Paradise.

  ~~~

  “What do you think?”

  Elizabeth twirled so the full skirt of her dress would poof out.

  Simon sat in an armchair in the sitting room of their suite sulking. He looked up, but his expression didn’t change. “Beautiful.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t going to let him poop her party. “I think it is,” she added with another skirt swoosh. “And best of all, no corset.”

  She’d had her fill of those for a lifetime and then some. Their missions back in time always seemed to start with her shoving her pancreas into whatever was near her pancreas, Torquemada-style. She was not a fan.

  This, however, a bright, light sundress that let her show off her figure, just a little of it, was perfect. It was the va-va without the voom. Sexy, but safe.

  “Yes,” Simon said distractedly.

  “You don’t like it?” Elizabeth asked, knowing full well it was bait he couldn’t resist.

  He looked at her, some of the sulk gone and replaced with that passion for her that made her toes curl. “You know I do.”

  She felt a little guilty. She had pretty much railroaded him into staying. Not that he would ever leave Jack in the lurch if he really needed help, but she’d kind of made up his mind for him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “I got so caught up in things. Caught up in worrying about Jack. About how exciting this all sounded, that I kind of left you out of the decision making.”

  “A little bit, perhaps,” he conceded. “But we do owe Jack a debt we’ll probably never be able to repay.”

  “Forgiven?” she asked with a pouty, hopeful smile.

  Simon stood and walked over to her. He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I’ll think of ways you can make it up to me.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “Naughty.”

  Simon hmm’d his agreement and kissed her. And kissed her.

  When he pulled back he looked into her eyes. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to go home? I’d like to continue this unabated.”

  She felt for him. Normally, he would have only been mildly annoyed, but their lives weren’t the usual topsy-turvy these days. There was an added pressure and it was starting to get to both of them.

  “Maybe a break will be good?” she said.

  Simon grunted. Clearly, he was not a fan of the break, but he knew she might be right, too.

  “It’s only been two months,” she said. “Lots of people don’t conceive right away.”

  He nodded, but she could see he was worried. He was a natural worrier when it came to her and he wanted a baby so badly. They’d both known they’d have children. Heck, there had been a prophecy from an old, blind woman about it. Granted, that particular one was a little creepy, but they both knew, deep in their hearts, that their child was out there waiting for them.

  Not having her in their lives felt wrong somehow. Being semi-professional time travelers made the idea of having a family a dangerous one though. B
ut it just felt right. The time felt right. So, they’d decided to try. Except with Simon Cross there was no try, there was only do. And boy, did they do. But all of the schedules and calendars and planning was making them both stressed out and was taking the joy out of what had always been a very joyful part of their relationship.

  A little time travel diversion seemed like a good idea. And Jack did need their help, what with him almost getting killed and all. It was a win-win.

  At least, she hoped it was.

  Elizabeth walked over to the drapes and pulled them open. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to come here. Daddy and I came once when I was little, but I don’t remember it.”

  She looked out at the lush grounds and felt a pang of sadness that always came with thoughts of her late father. He’d been the worst kind of itinerant gambler, the losing kind. They’d moved all over Texas, chasing the next game. They never had two nickels to rub together, but they’d always had each other. She smiled through the sudden melancholy and turned back to Simon.

  “Of course, we didn’t stay in a place like this.” She looked back out of the window. “He would have loved this.”

  Simon came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against his chest.

  “Why don’t we place a bet for him tonight?” Simon said.

  Elizabeth turned around in his arms. “I like that idea.”

  “And I’ll like this idea,” Simon said, looking around the room, “if you promise to be careful.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “I always am.”

  ~~~

  “Another?”

  Jack turned on his bar stool and shook his head. “Not yet, thanks.”

  The bartender nodded and Jack turned back around to people watch while he waited for Simon and Elizabeth to come down for dinner. Bus stations and casinos were probably the two best places on the planet to see people at their best and worst. Dreams and fears right there on the surface.

  The clientele of the Paradise was fairly upscale, more so than the people he’d seen at the Flamingo, and definitely more so than the crowd at the La Fortuna. Evenings weren’t quite black tie, but they were dressy. The world hadn’t quite started to go casual yet. Not completely anyway. He kind of liked it. He kind of missed it. The modern world had a lot to offer. There was more variety, more technology, but it felt a little scattered to him. It didn’t have the same style. On the other hand, getting rid of polio was a plus.

  As he scanned the crowd he noticed Otis Baxter, the photographer from Sports Illustrated, walking across the lobby. He’d just left the front desk and headed for the main exit when a man came up to his side and touched his arm to stop him. Jack was just close enough to make out what they said.

  The man smiled at Baxter. “What are you doing here?”

  Baxter looked around nervously and Jack turned away to keep from being spotted. This was interesting.

  Jack waited a moment and then turned back just far enough to watch them.

  Baxter looked down at the hand still on his arm. “Get away from me.”

  “I thought you were still in Chicago.”

  Baxter’s hound dog face tightened. “I think you have me confused with someone.”

  The man smiled and shook his head, but Baxter simply turned and walked away. The man stood there for a moment in the middle of the lobby, shook his head and then walked back toward the casino.

  Now, what was that all about?

  “Well, hello stranger,” a sultry voice said in Jack’s ear.

  Jack smiled as he turned. “Miss me?”

  Charlene smirked. “Maybe.”

  Jack laughed. “That’s better than no.”

  “Come on,” she said. “Has anyone ever said no to you?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She put her tray down on the bar and gave the bartender her order. She leaned against it and looked him up and down. “You having fun?”

  He shrugged. “Some days are better than others.”

  “Don’t you mean nights?”

  She was a cheeky one. He liked it. “And mornings.”

  She smiled and flushed a little. She ran her finger down his tie. “By dawn’s early light.”

  Jack laughed. “Something like that.”

  The bartender shoved her tray, now filled with drink orders back across the bar.

  “I get off at ten.”

  It was damned tempting, but Jack frowned. Duty called. “I’m actually waiting for someone. Someones.”

  She arched a delicately penciled eyebrow. “More than one?”

  “Friends. A couple I know from back home.”

  “Well maybe another—”

  Her face paled a little and her eyes flashed in alarm. It was quick, but noticeable. Jack looked over his shoulder to see what had caused it. He’d expected to see Tony Santo, ready to tell her to get back to work, but the man walking toward him wasn’t Tony Santo, unless he’d shrunk in the dryer.

  This man might have been five feet tall on a good day, but he walked through the lobby like he was twice that. His face was an old fashioned mug—pug nose, squashed face, weathered by drink and hard living. His suit was almost as shiny as his hair.

  Between him and the two goons on either side of him, he might as well have worn a sandwich board that said: Mobster: I shoot people for a living.

  And burn them, and blow them up, Jack added. This was John Marshall, also known as John Caifano, the representative for the Chicago Outfit in Las Vegas and the most powerful man here.

  Jack turned back to Charlene to tell her not to worry, but she was already gone, hurrying across the floor with her tray of drinks and giving the little man a wide berth. In fact, everyone gave him space, suddenly finding their hands or the ceiling or anywhere other than him fascinating.

  “You Jack Wells?” he said as he got to the bar.

  It was a dangerous balancing act with men like this. Jack didn’t want to show fear; never show fear to a predator, and men like this were born predators. But it wasn’t smart to challenge them either. That space in-between was a tightrope.

  Jack decided to start from a power position and shave it down as necessary. He finished his drink, put the empty glass on the bar, then stood. “I am.”

  The man smirked, enjoying Jack’s bravado.

  So far so good.

  “John Marshall.”

  Jack nodded. “From the Flamingo,” he said, trying his best to remain neutral.

  That, however, clearly wasn’t the reaction the man had expected or hoped for. He glanced at one of his associates, who merely shrugged.

  “You left me something earlier today.”

  “Is there a problem with it?” Jack asked.

  Marshall chuckled and jabbed his thumb back toward the big man that flanked him. “Get him.”

  He smiled at Jack. “I like you.”

  But there was a flint in his eyes that told Jack he was on thin ice. Liking him could turn to killing him very quickly if he wasn’t careful. Time to dial it back just a little.

  “No, no problems,” Marshall said. “Tell your boss it’s taken care of.”

  Jack knew better than to correct him. “Thank you. I will.”

  Marshall took a step forward, leaning in. “And tell him this won’t happen again. He has my word.”

  Jack nodded again and held out his hand. Marshall looked at it warily for a minute and then shook it. His grip was powerful and meaningful. Marshall held onto his hand a beat longer than he should. It was a clear message. Do not play games with me. You will not win.

  Jack knew enough to show a little deference and nodded.

  Marshall smiled and patted Jack’s cheek. “See you around, Wells.”

  Jack watched him and his bodyguards turn to leave, but Marshall stopped and turned back.

  “Oh,” he said and reached into his pocket. Jack tensed, but Marshall only pulled out a set of key. He tossed them to Jack, who caught them in mid-air and looked down at them. Falco’s
car keys. “As a thank you for your discretion. The previous owner won’t be needing it anymore.”

  With a last malicious smile, Marshall left.

  As he did, Simon and Elizabeth joined Jack at the bar. Elizabeth’s eyes were glued to the front door.

  “Holy crap,” she said as she stood next to him. “Do you know who that was?”

  Jack nodded and slipped Falco’s keys into his pocket.

  “Who?” Simon asked.

  Elizabeth’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Mr. Outside.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “A big deal,” Elizabeth said. She pulled her husband closer and lowered her voice. “He’s the one who oversees all of the family’s Inside men.”

  “I’m disturbed by how much you know about all of this,” Simon grumbled and looked to Jack for a translation.

  Jack looked around and decided this conversation was better had in private.

  “Why don’t we get a table? A nice quiet table?”

  Elizabeth touched the tip of her nose, nodded and winked at Jack.

  Jack chuckled and Simon shook his head.

  “Don’t encourage her.”

  They managed to get a very secluded booth in the back of the restaurant and once their drinks arrived, they picked up the conversation where they’d left off.

  Jack took a sip of his old fashioned and set it aside. “Wiseguys have always had their fingers in the pie here, had stakes in hotels downtown, run rackets. But back then it was still kind of a backwater. Once the Syndicate, that’s the New York family, built the Flamingo and the Strip started, the others saw the potential. Every family wanted a piece of the action.”

  Elizabeth scooted forward in her seat. “And it was perfect because gambling’s legal here. Outside of Vegas, they were criminals because they ran numbers rackets and floating craps games, but here, they’re legitimate businessmen. Sort of.”

  Jack nodded. “Right. Casinos started sprouting up all over the place, most of the money to finance them coming from organized crime. But they needed people who knew how to run the joints, too. And who had the experience? The men who’d been on the wrong side of the law since Prohibition, the ones who already knew every trick, every angle.”