“Morning, Captain. I’m surprised to see you here so early. When did you change shifts?”
Captain grinned, showing a gold-capped front tooth. “Just this week, Mr. King. Been working swing all these years, but recently the late hours been getting to me. The missus never liked them. Getting old, I s’pose. Oh, say, don’t tell the boss I said that.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Jay said.
*
Kasey looked around Jay King’s tastefully decorated office, so much like his office at his house. Again the golds, reds, and greens, dark woods. Oriental carpet and Renaissance period art work transported her back to another era. It reminded her of pictures of libraries in old European manors.
Coming in from the casino floor where everything flashed, glittered, and cried out for attention, she found that the rich, warm colors had a certain calming effect. Perhaps that was why this man seemed so in control and laid back, she thought, as she allowed him to guide her to an area away from the massive desk, to a grouping of chairs designed for conversation. She sat on a blood-red mohair settee and immediately felt at ease.
He offered her coffee. She declined.
“Brad will be along in a minute.” Jay sat in the center of the settee across from her. “I sent him on an errand. I wanted a moment to talk with you alone.”
“About Brad?”
“No. About what you and Dianne discussed at the house after I left the other day. She told me she showed you the newspaper clipping of the MGM fire.”
“Jay, she’s your wife; it’s only natural she be concerned. Threats of any kind should be taken seriously.”
He nodded. “I’m not faulting her. If threats in the mail were the extent of it, I’d probably dismiss it. But it involves more than just me and the hotel. What Dianne doesn’t know is that two of them pertained to her.”
“By name?”
“No, but it was clear she was the intended target. It would be easy enough for someone to find out who she is and what she does in the course of a day. There’s this group and that charity. Well, you know.”
Not firsthand she didn’t. “Death threats?”
“Not exactly. More of a sexual nature. Crude. Ugly.”
“Do you still have them?”
He nodded. “There, in the safe. I didn’t want her to see them. I wouldn’t have told her a thing; but the last one, the fire clipping, came to the house and out of curiosity, she opened it.”
Kasey was glad he was the one to broach the subject. She had promised Dianne she’d look into the situation, and having Jay’s cooperation was essential if she were to do the job right.
“What else? Anything specific?”
He leaned forward, let his hands dangle between his legs. “For starters, a rash of room thefts. As you know, there’s always a certain amount of complaints from guests. Real and imagined. Some get drunk, gamble their bankroll away, and don’t remember losing the money. Others leave valuables in their rooms and return to find them missing.”
“How many complaints?”
“Four last week. The week before, three. Cash and jewelry mostly. A trinket here, a few chips there. Never enough at one time to suggest out-and-out burglary. The guests seem hesitant, embarrassed even, to report it. I can imagine what’s going through their head… Did I misplace it, lose it? Did that woman—or man—I picked up downstairs in the bar last night lift it while I was sleeping? One fellow claims he had a thousand dollars in cash in a briefcase and the only thing missing was some medication.”
“Housekeeping?”
“Could be anyone. Anyone with access. A guest on the fourth floor swore both her diamond earrings were there when she went to bed, yet one was missing in the morning. Last week a male guest complained that someone had tried to enter his room in the middle of the night. He’d thought it was his wife—she often stayed up to gamble—but when he called out, whoever was there quickly closed the door and left. When his wife came in minutes later, she denied being there earlier. She had no reason to lie.
“We stress the importance of using the deadbolts and safety chains,” he went on. “Yet people have unrealistic expectations regarding safety in a hotel. A hotel, even the best hotel in the world, is no more secure than one’s own home or office. We do the best we can. Security officers, safety locks, fisheyes, and surveillance cameras. Hell, I know a lot of our equipment is antiquated, but it works if people would just use their heads.”
“What’s Surveillance doing?”
“The past couple of days they’ve been monitoring the elevator banks on each floor, both regular and service.”
“The guest that died here Saturday, what happened?”
“She was old, had a bad heart. No sign of illegal entry or a struggle. Nothing missing—or so it seemed at the time.” Jay told Kasey about his visit that morning from the detective and the sister of the deceased.
“Maybe I’m too skittish. Hot August Nights is just around the corner. The hotel’s been booked solid for months and will stay booked through the season. In October, construction on the expansion and tower gets under way. The last thing I need right now is adverse publicity.” He came to his feet, began to pace. He stopped, turned, and looked down at her. “Damnit, Kasey, I have a bad feeling about all this. A real bad feeling.”
“Jay, these guest complaints, are they concentrated on any particular floor?”
He hesitated. “Good question.” He crossed to his desk, pressed a button. “Gail, contact security. Have them go through their logs for the past month. I want to see the full reports regarding guest complaints. Missing items in particular.”
Kasey wanted to see the logs. Not everyone knew what to look for. Patterns. She always looked for patterns.
“Jay, I’d like to have a copy of those logs. All shifts.”
He nodded. “Gail, have them bring up the logs for—” He looked at Kasey. “How far back?”
“One—no, two months. For comparison.”
To Gail he said, “May through today.” He straightened, removed his jacket, and draped it over a chair.
“The dead woman’s room, was it sealed by the police?”
“Pinned. No one goes in there unless I say so.”
“I’d like to see it. Could you let me in later this afternoon?”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
There was a tap on the door, and Brad King poked his head in. “Hello. Am I interrupting?”
Jay waved his nephew in.
Brad entered, closed the door, and crossed to them. From pale blue tux to a wheat pin-striped suit and a handpainted tie. She’d almost forgotten how young he looked—Michael J. Fox with stature. Again, she noticed the slight resemblance to Kevin.
He extended his hand to Kasey. His handshake was brief and businesslike, nothing like the pawing display of the other day. He greeted her pleasantly, stated how much he was looking forward to her guidance and training.
Good, she thought, this was more like it. Either his uncle had sat him down and set him straight or her little finger-twisting demonstration on the dance floor had done the trick.
The moment his uncle turned his back, Brad gave Kasey a wink. She groaned inwardly. This wasn’t going to be easy, though probably not boring either.
“I don’t know how you want to work this,” Jay said. “I imagine you don’t care to have it known what you’ll be doing here.”
“No, I’d rather not. For all intents and purposes, it should look as if I’m working for the club as a new employee. Have you told any of your key people about these threats?”
“No. No one.”
“Good. Let’s try to keep it that way for a while.”
“What about Howard Cummings? He’s my chief exec.”
“Not even Cummings.” She turned to the nephew. “Brad, what’s your present title and position?”
“Well, I’m training for Assistant Manager.” He glanced at his uncle, grinned. “But, until I return to school next month, I�
��m Hotel Casino Service Manager. My staff and I cater to premium customers.”
“Perfect,” she cut in. She knew the operation. The chief function of the service manager and his hosts was to provide special services to the repeat high roller. Customer service, to be precise. A very demanding role, often a twenty-four-hour one. The host had to know his or her way around the entire hotel and casino—housekeeping, kitchen, gift shop, and so forth. The host served as travel and booking agent, secretary, upscale valet, golf and card partner, and good friend to a particular customer and his family during his or her stay at the hotel. The host, who was above a hotel “greeter,” was sometimes known as a credit executive and worked in close contact with the casino floor supervisors and the credit department.
Times, however, were changing and the VIPs, mega-celebrities, and junkets were all becoming a thing of the past. Today’s casinos geared up to accommodate senior citizens, families, and everyday folks. Grinders, gamblers on a fixed income with a limited amount of cash to blow, were now earnestly being wooed. Even in Las Vegas, with its glitter, glamour and elaborate theme structures, gaming had changed. Slots were hot, and middle America now gravitated to them in droves. The money stayed the same, but the players were changing. Perks, freebies, and the bizarre brought them in and kept them coming back.
She turned to Brad. “We switch roles. For the next week or two, it’ll appear you’re training me,” she said. “You’ll show me around, introduce me as a new casino host to the staff in each department. That way the two of us can go just about anywhere without suspicion. How many are on staff now?”
“Floating hosts? None full-time,” Jay answered for Brad. “We had to fire our top guy for comp abuse when we learned his friends were forging the name of our premium guests. A second went on pregnancy leave, and the last was hired away by the Hilton. We have a department staff of about four who man the office and handle incoming calls. Brad and our two managers, Yanick and Epson, and a few pit execs have been doubling as hosts. Epson has an in-house employee in mind.”
“Can you hold off for a bit?”
“Sure,” Jay said. “Three VIPs are due in this month. Twice that the following month. I’m sure Brad and the two managers can handle them. If not, I can step in.”
“What about Dianne?” Kasey asked.
“Dianne?” Brad said, clearly amused. “Dianne King catering to someone? You gotta be kidding.”
“Cool it, huh?” Jay said to Brad. He turned to Kasey. “Can you start immediately?”
“Yes. We’ll get the introductions out of the way today, then we’ll start on typical surveillance stuff. We’ll need to do a surveillance shift in the eye. I’ll let you know ahead of time so you can pull those guys off.”
“You don’t trust my men?”
I trust them more than I trust your nephew, especially alone in a dark room, she thought. Aloud, she said, “I don’t trust anyone.”
She thought she saw a glimmer of respect mixed with amusement in Jay’s clear blue eyes.
“I’ll get you keys, ID, and anything else you need,” he said, going behind his desk and sitting. “You’re on your own, you two.”
Kasey turned to Brad. “Shall we begin?”
Chapter Seven
At 2:30 P.M., the Monk tossed aside the Penthouse Magazine and sat up. His bed was a double mattress on the floor, covered with a sleeping bag, unzipped all the way and laid flat. For a pillow he used a large stuffed panda he’d won in the arcade at Circus Circus one night trying to impress some stupid bimbo. He couldn’t remember the outcome of that evening, but the fact that he had possession of the panda probably meant he’d struck out.
The Monk had found the two-room shack twenty miles north of town the first week. The place was a dump with little or no amenities. He could afford better, a lot better. But out here, backed up to the foothills, there were no neighbors, no one snooping around looking into his business. Privacy, all he wanted, was his. It would come in handy one day soon.
He stretched his arms out in front of him. Made fists. The word on his forearm expanded. Monk. He liked the epithet, liked it so much he’d had it tattooed on him. He was given the name while in the service. The Monk. A solitary person. A recluse. That was him. He hung with no one, relied on no one, was solely devoted to a discipline prescribed by his own exacting order. Behind his back he was called the Madmonk or the Monk of Mayhem. He liked those, too. If the shoe fit.
He stood, stretched again, then slapped his bare chest, hard, in rapid succession. The stinging on his nipples evoked instant alertness as no coffee or controlled substance could. He wondered what it would be like to have a nipple pierced. A gold ring through it. Maybe someday he’d find out.
Rooting around in a duffel bag, he found one of the capsules he had swiped from the purse of the old deaf woman at the club. The one he had killed with the dry cleaner bag. He swallowed the capsule with tepid coffee. The miracle pill, doing its work while he played. Killing whatever nasty germ it came in contact with before the little bastard could take hold. Not that he had anything—not anymore, that is. And never again. For the Monk, prevention was the name of the game. The memory of his dying grandfather was enough to make him vigilant. The Monk had been just a kid; but after all these years, he still couldn’t get the sight or smell of that hospital or the old man out of his mind. At the time he had known nothing about venereal disease. Had never heard of syphilis: Neapolitan disease, French pox, a dose. Yet he would never forget the sight of that repulsive old man, blind and staring, his paralyzed body a wasted lump between the coarse hospital sheets. Every vital organ, including his brain, diseased.
So simple to cure. The fool had never sought treatment.
The Monk learned about VD in high school, and caught his first and only dose two years after he came out of the service. Her name was Jimmy Sue Blanco. She was tiny, reddish-blonde, brown-eyed, freckled, and incredibly shy. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Pure. Innocent. The Monk, in the habit of taking what he wanted, often forcibly, all of a sudden became tender and patient. He courted her for months, seeing no one else, the perfect gentleman settling for whatever she was willing to give, allowing her plenty of time in which to surrender her virginity, to become his completely. When they made love for the first time he was the happiest man alive. They talked of marriage, of children, and for weeks he was madly in love until the day he noticed a curious red bump on the underside of his penis. He confronted her on a Sunday-afternoon drive in the mountains. While she wept and begged for forgiveness, he opened the door of the speeding car and pushed her out. He kept right on going across eight states and never once looked back.
The rising heat in the bedroom had the Monk sweating. He dressed quickly. He would shower at the club, as he did every day, right after his workout in the hotel gym, then change into the two-tone blue uniform. He liked his job. Anytime he could wear a badge and strap on a gun, he was happy.
*
At four o’clock, Kasey and Brad entered the Esmeralda Lounge, a hot spot for club workers, and took stools at the bar. The majority of casinos welcomed, solicited even, their own employees by offering certain promotions to keep them around at the end of their shift. Paychecks were cashed on the premises, accompanied by free drink tokens which could be redeemed at any casino bar, bars that offered keno games and video poker machines. The casino giveth; the casino taketh away.
The lounge was a deep, dark room with tables at the back.
The day had flown by. Literally starting at the bottom, she and Brad had covered most of the hotel basement, a maze of concrete twists and turns, long stark hallways with low-watt lighting—extension space given over to laundry, wardrobe, boiler room, slot repair, food and beverage preparation, equipment storage, and employee lockers. Wherever Kasey and Brad went, the staff was pleasant and cooperative, yet it was obvious their presence was not well received. Kasey expected as much. Although very little pilfering went on at this level—storage rooms were kept locked and no o
ne entered without a security escort; the big losses were upstairs where cash, chips, and coins readily changed hands—interruptions by upper-level employees, especially by the nephew of the boss, were merely tolerated at best.
By 2:30 they had moved up one level to the main floor. Brad showed her to her office. A tiny room with a chair, desk, and fax/telephone, cluttered with boxes of promotion pamphlets and flyers. His office across the hall, adjacent to the front desk, was slightly larger. And instead of boxes, he had a sofa and a Stairmaster. After meeting the Service staff, they moved on to the main casino floor where she was introduced to the casino manager, Robert Yanick. Yanick took over the introduction of his floor supervisors and the credit manager. Brad became quiet and withdrawn around the casino boss. Kasey wondered if he disliked Yanick or was merely resentful of the man’s position, a position that Brad hoped to have one day.
Now that they were through for the day, Kasey allowed herself to relax. All day she’d waited for the other shoe to drop. After the wink in his uncle’s office, she’d expected Brad to make some juvenile pass, but was surprised by his good behavior. He’d actually behaved like a gentleman—like a responsible junior executive. For the past seven hours he had paid close attention and seemed eager to learn. Kasey was impressed. She figured there was hope.
They sat in the middle of the nearly full bar. As they sipped their drinks, a beer for Brad and lime tonic for Kasey, she quietly explained that mid-bar, between both cash registers, was the best vantage point for spotting. The bartender, out of earshot at the far end, flirted openly with two young women.
She didn’t expect to see any action today, not with the owner’s nephew sitting beside her. Yet, no sooner had the thought crossed her mind, then she watched the bartender serve the two women. He took no money or drink tokens.
Her senses kicked into high gear. “Does that bartender know who you are?”
Brad shrugged. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Keep your eye on him, I have a feeling you’re going to get your first lesson.”
They chatted, pretending to be engrossed in conversation. By facing each other they were able to watch the bartender’s every move.
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