by Jonas Saul
Eddie looked up and tapped his pen on the table twice. He searched Mark’s eyes and only saw determination behind them.
“Good. By this time tomorrow we’ll be sunning ourselves on a beach somewhere trying to decide what to buy first.”
“I already know what I want,” Mark said as he made his way for the lunchroom door.
“What’s that?”
“A muscle car. Something modified. Like a ’68 Camaro with racing stripes.”
“For Mexico? You don’t think that’ll stand out too much?”
Mark stopped at the door and turned back, a frown creasing his brow. “No. It won’t stand out. I’ll have a new name, a new passport, and a new look. For all anyone knows, my parents are rich and sent me to southern Mexico for a year. Whose business will it be anyway?”
“You’re right,” Eddie said. “It won’t matter.” But it would. Too much attention and all that.
“It sounds to me like you’re worrying too much. You keep asking me if I’ll be there, do the right thing when I’m supposed to. Questioning my spending habits before the job is even done. How about you? You nervous? Or worse, considering backing out?”
Eddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His brainchild. His seed he planted. His idea. Why would he back out? He was only checking with the troops to see if they were ready for war. And why did he ever agree to split the money fifty-fifty when it was all his idea? When it was over and they were counting the money, he would explain why this had to be an eighty-twenty deal. All Mark had to do was show up and drive a car. Easily worth two-hundred thousand and not half a million.
Fuck him.
Without answering Mark’s questions, Eddie started to work on his word search again. “Just be ready. I’ll see you at the end of your shift at eleven tonight.”
He searched his puzzle and waited until the door to the lunchroom closed. He looked about the empty lunchroom while tightening his grip on the pen until his knuckles lost color.
Maybe he would kill Mark after all. The newspapers would work it up as a robbery gone wrong, no honor among thieves. One million missing from the casino and two dead bodies. They’d never find the money, but that’s what made good mysteries. Who else was behind the Rosarito Casino Heist? And like D.B. Cooper, Eddie Coleman would disappear. Maybe he’d make it on the FBI’s most wanted list one day. How cool would that be?
He’d have to think about Mark. Should he stay or should he go?
Eddie looked at his watch. Break time was coming to an end, as were so many other things. Like working for a living. And Wallace’s life.
Eddie knew what was right and what needed to be done. This was his baby, his gig. He knew all the answers if he just searched deep enough.
Mark Struben needed to be taken out so Eddie could keep all the money. Mark needed to be kept quiet and stopped from buying flashy cars with his share of stolen money.
What was a little murder between friends, eh Mark?
Eddie laughed to himself and decided to spend the rest of his last blackjack shift trying to decide how to kill his friend Mark Struben. Would he opt for brutal and bloody or push him off a cliff or run him over with a car? What would give him the most pleasure?
He stepped onto the casino floor and started for his table, a euphoric feeling of gratitude and elation enveloping him like never before.
He was starting to like the idea of being a criminal before he actually did the deed. A murderer? That would be the best part.
He rubbed his hands together and said under his breath, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Chapter 3
Sarah gazed out the back window at the four-door sedan behind the taxi. It had followed them for the last twenty miles or so. She was sure of it.
“He’s not following us, Sarah.” Aaron patted her lap. “No one knows where we are or where we’re going.”
Once out of the RV, Sarah had turned back and spoken to Parkman one more time.
“Because of what happened recently,” she had said, “Aaron and I need time alone. We need a vacation.” She averted her eyes from Parkman’s, looked at the road, then at the line of cars in front of the RV, and then forward to the small customs shacks eight cars ahead. “We need time alone,” she repeated.
“It’s okay, Sarah. No one will follow you. You’re safe now.” He closed the RV’s door, then opened its small window to the right of the door. “Call me when you want to come home. If there’s any trouble whatsoever, don’t hesitate. If I can’t help, Casper will.”
Sarah nodded, turned and walked away with Aaron following close behind. After twenty paces, she glanced back. The RV was three cars from the customs booth. Parkman was still at the RV’s window. He waved and pulled away. She lowered her head and kept walking.
A thimble was taller than how she felt at that moment.
What would he think of her if she failed to win the biggest battle of her life, the one raging inside? How could she ever face Parkman again? What about Aaron? She would have to suffer in silence. When she was healthy, back to normal, she could rejoin them, get back to work with Vivian. Easy work. Like when she was eighteen. Stop a kidnapping. Beat someone up. Small time, petty crimes. Hunting serial killers, human traffickers, and entire cartels had taken its toll.
Hotel first. Give Aaron the slip. Then tie herself down to a bed somewhere with an ample water supply and wait until the shit was out of her veins and out of her brain.
They had gotten into a taxi and Sarah told the driver to take them to Rosarito.
“What’s in Rosarito?” Aaron asked.
“Our vacation.”
She watched the line of cars waiting to cross into the States disappear through the back window of the taxi as it drove away, deeper into Mexico, a sense of loss coming over her. All those people in the RV had come to Mexico for her and she just walked out on them so she could go on a vacation. What would they think of her? Did they really know what she was going through? Did they read it on her face? If they did, would Parkman follow? Darwin? Who was coming? Or would her friends go back to their lives while she suffered alone, waiting for the addiction to subside?
She turned back in her seat. “That car is following us. I’m sure of it. My instincts can be trusted. One hundred percent.”
Aaron turned back to look. “I can almost see the driver from here. It’s not Parkman. It doesn’t look like Darwin or anybody from the RV.” He turned back to her. “And the cartel business is over.”
Sarah fiddled with a fingernail. “It’s never over.” She licked her dry lips. “Where’s Vivian? Huh? Where’s all her wisdom in this?”
“What are you saying?” Aaron asked. “You haven’t heard from her?” He cast a glance at the driver.
“Don’t worry. He’s not listening.”
Aaron touched her wrist. She withdrew her arm and stared out the window.
“What’s going on, Sarah? You can talk to me.”
She watched the Mexican countryside race by the window until her stomach couldn’t manage it anymore, then closed her eyes.
“Sarah?”
“It’s nothing. I’m sick. I feel sick.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this. I’m stronger than this. But the urge comes with a violent appeal, begging me to answer its call. As much as I refuse to, the urge increases.” She opened her eyes and stared down into her lap. “The need increases by the hour, Aaron. I’m afraid. For the first time in my life, I feel a depth of fear that I’m unclear if I’ll be able to shirk off.”
He touched her shoulder. This time she didn’t pull away.
“I’m there for you, baby. You’re not in this alone. Let it out. Just let it all out. I understand and will fight for you. You’re my Sarah, my woman. No one and nothing controls you. You’ve been there for so many over the years, and I’ll be there for you.”
A tear slipped from her eye. Her abdomen clenched and she bent forward. He pulled her his way. She succumbed to his will and leaned into
him. His arms wrapped around her like a cocoon, shielding her, protecting her. It felt good to be wanted, to be loved, but most of all, it felt good to be held, protected. In that moment, Sarah was reminded that Aaron would protect her with his life.
How odd though, as she was the protector, the fighter, the champion of hope, and yet here she was being consoled. She wondered if that was what Maslow was talking about in his hierarchy of needs. She needed to watch more Dr. Phil, read a Mars and Venus book on relationships. Had she offered Aaron as much as he offered her? Had she lost a finger because of him? This man said he would be there for her and then he was. Like she expected. She had forgotten how special that was. How rare. And how unbelievable that was. She had forgotten to be grateful.
And so she let it out and cried in his arms.
Never feeling as weak as she did in that moment.
Never feeling as feminine, as soft. As small.
And then Vivian showed up. She planted a name in Sarah’s mind. A dealer. A man in a hotel and casino resort in Rosarito. A dealer. This man could help her. For that one fix. But he wasn’t just any dealer. Find him. Make a deal.
According to Vivian, buying heroin from him could mean the difference of saving or killing hundreds of people in one catastrophic event that would take place in Las Vegas soon.
Buy drugs? To save people in Las Vegas?
Sarah hugged Aaron’s legs tight as Vivian receded from her consciousness. She realized her own sister didn’t support her. Why buy heroin? Why not attack the guy? Shoot him. Beat him. Talk to him. Persuade him to be nice and not kill those people in Vegas. How was it all connected? Or was a part of her brain still high and she had contorted the facts Vivian offered because none of it was making any sense?
What pissed her off the most was her own sister wanted Sarah to buy the drug she yearned for at that very moment.
“How fucking cruel,” she grunted, then wiped her runny nose.
Aaron leaned down. “What was that?”
“Just thinking about heroin and how fucking cruel it is to the human body. It’s nothing. Just talking to myself. Forget about it.”
Another lie. Why didn’t she tell him she was pissed at Vivian for what she let the cartel do to them?
It was so unlike her.
But there was a reason she didn’t tell him what Vivian said. Because she was going to take the advice. She was going to buy drugs and she didn’t want Aaron knowing any of it.
She wiped her eyes and sat up. After a moment, she found her voice again and told the driver to go to the Rosarito Beach and Casino Hotel. He said he knew the one. They were twenty minutes away.
Of course she would buy the heroin. She had followed Vivian’s will for over seven years. Why stop now?
Heroin. In her hands within hours.
She hated Vivian in that moment for the torture she would endure because of the drug. And she hated herself for feeling relief at the idea of buying heroin.
But it was just one fix.
Then all would be well in the world again and she could quit.
Just one …
Chapter 4
Eddie Coleman checked his watch.
“Hit me,” the heavy man, intoxicated from one too many whiskeys, said from spot seven. Mr. Finnegan always played Blackjack and always sat in spot seven. It was his lucky spot. Yet time and time again the house won, and Mr. Finnegan got drunk. He’d been removed from the casino more than once in the past for being drunk and tonight was no different.
“Hit me,” Finnegan slurred.
Eddie pulled another card and flipped it on the table.
“Busted.”
He collected the cards.
“Hey wait,” Finnegan protested. “That was nineteen.”
Hank, Eddie’s pit boss, eased in closer. “Mr. Finnegan, it was twenty-two. That was a nine, not a six. You were reading it upside down.” Hank edged in close enough to bump Eddie’s ass cheek before he backed off.
Eddie grunted, happy this was his last night because he didn’t know how long he could keep brushing off Hank’s advances without getting rude or even hostile.
Mr. Finnegan grunted too, then pushed away from the table, mumbling something about liars and thieves.
If you only knew, Eddie thought.
“Close up your table, Eddie.” Hank noted the time. “Your last shift, eh Eddie? We’re going to miss you here.”
He placed the cover over the casino’s chips and turned back to Hank. “It’s been a long month since I put in my notice. But it’s time, Hank. I want to travel.” He retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket and opened the email where he flipped to the British Airways quote he had requested. A week ago, he had set up a flight from Los Angeles to London for tomorrow and printed out the emailed quote. It looked like an itinerary as if he’d bought the ticket, but it hadn’t cost him a dime. To an unfamiliar eye, it looked like a ticket. He had no intention of leaving Mexico, but he wanted everyone to think he was on a two-month vacation in the UK.
“See. This time tomorrow, I’ll be crossing the pond as it were,” he said in his best James Bond accent.
“Don’t,” Hank said, shaking his head and waving a finger back and forth. “Don’t use that accent. You’re liable to get your ass handed to you if some of those yobs over there hear you speak like that.”
Hank had no idea what he was talking about. There was no UK and no flight in Eddie’s future. There was only Eddie with a million dollars of the casino’s money. Money he was entitled to. After almost a decade of working at the casino, he was still living paycheck to paycheck while the casino profited hundreds of millions per year off the likes of the Mr. Finnegans of the world who they plied with alcohol served by scantily clad, hot women. The average man couldn’t resist the casino’s charm and wit. A man’s wallet—and bank account—was in jeopardy the moment he entered this version of Alice in Wonderland for adult gaming addicts, complete with mind-altering beverages.
No, Eddie had had enough. He would leave it all behind tonight.
He closed his table in record time, punched his time card and started for the lockers to change into civilian clothes before heading out to meet Mark in the parking lot.
In the rear corridor that led to the employee change room, Hank stepped in front of Eddie, blocking his path.
“Hank?” Eddie said. “Did I forget something?”
Hank studied Eddie, looking him up and down. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you planning tonight?”
“What?” Eddie stammered, his mind racing. What did he know? What could he know? “I’m sorry?”
“I wanted to ask, since it was your last night here and tomorrow you’d be gone, if you’d wait another half an hour until my shift is over. We could go for a drink. Say goodbye the right way.”
Eddie frowned, his stomach twisting. Hank stepped closer, suffocating Eddie’s personal space.
What the hell is this?
“I’m tired, Hank. Maybe some other time—”
“Shhh,” Hank whispered. “No protest. Just a half hour. You’ll not regret it, nor will you forget it.”
What the fuck?
There had been rumors that Hank Olsen was gay, but no one knew for sure. Eddie had been single for so long, he hated the heat that rose to his face as an erection started in his pants.
What the fuck is that?
“Sorry, Hank, but I’m heading home to pack.” He tried to step around him, but Hank crowded closer, jamming Eddie into the wall.
“I can help you pack,” Hank cooed. “You’ve always been friendly to me, Eddie. Extra friendly.” Hank’s arm moved closer, almost touching Eddie’s chest. “If I’ve misread your friendliness, then I’m sorry. But, you know …” Hank’s hand dropped quickly and passed across Eddie’s firm crotch.
Eddie jumped. “Gotta run,” he said, his voice two octaves higher.
He pushed past Hank and nearly ran headlong into the change room. Once inside, alone, he debated changing into his
clothes. What if Hank walked in and did that touchy feely thing again?
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell, man?”
He decided to change anyway and five minutes later, duffel bag packed, Eddie Coleman was ready to leave the Rosarito Beach and Casino Hotel for the last time.