Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC

by Evelyn Glass

  ***

  When the lunch break sounded, Beast hurried to retrieve his phone from the concierge table as the rest of the players were herded into the adjoining room where all the production equipment was setup. He quickly dialed as he stepped to the side and faced the wall.

  “Hightower, this is Beast. I need you to run a deep check on Neil Orson,” he muttered just loudly enough for his phone to pick up his voice, spelling the last name. “I want you to crawl up his ass and find out everything there is to know about him.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “Roger. When do you need this?”

  “Now.”

  Hightower chuckled. “You may be the boss, but that doesn’t mean you always get what you want. I’ll send you a text when we get something. I’ll get the entire logistics team on it but give us a few hours. What are we looking for, and why?”

  “I don’t know. There was another threat last night and one of the pros made a good point this morning. The only two variables in the room are this Neil Orson and me. Everyone else has played together before, and they’re pros. If they got caught doing shit like this, they would be barred from every game in the country.”

  “And since you’re not sending the threats…Got it. Give me two hours.”

  Beast nodded to himself as he hung up then handed the phone back the woman behind the table.

  “You okay?” Shayna asked as he entered the production room. She’d stepped inside but was waiting on him to return.

  “It’s Orson,” he said under this breath.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’m about to find out.”

  “How?”

  “I have my team looking into him. They’re going to report back in a few hours with what they find.”

  “Why do you think it’s him?”

  “Remember what Cliff said, how he has played with everyone before except me and Orson? He’s right. It makes sense that it would be one of us.”

  “And because you’re not doing it…” She allowed the unfinished statement hang between them as he smiled grimly and pointed a finger gun at her in acknowledgement. She looked around the room until she found Orson, sitting with a few other players. She continued to watch him as she shuffled through the buffet line and watched as he burst into laughter at an unheard joke. While what Beast said made sense, he certainly didn’t act guilty, but then she reminded herself these were poker players and they gave nothing away. She also couldn’t understand how he managed to pull off a kidnapping attempt. How do you set something like that up? Do you go to the phone book and look up the phone number for Kidnappers Are Us? If it was Orson, he obviously had help.

  They scooped fresh-steamed salmon steaks with lime butter, bacon braised green beans and crispy new potatoes onto their plates and took a table by themselves. A moment later Paul stopped by their table. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” Beast said, kicking a chair back so Paul could sit down. “I figured after this morning it would be better if I kept to myself. You know, in case I decided to murder someone.”

  Paul snorted as he covered his salmon and potatoes in salt and ketchup. “I think it’s all a scam by the network.” He looked at Shayna. “Well, except what happened to you. This is my third year doing this and one thing I’ve learned is Trevor would sell his own mother for ratings. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he put this whole thing in motion just to hype the show. Think about it, except for some mysterious” he waggled his fingers in the air, “notes slid under the doors, not one thing has happened. The fire alarm? Notice it didn’t interrupt the game.” He chewed a moment. “I can’t figure how your kidnapping fits into all of this, though.”

  “So you’re not worried?” Shayna asked.

  “No, not really. Look around. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting security. How are they going to get to us through that?”

  “Cliff and Roger were pretty vocal this morning,” she pointed out.

  “It’s because they’re both behind Conor and Neil. Eliminate those two players and two weaker players make the final round.”

  Beast thought about what Paul said. I was so sure it was Orson, but he’s right. It could be Trevor. But that still doesn’t explain what happened to Shayna. We’re still missing a piece to the puzzle.

  “If you’re right, and this all turns out to be Trevor, I will kick his ass myself,” Beast rumbled.

  Paul grinned, wiping a glob of ketchup from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how you will ever know, but if you do find out it’s him, let me know. I’m too old, fat, and out of shape to do much, but I can kick him in the ankles or something.”

  Beast sniffed out a laugh. “Done.”

  ***

  Beast slipped out of the room a few minutes early and checked his phone but there was no waiting text. With a deep breath he pushed all his frustrations down deep and locked the box. It was time to play. He sauntered into the room as if he didn’t have a worry in the world, the production staff directing him to a table.

  Shayna watched as Beast took his position, seemingly relaxed and totally in control. She didn’t know how he did it. She wasn’t even playing and the tension in the room was enough to make her fidgety. She waited until the room was settled then stepped up beside him. The camera was waiting, and when the dealer gave her the nod, she rapped the table then gave him a kiss. The kiss was still clean, but it was a bit slower than any she’d given him before as she placed her hand behind his head. She took her time pulling back, taking the extra few seconds to look into his eyes and give him a small smile.

  The moment she stepped away from the table, Beast tossed in the small blind. It was all automatic, and as the chips hit the table he was still thinking of her lips. The hands were tough, really tough. Every person left was a good poker player. Each day the blinds had gotten larger as a way to help force the weak players out. With the small blind set at five hundred thousand, and the big blind at a cool million, if the cards didn’t favor you, it didn’t take long to get into trouble.

  For the next two hours he played the type of poker that had gotten him to where he was. The cards didn’t seem to favor him, so he played tight, not trying to force something to happen. He folded often, but bet aggressively when he did play. By the time the next bell sounded he was up only slightly from when he started the round and had slid back to fifth place in the rankings. He was very pleased with that considering the hard fucking Fawn gave him when her Queen high Straight beat his Jack high Straight and she took him for almost three million.

  After counting his chips, he retrieved his phone. There was a single word text from Hightower waiting for him. Call.

  “What have you got for me?” Beast asked when Hightower answered the phone.

  “Not a lot. Orson owns Orson Development. It appears to be a completely legitimate business. He has developed a string of commercial properties. But this is where it gets interesting. The word is he is losing his ass on a resort and golf course in the Calico Basin. Apparently he went way over budget and had to find additional financing.”

  “And?” Beast prompted when Hightower paused.

  “And guess who bought in?”

  “Who?”

  “The Scarred, to the tune of forty-five to fifty million.”

  “Where the hell did they come up with money like that?”

  “Don’t know. But from what we can find out, Orson is mortgaged to the hilt and bleeding red ink everywhere.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch! It’s starting to make sense now. He wants to win the poker tournament to get back on his feet, and The Scarred are helping him rig the game. Have any proof?”

  “Nothing. I think you’re right, but the evidence is all circumstantial. People wager their last shilling all the time.”

  “Do you suppose that’s what the attack on the Argentines and Shayna was all about?”

  “Could be,” Hightower agreed. “Trying t
o knock you off your game because they knew you wouldn’t back off with just a threat.”

  “You don’t have anything that will tie Orson to The Scarred? I need something to go to the producer with if I’m going to try to have Orson disqualified.”

  “Nothing. The Scarred thing is pure hearsay. Orson’s money trouble is real enough. I can email you that if you want.”

  Beast thought a moment. “No, that’s okay. As you said, no law against betting it all. Fuck. At least now I know who to keep an eye on. Okay, this is club business now. After the tournament ends tonight, I’m going to set up a meet with Skellon and find out what the fuck is going on. I’m going to need a couple of guys from the club to come babysit Shayna while I’m out. Find out who’s available on short notice. I need you there with me so you can lay all this shit out for him.”

  “Why don’t you bring her to the clubhouse? We can protect her better here.”

  “We’re on lockdown here, but you’re right, that would better. Send a car and someone to get my hog. We’ll move her in the car.”

  “Do you want me to setup the meeting with Skellon?”

  “No. Better it comes from me.”

  “Okay. I’ll have a couple of brothers standing by ready to ride when you call.”

  “Thanks, brother,” Beast said as he killed the call. The first bell had sounded and he needed to get back into the room.

  At 7:55, the last player was eliminated and play was halted for the evening. The final table for tomorrow was set. Greg Hillin, the winner of last year’s tournament squeaked in with just under three million. Neil Orson, the only other amateur in the tournament was at number seven with a little over five million. At number six was Randy Ticks, the seventy-seven year old oil tycoon turned professional poker player with about six million. Beast was number five on the board with about nine and a half million. The fifteen million Ted Cours, the retired New York stock broker, had in his bank placed him solidly in the number four spot. Fawn LeMay and Derrick Holinder each had about nineteen million placing them in the second and third spots. But at the top of the heap with a whopping twenty-four million and change was Paul Melichek, The Professor.

  After banking his chips for the night, Beast stood and looked around the room then pulled one of the production assistants to a stop by the arm. “I need to see Trevor Craggo right away. I have news he needs to hear.”

  “Mr. Craggo is in a meeting.”

  “Then he needs to get out of the meeting. This is important.”

  The woman keyed her mic in her headset. “Conor Boyd wants to see Trevor.” She paused a moment as she listened. “I know, and I told him that, but he insists it’s important.”

  “He’ll be out in a moment,” she said then continued on her way.

  “Trevor is coming out,” he said to Shayna. “See if you can buy us some space.”

  Less than five minutes later Trevor appeared, his face hard. “What’s so damned important it couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

  Beast took him by the arm and pulled him to a quiet spot in the room so Shayna could run interference for them. “It’s Neil Orson.”

  Trevor looked at Beast for several long moments. “You have any proof?”

  “Not a shred. But I know it’s him. He’s up to his neck in debt, and worse, he owes fifty million to The Scarred.”

  “Who the hell are The Scarred.”

  “Some dudes you don’t want to fuck with. They run guns and a few drugs here in Vegas.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I had my guys do some digging. He’s losing his ass on a resort deal west of town. That’s all public record. The Scarred business…we have a lot of contacts in town. They hear things.”

  Trevor looked up and stared at Orson. “I can’t disqualify him without proof he was the one making the threats.”

  “I’m going to try to get that for you tonight.”

  “How?”

  “Let me worry about that. But Shayna and I need to get out of Tops to do it.”

  “What does Shayna have to do with this?”

  “Tonight? Nothing. But I’m taking her someplace where she will be protected in case the shit really hits the fan. The other stuff, the fire alarm and her kidnapping attempt, that was probably The Scarred trying to rattle me and the other players. Making a direct threat to a few players, or Shayna, that carries a lot more weight than notes.”

  “If the threats are real, why didn’t they just break into the rooms and kill somebody?”

  “If somebody had been murdered, what would you have done?”

  Trevor nodded. “I see your point. We would have shut down the tournament.”

  “Exactly. They don’t want the tournament shut down; they need Orson to win. So they make threats and try to scare people into quitting. The fire alarm for example. If security hadn’t been so tight, they would have probably made some show of force to rattle the players, but not enough to cause you to panic and shut down the tournament. Maybe flashing a weapon with a muttered threat, something like that.”

  “So you think the attempt on Shayna was just that? An attempt to rattle you? If one of the players would have been kidnapped, I would have stopped the tournament, as well.”

  “Would you have stopped the tournament over a kidnapped hostess? Especially when you didn’t know she was attached to one of the players? No, that was a direct threat to me, to get me to either drop out or become so distracted by her being kidnapped I would lose anyway. They also took a swipe at one of DR Security’s clients, probably for the same reason: to distract me. They shot up a couple of my armored cars and earlier it was probably them that ransacked their rooms. And it worked, just not well enough to knock me out of the game.”

  Trevor stared at Beast for a long time. “Get me the proof and I will have that son of -bitch in jail.”

  “I need you to pass the word to security to let me and Shayna go without the other players knowing. I don’t need Orson tipping my hand.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “As soon as my transportation gets here.”

  Trevor keyed the mic on his shirt. “Contact Bryant. Have him pass the word to his people that Conor Boyd and Shayna Shephard are leaving the casino with my permission. Make sure he understands this is on the QT and the rest of the players aren’t to know.”

  Trevor grinned at Beast. “Can I send a camera?”

  “Hell no!”

  Trevor chuckled. “Somehow I knew you were going to say that. If you get proof, I want you to sit with me in front a camera and lay it all out. Deal?”

  “You got it.”

  “Game play starts at two tomorrow. Don’t be late, and since I can’t send a camera, don’t get killed.”

  Beast snorted. “Thanks for your concern.”

  ***

  “There’s the car. Let’s go,” Beast said, hustling Shayna into the back seat before crawling in behind her and slamming the door. The car surged away the moment the door thudded close.

  “Your bike is already at the clubhouse,” Rip announced as the turned out onto the strip. “We had to pick it up with the van because you didn’t leave anyone the key.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re kind of making this up as we go. Cut me some slack.”

  Rip chuckled. “Hightower told me what you’re going to do. I think you need some muscle with you. There are about thirty guys standing by at the clubhouse.”

  “Let me talk to Skellon first. I would feel better with you guys at my back, but if we roll in there with a fucking army, we may scare him off.” He glanced at Shayna. “Pardon my French.”

  “Yeah. You need to watch your fucking mouth,” she snapped, and Beast thought Rip was going to rear-end a car at a stoplight because he was laughing so hard.

  “I like this chick,” he said as he wiped at his eyes, chuckled again, then got control of himself.

  Beast checked number in the text from Hightower, repeating the number to himself as he dialed, then placed the phone on
speaker. “Jack, Beast Boyd. We need to meet.”

  “What now, Boyd?”

  “We’re wise to your little plan. Did you really think you could rig a poker tournament?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? What poker tournament?”

  Beast looked at Shayna and rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Neil Orson.”

  “Who the fuck is Neil Orson?”

  “Just stop, Jack. Are you telling me you don’t know anything about Neil Orson, the money he owes you, or the poker tournament?”