Once inside the restroom, I removed my phone and sent Andros a text message.
“I THOUGHT YOU’D WANT TO KNOW. I ADVANCED TO FOURTH PLACE.”
I hit send.
It didn’t take long until my phone vibrated. It was Andros.
“I WAS INFORMED. YOUR JOB ISN’T COMPLETE.”
How did he know without Mitchell reporting?
Who was watching?
I read his text again. I knew my job wasn’t complete even without his constant reminders. The thing about Andros that I’d come to learn was that he was a fan of quid pro quo. When I won the tournament, he would allow me what I desire most. I didn’t and he’d deny me.
The thought tugged at my chest as I replied.
“I KNOW. I WON’T DISAPPOINT YOU.”
My finger hovered over the send button. I wished I knew it was true. What was true was that I would do my best not to disappoint. Andros wouldn’t want to hear that. He liked finality.
I hit send.
As I made my way back to the stairs, the door where I’d heard voices opened and the man who I’d seen with Patrick walked out. He was even taller closer up. His face was handsome, but there was something else about him that made me shiver. Without even a nod my direction, he walked farther down the hallway, away from the poker hall and stairs.
Was Patrick inside?
I hadn’t recognized his voice, but I couldn’t resist checking.
I waited until the tall man turned a corner and went to the door. Leaning my ear closer, I listened. There was no noise inside. My pulse kicked up a notch as I reached for the handle. It wouldn’t budge. The door was locked. “Patrick?” I whispered into the doorjamb.
Silence.
The stress of this tournament, seeing Patrick, and Andros’s arrival were officially making me paranoid. I looked down at my phone. I had one unread message.
It was from Andros.
“I’M COUNTING ON IT. FINISH YOUR JOB IF YOU PLAN TO RETURN.”
If I planned to return?
The thought of not was too painful to entertain.
I knew the scenario too well. It was Andros’s power and he wouldn’t hesitate to wield it over me. I didn’t need to reply. He knew my answer. I would win and accompany him back to Detroit.
Shaking my head, I placed my phone back into my purse.
Marion was waiting where he said he’d be at the top of the stairs. As I took his arm and we descended the stairs, in the crowd below, I saw the same man from the hallway.
“There must be other stairs,” I said.
“Not that I’ve seen. Why?” Marion asked.
“See that tall man in the light-gray suit?” I tipped my head to the main floor. “He was up here and left in a hurry the other direction.”
“Interesting,” Marion said.
The hostess sat us at a table near the large fireplace. The chairs were large Queen Anne-style and covered in red leather. Similar to other parts of the Club Regal, the walls were covered in rich cherry paneling and large tapestries and pieces of artwork hung on long wires secured to the ceiling above. Even the ceiling was ornate, white with cherry accent.
“This is lovely,” I said, noticing Antonio Hillman seated with three other men at a table across the room. “How did you say you met Mr. Hillman?”
“A long time ago. He wasn’t more than a teenager. It was his father I knew. His father helped me with a few issues I was having with my companies. I’m always happy to repay a favor.”
There was something in his tone that set my nerves on edge. I’d been right about the brief conversation I overheard. What Marion was saying was Andros’s quid pro quo from the other side. I decided to change the subject. “Thank you again for sending the car. Your driver was nice.”
Marion set down his water glass and looked around. “That is good to hear. You see, Justin isn’t my regular driver. Unfortunately, just before this trip, my driver became ill and unable to accompany me. As you can imagine, it was a disaster.”
I wasn’t certain it qualified as a disaster. There were actual disasters I could list.
When I didn’t respond, Marion went on. “I called Mr. Beckman, the man who spoke to us earlier...”
I nodded.
“He offered to set me up with a reliable driver. Much more reliable than yours, I’d say.”
“Yes.”
Did Marion know that Andros was in his car?
Or was his presence coordinated by the driver assigned by Mr. Beckman?
“I’m so thankful you sent him.” I looked up at his eyes. “Who was it that you said gave you my phone number? I’m grateful to them and to you.”
“Then I won’t share,” Marion said. “I’d prefer to keep your gratitude to myself.”
Patrick
The world had gone mad. While I had been upstairs playing poker, there’d been an explosion at the docks. A shipping container that had been delivered a day earlier exploded. The container was supposed to be filled with building supplies for a chain store. The police were on the scene and two people were injured.
The police had also responded to the anonymous call and discovered Veronica’s body. During the tournament, a detective had made a preliminary visit to Club Regal and spoke to Ethan Beckman. According to the capo stationed in Beckman’s office, the meeting had been short and Beckman had shown the appropriate amount of shock. The detective left his card and promised to return to speak to the other employees on a less busy day.
Reid had followed up on Mitchell Leonardo. There was no sign of him returning to the Palmer House and he hadn’t shown up today at Club Regal. The last time he’d been seen was when he was being picked up for the house party. That was before Reid was able to isolate another car that had been at the house party and was able to track it to a location near Veronica’s residence.
The timing fit our forensics’ information. The car stopped and the man who Reid believed to be Leonardo got out a few blocks from her house at 1:52 in the morning.
During the night and early morning, the falling snow had picked up. That wasn’t helping the graininess of the images from the traffic cameras or satellite. It also didn’t help with recognition. Winter coats and hats don’t differ that much. From what Reid could tell, the car continued driving around the neighborhood until about fifteen minutes later; it stopped and picked up a man who could be Leonardo a quarter mile away.
We were making some assumptions based on the lack of foot traffic at two in the morning.
There was no sign of that car coming near the club. Therefore, if Leonardo did in fact kill Veronica, he didn’t return to empty the safe. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have called or texted the combination to an accomplice.
One issue was that Club Regal remained open on Friday night until three o’clock Saturday morning. While no one entered the club after closing, there were more than he could track during operating hours. Some employees didn’t leave until nearly four a.m.
Mason and another capo had been questioning a few of the employees who had been at the club later in the night as they arrived back to work today. While we’d usually do that kind of thing on level one in our tower, today we were making Club Regal our temporary command center. So far, no one had information that stood out.
During the earlier round of play, Sparrow had arrived. He said he was fully protected, and his place was here, not held up in the tower. If shit was going to happen, it was his place as king of the city to be involved. He hadn’t gotten his power by hiding behind others.
While I believed him, I suspected he was also avoiding a certain blonde who shared his last name, at least until the lockdown could be lifted.
Sparrow had commandeered Beckman’s office while secluding Beckman to one of the other offices with a capo stationed outside the door. That explained why Beckman hadn’t been the one to close out the early round. Sparrow said he wasn’t comfortable with how frayed Beckman seemed when he arrived. ‘Off-balanced’ was the term he used. The last time
I saw Beckman he’d blown chunks. Having Mr. Sparrow stare you down could make anyone off-balanced. Add seeing your employee with a hole in her head, and I supposed he deserved a little slack.
The only person still in the tower besides the women was Reid. It was the technology. He could do much more on two than if he were here.
“How much cash were you able to put your hands on?” I asked, looking at the safe.
“Twelve million,” Sparrow said, “but the players who cashed out took over two hundred grand of it. If I had more time I could get the rest. I showed you the receipts from upstairs. This 11.8 won’t cover it. You need to win it all.”
My mind went to Madeline. If she cashed out now, she’d have more than enough to live for a while. When Sparrow showed me the receipts, I looked at her total. She was sitting with around two million. If only I could talk to her.
The door opened. Mason walked in and sat in the chair beside me with a sigh. “The employees we’ve spoken to didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. They all confirm they saw Ms. Standish after the tournament, but no one recalls after that.”
“What about Beckman?” Sparrow asked.
“He told me why he allowed Hillman’s entry,” I said, it being my first chance to talk since tournament play began earlier today.
Sparrow leaned back in Beckman’s chair. “Go on.”
“He said Hillman’s father did a favor for him years ago. When the younger Hillman called, he reminded Beckman of it.”
Sparrow scoffed. “I’m sure he did.”
Reid’s image was on a laptop Sparrow had brought from our command center. It was like having him in the same room and the connection was secure. “I’m trying to access Leonardo’s phone records to see if he called anyone after the time of Ms. Standish’s death. The problem is that I’m not finding a phone registered to him.”
“What about Ms. Miller?” Mason asked.
“What about her?” I replied.
“They’ve been together,” Mason said. “Remember, they’ve arrived at and left the club together. We determined they were both staying at the Palmer House—”
“In separate rooms,” I said.
Sparrow’s dark gaze narrowed. “You learned that when you were checking out a lead there.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered. “We talked about it before. The thought was that Leonardo was her driver. I remember the word goon was used.”
“Anyway,” Mason went on, “wouldn’t they have called one another? Can’t you check her phone records to find Leonardo’s?”
Reid nodded.
I fought the urge to pace or move. I didn’t like the idea of them researching Madeline. If Leonardo was working for or with Hillman, my guess was that he somehow got himself assigned to Madeline as an in to the tournament. It was like when I was Araneae’s driver. She didn’t know anything about the Sparrow outfit. Madeline was in the same situation.
“Here’s something interesting,” Reid said through the computer screen.
We all turned and stared at the laptop. “What?” Sparrow asked.
“Patrick, you always say to follow the money. Remember me saying how Hillman’s expenses were being funneled through a shell company?” He didn’t wait for us to answer. “Leonardo’s and Miller’s are too.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. “The same one?”
“No but damn close. Addresses are PO boxes in Delaware. I couldn’t find a phone registered to her either. I went to their hotel reservations. You were right, separate rooms. Anyway, nothing leads to either one of them.”
“How about a work record on Leonardo?” I asked. “What driving company does he work for?”
“Not a driving company,” Reid said. “He works for a construction company in Detroit.”
“And he seconds as a driver who wasn’t driving,” Mason said.
“What?”
“Yeah, on the video of outside the club, Ms. Miller arrived with Leonardo at her side in a taxi. She left the same way.”
“Except today,” Reid volunteered. “The limousine had Texas plates and is registered to Elliott, Inc.”
“Fuck,” Sparrow said. “Elliott, Inc. We brushed on this the other day. I know that guy was kissing up to McFadden. I remember a big bill a few years ago. It was in the news outlets about the lobbyists and all the money going to...” He stopped and pulled out his phone. A moment later he nodded, staring down at the screen. “Yes, this is why I remember it. Marion Elliott wanted sanctions lifted on offshore drilling. In exchange, he worked out a deal to build a manufacturing plant in McKinley Park. It brought not only construction jobs but after it was built, it employed five hundred blue-collar workers and seventy-five or more in management with higher salaries. McFadden used it as a platform.”
“What construction company got the bid?” I asked.
“Give me a minute,” Reid said.
We all waited.
“Ivanov Construction,” Reid said, “in Dearborn, Michigan.”
“Where did you say Leonardo works?” Sparrow said.
“Other than driving,” Reid answered, “Ivanov Construction.”
My eyes met Sparrow’s.
“Fucking Detroit,” the two of us said together.
“Fill me in, man,” Mason said.
Sometimes it was easy to forget Mason had been out of our loop for a while. It was probably because he fit back in so well that it was easy to forget he’d been gone. “Ivanov, Andros Ivanov,” I said.
“He made some noise a few years ago,” Sparrow said. “It was one of the few times McFadden and I worked together. Cut that shit out before it could grow.”
“So if Hillman and his goons were at the house party with Leonardo...” I began.
“And Leonardo is connected to Ivanov...” Mason continued.
“Hillman wouldn’t come in here all loud and obnoxious if he didn’t have some power behind him,” Sparrow said. “I know Elliott used to deal with McFadden. He hasn’t made a bid my way.”
“Maybe someone else got to him first,” Reid said. “And someone got to Hillman. If we’re right, Ivanov could be enticing McFadden’s people, the ones we didn’t get.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “how does Madeline fit into this equation?”
“Madeline?” Sparrow said, his dark gaze again narrowing.
My head shook. “Ms. Miller.”
“Maybe she found out Leonardo is dirty. He could have petitioned a job with her to be here,” Mason offered.
It was what I’d been thinking.
“Or she’s connected,” he went on. “I mean, what do we really know about her?”
“How does this all connect to this tournament?” I asked.
“This tournament is a guise to get all the players here at once, check out the city, look for vulnerability,” Sparrow said. “If I were thinking of taking over another city, that’s what I’d do. Small jobs, chaos, and disruptions...”
“Like at the shipyard today,” Reid said.
“And I’d get as close to the kingpin as possible,” Sparrow went on. “If that’s the case, look what we’ve done. We’re fucking playing into their hands.”
“So the tournament doesn’t matter,” I said.
“Someone stole Club Regal’s money—fifteen million. The tournament matters,” Sparrow said.
“Andros Ivanov has been radio silent for the last twenty-four hours,” Reid said. “He likes the shiny things—cars, planes, and women. Usually he’s showboating on social media or the rags are posting his picture.”
“If he’s in my city, I want to know,” Sterling said. He turned to me. “Win it all, as much as you can. I’m sure as hell not financing a coup against Sparrow.”
“I need to come clean about something,” I said, standing.
“Win the pot and jackpot and then tell me,” Sparrow said. “I trust you with my life. Is this a reason I shouldn’t?”
It wasn’t. I’d pledged my loyalty to Sparrow and th
e outfit. That wasn’t changing. I shook my head. “No.”
“Let’s send out Sparrows and find out if we’re on to something. If we are, Detroit is in for a war. The casualties won’t be in my city,” Sparrow said.
Madeline
As Marion and I walked up the stairs toward the poker hall, the excitement was palpable. Club Regal was nearly at capacity. The tournament had drawn poker lovers from around the city and beyond. The attendees stared and whispered as we passed by. It was a strange sensation to be so closely scrutinized by strangers. I was ready to win and go home. I was ready to go back to being invisible.
“Ms. Miller,” a woman said, reaching for my arm.
“Yes?”
“I believe in you. I have $50,000 on you for the win.”
My eyes opened wide. “I didn’t realize the club was taking side bets.”
“No, not the club. You’re coming off at six to one in Vegas.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
Six to one. That meant for every dollar bet the win would be six. A $50,000 bet would gross $300,000.
Her smile grew. “Do it for the women. We’re all counting on you.”
“I will do my best.”
“Madeline,” Marion encouraged while giving me an escape.
With a nod to the other woman, he and I continued our ascent to the second floor.
“Did you know about that?” I asked Marion in a stage whisper.
“Yes, I have money riding on the tournament too.”
“You bet on a tournament you’re in?”
“I enjoy gambling. I especially enjoy it if I can win.” He leaned closer. “I bet on myself. If I weren’t a competitor, I would have put my money on you. My odds aren’t nearly as lucrative.”
Of course they weren’t.
We were now at the top of the steps. The butterflies I sometimes felt flittering in my stomach before a final round were now the size of bats. “Marion, if you’ll excuse me? I need a moment before the play begins.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 20