“Avery . . . uh . . . borrowed a van. It’s double-parked outside the main door,” Jack said.
Kelly stiffened and refused to move. “You aren’t taking me to the field office. Where are you taking me?” he demanded.
“You’ll find out when you get there,” Jack snapped. “You give us any trouble, and it’s lights out for you. Walk slowly and look straight ahead.”
“Screw you!” Kelly bellowed.
One of Snowden’s operatives, who could have doubled for a young Christie Brinkley, leaned forward and locked her lips with those of Kelly, who suddenly went limp.
“Good kisser,” the operative said with a giggle in her voice. “So, a fireman’s carry, or do we do the drunk thing?”
“We do the drunk thing. He’s too heavy to carry,” Jack said before running down the hall to catch the elevator.
“Gotcha. We left the engine running in the van, and the door is open. We slipped the doorman a hundred bucks to keep his eye on it. And we also told him to dismiss the cab he had waiting for the two of you, and gave him another fifty for the cabdriver. Once we get out of the elevator, it’s a short haul across the lobby and out the door to the van. Anyone seeing us will just think we partied a little too hearty,” the blonde said. “We’ll just repeat the process once we get to MGM’s parking garage.”
“He’s coming around,” Sparrow hissed.
Luscious lips moved and again locked her lips with Kelly’s. Jack rubbed his hands over the back of Kelly’s neck, and Kelly went limp all over again.
Somehow, they managed to get Kelly across the lobby and out the door and into the van. Luscious Lips handed the doorman another folded bill before she scrambled into the van.
“Burn rubber!” she commanded the driver, who did just that. The occupants slipped and slid across the van, then back again, as the driver tore down the road to take a corner on two wheels.
“Where in the hell did you learn to drive?” Sparrow bellowed as he tried to right himself, only to fall back against a lovely redhead with an exquisite smile.
“Daytona!” the driver bellowed in return. “It’s a requisite to work for Mr. Snowden.”
Twenty minutes later, the driver of the borrowed van took the ramp leading to the MGM parking garage at forty miles an hour. She raced down the length of the floor; then, her tires screaming, she tore up another ramp at the same speed. When she finally slowed enough to pull into a parking space, the occupants of the van all slid forward. That included Dixson Kelly, who was once again awake and who swore viciously. Jack clipped him alongside the head and told him to shut up. Kelly did his best to head butt Jack, but Jack moved quickly enough to avoid what would have been a punishing blow, what with all of Kelly’s weight behind it.
“Stuff something in this guy’s mouth,” Sparrow ordered as he dragged him out of the van. Jack took off his necktie and jammed it in Kelly’s mouth.
Two of Snowden’s operatives, Jack, and Sparrow formed a cordon around Kelly as they led him to the elevator. They all heard the squeal of the van’s tires as the third operative prepared to return the borrowed van to its rightful parking space. Before she climbed out, she placed a folded hundred-dollar bill under a clip attached to the visor.
Maggie was standing in the open doorway of her comped room, motioning for them to hurry. Kelly did his best to drag his feet, until Jack socked him in his midsection. He doubled over, making it easier to drag him down the hall. When they reached the door, Sparrow gave Kelly such a hard shove, he literally flew across the room, to land almost at his sister’s feet. She scowled at him, then started to rant, until she saw Dennis approach her, his face full of menace.
Jack looked over at Harry, who whispered, “I’ll tell you later, but even then, you won’t believe that kid. Now what?”
“I say we dillydally a little till the two of them get comfortable with the knowledge that they are not going anywhere but here and that we hold their fate in our hands. I’ll have Maggie order us some room service, coffee, pizza, sandwiches, whatever. It’s all on the house when the room is comped.” Jack motioned for Maggie to come closer and asked her to order the food, which she promptly did.
“Someone should call Charles and the others and tell them to come up here now,” Jack said as he stared straight at Dixson Kelly, who stared right back at him. “I’m going to call Bert and tell him what’s going on.”
Snowden volunteered to make the call to Charles and Jack said he would call Bert later.
Jack looked over at Kelly and said, “Anything you want me to pass on to your boss other than to tell him you’re resigning effective today? Actually, yesterday, since that’s the date on the resignation letter I have here.”
“I want a lawyer,” Kelly said.
“I also want my lawyer,” Kitty/Clare said.
“Well of course you do. I would want my lawyer, too, if I were in your position. Here’s the thing, Mr. Kelly, that is not going to happen. So just settle in and remain quiet.”
Jack stepped out into the hall to make his call to Bert. He stopped the call when he heard the elevator ping, and the boys stepped out. Cyrus literally flew down the hall, to skid to a stop. He put his paws on Jack’s shoulders and stared at him. Then he growled.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You didn’t get to bite some badass’s ass, right? Well, we still have time for that, and your chances of making that happen are better right now than when you left here. Go inside and guard.”
Cyrus raced off, but not before he let loose with a few joyful yips of pure pleasure.
The boys looked at Jack expectantly.
“Well?” Charles said.
“We got them both. We’re taking a break. Maggie ordered some sandwiches, coffee, and pizza. Those two need to sweat a little. The only word the two of them seem to know is lawyer. I just stepped out here to call Bert. Go inside, and I’ll be inside in a minute.”
The phone call to Bert was short and to the point, with Jack doing all the talking. All Bert could manage to get into the conversation was a few ripe curses that he’d been so wrong about one of his hires.
Jack ignored him and said, “Look, I gotta go. I’ll update you later, when . . . we’re on our way to the airport.” He broke off just as Bert started to rant on. Jack sighed. Life was never easy.
Jack stood at the door to Maggie’s comped suite. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. For some reason, his thoughts went to Abner. He felt so depressed, he took another deep, calming breath. Abner was one of the good guys. When he explained everything, he hoped the computer whiz would forgive him and the others. If he had to grovel, he would grovel. If he had to kiss his feet, then he would kiss his feet. Whatever it took, he would do it.
Jack squared his shoulders and opened the door just as the elevator pinged to allow a group of tipsy revelers fresh from a win at the craps table to make their way down the hall. He wondered how much they had won, not that he cared. It was just something to think about to get Abner out of his mind.
The suite, while nice and comfortable, could not compare to the suites they’d had at Babylon. It was crowded. It looked to Jack like either they were waiting for him to start whatever it was that was about to go down or they were waiting for him to give the go-ahead. He looked over at Charles for direction. Charles shrugged, as much to say, “This is your gig. Run with it.”
Jack decided to run with it. He motioned for Cyrus to join him. “Guard these two. If they even twitch, you get your wish.”
Cyrus, ham that he was, stretched luxuriously before he trotted over to the two bound prisoners sitting on the floor. He let loose with two yips and then bared his teeth as he let loose with a ferocious growl to show he really wanted to bite someone’s ass.
Jack at that moment decided a few little lies on his part wouldn’t hurt and just might move things along. He cleared his throat. “I want the two of you to listen to me very carefully. First things first. You are not going to be released, nor are you going to be arrested. That’s too g
ood for you two. Second, this dog—his name is Cyrus—is a trained killer. On command, he will go straight for your throat, rip it out, and hang on till you bleed out. Now, having said that, Cyrus does have one little quirk that he refused to give up during his military training. Sometimes he just has to bite someone’s ass. In this case, it will be your asses.
“Third, we want a written, signed confession statement from the two of you. Your relocation address will depend on how cooperative you both are. Oh, fourth, and last, Cyrus is good in that position for just fifteen minutes. Then he starts to salivate, and from there on, it’s his ball game. Right, big guy?”
Cyrus barked joyfully to confirm all Jack’s lies.
“Okay, someone get ready to record their confessions so we can print them out for signatures. Maggie is a notary, so everything will be legal. She said everything is all hooked up and ready to go. So, go!”
Kelly went first. His tone was conversational. “I told you, I did not do anything. My sister did not do anything. I’m writing a book about a Vegas heist. Nothing like Ocean’s Eleven. This is the real deal. My sister was helping me since she’s into all things digital and electronic, whereas I am a Neanderthal. She enlisted the aid of a mentor, who showed her the ropes about hacking so she could become the professional she is. That’s what those e-mails are. I admit to knowing that the showgirls formed that asinine club and making it all work for me. Besides not being able to take revenge on me, they agreed to help my sister when she presented the project to them. It’s called research. Authentic research. How else can a person get a book published? That’s my story, and I am sticking to it. It’s up to you to prove otherwise.”
“It’s my story, too,” Kitty/Clare said.
Jack wondered if he was the only one who had noticed how shaky and trembly Kitty/ Clare’s voice sounded.
“Let me clear something up here,” Maggie said as she waved a sheaf of papers in the air. “That novel you claim to be writing, all those chapters . . . All I found was nine separate files that claim to be chapters one through nine. It’s a one-paragraph chapter. Then there are two other files with gibberish. I don’t know if you consider them chapters or not. One through nine are basically just notes.”
“It’s my outline. My guide,” Kelly said defensively, one eye on Jack and Maggie, the other eye on Cyrus. “That’s how you write a book.”
“That’s pure bullshit, and you know it. Clock’s ticking, Mr. Kelly. Miss Andreas, do you want to go down with your brother, or do you want to tell us what you all were really planning? Don’t start with that lawyer business again, either. That is not even on the table,” said Maggie.
Kitty/Clare licked at her dry lips as she stared up at Dennis, who was hovering over her. “We did not commit any crime. We, meaning me and the other girls, were helping my brother. He promised us all a share of the book’s proceeds and a share of the movie he said they would make. There’s no crime in that.”
“To a point, you’re right,” Jack said. “What we didn’t show you were the texts and e-mails from your mentor, RCHood, where you confessed to what you were going to do. He drew you into his web, pretended to help you, and now he’s gone. If you aren’t getting it, he let you hang yourself. His legacy is this pile of incriminating evidence, which will, if given to the proper authorities, ensure a nice long vacation in a federal penitentiary. You’ll be old and gray when you get out. Assuming someone doesn’t get to you first.
“See, we’re looking out for you, because we know what will happen to the two of you if we cut you loose and turn you over to the feds. You know how Vegas works. Ah, I see by the look on your face that you know what I’m talking about. Your best bet is to cooperate with us and confess. The clock is still ticking, but not for long,” Jack said.
Maggie stared hard at Dixson Kelly. She remembered how delicious he’d looked in his pristine white shirt, Hermès tie, and designer warrior suit when she’d first set eyes on him. He looked nothing like that now. Right now he had a beaten look, which he was trying desperately to cover up.
Kitty/Clare spoke hesitantly. “Speaking hypothetically, just suppose my brother and I agree to give you a confession, not that we are guilty, but to put an end to this . . . this silliness. Should we agree to do that, hypothetically, what’s in it for us? Since no crime was committed. That part is true and not a hypothetical.”
“Save your breath, Clare. These people are not here to help us. They’re here to help themselves. Open your eyes and look around. Do you see a Mickey Mouse operation here? I sure as hell don’t, so just shut up already. This whole thing has teeth.”
Jack looked at his watch. Two minutes and counting. “Cyrus, stay alert and pay attention.”
Maggie held out her recorder. “Last chance. Time is almost up.”
“If I sign it, will you let me go?” Kitty/Clare asked.
Her voice sounded so pitiful, Jack almost laughed out loud.
“Absolutely!” the occupants of the room said as one.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sign it, but it’s bogus. I just want out of here. Dix, sign the damn confession so we can get out of here.”
“Are you out of your mind? You can’t believe anything they say. You are such a fool, Clare. Why I ever listened to you in the first place is a mystery to me,” Kelly snarled.
“Time’s up, guys! They’re all yours, Cyrus!”
That was all Cyrus had to hear. He was up on all fours. He eyed the situation just as Dixson put his bound wrists up over his face for cover, then rolled over flat out. It was exactly what the shepherd wanted. He pounced and bit down and then hung on for dear life. Blood spurted in all directions. Kitty/Clare started to cry and shriek her misery. Kelly bellowed at the top of his lungs. Ted smacked him on the side of the head and told him to shut up.
“Get that goddamned dog off me! All right, all right, I’ll sign your frigging confession, but I’m signing it under duress, and I am going to put that in the confession, too. I need a doctor! That damn dog better have had his rabies shot,” Kelly bellowed.
Jack grimaced. “He’s due for one next month. I’m sure you’ll live, Kelly. Your ass might be sore for a few weeks, but I guarantee that you will live. At least if your fan club doesn’t get ahold of you. Roll over, sit up, and write out the confession. You, too, sweet cheeks.”
The moment the brother and sister signed their names to their confessions, Maggie quickly notarized their signatures, fixed her seal, dated it, and said, “I think this is all Lizzie and Cosmo will need to cut those women loose. We’re in the clear, guys!”
Kelly couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “You know my lawyers?”
Jack looked at Kelly for a moment, then laughed out loud before saying, “Get with the program here, Kelly. Who do you think they named their kid after? I’m Little Jack’s godfather.”
“Son of a bitch!” Kelly exploded.
Jack laughed again.
“They’re all yours now, Mr. Snowden. We’re done here,” Charles said.
“Wait just a damn minute,” Kitty/Clare shouted. “You said you would let us go. We want to go by ourselves. We definitely do not need an escort.”
“Oh, but you do, my dear,” Charles said.
“You lied! You goddamn lied to us! That’s . . . that’s . . . unspeakable. Dixson, say something!” Kitty/Clare shrieked at the top of her lungs.
“I did warn you. Will you please just shut up! You’re giving me a headache,” Kelly snapped.
“Take two Aleve,” Dennis said helpfully.
Kelly could only stare at the young reporter as he recalled the big man in the Tiki Bar telling him the same exact thing. That was what had started this whole megillah. He wished now that he had two Aleve to take.
Ah, well, this was Vegas. You win some, and you lose some. Only to himself would he admit that he had never really thought he was going to get away with his plan.
When Snowden and his people departed with Kitty/Clare and Dixson in tow, the comped MGM room was sile
nt. So silent, no one wanted to shatter the stillness.
“Plane will be ready in thirty minutes,” Dennis finally whispered as he stared at an incoming text. “Wheels up in ninety minutes, so we need to move quickly.”
The group scattered and scrambled.
Jack was the last to board the private Gulfstream. He stood on the tarmac and looked around, wondering if it was true what they said about Vegas.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
He ascended the stairs and before he entered the plane, he stood on the top step and offered up a sloppy salute to the town he hoped never to see again.
Only one loose end. And he’d make it right when he got back home or die trying.
Just one loose end.
No mission was considered complete until all the ends were tied in a neat bow.
Just one loose end.
Epilogue
Two months later ...
Isabelle Flanders Tookus snapped the lock on her battered briefcase, then turned around to look at her husband, who was sitting at the kitchen counter, staring into his coffee cup. “I’m leaving now, Abner. Don’t wait up for me. I’m going to be late. In fact, I think I might take a trip to Outer Mongolia and never, ever come back.” She waited a few seconds to see if Abner would respond. He nodded when she poked at his arm.
“You did not hear a word I said, Abner. Look at me! I mean it, Abner. Look at me. See that bag over there by the door? I’m leaving. I can’t live like this anymore. I won’t live like this any longer. When and if you get your act together, call me.”
Abner swiveled his stool around to face his wife. “Why? I asked you to cut me some slack. I asked you to give me some time to work through some issues that I have. You said you would, and now, just like that, you’re leaving. Again, why?”
“Don’t even go there with me, Abner. I’m done talking. I’ve had it with you. Go look at yourself in the mirror. I dare you! You look like a skid-row bum. And you smell! That beard, if that’s what it is supposed to be, is pitiful. You’ve been wearing those same clothes for a week. I repeat, you smell!”
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