The Thrice Born

by Carlos Lopez Avery

  “I don’t know.” There was a long pause. “I thought you were pissed at him still.”

  Now Jason’s gaze went back to the table, over the slim shoulder of the woman winning all their prize money. “He was late but we caught the cheaters anyway.” He looked away as Benjamin touched his earpiece, switching frequencies. “Just Call him. He’s the best in the business.”

  “Will do,” Chuck said.

  Jason handed the walkie-talkie back to Benjamin and circled the roulette table where the stunning woman in the black dress was celebrating another win. For the next hour they watched her collect chips, racking up a pile large enough to make a serious dent in their registers.

  In other cases Jason had had Benjamin shut down the table, even all the roulette tables, until they could determine the cause of such luck, but this time he didn’t. With each passing minute the time wore on his nerves, chafing that thin casing of membrane that protected the human nerve cells from rubbing the host into a frenzy of sheer id-compulsions.

  In the same passage of time, Jason realized not all of that chafing was due to his profit being carted away by the blonde woman, one chip at a time. He grinned, coming to the conclusion that some of it was the blonde woman herself, albeit a more pleasant sort of wearing.

  But it was still the house’s stores and he was the minder. He groaned, looking to Benjamin who was making little effort to contain his own frazzled nerves.

  The floor manager looked to him. “He’ll be here soon, Jason. You know Corky. Probably buried under a mountain of conspiracy books and pirate treasure maps.”

  Jason would have liked to laugh at the ridiculousness of the image, but it was likely true and it was still his money that the blonde Lady Luck was racking up.

  He was about to make another sort of comment when Corky’s choppily cut blond haircut dissolved from among the patrons on the busy night game floor. He was escorted by one of the too-friendly cocktail waitresses, who disappeared when she saw Jason watching.

  Corky gave her a nod, his attention on the cart he was wheeling before him. It was stacked with several large cases of equipment.

  Benjamin spotted him, too. “It’s about time.”

  Corky heard, and gave them a nod and lopsided grin. It made his mid-thirties face look more boyish, something that the cocktail waitresses found disarming, but he seldom used it in the casino.

  Jason met him as he stopped the cart fifteen feet from the roulette table where the blonde woman was still winning. Corky opened two of the cases and pulled out a few electronic devices.

  Jason looked from the equipment to the patrons around them at the games. No one cared. Most were too inebriated, caught up in their games, or too broke to notice. Corky untangled a cable from a set of wires and antennae.

  “You’re kidding,” Jason said just loud enough for Corky to hear. “What’s all that crap?”

  Benjamin gave Corky a shrewd look.

  “Hey, I already checked in with your security,” Corky said, not exactly answering. “I’m looking for magnetic fields. That table is as right as rain. And so is that ball.” He gave a nod to the table. “Ask Chuck.”

  “I already asked Chuck,” Jason said.

  A swell of cheers went up from the roulette table. The three men looked there to see the blonde woman smiling victoriously, collecting her winnings as the onlookers egged her on for another round.

  The tightness came back to Jason’s jaw and his former fond thoughts of the woman’s curves fell away. He glanced to the magnetometer Corky was switching on.

  “Are you thinking someone is manipulating that ball with a magnetic field?” Jason had seen Corky use a lot of unconventional methods, but never this route. “That technology doesn’t exist.”

  “It’s a new world, Jase,” Corky said, waving a plug at him before inserting it into the magnetometer. He stitched it on and a slight buzz came from it. “Ever hear of weather warfare?”

  Jason shook his head, but not in answer. “Sure, but I don’t believe in it.”

  “Come on,” Corky said, adjusting the small knob on the magnetometer. “You’re a educated military man. You know all about ENMOD. Governments don’t sign treaties to agree not to do things they can’t do.” An almost blissful look came to Corky’s face as he sorted through the other small devices slotted in the flannel lining of one of the cases. “You got your assorted HAARP Projects, your weather modification agencies, your –”

  “All I want is to know if there’s cheating on my floor, Corky,” Jason said as the younger man wound up. “That’s it.”

  Corky nodded. “Cheaters work with some pretty high level technology these days,” he said, all business again. “Balls don’t just jump around like that.” He looked at the readings registering on the magnetometer’s screen. He shook his head. “Nothing worthwhile here.”

  Jason looked around at the crowd still playing at the games as Corky put the device away and took out another. He casually glanced to where the woman at the roulette table was calling out a winning number. The spectators around her cheered, sending a wave of dread through Jason.

  He looked back to Corky. In the man’s hand was another of the instruments, this one with a needle swinging radically from the green to yellow, then orange to red sections on its indication plate.

  “That’s an EMF meter,” Jason said, his tone lowering. “I’ve seen those on TV. It’s used for ...” He looked sharply at Corky. “Ghost hunting?”

  Corky shrugged, eyes on the meter’s needle. “Among other things, like AC magnetic fields, AC electric fields, RF radiation.” He looked around the room and then back to the needle still fluctuating wildly. “According to this reading, this place is crammed full of ghosts. These are the hottest readings I’ve ever seen.”

  Jason sent an oblique glance to the blonde woman. “From her?”

  Corky followed his gaze. “Your Lady Luck woman? Don’t know. It’s all around this room. Maybe she’s a Uri.”

  “A Uri Geller?” Jason shook his head. “A spoon-bender?”

  “Maybe.”

  Chuck’s voice came over the walkie-talkie, unable to let the topic go. “Maybe she’s just one lucky bitch.”

  Benjamin shoved his way as nicely as he could through the clumps of patrons crowding the game floor to where Jason and Corky were standing, pointing to the roulette table where its star winning lady was leaving. Jason followed the gesture, registering what the man was about to say before Benjamin could begin speaking.

  “Oh, my God, she’s going to cash out,” he told Jason needlessly. Before he could catch his breath, Jason was on his way.

  It wasn’t like him to rush, especially not after a woman, but there was a certain briskness to Jason’s walk as he dodged the heavy traffic departing the roulette table where the dealer was closing up. An especially large, jolly man took a couple of moments for Jason to clear – precious seconds ticking – as he pursued the evasive blonde on her way to the cashiers.

  Or so he thought. A moment after getting around the rotund man, Jason found he’d lost her. He scanned the room, frowning at the blondes and assorted artificially enhanced platinums sprinkled throughout the crowds. He clicked the walkie-talkie.

  “Hey, Chuck,” he said, eyes still on the patrons and tables, “look out for a blonde in a black satin dress ... I know there are half a dozen, but this one is wearing a black beaded ditty with a silver lace shawl. Bring her to my office.”

  “Got it, Boss,” Chuck replied through the radio.

  Jason made another round through the room, desperation edging as he searched for the suspiciously fortunate blonde woman. He was making another pass when Chuck came on over the walkie-talkie again.

  “Sorry, Boss, say again?”

  Jason brought the radio to his lips, eyes still on the milling crowds. “Yeah, I’m calling security to bring her in.”

  “We’ve checked the screens. Got a couple suspects, but our best one isn’t blonde, and she isn’t wearing a black dress.”


  Jason stared at the walkie-talkie. “What? Hey, I was ten feet away from her! Have you got the right one?”

  “Roulette table four, just won a bundle, been watching her all night?” Chuck paused. “Lady Luck, right?”

  “Yes.” Jason scowled over the patrons.

  “She ain’t blonde.” Chuck’s voice was slightly muffled. “Hey, Nadine,” he said to a fellow security monitor, “what was Lady Luck wearing?”

  Jason listened intently.

  “A green Perry Ellis thing, kinda cool,” Nadine’s crisp tone came over Chuck’s side of the radio, “and she was filthy. Nice dress, but smeared with dirt.”

  Before Jason could speak, Chuck sounded in again.

  “You’re not serious, Nadine,” the security man said. “The lady was ug-ly, but impeccably clean.”

  “You saw that close up when she hauled in her chips,” Nadine argued back over the radio. “She hasn’t done her nails in a month.”

  Just as Jason was beginning to have serious doubts about his security monitoring team, he spotted the blonde woman again. She was heading for the slot machines, where he’d already searched twice.

  He sighed, lowering the walkie-talkie as Chuck and Nadine’s quibbling continued. For a long moment he watched the blonde woman stand at one of the mirrored columns by a display of tropical fish aquariums. From his vantage point he could see her make a not altogether unattractive face in the mirror at herself, checking her lipstick, one hand patting down her shawl where it draped at her shoulder.

  A silver lace shawl at her beaded, scoop-neck, black satin dress, Jason noted.

  A crackle at his walkie-talkie divided his attention.

  “Eh, we lost our feed,” Chuck said. “Sorry, Jason, but that footage of Lady Luck from earlier is all video snow now. Nothing on tape. Nada.”

  Jason nodded, to himself mostly, and then lifted the radio. “I’ve got a make, Chuck. Okay, round up security and have Corky meet us in the conference room off security. Try to salvage any of that tape from earlier.” He clicked off the walkie-talkie as Benjamin joined him.

  The floor manager’s face relaxed a bit when he saw the blonde woman still fixing her reflection at the mirror in the alcove of aquariums. “I see you found her. Want us to move in?”

  Jason smiled more, watching the woman, his chase of her taking a second seat to observing what he could see of her reflection in the mirror. “She hasn’t cashed out yet,” he said, glimpsing the small handbag dangling at her elbow. It was bulging with chips.

  Her loot. His loss.

  He sighed, enjoying his view as he so rarely allowed himself while on the job. That was most of the time, like this night. It was turning into a long night, now morning, and didn’t look like it was going to end any time soon. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your life?”

  Benjamin gave the blonde another look, then Jason an even longer one. “A lot of things,” he said with a laugh, expecting his superior to admit to the joke.

  Jason didn’t.

  “Thousands of things,” Benjamin added, waiting for Jason to retract the comment. “Some people, too.”

  Instead Jason grabbed him by the elbow, wrinkling the sleeve of his jacket in a tight handhold. “You don't think she’s beautiful?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Honestly?”

  Benjamin shrugged. “She’s old and doesn’t wash her hair.” He gave the woman another study, trying to see what Jason obviously did.

  Jason glared at him.

  Benjamin gestured to the woman. “Hey, if you find her attractive, who am I to say anything? Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, right?”

  Jason’s attention returned to the woman and Benjamin’s to his rumpled jacket sleeve. He patted out the wrinkles from Jason’s hold, smoothing the material.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Jason said, still watching the woman as she turned to rejoin the crowds. “I’m sure you’ve got others matters to attend to.”

  “Yeah, actually I do.” Benjamin gave the blonde a brief glimpse. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

  Jason nodded, barely aware of the manager turning to leave. The blonde woman had dissolved into the crowd. He followed, not wanting to lose her again.

  It wasn’t quite stalking, not quite toying, he decided, his slow, methodical pursuit of the blonde woman who was making no attempt to elude capture. She was simply a few people ahead of him, unaware of him. She headed to the cashier, but then stopped, her gaze turning to the water fountains where the back wall was painted in a mural of tropical island beauty. It was a serene painting that was accompanied by a tall waterfall off center of the mural, and the constant running of the marble ensconced drinking fountains added a touch of realism to the scene.

  The woman’s eyes were still on it, as if she was absorbing the white sands, blue of the waters, and breeze the ruffled the palm tree leaves in the mural. She looked to her side as Jason caught up with her.

  He studied her profile as she turned. “You know, a lot of us are wondering what happened at that table,” he said, assumption leading his tone.

  She smiled, a soft expression that seemed especially charming after the long night of gambling. And winning. “You don't remember me, do you, Jason?” she said. “I looked for you yesterday. I wanted to thank you.”

  He wasn’t prepared for the remark. Generally when he approached cheaters they were full of unwarranted innocent looks or excuses. “Thank me? For what?”

  She didn’t answer, instead leading him to believe that perhaps her offhanded, sarcastic her thank you was in regards to all the winnings she’d managed over the night.

  A more business-like tone came to his voice. “What’s your name?”

  “Estelle.”

  He nodded. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming by our security office before you cashed out.” It wasn’t a question, not even a veiled one.

  She knew it, too. “I don’t suppose it matters whether I mind or not.”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  He gestured to his side, and Estelle fell into step with him.

  Benjamin was on his way to find Pearl when the cocktail waitress found him. He’d checked the waitress’ lounge and ladies bathrooms, favorite hangouts for the female staff, and had put out the word for her among the other wait staff. On a tired impulse he headed for the south side elevators, which was where she intercepted him.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, coming up behind him.

  Benjamin turned, looking up at her. “Yes, there’s a matter I want to discuss with you. We interviewed with you the other day. I took another look at your resume.”

  She smiled brightly. “Thanks so much, Benjamin. I know there’s a special opening for, well, something.”

  “Oh, I don’t make any decisions.” He gave her a brief, rare grin. “I just advise. It’s all Jason.”

  “Oh. What’s he like?

  “Jason?”

  She nodded.

  Benjamin often wondered that himself. “That’s a complex question. I’m not sure I can answer it.”

  His reply gave her no answer, and she pressed on. “He seems so aloof,” she said, more to herself than him. “Is he a typical, cigar-smoking casino owner?”

  “Jason? Jason is about as atypical a human being as he is a casino owner.”

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty car. She gave a quick smile as he ushered her in. He pushed a few buttons and the doors slid shut, muting the bells and slow jazz music from the gaming floor.

  He cleared his throat as the car moved upward. He glanced up at her, seeing her look to the buttons he’d pushed. Pearl was a leggy strawberry blonde, with an adequate figure and catchy smile and enough cleavage to fill out the low-cut neckline of the shimmering plum colored bustier. Her skirt was on the short side, and being on the short side of most of the women at The Crib, Benjamin had a good view of her legs.

  She wasn’t dazzling; just enough come-hither to get the job and
enough common sense to deftly handle the feelier types of male patrons. It was partly why they’d selected Pearl for this particular duty.

  Her eyes rested on the round button marked “3” that was glowing. “Are we going to the third floor?”

  “So?”

  Her smile dimmed, her voice hinting at unease. “I thought we weren’t allowed.”

  He nodded. “I’m allowed.”

  “Oh.” Her lips pursed slightly.

  The car stopped at the third floor and the bell sounded. The doors slid open and Benjamin escorted Pearl out into the hall and turned her to the left. The low pile burgundy carpet hushed their steps along the corridor, the indirect lighting above unlike the other service halls.

  “This is not an academic visit,” he told her as they passed a long stretch of wall that was without doors. “I want you to clean this room, every day, before you leave.”

  “Clean? But I –”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re a cocktail waitress, not a maid. But don’t worry; we’ll pay you a bit extra for helping us out here.” He smiled, seeing her qualms lower a notch. “I did look at your resume before we came up. You worked for a number of lawyers, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, trying to anticipate any other demands he may have. “As a secretary.”

  “Yes and you learned to keep your mouth shut, right?”

  “Yes.” She looked ahead to the single door on one side of the hall further on, her mind sifting through possibilities. “Is this something illegal?”

  “No. This is something strange.”

  “About sex?”

  He shook his head. “No. About Jason.”

  “No. This is something strange.”

  She was about to ask for more details, but he quickened their pace until they reached the door in the long wall. He opened it and let her step in before him. “This is the room I want you to clean.”

  Pearl stood immobile, looking into the wide room that yawned before them. It was paneled in smooth bamboo, which was interspersed with racks holding Asian martial arts weapons. The weapons were at either end of the large room, neatly arranged by type and function, most basic practice styles, a few ornamental for display. The floor was covered with tatami mats and thicker sparring mats were rolled again the far wall in one corner.