Fighting Chance - A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (Lights Out in Vegas Book 3)

by Sean Patten

  I didn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to speak the words.

  “No third chances,” Kelly said, echoing what Oleg had said earlier.

  “We sneak out and get caught and it’s over,” I said. “But…it’s so weird.”

  “What is?” she asked.

  I swept my hand towards the crowds on the casino floor.

  “Why all these people are here?” I said. “The amount of resources and electricity and food and water and everything else that it takes to keep everyone here. Oleg, or whoever it is that’s running the place, is using the most valuable thing on the planet right now to keep this place running. And for what?”

  “To make money?” asked Kelly.

  “Money’s nothing right now,” I said. “Go outside this building and you’ll see that cash is nothing but fancy-looking paper. The real valuable stuff is food, clean water, guns. And they’re wasting it all keeping these people at the poker tables.”

  “Maybe they’re still in denial,” said Kelly. “Thinking that as long as they keep this place up and running, the longer they can avoid reality. I mean, it’s totally crazy out there, right? But in here it’s a party that never has to end.”

  “But it’s going to end eventually,” I said. “They’ve only got so much booze down there, only so much fancy food. And there’s no way a man who’s smart enough to run a place like this isn’t keenly aware of the fact that his resources would be better spent on just him and his guards. If he could keep his little army together he’d be able to be a power in the region.”

  I shook my head before taking another sip of my water.

  “It’s totally bizarre.”

  The waitress returned, and I realized that I hadn’t even taken a look at the menu.

  “Chicken salad,” said Kelly. “Dressing on the side.”

  “Ah, same,” I said. “Side of veggies.”

  I scooped the menus off the table and handed them to the waitress, who quickly hurried off.

  “A chicken salad?” asked Kelly. “That’s…unlike you.”

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you order anything but a bacon-double-cheeseburger wherever we go. Only difference is whether you’re in the mood for fries or onion rings.”

  I allowed myself a small smile, happy to be back around someone who knew me so well.

  “Burgers are always good,” I said. “But they put me into a food coma. Don’t have the luxury of plopping onto the couch and vegging out after we eat.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “You watching World War II documentaries or whatever.”

  I let out a quick laugh.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Kelly said, reaching across the table and giving my arm a poke. “It’s almost like we used to be married or something.”

  “Still married,” I said.

  “Right,” she said, her mood darkening a shade. “Still married.”

  I kicked myself for bringing that up—getting into this subject was the last thing I wanted, not to mention the least productive thing we could’ve been doing.

  I cleared my throat and made the decision to get us back on track.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Getting out of here.”

  “Right, right,” Kelly said, her eyes flitting down as she seemed to realize the same thing as me.

  “You’ve been here for longer than I have,” I said. “You have to have heard something that might help us get out.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…have you seen any of the higher-ups like Oleg come through any concealed exits?”

  “What, like pulling a book on a shelf and having it spin around into a hidden room?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass,” I said. “I’m just trying to brainstorm here.”

  “Just busting your balls,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “But I’m being serious.”

  She looked away, as if trying to pore over what she’d seen since she arrived.

  “I mean, there are places that regular casino guests can’t go,” she said. “But that’s pretty normal, right? Employee-only areas. But they’re all guarded.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Breaking into those areas would be pretty pointless. Not to mention dangerous.”

  Another sip, another few moments of thinking.

  “Have you overheard any of the guards say anything weird, or anything that stuck in your head?”

  She looked about to shake her head in the negative, but then her blue eyes lit up.

  “Oh,” she said. “Before you showed up, when they had me backstage.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “What did you hear?”

  “They said something about the Medley. That’s where you and Steve were staying, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We were there when all the shit went down. What did they say?”

  “Yeah, I remembered because I thought you were guys were staying there. A couple of the guards were talking and they said something about how they hadn’t heard from some of the guys who went out before the power got turned off.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  Kelly frowned, clearly thinking hard to piece her memories together.

  “It sounded like they were talking about sending a team over there to check out what happened—what happened over there, Justin?”

  It occurred to me at that moment that I hadn’t told her about the robbery.

  “It’s a hell of a thing,” I said. “And you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me,” she said.

  I took a deep breath and went into it. I told her about the casino heist that went off the rails when the power went off, how Steve and I were held hostage, how they were trying to steal money from the vault of the place.

  By the time I was done filling Kelly in the food had arrived. But neither of us took a single bite, we were so caught up in the story.

  “Holy shit,” Kelly said once I was done, sitting back and shaking her head. “So they were trying to rob the place?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And then this big fucking gunfight broke out and…it was a nightmare.”

  “Jesus,” she said.

  I glanced down at the food.

  “Eat,” I said. “Don’t know when we’re going to get the chance again.”

  Kelly nodded and went to it, dipping the end of her fork into her dressing before stabbing a healthy portion of the salad.

  I didn’t follow my own command, however. I was too wrapped up in the whole thing, about why the Troika would be sending men to the Medley.

  Then it hit me. It hit me so hard and fast and clear that I felt like an idiot for it not being immediately apparent.

  “It was them,” I said.

  “What?” asked Kelly after swallowing a mouthful of food.

  “It was the Troika. They robbed the Medley.”

  “What? Why would they do that?” Kelly asked.

  “Who knows?” I asked. “Maybe to steal some money, maybe to make the Medley look like a dangerous place to go. No idea. But if they did it, and they’re still talking about wanting to check the place out and see what happened…”

  I trailed off. My mind began to plot out a plan, and by the time I was done I knew what I needed to do.

  “Oh no,” she said. “I know that look. I don’t like that look.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  She sat back, letting her fork drop into the salad.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say.”

  “I need to go upstairs,” I said. “I need to speak with the man in charge.”

  Chapter 7

  Kelly wasn’t happy with the plan. Not one bit.

  “Justin,” she said. “You can’t be serious. You saw what happened to Carlos—these guys aren’t screwing around. If they catch you…”

  “They’re not going to catch
me,” I said. “Because I’m not going to be doing anything against the rules. I’m going to make a simple offer—information for release.”

  “You act like it’s going to be simple,” said Kelly. “But you’ve got no reason to expect that this psycho would be interested in bargaining with you. If anything, he might put a gun to your head and make you give up the goods before blowing your brains out.”

  She caught herself, realizing what she’d said.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just…I don’t know if I like the idea.”

  “It’s the best we’re going to do,” I said. “I’ll tell him that I have information that he wants, and if I’m going to give it to him I want out in one piece—with you with me.”

  Kelly crossed her arms and looked away.

  “Let me come with you,” she said. “I want to help.”

  “No,” I said, my voice stern. “You stay here. If the conversation goes sideways I want you out of it.”

  “I don’t like this,” she said. “I don’t like the idea of you going upstairs with one of those guards and me never seeing you again.”

  It was more than a little surprising to hear these words.

  She regarded me for several long moments.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?” I asked right back.

  “Like I’m a puzzle you’re trying to figure out.”

  “Just strange to hear you talk like that.”

  She cocked her head to the side.

  “You serious?” she asked. “You’re surprised to hear that I want you to come back safe and sound?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We haven’t spoken since you left.”

  She shook her head.

  “No need to worry about that right now,” she said. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than…that. But yes, believe it or not, I care about you getting back safe.”

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  A beat of silence passed before I snapped back into the moment.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Now or never.”

  “Better leave that stylish backpack with me,” she said. “I’ll keep a close eye on it.”

  I nodded and handed it over.

  “Try to stay out of sight,” I said. “Remember, we don’t have phones to keep track of one another.”

  “I know, I know,” she said.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I slid out of the booth and stood up.

  “Hey,” Kelly said. “Come back to me.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. After taking one last look at Kelly I turned and left.

  Moments later I was outside of the restaurant, making my way across the casino floor. I did my best to put out of my head the fact that I’d just left Kelly for a second time, knowing full well that there was a chance I wouldn’t ever see her again.

  Here and now, I told myself. Right now, you’ve got a mission. Get yourself into the fucking moment.

  I looked around the casino floor until I spotted a door that a few guards had gone in and out of, two other guards posted on both sides. There was no way to know if it led where I needed to go, but it looked like as good a place as any to start.

  Steeling myself, I started in the direction and was soon in front of the pair of guards.

  “No guests allowed past this point,” said the guard on the right.

  “Please return to the casino floor,” said the one on the left.

  They both sounded bored; I guessed this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to do this.

  “I need to speak to the owner,” I said. “Oleg.”

  The guards said nothing at first, as if trying to figure out if they’d heard me correctly.

  “The owner isn’t available,” said the guard on the right. “Now, please return—”

  “I have some information that I can guarantee he’s interested in,” I cut in. “It’s about his men at the Medley.”

  The guard’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but I could still tell that they were surprised at what I’d said.

  “Tell us,” said the guard on the left. “And we’ll pass it along to him.”

  “No,” I said. “I want to tell him in person.”

  “What do you know?” asked the guard on the right, his voice taking on a hard edge. “And how do you know?”

  “Because I was there,” I said. “I saw it all go down. And I’m not going to say another word about it until I’m sitting across from Oleg.”

  The guards both looked less than thrilled with my ultimatum. I tensed up, worried that they might decide that beating the information out of me would be preferable to getting the boss involved.

  “Fuck,” said the guard on the left as he reached for his earpiece.

  He cleared his throat and spoke.

  “I need to speak to the boss… Uh-huh, I know. Some guy here says he was at the Medley, knows what happened… No, he wants to tell the boss himself… Uh-huh, okay.”

  The guard glared down hard at me.

  “Stay there.”

  He opened the door and went in, the door shutting hard behind him. A minute or so later, the door opened and a new guard stepped out.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “Are we going to see the boss?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Now move. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice.

  After stepping past the hard gaze of the two guards on both sides of the door, both of them now back in position, I was soon in the back hallway with the guard who’d invited me in. He was a towering man with a shaved head, wearing the same earpiece, sunglasses and dark suit as the other guards. But there was a gravity to him, one that suggested he was one of the men in charge.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he said. “Plenty of guys around here wouldn’t hesitate to pop someone who doesn’t respect the rules.”

  “I got it,” I said.

  We headed up a tall flight of stairs, one that led to a bank of stainless steel elevators. Once we were inside we went up, the electronic display inside indicating that we were headed to the top floor.

  The doors opened moments later, revealing a sleek office space of white and black. It appeared to be comprised of several hallways, and with the guard at my side we started off.

  We turned left then right then left then left, and with each turn we made I committed the directions to memory, building a mental map of the space if I needed to make a quick getaway.

  Before too long, we arrived at a massive set of double doors. The guard gave them a rap before opening them and sticking his head inside.

  Once done, he turned his attention to me.

  “Mr. Azarof will see you now.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come in!”

  A familiar, Russian-accented voice came out from inside the office. The guard gave me a hard look, one that said “get your ass in there and do whatever he says.”

  I stepped in through the opened door, the sight of the office nearly knocking me on my ass.

  It was an enormous space, done up in a clean modern style of hard lines and white-black contrast. The ceiling reached up high, making me feel dwarfed by the room. A fire roared in the enormous fireplace, and the tall windows looked out onto the blacked-out city, the moon and stars shining almost unnaturally bright above. A gentle piano piece played over the stereo.

  And seated behind the grand sweep of the desk was Oleg. He rose from his high-backed leather chair, all smiles and congeniality.

  “There’s the man,” he said, buttoning up his suit jacket as he stepped around the desk and came towards me. “The man with the answer to the question that’s been tearing me up inside.”

  His icy blue eyes stayed locked onto me as he approached with slow steps, as if sizing me up, trying to figure out just what to make of me. When he approached a heavy scent wrapped around me. Cologne wasn�
�t exactly my wheelhouse, but even I could tell right away that whatever he was wearing it was likely as expensive as everything else in the place.

  “Oleg Azarof,” he said, extending a hand in my direction.

  I glanced down at his hand, the same hand that pulled the trigger on Carlos.

  “Justin Powell,” I said, taking it and giving it a firm shake.

  “Pleased to me you, Mr. Powell,” he said, not once breaking eye contact. “Please, have a seat.”

  He gestured to a set of black leather couches and chairs near the fireplace. I stepped over and sat down as he made his way to the large, well-stocked bar on the other side of the room.

  “Nice fire,” I said, not sure what else to say.

  “Why thank you,” he said. “They told me I was wasting my money getting a fireplace put in, living here in Vegas. But it gets so damn cold at night. Not to mention that it provides the most wonderful ambiance.”

  I heard the tinkling of glasses over my shoulder, and glanced at Oleg as he prepared a drink.

  “God,” he said suddenly. “Where are my manners? Something to drink?”

  I knew I shouldn’t, that I needed to stay sharp, but anything I could do to ingratiate myself was invaluable at this point.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll take some bourbon and water.”

  “I’m not much of a bartender, but that I can do,” he said.

  He messed around with the glasses a little more, soon returning to where I was sitting and handing me an elegant-looking glass with some dark brown bourbon sloshing around the bottom.

  “Cheers,” he said, sitting down across from me and reaching over.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Cheers.”

  We tapped our glasses and took our drinks. And just as before, Oleg’s eyes stayed locked onto me.

  “Something wrong?” I asked, finally getting a tad tired of the way he was staring through me.

  “No, no,” he said. “Just trying to figure out what to make of you, Mr. Powell. The…situation at the Medley has been on my mind these past twenty-four hours, and to be honest, I’m a little afraid to hear what you might have to say.”

  “Afraid?” I repeated.

  “Yes,” he said. “Worried about some bad news, of course. Those men are—were—associates of mine.”