Stacked Deck

by Tracy Watkins

  “Life is short.”

  “Indeed. It’s something of an insult. Just when you start to understand things, it’s over. I, too, am in a hurry.”

  “Then we should work well together.” They clinked glasses. “To a great relationship.

  “So,” Giambi said, “what the hell really happened? JD gave me his version, but I still have questions. I have a hard time seeing how you two managed to get out of it alive.”

  She knew she had to be cool and calm, but these were exactly the situations she had been trained for at the AthenaAcademy. She could walk through this conversation half-asleep. “How many casings did they find?”

  “Seven or eight. Can’t remember. Must have been a nasty situation.”

  “It was. I thought we were dead.” The art of lying is to confess. And fit the facts in the most logical way possible without revealing the truth. That required an alternate story that rationalized the situation. JD had to be the fall guy in this. It was the only way.

  “The story JD told you is essentially true.”

  “Essentially?”

  “Yes. From a certain point. I think he might have failed to mention something that happened earlier in the night that may, or may not, be connected. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the incident, so he told me he wasn’t going to tell you. I disagreed, but I really don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.”

  “Depends on what it was.”

  “Nothing really serious, just that he got into an argument at a bar.”

  “Over what?”

  “Me.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Some guy made a drunken pass. JD said something the guy didn’t like. He found us outside. He and a friend. They were really wasted. I have to say, JD was protecting my honor. He’s fast with his mouth and his fists. It came to a quick end. He knocked the one guy down and then a bouncer intervened. That was the end of it. He just thought if he told you that, you’d be all over him about getting in bar fights. Especially with me along. You two seem to have this father-son thing going on between you.”

  “Was JD drunk when he drove you around in my Bugatti?”

  “He was fine. I had more to drink than he did. And I took the car for a short spin.”

  “Who was driving when you crashed?”

  “JD.”

  “You think it was them, the guys from the bar that shot up the car and chased you?”

  “Perhaps, but JD really didn’t think so and that’s why he didn’t want to tell you.”

  “So these guys may have followed you to my garage. But how did you get away from there? They had you trapped for sure.”

  “I’m a runner, for one thing. And I work out all the time, obsessively. So when they came at us, we just ran like hell.”

  She gave him her version of the story, careful not to throw in any new details or anything that could be construed as a lie. “They would never have caught us, but we crashed. Hit something in the road. We survived the crash with some cuts and bruises, but it allowed our pursuers to catch up. So we just took off across the hills on foot. I have to say that it was both the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me and the most exhilarating.”

  “Why no police?”

  “Neither of us wanted that. JD was scared of the French police but he was even more scared of you. He didn’t think you’d be real happy with him getting into a fight at some bar with me along, then crashing his car. Not too good for his career if the press got wind of it. And besides, underneath all the bravado and macho driver stuff he’s just a kid in many ways.”

  Giambi acknowledged that last statement with a look and a nod. But then, in a stern paternal voice, he said, “He’s going to learn real fast that I don’t mind fun, but when it comes to business, he’s going to have to keep his act together. It’ll be in the contract.”

  Giambi seemed to relax a little. He was buying the story and buying her.

  They moved on now. They talked easily about business, racing and his woes in Monaco with the crackdown. He was serious about building a casino in Eastern Europe. And he brought up the idea of a Vegas venue for Formula One. She jumped in on that with full-throttle enthusiasm. She had to admit, a man with dreams was her favorite kind of man, old or young.

  Giambi, an old gambling warrior, was someone she could talk to with ease. They understood one another and the world they both came from.

  She decided, in spite of the fact that they came from opposite sides of the gaming table, her father and Giambi would have liked one another. She could see them out all night trading war stories, drinking ’til dawn, smoking cigars.

  Beth could tell he liked her a lot and wanted to keep talking. That would give JD plenty of time to get into his room, find his keys and make the impression.

  They got to talking about the party. Dinner first, dancing and then the movie. She was even a little excited to see what movie stars were going to show.

  He said she’d probably see some people she knew. A lot of wealthy jet-setters belonged to his private club and would bring friends.

  “I’m sure I’ll see a few familiar faces,” she agreed. In the corner of her eye she caught a brief glimpse of JD. Giambi didn’t.

  They had another drink. She tried to remember how many she’d had in the past twenty-four hours and what the caloric effect might be. But then, remembering the night of running, she figured she wasn’t about to gain any weight.

  They were getting along fine, laughing at each other’s jokes. She reached over and touched Giambi’s arm from time to time to make a point or when he said something particularly funny.

  Seducing him. Developing intimacy.

  And, from time to time, making friendly fun of JD.

  JD appeared and said he had some things to do in town. That he’d be back in an hour or so. “Anyone need anything?” He gave her the look and smile of success.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Giambi declined as well. “You need somebody from security to go with you?”

  “I’ll be all right, thanks. Even if I was the target last night, I doubt anybody will try anything in Monaco. They have more police on the street than just about anywhere in the world.”

  About an hour after JD left, she said she was finally coming down off of last night and needed some sleep. “I hear you’re quite the tango dancer and I definitely want a dance tomorrow night.”

  “It’s a date,” Giambi said. “You like to tango?”

  “Love it.”

  Giambi smiled. “Me, too.”

  They got out of the grotto pool and before they parted she took his arm. “Don’t be too hard on JD. He is really upset about the Bugatti. He knows what that car meant to you.”

  She could tell how much Giambi liked that she touched him and was so open and friendly. A couple of tangos and she figured she could get him to think exactly what she wanted.

  As she returned to JD’s suite she realized she liked Giambi and found him to be an interesting character. She was, in different ways, seducing two men who couldn’t be more different.

  Or maybe they were seducing her?

  Chapter 20

  W hen Beth awoke the next day, she’d been lying on her face in one position for so long that it was red and lined, her hair matted and her arm was numb from lack of circulation.

  It took her a long time to completely wake up. She walked out to the kitchen and fixed a pot of coffee. It was already a quarter past two in the afternoon. She couldn’t believe she’d slept that long. Almost twelve hours. Her body felt like a lump of lead, and the bottoms of her feet actually ached.

  She looked in JD’s room and he was sound asleep.

  When she came back out into the kitchen and poured her coffee she found the newly cut key on the counter.

  The first step to victory.

  JD came stumbling out about twenty minutes later when she was on her second cup, grumbling about how his whole body ached. “If this is how you feel when you�
��re old, kill me now so I won’t ever have to go through this again.”

  He stretched and walked toward her wearing only white boxers.

  “You don’t look old. Matter of fact, you look really good.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “Don’t tease me when I’m in a weakened state. It’s not fair.”

  She smiled. “Naughty me. There’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

  “Just add milk and give me a straw.” He wandered over to the pot, pulled out a cup the size of a bowl, poured in most of the coffee, added milk and several spoonfuls of sugar, limped over to the sofa and collapsed, stretching his long legs across the coffee table.

  “You did some good work last night. Thanks.” She held up the key.

  He nodded. “How’d you do with the old man?”

  “I think I have him eating out of my hand.”

  She told him about her “confession” about what really happened the other night. With her slight embellishment. “I think he bought it.”

  “The paranoid never completely buy anything,” JD said, resting his cup on his stomach.

  “The writer William Burroughs said that paranoia is the highest form of consciousness. Whether or not that’s true, it is a big weapon in the survival game.”

  “I think I’ve heard of the guy, but I don’t know why.”

  “A beat generation writer,” Beth told him. “He wrote a book called Naked Lunch. He was a gay drug addict, among other things. Had a famous obscenity trial.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know too many gay drug addicts, but his name’s familiar. So you got the old man eating out of your hand. Good.”

  “I have to be careful when I’m talking to him. I let Vegas stuff slip out sometimes.”

  “Yeah, right. You told me about Vegas. So what’s your real name? I think I’ve now earned the right to know your real name.”

  “You don’t like Anne?”

  “That’s a fine name. But you don’t look like an Anne.”

  “Then how about Cathy?”

  He turned and studied her. “No. I knew a Cathy once, and she wasn’t anything like you. She couldn’t shoot a gun.”

  “How does Laura strike you?”

  “The only Laura I knew had freckles and red hair.”

  “Then, what? What should my name be?”

  “Something mysterious, like Monique or Natashya.”

  She went over and poured herself another cup of coffee, and sat down next to JD. “I’ve always been partial to Bethany.”

  He slipped his fingers under her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I really don’t care what your name is as long as there’s no more guns involved. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Anne,” he muttered right before he kissed her. It was sweet and gentle and honest.

  “I’ll tell you when the time is right, I promise,” she said when they pulled apart.

  “What does a guy have to do to win your full confidence?”

  “Just keep kissing me like that, and—”

  He kissed her again. This time she didn’t want it to stop, but she had business to take care of. She pulled back and rested her head on his chest. He stroked her hair.

  “The people who tried to kill us the other night, how do they fit into this, or don’t you really know?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know. There are several possibilities. Patience is a virtue.”

  “Not my strong suit.”

  “That shows in your races. To your detriment. Dinner’s at nine. I need to start getting ready.”

  “Now?”

  “You obviously don’t know much about women.”

  “I know all the important stuff,” he teased.

  She stood up, threw a pillow at him and headed for her bedroom.

  “That incident with the car is causing additional problems,” he yelled after her.

  She turned to face him. “How? What’s going on?”

  “Giambi thinks the police are getting ready for a raid. It gives Prince Albert the excuse he’s been looking for. He’d love to check out Giambi’s books. See if there’s any money-laundering or other illegal activity going on. A prelude to getting the boot.”

  “How soon could this happen?”

  “Real soon. Could be tonight. All those people here, it would send a message.”

  Beth was concerned now. The police could destroy any chance she might have of getting to Giambi’s secrets. “Then I need to get in to his office as soon as possible.”

  “I still think your best chance is when he shows the movie. It’s a collage of my racing history. I’m the big sell. They’ll be some dancing after dinner, then the movie. Then more dancing until dawn. Some of the special guests will move up to the grotto for a swim with whatever significant other they’ve run into. But during the movie, nobody will be up here.”

  “Okay, I’ll stick with that, and figure out a way not to be missed when he’s showing it.”

  “Hey, there’s something I want to ask you.” He followed her back to her room. “There’s been this persistent story floating around about a mob boss back in Boston, where Giambi is from. How he died. I don’t know if any of it is true or not, but I know rumors like that keep people in line. Maybe he starts them himself. If you want to scare people away from trying to do bad things to you, get them to believe you’re connected.”

  “I’m sure it helps,” Beth said. She opened the closet and looked at her dresses, deciding which one would be the best “tango” dress. “And the thing about rumors…”

  “If you knew the truth, would you confirm the rumor?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You are a hard bargain.”

  JD walked back to his room. He knew he had a case on this lady now. She had the right attitude, and just about everything else. It unnerved him that he had no say over anything. That whatever was going to go down, whatever the endgame was, it would be a surprise and very possibly an unpleasant one.

  A year ago Giambi had walked in and said, “Boy, you’re gonna drive for me and we’re gonna win races. Lots of races ’cause you got the talent and I got the money.”

  It was a rope to grab on to and he’d needed one at the time. He was thinking maybe he should have looked into the situation a little deeper. When a man’s name is Salvatore and he’s running a casino in Monaco, a place where the Cosa Nostra, among others, have been doing business for years, second thoughts should have been in order.

  All JD wanted was to drive a damn race car. Instead he was deep in some international intrigue bullshit.

  JD walked over to the window and stared out at the day. One of the things he prided himself on was the way he handled women. He let them know up front he was not the long-term kind. He was committed to racing and little more. When the girls understood that, he was fine. Sometimes one would come along who thought she was so special she could change his mind. He disabused that type quickly. He didn’t like lying to girls, or playing games. He was straightforward about how it had to be. And most of the rich playgirls he messed with had exactly the same attitude. Everybody just had a good time.

  The last thing in the world he needed was to have somebody come along who wasn’t after him, who didn’t have any long-term situation in mind, who wasn’t even giving him her real name and for him to get emotionally involved. That was definitely not a smart move.

  The problem was, usually he had to keep the women from getting hung up on him. He had never had to worry about getting hung up on any one girl in his entire life.

  Dime a dozen, as his father used to say.

  But this girl was different and it threw his game off. Threw his mind into a spin every time he saw her, held her, kissed her.

  That’s what was getting him. He had never actually believed there was a real deal. Chicks like you see on TV and in the movies were fantasies. Now he was seeing one in the flesh.

  And therein lay yet another problem. Sex. Plenty of girls he’d
been with liked sex. Some liked it a whole lot. But this lady had a whole other thing going on. She made love on a level akin to how she fought. Hard core. Just thinking about her got him aroused again.

  I got to cool this down, he thought. I’m going to get chucked big time at the end of this deal.

  He laughed at himself. And at Giambi. This lady comes rolling in here about to blow their world to hell and they both fall in love with her.

  Chapter 21

  “T he rumors will be flying tonight,” JD said as he and Beth walked into Giambi’s glittering ballroom. She’d outfitted JD with a sophisticated, very tiny earpiece so they could communicate with one another when she made her play to get upstairs and into Giambi’s office.

  For the party, Beth wore a sexy, black lace top, open midriff and cut pantaloons that showed her legs from ankle to hip when she moved. It was a tango outfit that displayed her lithe body in killer style. She wore Mina tango shoes that were handmade in Buenos Aires, Argentina. If her foot held up she was ready to go. She knew she looked hot and when she spotted Giambi talking to some men at his private table, every man there turned to look at her.

  “I think you’ve got his attention,” JD whispered as he ran his hand down her back.

  “That was my intention.”

  “Do you always get what you want?”

  She didn’t think she should answer that. Instead she looked up at him and smiled.

  Nearly two hundred well-heeled guests filled the great ballroom. A fifteen-piece band filled the air with Frank Sinatra hits. Waiters and waitresses in tailored black-and-white outfits cruised like hunting birds offering flutes of champagne.

  The last big bash before the roof falls in, Beth thought.

  Giambi’s face lit up when she approached him. His eyes took her in as if he wanted to remember the moment forever. He cordially introduced both her and JD to his friends. Beth recognized a guy from a poker game in Aruba, but he didn’t appear to recognize her.

  She and JD took their seats at Giambi’s round table and made small talk with Giambi’s guests. Sitting between JD and Giambi during dinner, she sensed Giambi was seriously distracted. Several times he took calls, leaving the table each time, and when he returned he looked just a little tighter.