Currents of Sin

by Arleen Alleman

  “I know, I can’t believe I’ve been in Vegas for twelve days and still can’t leave. I know what you mean about Sid, but her real problems haven’t even begun. Now it’s all about her. Do you understand?”

  He sighed. “Of course I do. I’ll have to get back to work soon, and it would just be nice to know how long you’re going to stay here.”

  The intensity of his hazel gaze told me that he was seeking a serious, realistic answer, and I knew he deserved one. Just as I tried to collect my scattered thoughts, which might have to include my desire to return to Florida at some point, I was saved by the cell bell.

  The call came from Don’s landline. I hadn’t talked to him in a few days and dreaded having to rehash Pammie’s fate—whatever might have happened to her.

  “It’s Don. I think I should talk to him.”

  Mick nodded and flopped onto his back.

  “Hi, Don.”

  “Darcy, I can’t believe this. You have to listen to this message.”

  “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

  “I think it’s Pammie. Charlie thinks so too. Please you have to help us figure out what she’s saying.”

  “What! Pammie called you? From where?”

  “No idea, and I don’t recognize the number. I’m sure it’s a cell. I almost deleted the message, and I’m not sure why I listened to it so many times. It finally dawned on me that it could be her. But something is wrong. If it is her, she’s sick or something. Just listen to this. I’m going to play the message she left on my cell. I made out a couple of words, but I want to get your take on it.”

  My stomach rolled over as I processed what he was telling me. “Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Although I felt as if I knew her, the fact was we’d never met. I had no idea what her voice sounded like, but I pressed the phone to my ear and held my breath as I concentrated on the few seconds of recording. A girl was whispering and also speaking rapidly. The way it ended might indicate that the girl was ill as Don suggested, but to me, it sounded more like someone interrupted her midsentence. Hairs on my neck quivered as I tried to picture the lonely girl Don and Charlie tried so hard to help. Could this be her?

  “I think the word ‘help’ was clear, and I also thought I heard ‘drug.’”

  Don agreed. “Yes, those are the only two words I can make out.”

  He played it three more times in quick succession, and I activated the speaker so Mick could hear as well. On the third round, just before she was cut off, I suddenly recognized part of another word. A shiver ran down my spine. Mick was already squinting at me as he concentrated on the message. My change in expression caused him to sit up and move closer.

  “Oh my god, I think she said Athens. Don, that could be Athens Olympia—Paul Denezza’s old hotel.”

  Mick mouthed the words “could be.”

  Don played the message one more time. “I guess it could be that, but I’m not sure I hear it. Maybe it’s because it isn’t as familiar to me.”

  “Listen, Don, over the past few days, we’ve learned that some sort of prostitution ring is operating out of there. This can’t be coincidental.”

  “My god, I almost erased it. I can’t or don’t want to imagine what horrible situation she could be in based on what you’ve found out about the trafficking. I should come back to Vegas.” He was breathless, and I could hear Charlie talking to him in an excited tone.

  “If Pammie is being held at the hotel, it is horrible. But frankly, I was afraid she’d been shipped overseas, and that would be far worse. The guys on the Strip are apparently rivals of the Asian gang downtown where she used to stay, so there could be a connection. If she’s out on the Strip, we can get her back. If that happens, of course you should come. But why don’t you wait until we know for sure?”

  I didn’t share the rest of my thoughts. With satellite technology, the call could have come from the other side of the world, and I could be mistaken about the Athens reference.

  61

  Day 14

  At six o’clock in the evening, two days after Don’s illuminating call, Mick slipped onto a barstool in the casino at Athens Olympia and nonchalantly ordered a beer. I, on the other hand, tried to make myself inconspicuous at the far end of the casino near an outside door. I didn’t think it would be helpful if Nate Mirabelle found out I was back for another visit.

  We were there to pull off another deception. Despite the success of the deli caper, this time, Hollister was a little more reluctant. After several discussions and exchanges of information, he finally agreed to go along with us. It turned out that since my first meeting with him, he’d read my investigative reporting pieces and excerpts from the books. He seemed impressed with our previous crime-solving efforts, and that meant a lot coming from him.

  When we showed Pammie’s photo to Marta, she shrugged at first, then said she thought it was a girl she met at the hotel. She believed she’d heard the men refer to her as Lyla, but couldn’t be sure. All the girls were given new names when they arrived, she said, and were not allowed to ever use their real ones. They were not allowed much contact with one another either. Although we didn’t know for sure that Pammie was even at Athens Olympia, Lyla seemed like a good place to start.

  We explained all of this to Hollister as well as the phone message that we were fairly certain had come from Pammie and in which she might have mentioned Athens.

  Hollister put that together with information about the Strip prostitution operation provided by reluctant witnesses, primarily johns, and with Lucy’s and Marta’s confessions. More recently, Curtis reported that the gang knew about the Athens connection and were making plans to retrieve their merchandise from Mirabelle. Hollister intended to get there first.

  After checking with his superior, Lieutenant Fielding, Hollister acquiesced to our participation in setting up a raid as long as his people knew what was happening with us at every moment. This was simply an escalation of Metro’s plan to see for themselves what was going on at the hotel.

  That is how Mick came to be wearing a nearly invisible two-way Bluetooth communication device, which scared the shit out of me. With the wireless device hidden inside his ear canal and a miniature cell phone in his pocket, he could hear everything the detectives said. They could also speak to him without anyone else hearing. Still, in order for him to communicate with them, a tiny microphone attached to a wire was threaded through his clothing. The mic was nestled against his chest under his shirt, and that worried me the most.

  Supposedly the world’s smallest headset, it sounded safe enough. But if someone detected his high-tech cellular communication gear, he would be in trouble even if the cops were able to get to him quickly.

  And so a half hour earlier, Mick checked into the hotel wearing expensive sports attire from the Metro undercover wardrobe section. The five-hundred-dollar designer jeans looked fabulous on him, and I particularly liked the classy, sexy brown-and-green butterfly-print Valentino polo shirt that came with a six-hundred-dollar tag. He’s a great-looking guy, if a bit conservative, and the hip clothes definitely upped his game.

  Then we went upstairs to his room to leave his suitcase in the closet and immediately returned to the casino to go our separate ways.

  Looking every bit like a wealthy whale, Mick sipped his beer and chatted—make that flirted—with the cute bartender. Before taking up residence near the door for a quick getaway, I circled around the perimeter of the casino, keeping my eyes peeled for security.

  There was no way to avoid the ubiquitous cameras, so I chose an ensemble that was considerably lower end than Mick’s. I opted for no makeup other than a little mascara and pulled a ball cap low on my forehead. I wore faded jeans and a lightweight yellow sweatshirt—my go-to color for emotional support. I hoped no one, particularly Nate Mirabelle, would recognize me.

  As I circled around trying
to look like a bewildered tourist, I noticed groups of security guards loitering just inside the doors. Something was going on in addition to our subterfuge.

  62

  Mick wondered if it was too much of a stretch for him to play a wealthy guest and high roller. Darcy assured him he looked the part, and all he had to do was behave like one. He was trying out his acting skills on the attractive bartender. Her name tag read Bonnie, and she was, with light-brown spiky hair above a delightful round impish face not yet marred by age and occupation.

  Whenever she came around to his side of the bar, she leaned her ample cleavage over it a little more than necessary to give him a fresh cocktail napkin or just to facilitate more intimate conversation.

  She smiled, showing him her perfectly aligned white teeth, which lit up the depressing ambiance of cigarette smoke and booze. “How long will you be staying with us?”

  Mick was unimpressed by the opulent, but artificial, gold and white décor and furnishings. He hoped to accomplish his mission quickly and get the hell out. He resisted the temptation to look around to see if he could spot Darcy and instead concentrated his attention on Bonnie.

  “Three days. I’m entered in the poker tournament.”

  “Cool, I love watching the play after I get off my shift. Maybe I’ll come over to the cardroom tonight and see how you’re doing.” She smiled again, this time more seductively.

  Oh shit, he thought. I need to cut this off. What did it matter, though, since he and Darcy would be long gone by the time the tournament started—he hoped. The problem was this conversation was not following the trail he intended, and he needed to get it back on track.

  “Yeah, okay, that would be nice. I’ll be a little preoccupied, though. I really want to relax and get rid of some tension before the game starts. You know what I mean?” He gave her a sexy grin and swigged his beer. Then he glanced around the immediate area. “In fact, I want to contact someone in the hotel, but I’m not sure how to go about it.”

  She appeared to be watching his mouth while he talked, which unnerved him. When she didn’t respond, he wondered if he’d made her angry.

  “Look,” he said, giving her a direct one, “I just want to know how I can arrange to see a girl who works out of the hotel, if you know what I mean.”

  Bonnie sighed and moved down the bar to replenish a customer’s drink. When she came back around, her friendly smile was back.

  “I’ll make a call for you,” she told him quietly.

  She picked up a phone sitting next to the cash register and made a call. After speaking to someone quickly and quietly, she hung up. Mick couldn’t hear what she said, but within five minutes, a tall muscular dark-haired man in a business suit with a dark blue shirt and matching white silk tie and handkerchief dropped his bulk onto the stool next to his.

  Mick glanced at him, then looked down at his drink. He noted that the man’s skin was bronzed, either from too much sun or an effective tanning cream. Sensing Mick’s attention, the man turned to him. His expression was pleasant enough, and he obviously worked at the hotel. He was not a tourist. Mick looked over at him again and nodded a greeting.

  “How you doing?” he offered, not sure of the proper protocol for the situation.

  The man stared at him for a moment. Then he blinked and shifted in his seat so that he was facing Mick more directly.

  “You staying at the hotel?” The big man’s voice was deep and husky, but surprisingly friendly.

  “Yes, I checked in a little while ago.”

  “What are you asking for?” He gestured toward Bonnie, who was chatting with a customer at the other side of the bar.

  Mick nodded. “Oh, okay. I see. I met a guy who stays here a lot, and he told me about a girl he, um, met in the hotel. He was very impressed and said I should look her up—that she was quite a piece. Said her name was Lyla.”

  “Yeah? And who was this guy?”

  Thankfully, Mick had anticipated this question. He shrugged and gave a look he hoped would indicate disinterest. “No idea. I met him on the plane coming here from DC.”

  The man stared down at his cuff for so long Mick was afraid he’d said something to cause suspicion. Then the man turned his head and grinned at Mick and blinked.

  “I know who you mean, and I can arrange a meeting for you. How about nine o’clock?”

  Mick knew the poker game he was using for his cover didn’t start until eleven, so he agreed. The nameless man gave him a room number, then slid off the stool and walked away. After finishing his beer at a leisurely pace, Mick left Bonnie a smile and a fat tip. Then he went to find Darcy.

  63

  “Have fun over there? She looked pretty cute.”

  I couldn’t resist teasing him, knowing how nervous he’d been about his role play as a potential john.

  “Actually, I think I might be ready for the big screen. I got her room number and an appointment. Not the bartender.” He blushed a little. “I mean Lyla. I sure hope it’s Pammie after all this.

  “Some big well-dressed guy came over and asked me a couple of questions before he gave me Lyla’s room number.”

  “A big guy? Was he nice looking, and did he have an odd way of blinking when he spoke?”

  “How did you know? Oh, you think it was Mirabelle?”

  “Sounds like him. I hope you looked closely so you can describe him or pick him out of a lineup. I can’t believe he’s directly pimping.” I playfully jabbed his ribs.

  We went upstairs to Mick’s room, and he called Detective Hollister. After Mick explained his success with the bartender and possibly Mirabelle himself, Hollister finalized the plan. Three detectives and several police officers, along with a SWAT team, would arrive at the hotel around the time Mick went to meet Lyla.

  They would wait for him to tell them the layout of the rooms involved in the operation. He was supposed to learn all he could from Lyla, including how many girls and how many guards were on the floor. It was imperative to make sure the women were made safe before the police raid began.

  Earlier, Mick called Grant Murray to let him know what was happening. Grant said he would coordinate with Hollister vis-à-vis the joint task force and send a couple of agents to the hotel as well.

  Everything was going smoothly so far, but after his conversation with Hollister, Mick seemed preoccupied. I figured he was still nervous about what he had to do later. Pulling him down on the bed beside me, I entwined my legs with his and kissed his ear.

  “What would you like to do for the next couple of hours before your date?”

  He turned to me and grinned but quickly lay back and stared at the ceiling. “I want to make love to you, sweetie,” he said quietly. “This is kinda romantic.” He waved his arm around the nicely appointed room.

  “But?”

  He rolled back to face me. “I know how this will probably go, but I need to say it anyway.” He stroked the side of my face. “I love you so much. I want to apologize again for being such a dickhead for the past few months. Maybe I’m encouraged by hearing that Rachael is thinking of coming back. Anyway, I’m optimistic about the future, for us anyway. Sid and Brooks are a different story.”

  “I know. I’m sick about her. It’s the kind of thing that causes people to say they never thought it could happen to them. But you know, Mick, it’s actually more amazing that horrendous things like that don’t happen all the time to people we know. I’m just saying that the world is so incredibly dangerous, we’re lucky to be intact.”

  “Yeah, I see that. But don’t forget all the unbelievable, crazy things that did happen to us over the past few years. Huh, I guess I’m proving your point because we’ve come through all the trauma in pretty good shape.”

  I wondered what all this talk was for when I wanted to have sex with my adorable husband. Then I found out.

  “Darcy, please don’t get angry
…”

  Uh-oh, not a good opener. “I’ll try.”

  “This thing that’s going down tonight, especially the police raid, will be dangerous. I don’t think these guys are going down without a fight. I’m not really worried about myself because I’ll be locked in the room with Lyla—hopefully Pammie—until it’s over. Please promise me you’ll stay here and wait for me. I don’t want you to go up there.”

  He waited for my answer while I wondered how many times we’d had this same conversation over the years. The last thing I wanted was an argument, far from it. Digging deep for the right words, I wriggled my body up against him and kissed his incredibly responsive soft lips. The familiar feeling of arousal started working its way up from my toes.

  “Honey, this is the reaction you always have in these situations because you are so worried about me. But you know, I’m just as worried about you—”

  He started to interrupt me. “No, don’t say you can take care of yourself. I think I’ve proven I’m capable of that as well. Like always, we’re a team, aren’t we? We’ve come through a lot of violent situations because we stuck together. Do you see that? Besides, in this case, it can’t hurt to have another person monitoring the communication.”

  He sighed and kissed me more earnestly. “When you put it that way,” he mumbled, “you’re impossible to argue with.”

  “Maybe that’s true when I’m making a good point.”

  Between the incredible sex and our little chat, we came to a meeting of the minds that satisfied both of us. After sharing a leisurely intimate shower, we ordered sandwiches and seltzers from room service and tried to relax.

  At five till nine, we left the room and took the elevator to the twelfth floor. We’d studied a layout of the guest room floors, which were all similar. Four long hallways formed a rectangle around the outside of the building, with the west side facing the Strip. Rooms lined both sides of the halls all the way around as well as down two interior halls that connected the east and west sides. Two elevators and stairwells were located at opposite corners of the building.