"Yes. And you are?"
"The person you wanted to see. Please, I have a table over here." When they arrived Lizzie said, "This is my assistant," deliberately not mentioning Ted's name. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No. Thank you for asking. I'd like to get right to business."
"Do you think this location is a wise choice?" Lizzie asked quietly.
"Probably not. There are eyes and ears everywhere in this town. One place is as good as any other, I guess. That's just my opinion, of course. I wasn't sure if they would send someone. You're from. . ."
Lizzie interrupted her. "In a manner of speaking."
The dowager looked around. "Yes, yes, I understand."
Lizzie sized up the older woman within seconds. Rich but understated. Well groomed, pampered. Several face-lifts. One artificial hairpiece that was almost undetectable. Thin. She was probably into Pilates. She looked the type.
"Are you a. . .?"
Lizzie interrupted again, and said, "Yes." She looked over at Ted, who had his cell phone in his hand. He mumbled something that sounded like sorry, as he turned away to take his fake call. Lizzie knew that he was actually taking a picture of Ms. Preston.
Beatrice-with-eight-other-names Preston was nervous. Suddenly her head snapped back, and she said, "I see you're almost finished with your drinks. I've changed my mind about staying here. My car and driver are outside circling. I'll call him to meet us at the entrance, and we can talk in the car if that's all right with you."
Lizzie shrugged, finished her drink with one swallow, then slipped on the gold suede jacket as Beatrice Preston made her phone call. Ted set his beer bottle back on the napkin and got up. Neither looked surprised at the change in plans.
Beatrice moved quickly as she led the way through the maze of people and rows of machines and tables. "They're everywhere. They don't look like security. See that person with the dreadlocks? He's security."
"How do you know that?" Lizzie asked as she trailed alongside the older woman.
"I see things. They know you're here. Now they know you're with me. We're already on video. Right now they're running facial recognition checks on the two of you. They already know who I am. Meeting here was a mistake. I should have known better," Beatrice Preston said fretfully. "I'm sorry, I'm usually more in control. This place, these people, they unnerve me."
Lizzie was relieved when they reached the front door. She turned around to take a last look at what was going on behind her. Everything looked exactly the way it had when they had first entered the casino. Maybe there were a few more people, but it was hard to tell. The casino's security people were good. She knew once they got outside it wouldn't be any different. In this day of satellites and microtransmitters, unseen eyes and ears could follow them everywhere, if what Ted said was true about security in Vegas being better than the technology Homeland Security had at its fingertips.
Within seconds, the trio was in a luxurious Bentley driven by an older man dressed in a spiffy uniform.
"Adam, just drive us around until I tell you to bring us back here." She turned to Lizzie, and said, "Please don't worry about Adam, he's been with me for over thirty years. He's entirely trustworthy. He. . .uh. . .sweeps the car several times a day. We can speak freely and openly. A word to the wise, young lady. If you're registered at the Babylon, those people will be spying on you. Adam tells me they slip something called parabolic microphones and cameras under doors, or they have pinholes in the wall that are almost impossible to detect. In this town you are either part of the problem or part of the solution."
Lizzie leaned back and crossed her legs. She certainly was getting a lot of information that was a tad on the worrisome side. Maybe she should call Rena Gold to secure other accommodations. She smiled when she thought of Rena and her role in the vigilantes' takedown of the president of the World Bank. She'd promised to help the vigilantes here in her home base if they ever needed her help. She rather doubted Rena would be expecting a request from her benefactors so quickly, but Lizzie knew she'd rise to the occasion.
"I'd like to hire you to help my daughter. The fact that you're here must mean those. . .ladies have seriously considered my request. You look so familiar to me. Have we ever met?"
"No, we've never met, Ms. Preston. My name is Lizzie Fox, and this is my associate, Ted Robinson."
Lizzie watched as the older woman mulled over the names but finally gave up when she couldn't place either name. "My daughter is in jail. I'd like you to get her out of there as soon as possible. Back there in the casino I told you that I see things. I mean that literally. My mother and my grandmother had the same ability. I think my daughter has the same. . .curse. I don't know for sure because. . .well, because I thought. . .What I did was estrange myself from her, literally from birth, hoping it wouldn't rub off because I. . .I don't understand any of it. My mother didn't understand it, either. We just have it, the ability to see things at times that other people can't see. I don't like to say we can predict the future, we can't. We see things a few seconds before events happen. Sometimes within the hour. I don't know what triggers those moments. Certainly not stress. Most of the time they happen when I'm at rest or just at peace with my life. I'm sorry to burden you with this, and I'm sure you think I must be demented. I'm not. I almost wish I was.
"While I am estranged from my daughter, it doesn't mean I don't love her or care about her. I have people who have watched her every hour of her entire life. Of course she doesn't know this. While most people wouldn't understand my reasoning, I say they don't have to live with this abominable curse, and if doing what I did for her meant she would escape being plagued with it, that's all that matters. Before you can ask, I've been all over the world seeking help. I've had every test known to man. I've seen every person in the field, and no one was able to help me. Experts are the ones who told me to remove myself from my daughter's life so, possibly, just possibly, she wouldn't be affected."
"And was she?" Lizzie asked. She couldn't help but wonder if the woman was demented. She looked at her in the dimness of the car and decided she was the real McCoy. Lizzie took great pride in her judgments of people and was rarely, if ever, wrong.
"I thought so until this gambling issue came up. But the gambling problem only came about after my daughter was mugged and suffered a head trauma. Her recovery was a long one. That's when she took up. . .gambling. Before then, in all the time she's lived here, she'd never once gone to a casino. She wins. All the time. Then she gives away the money. The casinos went after her, thinking she was cheating and beating the system, but they couldn't prove anything. They took her to one of their secret rooms, where they questioned her for hours and hours. They started following her, invading her privacy. Last year she was named Teacher of the Year by her school. Yet they managed to get her fired from her teaching job. These people are very powerful; they can do whatever they want. I'm talking about casino security when I say the 'people' are powerful. Marble Rose has been a victim several times. Someone hijacked her car. Another time someone broke into her house. The brakes on her car were tampered with, and yet those damn people never barred her from the casino. That's what doesn't make sense to me."
"Why didn't your daughter go to a lawyer?" Lizzie asked, as her agile brain sifted and collated what she was hearing.
"She did go to a lawyer. Actually she went to over a dozen lawyers, but as soon as they heard it was a casino problem, they either weren't taking on new clients or they flat-out refused to help her.
"She finally found one who asked for a twenty-five-thousand-dollar retainer, which she paid, and within a month he was gone. He put a sign on the door of his office and one on his house, saying that due to a family emergency he would be unavailable indefinitely. He took the time to assign all his other cases to other colleagues, with the exception of my daughter's case. She found out when she went to his office after her calls were not returned. The man prepaid his house bills and has not been seen since. It's over a month now that he's bee
n AWOL. One would have to be a fool not to think the casinos' muscle got to him."
Ted leaned over and asked, "Can't you. . .tune in, or whatever you do, or however it works, to find out where he is?"
Beatrice Preston sighed. "It doesn't work that way. I wish it did. I had one. . .vision of her sitting in jail. That's how I know she's there."
"Why is your daughter in jail?" Lizzie asked.
Beatrice Preston looked at Lizzie like she had sprouted a second head. "I just told you, they say she isn't in jail. Therefore, she isn't charged with anything."
Lizzie waited a full minute before she answered. "I have to talk to your daughter first. I'll go to the county jail tomorrow to see what I can find out."
"Fair enough. What about. . .you know who?"
Lizzie waited another minute before she responded. "That can't be true, Ms. Preston. Maybe she's booked under another name. If the police don't charge you, they have to release you. It's the law. It would help me to know what it is you expect, what it is precisely that you want me to do."
"Try telling that to the police. I'm sure casino security and the local police work in tandem. That's another way of saying the cops, at least some of them, are on the casinos' payroll. Everyone knows it, they just don't talk about it out loud. I want you to get me out of here and. . .take care of whomever is responsible for putting me here."
"What about the newspapers? Did you try going to them to ask for help? Did you file a missing person's report?"
"My daughter won a great deal of money at various casinos, but she doesn't come close to those math whizzes from MIT who reportedly took more than $10 million from the casinos in the nineties. They got away with it. My daughter just played slot machines," Beatrice Preston said defiantly. "When you have a gambling house, you are going to have winners, and you will have losers. She won, it's that simple, and those people are trying to. . .I don't know what they're trying to do, but she's in jail, so that has to mean something. Look, I'm desperate with nowhere to turn. I know that my daughter is in jail."
Lizzie's mind was racing. This was right up there with. . .no point in going there. No two cases were the same. If she took this case, assuming there was a case to take, it was going to be a challenge, she could feel it in her bones. "Like I said, Ms. Preston, I have to speak with your daughter, but I can't do that until I find her. Have you given any thought to speaking with your daughter? Perhaps the two of you could make amends."
"I think about it twenty-four hours a day, Miss Fox. My daughter refuses to speak with me. It's that simple. I cannot unring that bell."
Lizzie felt her eyes grow moist as she thought about Annie, and how she now had an official adoptive mother. Nothing in the whole wide world could replace a mother in a child's mind. Nothing. She said so.
"Yes, I know. I'm sure I will go to hell on a greased slide for what I've done, but I did what I thought best to spare my child what I had to go through. Perhaps someday, after I'm gone, she'll understand. I plan to leave a letter with my lawyer to read to her. It's all I can do.
"So if there's nothing else, we should get you back to the hotel. You have my cell phone number. Please call tomorrow to tell me what is going on. Even if it's bad news. Bill me when you're ready and please remember what I said about securing other accommodations."
Beatrice Preston leaned forward, and said, "Adam, please take us back to the Babylon."
There were a thousand questions swirling around inside Lizzie's head. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Ted text messaged someone. A satisfied expression was on his face. She looked down at her watch. She had five minutes before she had to flip her tape.
"Traffic in this town is atrocious. You need to leave a full hour ahead of time if you want to reach a specific destination at an appointed time," Beatrice said, as though they were friends and had just met.
"How long have you been here?" Lizzie asked.
"Tomorrow it will be a month. I'm staying with a friend. If you agree to represent my daughter, I'll leave so as not to get in your way or give my daughter a reason to balk. I think it will be better if I'm not a presence here."
"Do you love your daughter, Ms. Preston?" Lizzie was sorry she asked the question when she saw the naked longing on the older woman's face. She thought about Annie and Myra and how they'd lost their children.
"Only God knows how much I love my daughter and what a hell I've lived all these years, and yet if I had to, I'd do it all over again to protect her."
When the Bentley slid to the curb, Adam got out and walked around to open the door. Ted hopped out first.
Beatrice reached out to Lizzie and asked, "Could you please deliver a message for me to Myra and Anna? I don't know, does she still go by Anna—or Annie? As a child, I called her Annie. Tell them. . .tell them I'm sorry for their loss. I wanted to call so many times but was afraid to intrude. It had been so many years. And tell them their secret is safe with me. Can you do that for me, Miss Fox?"
"Yes, ma'am, I can do that for you."
Lizzie and Ted stepped out into the dark night and the Bentley pulled away from the curb. She looked up at the riot of stars overhead. Ted was still text messaging. She tapped his shoulder to get his attention. He finished his message and slipped his BlackBerry into his pocket.
"You said something about going to the newspapers. Is that still your plan?"
"Yep. Why? Oh, the walk we were going to take so I could clue you in on this Devil's Paradise. How about we do that later? We have all night. I should be back by midnight. If I'm onto something hot, I'll call you."
"I'm going to check out of here and secure other accommodations. I'll give you a call as soon as I nail something down."
"You going to be okay by yourself, Lizzie?"
"I think so, Ted. I'm a big girl."
"You know what, I liked the old gal. I'm a pretty good judge of character, Lizzie. She hurts. She's in pain. I think you and the vigilantes should help her. And the daughter. Don't look at me like that. I know, okay? So don't try feeding me any of that bullshit about being left holding the bag that day in court when you represented the vigilantes. From that day on you were one of them. Like the old lady said, your secret is safe with me. Hard to believe but true. Go get 'em, Counselor," Ted said, as a cab slid to the curb and he climbed in. "Call me."
Lizzie walked away from the entrance, then turned her back as she whipped out her cell phone and scrolled down until she found the number she wanted. She pressed in the digits and waited a moment to see if she'd get a message or Rena Gold herself. When she heard the soft-voiced greeting, she said, "This is Lizzie Fox. I need a place to stay while I'm in town. I have a male associate with me. Right now I'm outside the Babylon, but when I finish this call, I'm going to check out. Can you help me out?"
Without missing a beat the soft voice said, "Give me an hour, and I'll pick you up in front of the casino. How is. . .?"
"Everyone is fine. They all send their regards. See you in an hour."
Lizzie powered down, then fired up a cigarette. She usually didn't smoke, and when she did light up, she never inhaled. Most times it was just a ploy until she got the lay of the land. Before she could even take one puff on the cigarette, three men were on her like stink on a skunk, asking her to put out her cigarette. She thought about giving them an argument but decided against it. They let guests smoke inside while they gambled, but they wouldn't let them smoke outside. She chalked up the encounter for use at some point in the future. She crushed out the offending cigarette and sashayed into the casino, a wicked smile playing around her lips.
Upstairs, in one of the secret rooms, three men stared at the monitor that covered the entrance. A man monitoring the huge front door of the casino stared at the picture of Lizzie sauntering through the casino. She turned at one point and stood perfectly still, as though she were posing for a photo shoot. She deliberately did a slow turn so that every camera in the casino could get her full face, profile, as well as her back. She offered up a m
egawatt smile and waved before she headed for the slot machine whose numbers had last read $188,311. The numbers now read $195,832. She stopped, rummaged in her purse, and slid a ten-dollar bill into the slot. Unlike Ted, there was no return on her investment. She walked away, her gaze everywhere.
The man staring at the monitor that looked like it was featuring Lizzie Fox turned to his colleagues. "It's her! I knew it! She knows we're watching her. Gentlemen, this is one lady you don't want to mess with. She's the one who took on Renzo Savarone and lived to tell about it. There can only be one reason she's here. Dwayne, call the boss and arrange a meeting. I think he's out on the floor. I need to know how he wants to play this."
"Hold on, Mike, hold on. Looks to me like she's going to check out. That doesn't make any sense. She just checked in midafternoon. Yep, she's checking out. I can read the numbers on her credit card. It's a black one. The lady has resources. Okay, a bellman is going with her. You sure you want me to call the boss?"
"Hell, yes, I'm sure. What happened to the guy she checked in with?"
"He took a cab and was just dropped off at the Las Vegas Review-Journal. His name is Ted Robinson, and he works for the Post in Washington, D.C. He got real chatty with the driver. Told you it was worth it to put those cabbies on the payroll. Like you said, he checked in with the woman. I don't think they're an item—probably she's his boss or something like that. I assume she's checking him out, too, since they had a suite. We'll know when we see the bellman bringing down the bags."
Mike Oliver, one of the Babylon's best security agents, moved his 290-pound girth to the other side of the room to a monitor that covered the elevator Lizzie and the bellman were in. He watched, fascinated at the woman's boldness as she offered up a single-digit salute behind the bellman's back. The smile on her face made his blood run cold.
"Balls to the wall, boys," he muttered under his breath.
Chapter 8
Every bone in Elias Cummings's body ached. He moved gingerly in his well-padded chair as he kept his eyes on the colorful front page of the Post. He'd read every single word on the entire front page. Some of them twice. He probably could have recited the different articles verbatim if his feet were to the fire. Very clever of Maggie Spritzer to keep everything contained on one page, no flipping to the inside and searching for the end of an article.
Final Justice Page 7