12. Final Justice

by Fern Michaels

  "Can you put a spin on it that will work for Bert? Then lay it to rest. We have other things to decorate our front page. Get back here as soon as you finish up with. . .uh, the ninjas. Does it go without saying you were the only reporter at the Lincoln Memorial?"

  "Yeah, I can make it work for Bert, and, yes, I and about fifty tourists and two cab drivers were the only ones to see all the action. I got their comments. You gonna run with this below the fold, right? The tourists aren't going to forget that experience for a long time."

  "You got it. Don't go heavy on the wording, do it with the pictures and reduce the comments to one-liners. You have thirty minutes, Joe."

  Maggie loved the word diversion.

  Back at her computer, she stared at the crazy-looking words Ted had sent her at the speed of light. She was probably the only person in the whole universe who could decipher Ted's mish-mash. She understood every symbol, every letter. All she had to do now was figure out how best to use the information to the vigilantes' advantage.

  Maggie stared at the picture of what Ted had called a human tank with whom Lizzie might or might not be smitten. She studied the figure from all angles and finally saw what might attract the lawyer. "Go get 'em, Lizzie. But make him sweat first," she mumbled.

  Her e-mail pinged. She moved her mouse and saw a download from Charles. As she read she got excited all over again.

  Chapter 14

  Retired Judge Cornelia Easter handed her small carry-on to Elias Cummings the moment they stepped off the plane. She wondered why she didn't feel nervous. Probably because her old and dear friend Elias was with her. For some reason, a man always seemed to make a difference. She corrected the thought. Sometimes they made a difference. Then again maybe she was calm because she just didn't give a tinker's damn about anything anymore.

  As she walked along with her companion, she thought about the last time she'd been in Las Vegas. At least twenty-five years ago. Then it had been ricky-ticky, sleazy and decadent, and the mob ruled. Today, it was a whole different world, if you believed what you saw on television. She did wish, though, that she knew more about why Charles wanted her and Elias to come here. And maybe get married in the bargain. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. An old shoe and an old sock getting together. There were worse things in the world, she decided. She liked Elias, and he liked her. They could be companions.

  She looked over at Elias when he veered to the side to speak to a man who could have doubled as a soccer ball. Her brows knit into a frown when she realized the two men seemed to know one another. As the outgoing director of the FBI, Elias knew a lot of people. She waited for an introduction that didn't look like it was going to happen. Elias cupped her elbow in his big hand and steered her toward a door that said CROWN ROOM.

  Inside, people milled around while drinking and eating. Laptops were open, others watching a big-screen TV. Elias handed his credit card and airline ticket to the girl in Reception, waited a minute, then stuffed both back in a jacket pocket.

  "Nellie, get some coffee and a sandwich or a drink. I won't be long."

  Nellie's head bobbed up and down. She moved off, knowing she was not to interfere. Otherwise, there would have been an introduction. She knew she'd never seen the man before. Who was he? Was this an accidental meeting or had it been arranged by Charles? She debated a moment about calling Charles to ask but decided to wait it out to see if Elias would confide in her once the meeting, if it was indeed a meeting, was over.

  Nellie carried her sandwich and coffee over to a table and sat down. Every newspaper known to man was on the table. At least she wouldn't be bored. And the sandwich was actually rather tasty. The coffee was delicious. The only problem was she couldn't smoke, and that irritated her.

  Across the room in what looked like a small alcove, Elias sat down and stared at Peter Udal, the president of the NGC. "It's been a long time, Peter."

  "Yes, a very long time. I did send you a Christmas card."

  "And I believe I sent one in return. Let's cut to the chase, Peter. Why this urgent meeting?"

  "The casinos are in trouble. A delegation came to my office about a month ago, hell, maybe it was six weeks ago, and told me some pretty bizarre tales. We got right on it, but so far we can't pin anything down. Elias, do you know anything about how this town operates?"

  "Only that the guys who run those casinos make boatloads of money every single day of the year, and that includes Christmas. I thought NGC was on top of things. Is this FBI business, or are you talking to me as an old friend? As of Friday I am no longer the director of the FBI. I can pave the way for a meeting with Navarro if you think it's advisable."

  The roly-poly man worked his lower lip as he pondered the offer. "It might come to that, but for the moment, talking to you might help me make my decision. I'd like to start off by saying we're rather desperate, and because of that, we might have done something really desperate. Time will tell."

  "How about a drink, Peter? I'll fetch it. What's your poison?"

  "Whiskey straight up."

  "Be right back."

  At the bar, Elias ordered the drinks and added two sandwiches to a plate. At the last second he snatched up a half dozen cookies because they looked ooey-gooey good, and he did like his sweets.

  Back at the table, Peter Udal reached for his drink and downed it in one long gulp.

  Elias knew the man was deadly serious.

  "I'm going to give you the short version, Elias. If I give you the long one, we'll be here till Elvis returns. It came to our attention a while back that a young lady was winning big in the casinos. On the slots. The biggest wins were at the Babylon. She was checked out and, as the saying goes, she's squeaky clean. I can't prove this, but she says the security at the Babylon roughed her up. She's a schoolteacher. She went to Harvard and is a Rhodes Scholar. She's working toward her PhD. She seems genuinely to love kids and is considered an excellent teacher. When we ran the check on her we found out she'd been very badly mugged, and her recovery was long and painful. There are no blemishes on her record at all. She's just your all-American kid from next door. I say kid because she's thirty-one. To me that's a kid.

  "Her first day back at work, a fellow teacher takes her out to dinner to celebrate, and they decide to stop at the Babylon and take in one of the shows and play a little on the slots. There is absolutely no sign that this young woman had ever frequented any of the casinos before. Or the friend, who is married with three little kids. She's as clean as Marble Rose Barnes. By the way, that's her name. I forget the friend's name.

  "Then Miss Barnes started going to the casinos on her own, maybe once a week, sometimes twice. We have video of her walking up and down the slot aisles as she looks for just the right machine to play. She eventually picks one and plays no more than fifty bucks in one night. She won every damn time except once, and she probably would have won that night, too, but she was rousted and kicked out. The lady won millions. The executives held meetings. They complained to us. We went to her, and she was very cooperative. I'd stake my life on it that she's just who she says she is, the luckiest damn woman in the world. The casinos aren't buying it. Especially Hank Owens at the Babylon because his place was hit the hardest. Owens is head of Babylon's security and meaner than a snake.

  "One night about three weeks ago, Miss Barnes showed up, and they did a snatch and grab. That's a lawsuit in the making. They did the wand thing, made her strip, with a female attendant in charge, of course, gave her new clothes to wear, made her wash her hair, remove all her jewelry, then sent her out on the floor with an army of security. She walks around for about twenty minutes before she finally settles down to one of the progressive machines. She had come in with a fifty-dollar bill. They confiscated her bill and gave her another fifty. You following me so far, Elias?"

  "Yes."

  "She plays an hour on the same bill. She wins a little, she loses a little. At the end of the hour, she's down forty-three bucks, then she hits. Big! To the tu
ne of $487,345. The floor goes nuts. She's scared, you can see her fear on the video. Hank Owens is like a caged lion. You can see that, too. The little miss takes her check and goes home.

  "That same night up and down the Strip people are winning like crazy. Everyone is beating the house. I formed a special committee, and we went back to the night Miss Barnes won her first jackpot. That's when the Strip started losing money. From then until now, the casinos are out a billion bucks. That's a lot of serious money, and they aren't taking it lightly."

  Elias washed down the last of his sandwich and reached for a cookie. "You must have a theory. I thought you guys had better protection than Homeland Security."

  "We do, goddammit. The girl's legit. She's just damn lucky, and the casinos have to suck it up. By the way, the girl's winnings are not included in the billion. That's an inside job. Believe it or not, this town is tighter than a duck's ass, and nothing goes unnoticed. So the casinos banded together, put out the word in the industry, and there's a million bucks sitting on the table for information leading to the arrest of whoever is responsible for the loss of the billion. So far no takers and no information. Every hour this continues the casinos are losing money. To be honest, Elias, we don't know what to do. Understand, I'm not proud of the fact that I'm coming to you. We should be able to contain this ourselves. I'm going to brag here and tell you we have the best of the best as far as legal counsel goes. I'm sure even you've heard of Cosmo Cricket."

  Elias frowned at the name but couldn't place him immediately. Finally, it dawned on him. "Ah, the big gentleman. The one with an addiction to cars. I did read something about him not too long ago. He bought some fancy car and paid almost $2 million for it. It made the papers in Washington. No one in his right mind pays that kind of money for a car. You're overpaying him, Peter."

  Peter Udal laughed. "Let me tell you about that special car. Actually, I think it made the front page of the paper this morning. Seems some hotshot female attorney from back East rammed into it. Right in the police parking lot. Not once, but twice. According to Cricket, the car is totaled. I think it just needs a new door, but what do I know? I drive a Jeep. It takes me where I need to go. Fancy cars are not something I have time to deal with."

  Elias felt his antenna go up. "Who was the attorney, do you know?"

  "Oh, yeah, her picture was in the paper. A real looker. Fox. Yeah, Fox was her name. She said the owner didn't know how to park and was over the white line. She even has a picture of Cricket's parked car and damn if it wasn't parked over the white line. Looks like his insurance company will be the one sucking it up. Why are you laughing, Elias? Oh, you know her, right?"

  Elias finished his drink. He wondered if Nellie was reading in the paper about Lizzie's foray into playing bumper cars. "In a manner of speaking. She's to the East Coast what your Mr. Cricket is to Nevada. If you're a betting man, put your chips on Fox."

  "That good, huh?"

  "That good, Peter."

  "Let me finish this so your companion doesn't get irked at you for letting her sit so long after a long plane ride. Over the past few weeks, Miss Barnes has filed numerous police reports. Her house was broken into. Her car was vandalized. She was fired from her job. And seven days ago there was an altercation outside the Babylon when she won another $300,000. This time she fought back and was arrested. Her attorney as of yesterday is the lawyer that smacked up Cricket's car. So, I guess she's in good hands."

  "The best."

  Udal took a deep breath. "Look, Elias, you can see how desperate I am here. I went so far as to try to contact those vigilantes, that's what I meant when I said we did something desperate. I know you had them on the FBI radar screen, so I was hoping you could. . .intercede for us. You must know with all your resources at the Bureau how to reach them or know someone who knows them. I offered a percentage of the recovery plus a flat ten-figure deal. That's a lot of scratch even for this town. Plus we don't want word getting out about all of this."

  Elias snorted. "And you think having the vigilantes invade Vegas won't somehow get out? What planet have you been living on, Peter? Just for the record, and as much as I hate to admit it, those damn women are smarter than our best agents. Jesus, they took down the acting director of the FBI, they went head to toe with the president of the World Bank, who has never been seen or heard of since they went after him. Those women are a legend in their own time. They have more money behind them than Fort Knox. They have people helping them from all over the world. I heard not too long ago they're guns for hire these days. I can't help you, Peter."

  "Oh, Christ, now I remember. That Fox woman. She's the one who defended the vigilantes before they skedaddled. They're like those goddamn ninjas that invaded your space. What's up with that, anyway?"

  "Some kind of publicity stunt would be my guess. Yeah, yeah, they broke into our FBI lab and stole some ashes. Yeah, yeah, we were asleep at the switch. I admit it. Let's not beat a dead horse here, Peter."

  "So you won't help me."

  "Not won't. Can't. Is there more, something you haven't told me?" Not that he cared one whit, he just wanted to get away before he tripped himself up somehow.

  "I suppose. Homer Winters is the sole owner of the Babylon. For the past few years he's been living on Chesapeake Bay near his two daughters. He was hands-on 24/7 until his twin daughters gave him an ultimatum. They want nothing to do with the gambling industry; they say it's sinful and unhealthy. For a few years they wouldn't allow Homer to see his four grandchildren. They told him to give it up or to get out of their lives. It was a hard decision for that old bird, but he buckled. He's eighty-six, time for him to retire, anyway. His two sons-in-law wanted nothing to do with the business, so what the old gent did was pretty much turn it over to Hank Owens and his inside ring to run. There was a condition, though, and that was that Owens had to put the Babylon on the map by doing things for the community. That was to appease the daughters.

  "You probably don't know this, but yesterday Owens made an announcement that the Babylon was going to host a gala to celebrate the Paiutes winning an exhibition softball game. The whole world is invited, and he pledged a million dollars for breast cancer research. The teams that compete are all made up of doctors, nurses, patients, and medical personnel. The members of the NGC pledged $5 million. This morning the Babylon stepped up to the plate and changed the amount and met our pledge. Stuff like that makes Homer and his daughters happy.

  "The Babylon is also hosting a martial-arts exhibition. I'm not sure where the entry fees go. I think some children's organization. The Babylon gives out free space, food, drinks, and publicizes it. They seem to do something every week. The NGC thinks it's all a cover-up. It's my personal opinion that all good deeds are a smoke screen when it comes to Vegas.

  "Hank Owens is ex-military, Delta Force is what I'm told and, like I said, meaner than a snake. His inner ring is just as ruthless. The man runs a tight ship. We have an expression out here that pretty much sums up what we're all about. We're on him like stink on a skunk, but we can't get him. We tried sending a couple of our guys up to see Homer, but he was clamming with his grandkids and wouldn't give us the time of day other than to say we should take it up with Hank Owens. There wasn't anything we could do after that. Personally, I think Homer is senile. But, that's just my opinion."

  "So you think Owens is the one ripping off the Strip and using Miss Barnes as a cover? I didn't think it could happen again after those MIT card counters walked away with $10 million, but maybe it is."

  "Nothing else makes sense. Cosmo is on it, but he's coming up dry. Now do you see why I need to reach the vigilantes?"

  Elias pretended to look thoughtful. "Best-case scenario, Peter, what do you see those women doing to Owens and his inner ring?"

  "Cutting off their dicks and jamming them up their asses." Peter shrugged. "I didn't get that far in my thinking. Hell, look what they did to the national security advisor. Who were those guys with the dynamite up their asses? Christ, I can't
remember anything these days. So, you aren't going to help me, then?"

  "Do you want me to ask Navarro to come out here on the Q.T. with a team of agents? That I can do. He's had run-ins with the vigilantes. It's the best I can do, Peter. Listen, I have to go. Good luck."

  Udal nodded glumly.

  Then Elias leaned over, and whispered, "You didn't hear this from me, okay?" Udal nodded. "Your best bet is to get to Lizzie Fox, and when you do, you better have a very HIGH dollar amount in mind. Play straight with her, and I can almost guarantee the vigilantes will be in your sights in a heartbeat."

  Udal looked up, and whatever he saw in Elias's expression seemed to satisfy him. All he could say was, "How high? You got a phone number?"

  Elias laughed. "High enough so you don't embarrass yourself, and high enough so you and your commission lose sleep for a very long time. Your mouthpiece, Cricket, has the phone number. Get it from him."

  "That high, huh?"

  "Yep. See ya, Peter."

  "Yeah, see ya, Elias."

  Peter Udal walked over to the bar for a fresh drink after Elias and the lady he was with left the room. He sat back down and did some people-watching, his mind on other things. What kind of number would embarrass him and cause him to lose sleep for a very long time? Elias had said to play straight with Fox. Just for the barest second he wondered how straight was straight. Damn straight, he decided. He jerked at his cell phone, powered up, and when the gruff voice said hello, he replied, "Give me the Fox woman's phone number." It wasn't a request, it was an order, and Cosmo Cricket recognized it as such.

  Cricket rattled off the numbers. "Peter, I think I'm capable of handling my car problems. I don't need you to intercede on my behalf. I am, after all, a lawyer."

  "So is she," Udal barked. "Who said anything about intervening on your behalf? If you're stupid enough to spend that kind of money on a car, you need to cover it in bubble wrap before you take it out on the road. Is there anything else I need to know at the moment?"