Saint Heist

by W H Lock

  Chapter Three

  Quinn had always liked the Bellagio over the other casinos in Vegas. It had an elegant more traditional look to the casino floor. The vaulted ceilings were under-lit with a soft light that gave the room a golden hue. The stained glass panels in the arches overhead in the section for the Blackjack tables made Quinn feel like he was in an almost holy place. He could feel the energy and vibrancy of Vegas through the soles of his shoes.

  For decades people had been coming here in search of wealth, in one form or another. They left little pieces of themselves behind in every wish made over dice before they were thrown, in every silent prayer over the cards, in each time the lever was pulled on a slot machine. Places like the Bellagio were steeped in that energy. Energy a sorcerer could use. If he were the careful sort.

  The human mafia had started Vegas, but once it started producing both money and energy, it hadn't taken long before the dragons had taken control of the city for themselves. Once the Dragon families had stopped waging secret wars against each other for control of Los Vegas and split it equally amongst themselves, Vegas had become a great place to visit. Rumor had it that each of the seven dragons in North America had their own personal villa perched atop one of the tallest buildings but faced in a way so that they couldn't see each other.

  Quinn took the private executive elevator down to the restaurant level of the Bellagio. The hotel concierge that came with the room had already made reservations for him at Picasso, one of the only Michelin rated restaurants in the United States. The hostess at the front of the restaurant gave Quinn a long slow look of approval before her face settled into a professionally happy to see his expression.

  "You should have a reservation under the name Quinn," he said. Quinn unconsciously adjusted the cuffs on his new white dinner jacket.

  Without looking down, the hostess nodded and said, "We've been expecting you. Your table on the terrace has been on hold. Follow me, please."

  She turned and led Quinn through the central hall of the restaurant. The arched ceiling was covered clay pots, and the walls were lined with wine racks. The dining room was filled with small tables. The stark white china settings on a matching white table only served to enhance the colorful carpet. Broad red lines crossed the floor in asymmetrical patterns cut by green ovals. Quinn thought that whoever had designed the rugs had been trying too hard to match the cubist style of the master painter the restaurant was named after.

  The hostess took Quinn to a small table in front of a large French window. Quinn sat with an eye to the restaurant and a fantastic view of the man-made lake in front of the hotel with the synchronized fountains. A waitress was already standing by the table with a small notebook in hand.

  "I'd like the Wagyu steak, rare," Quinn said as he sat down.

  The waitress nodded and scribbled. "What would you like to drink with it?"

  "Whatever the sommelier recommends. I'm sure it will be excellent."

  The waitress nodded and snapped the notebook closed as she turned to leave.

  "I'm sorry," Quinn said, turning to look at her.

  "Sir?"

  "Can you get some of those fried onion strings and have them on top?" Quinn winced a little as he spoke as if he were about to be on the receiving end of some significant scorn.

  Without batting an eye, the waitress said, "Of course, sir. I prefer it that way myself." She made an additional note in her book and left Quinn to himself.

  Quinn was glad he'd listened to Ray about which suit to wear tonight. The vest would have been too many layers. He sat in silence, watching the synchronized fountains out in the small lake-sized pool in front of the Bellagio. He leaned down and sniffed the red carnation pinned to his lapel.

  One of the things that Quinn liked about this view of Vegas was the sheer amount of the world that the city had been able to cram into such a small space. He could see the skyline of New York, including the Statue of Liberty right next to the Eiffel Tower with a massive black pyramid just in the distance. The right side of the fountain lake was dominated by a Mediterranean style garden terrace. The city, in its desperate need to provide the viewer with an illusion, any illusion, had shoved them all together in a mad hodgepodge. The viewer could take any part of the world they wanted and ignore the rest.

  The steak arrived with a glass of red wine. Quinn picked up the glass and swirled it around. The deep red liquid smelled of raspberries, chocolate, and just a hint of spice. It tasted even better.

  The steak wasn't much larger than the palm of Quinn's hand and was probably around two inches thick. The steaks were flown in daily from the Shiga Prefecture in Japan. Omi Ushi, one of the top three brands of Japanese beef, was the oldest and longest operating of all the brands. The Tokugawa Shogunate during the Edo Period had served Omi Ushi meat to the Shogun and his top staff.

  Quinn sliced into the steak, the red juices flowing as his knife cut the meat. Of course, it had been cooked to perfecting. Quinn made sure to scoop up a few bits of curled fried onion on the fork before lifting it to his mouth.

  "You know, when you said you'd get a steak with onion rings I had pictured you at a truck stop grill that specialized in steak & eggs with a light beer," a woman said from behind Quinn.

  Quinn ignored the voice and took a bit of the steak. It was exactly what he has promised himself every night in Blackrock prison for the last year of his life. He wasn't going to let anything interrupt that. Once he'd finished the small bit, Quinn turned to see who had spoken.

  It was a blonde woman in a form-fitting white mermaid dress with a deep plunging neckline and long sleeves. At her shoulders and wrists were sewn-in crystals and silver sequins. Her hair was parted on the side and pulled over in a gentle wave that cascaded down her left shoulder in a golden shower.

  "You clean up real nice, Dr. Gwendolyn," Quinn said with a grin. He sliced off another piece of the best steak he'd ever tasted and nodded at the other chair at the table. "Would you like to join me or were you just passing through?"

  She didn't seem surprised that Quinn had recognized her. She slid into the seat across from him with a smooth rustle of the silk of her dress. Quinn signaled one of the nearby waiters to bring a place setting for his guest.

  Several staffers suddenly appeared around her, efficiently putting in place the fine china and flatware. The sommelier appeared at Gwen's elbow to pour another glass of the same wine that Quinn was drinking.

  "This is amazing," Quinn said to the sommelier as he smacked his lips to savor the plumb and pepper flavors. "I don't know why, but this makes me think of a mocha? You nailed it with this vintage. What is it?"

  "Thank you, sir." The sommelier said. He was an older man, gray hair at his temples and in his finely trimmed and waxed mustache. He took a moment to stroke the mustache in self-satisfaction with one hand before speaking further, "It's a Shiraz from the Barossa Valley in Australia. It's a little vineyard that I've been keeping my eye on the last few years. I think they're going to break out soon, and I think you can see why."

  Gwen took a sip of the wine and then nodded enthusiastically. "Yes," she said. "This is fantastic."

  "If you think it's amazing with just a sip, you should try it with the steak. It's divine. Would you get the lady one of these," Quinn said to the hovering table staff.

  "Oh, you don't need to--"

  Quinn shook his head at her gently and shushed her down. "No, no no. I promised myself a steak dinner once I got out of Blackrock, and having you here to enjoy it with me will make it all the more savory. Should I call you Doctor or Doctor Gwen for short?"

  She swirled the glass again, the deep red liquid flowing around in response to her motion. She held it up to her nose and took in a deep breath. "I am getting plumbs, pepper, of course, and that mocha you were detecting. Is that a hint of soft leather in there as well?"

  "Only the richest Corinthian leather, I'm sure," Quinn said.

  She took a long drink and set the glass down. "You can call me Gwen, Quin
n."

  "I have to say, I'm a bit surprised to see you. We're a long way from Florence, Colorado."

  "Yes, we are. And while we're on the subject, it seems to me that you're a bit beyond the scope of your parole. What was it, not more than one days travel by car? Doesn't that make it about one hundred fifty miles? Didn't you give your bond to abide by those terms?"

  Quinn shrugged as he took another bit of the steak. His shoulders slumped as the flavorful meat fill his mouth with incredible savory sensations.

  In the magical world, giving your bond was something serious. You willingly submitted yourself to a magical contract that could compel you to certain actions, to surrender just about anything up to and including your life if you failed to abide by the terms of that bond.

  "The exact terms were that I am not to travel more than one hundred fifty miles from my home. Is it my fault that I consider myself an international citizen and my home to the be the world?"

  "That hardly seems in line with the spirit of the contract," she said.

  Quinn shrugged and said, "Maybe the government lawyers should have specified an exact address?"

  A waiter slid the steak in front of Gwen. She set the glass of wine down and spread the napkin across her lap. She slowly cut into the steak, neatly slicing a thin strip from the rest of the meat. She skewered the meat with her fork and ate it slowly.

  "This is amazing," she said.

  "I know, right?"

  They sat together enjoying the view, meal, and wine in silence for several minutes. When they were about halfway through the meal, Gwen set the flatware aside and took a long hard drink of wine. After sighing in pleasure over the taste of the wine, she said, "I have to wonder. How are you going to pay for all of this? You don't have any visible means of support, and this," she gestured around, "this can't be cheap."

  "Oh, it's not. But that's not what you cam here to ask."

  "It's not. How did you know what I came here to do?"

  "You're wearing a bias cut ivory silk mermaid gown with a deep v neck," Quinn said. He sliced another piece of steak and waved it at the sequins and crystals that were sewn into the gown. "That isn't something you can buy in a government salary."

  She raised an eyebrow at Quinn. She said, "Maybe I've been saving up for a long time to make a special trip to Las Vegas. This meeting is just a coincidence?"

  Quinn laughed. "You and I know there is no such thing as coincidence. Not with people like us, anyway."

  Gwen played innocent as she sliced another piece of the tender Japanese steak. "So what was your plan here? You said in the interview that you weren't going to steal. How is this not exactly that?"

  Quinn gestured to the table and said, "All this? It's being charged to my room."

  "And you'll pay for that how? By using Crastor's Seeming to hand the hotel a pile of money that is really nothing more than blank paper? And I wasn't aware your name was George Tanaka."

  "I don't know who this Crastor guy is, but he sounds like a dab hand with an illusion. You're better off using dry leaves instead of blank paper. The leaves have the right rustle sound. And my name isn't George Tanaka. The room is just registered in his name," Quinn said.

  "And who is he?"

  "Oh, he's a nice guy. He has a mid-sized technology company based in Dallas. He makes circuit boards for mid-market smartphones. He also collects art."

  "Is Mr. George Tanaka aware that you're registered in this hotel and charging custom tailored suits, expensive dinners to a room you registered in his name?"

  Quinn shrugged and said, "I have no idea. You see, about two years ago, well, more like three years ago. Anyway, I sold him an Incan Matrimonial Head mask." Quinn leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "They're supposed to bring good luck."

  "Okay, and how does that mean you're not stealing from Mr. Tanaka?"

  "Well, we met here in this very hotel. In that room, in fact. He bought the mask from me. He was so happy with that purchase, he wanted to test the luck portion right away. So we went downstairs and played a few rounds of blackjack."

  "And let me guess, he had an amazing run of luck."

  Quinn nodded. "He cleaned up. One of the biggest single hand jackpots in the casino's history. He likes to gamble and comes to the Bellagio two or three times a year now. But don't tell his wife, she thinks it's for industry convention stuff."

  "What did you use to fix the deck? Malgram's Malformation to transmogrify the cards? Tenser's to ensure the order of the cards at the shuffle? Or did you use a seeing charm to know what was coming up?"

  "Wow, that's really complicated. You really thought that out." Quinn shook his head. "Now, I didn't go to fancy magical school so I might be wrong, but don't all of those take a long time and require specific elements?"

  Gwen didn't react.

  "Besides, ever since the late Sixties, the casinos have been wise to the different ways that magic can be used to run the tables. They've had staff magicians and witches to make sure that doesn't happen. The Luxor has each table enchanted. But if I were doing something like that, and I want to state clearly right now that I am not saying that I did any such thing, but I'd make sure that every player at the table was on the team and counting the cards. Each of them would signal their hands to a central point that was probably sitting at another table across the room. That central point would coordinate the game. Then call when to drive the pot up to maximize one player's gains. A player, and this is the important part, that is unaware of the play being direct around him."

  "And how is that not stealing? You cheated the casino. You fed the money to an unwitting player. How is all of this not stealing from Tanaka and the Casino?"

  "Because that night, when we were celebrating his incredible good fortune, he said that I could come to Vegas on his dime whenever I wanted. And I thought that getting out of Federal Prison was a perfect time. It's not stealing when you've been invited. It's not stealing when the casino had already written that loss off as a part of doing business. I haven't stolen a thing." Quinn said with a grin. He finished off the steak with a loud smack of his lips. He poured himself another glass of wine. He looked at Gwen and shook the bottle at her in an offer to pour more for her.

  She nodded and said, "So, I guess you were serious when you said you weren't going to steal."

  Quinn nodded and smiled. "I make it a point to be very honest, Gwen. I can honestly say that I have stolen very few things in my life. I'm just not a very good thief."

  "That's too bad," she said.

  "What is that?"

  "Because I have something I want you to steal."

  Chapter Four

  Los Angeles, California

  Somewhere in the foothills of Hollywood

  Quinn liked Los Angeles. The weather was always reasonable, there were some really great places to eat, and everyone was working really hard at making the world seem different than it really was. It was a town dedicated to making a reality out of a dream. If it wasn't for all the smog and traffic, Quinn had often thought about living here full time.

  Gwen stopped the car on an isolated location on one of the many twisted and winding roads that crossed the foothills of LA County. The road was so old that the black asphalt had paled out to an almost white and it was crossed with lines of tar to try and keep it in service a little while longer. Out here the summer had already started. The grass was tall, uncut, and brittle. Grasshoppers fled as the pair got out of the car. Quinn felt that this road rarely saw traffic.

  Gwen turned to Quinn as she got out of the car, "There's a pair of binoculars in the glove compartment. Be a dear and grab them."

  Quinn pulled the pair of modest binoculars out of the glove box and followed the woman across the road. She looked at him and then pointed down into the small valley below them. There were a series of estates, each one walled off and protected from the street by iron gates. Gwen pointed at a specific house that was set further back from the central road than the others.

 
Quinn held the binoculars up and took a closer look. It seemed to him to be an estate built in the golden age of Hollywood by someone with more money than sense. Even without any Circles up Quinn could feel the enchantments laid on the house. Then Quinn spotted a flash of red wings in the trees. He followed the flash with the binoculars. Was that a Red Tailed Hawk? Quinn hadn't seen such an amazing specimen of the southern Californian raptor. He focused the binoculars on the bird and followed it as it flew off to the hills.

  Quinn lowered the glasses and looked at Gwen. "I hate birds and whatever he's got going on had me looking at one for how long? He's got some cowboys in there for sure."

  He focused the binoculars and immediately noticed a particularly rare breed of tree on a distant hill behind the estate. Was that an Incense Cedar? These hills were probably covered in cedar trees. All that pollen would play hell with allergies. Quinn thought that he and Gwen should get out of there as quickly as possible. Instead, Quinn gritted his death and focused his mind on the estate. He could see two guards at the front gate and at least one figure shambling along a worn path through the grounds. He lowered the binoculars and closed his eyes. After a moment he took another long look at the estate. "Are those zombies? He's got zombies patrolling the grounds during the day. In LA?!?"