Ill Gotten Gains: Diary of a Gentle Grifter, page 9
“That sounds like it was perfect. So, you don’t really have to steal stuff and put yourself on the line, now do you?”
She rolled her eyes. “You already know all of this. I’ve told you. I like the challenge of getting away with it. It’s a rush for me.”
“Not many seventy-year-olds chase the rush, Flo-Flo.”
She hit me playfully on my knee. “I’m not seventy! I just turned sixty-nine. And sixty-nine isn’t as old as it used to be. It’s just a number.”
“That’s true. My parents keep reminding me of that fact, too. They’re ancient like you.”
She ignored that last part. “How much do you need?”
“How much do I need or how much do I want?”
“What do you need or want for this weekend adventure, James? The bank isn’t going to be open all day—there are apple cider muffins that need to come out of the oven.”
I eyed the cash. “Twenty-five grand should do it.”
“Fine.” She counted it out. “Don’t ever say I never do anything for you.” She looked me square in the face and squinted her eyes. “I want twenty points, boy.”
I was shocked. “Seriously? You’re loan sharking me? Me? I’m like a son to you.”
She laughed. “Okay, okay. I would never do that to you. But I sounded convincing, didn’t I?” She got to her feet after securing the treasure drawer. “Help me get rid of the electronics and watches next week? I’ll give you a cut.”
“Of course. And I don’t need a cut; don’t be silly. Let’s just call it even.” I held up the handfuls of cash.
She smiled and nodded. “Fine. Let’s go have coffee and muffins. They’re from a new recipe I found in the Reader’s Digest. Not sure how good they’ll be. I might look like the classic old-school grandmother, but I’m not a very good baker. Never have been. But I keep trying, gosh darn it.”
The hot buttered muffins were tasty enough, the coffee was perfectly strong, the conversation was amusing, and for another hour I almost forgot what I was going to be faced with down in Palm Springs. The respite at Flo’s was a nice diversion though…and I had the wads of cash, to boot.
By a quarter to eleven or so, I was on the I-15 headed back to the Excalibur. When I had the Strip’s high-rise hotels in my sights again, I knew for sure I’d never want to live in the suburbs. Houses like Flo’s certainly had their charms, but she didn’t have a Starbucks in her lobby. Or twenty-four-seven room service. Or easy marks with lovely cash to spare just a quick elevator ride down to the casino level.
I parked the car in the garage so it would be handy for the drive to Palm Springs the following morning, stashed the stacks of cash under the front passenger seat, then headed through the casino to get to the elevators.
And that’s when I saw her.
It wasn’t Drucilla. It was the so-called Elizabeth. She was standing near the bottom of an escalator staring at her cell phone. And this time, she was sporting a dirty blonde shoulder length wig on top of her dumb fat head.
I did a one-eighty and got myself lost in a bank of slot machines. I found a good spot so as not to be seen from that side of the casino, then turned back to where she was standing.
Was standing! She wasn’t there anymore. My heart skipped a beat.
“Jesus Christ,” I said out loud to myself.
“Nope, just me.”
I felt what I assumed was the muzzle of a handgun pushing into my ribs to my right. I turned ever so slowly to look into the woman’s face. “You didn’t go to my high school. I checked,” I said evenly.
“Mm hmm. I thought you might. Eventually.”
“What gives, lady? Why the elaborate ruse?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it’d be amusing to be someone else for a change. And it was good practice. The research and all. And the fabulous wigs. They’re fun.”
I shook my head. “You aren’t going to shoot me here in the casino, Miss Whoever You Are. There are thousands of people all around us.”
Another shrug. “Maybe not.” Then the corners of her mouth turned up slightly forming a tight, devilish grin. “Wanna find out if I’ll actually do it, Macon?”
I shook my head again and took a half step away from her and the gun. “What the heck do you want? What could you possibly want from me?”
“It’s a very long, complicated story.” Her entire demeanor and personality changed on a dime. No longer was she the overly-friendly Virginia classmate with the sweet southern drawl. She now spoke with a slight New Jersey or New York accent. “The bottom line is you have information we need.” She quickly stuck the pistol into her handbag. “Can I trust you?”
“Who’s we?” I felt like bolting, but I stood still; I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever this was.
“That doesn’t concern you.”
I widened my eyes. “Really? How does it not concern me when you tell me someone wants information from me? And I’d like to know something else—was it you in my room at the Cactus? Did you knock me out?”
She looked confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh. Sure.”
The she smiled. It was chilling. “Let’s go have a drink,” she said as she cocked her head toward the small lounge area in front of the casino’s sportsbook.
“I don’t think so. I have a lot going on today, Elizabeth.” I called her Elizabeth, but I was sure her name was probably something like Gabriella, Sophia, or Ariana. Likely something more Jersey-ish than Elizabeth.
“And that’s exactly what we need to talk about. Everything you have going on.”
The woman couldn’t possibly know about Lucia’s task, could she? Was she a fed? FBI, maybe? I nodded my head. “A drink you say? It’s not even noon, but that’s never stopped me before.”
“When in Vegas,” she said as we strolled toward the bar. “Or, what is it they say in the television commercials? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?”
“They don’t say that anymore. They changed it.”
“What do you mean they changed it?”
I shook my head. “The convention center marketing people, I suppose.” It was an absolutely inane conversation given the circumstances, but I continued. “The tag line is now, ‘what happens here, only happens here.’”
She laughed. “That’s stupid.”
I agreed.
We ordered mimosas, given the hour. She paid with cash then we took the drinks to a small two-top table away from the rest of the bar patrons. After we sat, she exhaled deeply and looked as if she was about to begin a long story.
Then, without warning, she keeled over, slipped out of her chair, and fell hard to the carpeted floor. Both drinks tipped over as she went down, soaking my lap.
“What the hell!” I jumped to my feet.
A female cocktail server and a security man rushed over.
“She just passed out,” I explained. I got down to my hands and knees and checked for a pulse. Weak, but she was breathing.
The security man got on his radio and called for backup and an ambulance.
The waitress handed me a stack of napkins. “You’re all wet.”
“In more ways than one,” I said under my breath.
“Is this your wife?” the security man asked.
I shook my head. “No, sir. We just met. Decided to have a drink. I’ve only known her for a few minutes.”
He didn’t seem to believe me, but he nodded. “Okay, well, help is on the way.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Can I get your name, sir? And your ID?”
Crap. At least I had the correct credentials on me. I fished my wallet out of my wet pants. “Harry Uleski. I’m a guest here at the hotel.”
He made some notes and then handed the bogus driver’s license back to me. “Maybe you should stick around until the paramedics arrive.”
“Of course, of course.” I sat down and thought about my next move. I obviously had to get out of the Excalibur immediately, if not sooner. I’d leave the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door and not officially check out—that would buy me a bit of time in case anyone else should come calling. I still had no idea who this unconscious woman was, what she wanted, and who she may or may not be working for.
A golden opportunity presented itself, so I decided to take a look inside her purse.
I knelt down next to the lifeless body again then looked up at the waitress. “I’m going to check her bag. Maybe she’s on some kind of medication or something?”
“Smart. That’s a good idea.” The waitress crotched down beside me. “She’s still breathing, poor thing.” She put a hand on Elizabeth’s forehead. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? Miss?”
I was inside her wallet. She had a driver’s license in the name of Elizabeth Dean with a Richmond, Virginia address—a very fine forgery, much like my own. Three credit cards also had her alias printed on them. While the waitress was staring at Elizabeth’s still closed eyes, I managed to scoop out the handgun and stick it in my pocket. There was nothing else of note—a locked smart phone, lip balm, a comb, a few receipts, and $40 in cash.
Then I spotted them: two Golden Cactus hotel room keycards. I palmed one of them then zipped the bag closed. “Nothing really in there. Her name is Elizabeth Dean, according to her license.”
The waitress nodded. “Poor, poor Elizabeth Dean. What’s happened to you, baby?”
Despite my best judgement, I stuck around.
The paramedics had no explanation for Elizabeth’s sudden and continued unconsciousness. She was taken away on a stretcher, I answered a few more of the Excalibur security personnel’s questions, then I was dismissed.
A half hour after it all began, I was back in my suite. I changed my pants, packed quickly, grabbed my notebook from under the mattress, hung the sign on the door, and used the stairs. I went down two flights, opened the hallway door on that floor, then found the elevators. I’m not sure why I did all of that rigamarole to get out of the building, but it felt like a smart idea.
A phone vibrated in my briefcase. It was one of the burners.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mother,” Lucia said. “I said I’d email, but I decided that woulda been monumentally stupid of me, huh? We’re both on burners—want to jot some stuff down?”
“Sure. Hold on.” I placed my bags on the well-worn hallway carpeting and fished out my notebook and an Excalibur pen I’d lifted. “Shoot.”
“Peter Kimball is the hotel owner.” She spelled his last name. “The hotel is the Swaying Palms Resort. I want it done Sunday morning. He always has his buddies over for gay brunch. Eleven-ish. His private home is in the back of the resort. It’s part of the property, I understand, behind some big hedges. It shouldn’t be too hard to find. I think Lucy and Desi used to stay there. It was one of their Palm Springs hideaways in the fifties.”
“Lucy and Desi? From I Love Lucy?”
“Yup. I still love those old reruns. Cracks me up every time.”
Focus, lady. “Of course; a classic. What else?”
“The youngest friend of Kimball’s is some homo schmo named Andy White. I’m not spelling that; white is white. Make sure you tell Kimball what I expect from him, and then you can come back and show me the video. Easy peasy. An idiot could do this job.”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Then why can’t Sammy do it?”
“Hey! That’s my son you’re talking about, bucko. He’s not an idiot.” It sounded like she was sucking in her breath, then she slowly exhaled. “Listen, kid, Sammy can’t do this for me, alright? Not now. I told you that already. You just do it. And you do it right, you hear me? Don’t screw it up. It’s an easy job. I promise.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one going down there to do it.” The elevator dinged and an older couple in matching Las Vegas Golden Knights t-shirts exited the car. I nodded and smiled at them, they did the same, then they walked down the hall out of view.
“I did it in my day, honey. Trust me.” She took a second to clear her throat. “Get it done, Macon. Easy…peasy.” Then she ended the call.
“Easy peasy,” I repeated to myself out loud. “Any idiot can do it.”
12
SAMMY IN THE ALL TOGETHER
I knew it wouldn’t be a smart idea to go back to the Golden Cactus to stay as an overnight guest again, but I felt the need to go see if I could get inside Elizabeth Dean’s room while I knew for certain she was otherwise engaged.
But first, I drove to the Wynn, valet parked the rental, and checked in as Devon DuBois. I then walked across the pedestrian bridge across the boulevard to get to the Cactus.
Back on the fifty-seventh floor five minutes later, I passed by my most recent suite, pulled out the keycard I lifted from Elizabeth’s purse, then carefully tried every door I passed, careful not to make any noise. The seventh lock I tried immediately lit green, unlatched, and in I went.
“Oh shit,” I yelped, startled by the first thing I saw.
Samuel Marinelli sat naked on the end of an unmade bed with a television remote control in his hand.
The big Italian guy jumped up and yanked a pillow off the bed to cover his midsection. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. What the hell?”
He looked confused. Then he shook his head. “Dude. I’m totally lost. Are you alone? Where’s Elizabeth?”
“At the hospital, I assume.”
“Jesus. Alright.” He eased back down onto the bed. “Close the door, dude. I won’t hurt you.”
I believed him because, one, he was buck naked, and two, he didn’t have a weapon of any kind in reach. I knew I could probably easily take him on, too, if he came toward me; I currently had all the advantages. I closed the door and slowly walked into what looked like a standard king room. “So, Sam, why were you in my hotel room the other day?”
His eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to the top of his head. “Oh, that. I went to retrieve Elizabeth when she didn’t come back.”
A light bulb went off in my head—I instantly felt like an idiot. “Oh shit! That was her on my floor. Different hair. The crazy bitch wasn’t dead. I get it now. It’s all becoming…” I stopped talking and stroked at my chin. “What the hell does she want from me? And why does she keep passing out?”
“You ask a lot of questions, man. I should be asking you some stuff.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Then I guess we’re at a crossroads, Sammy boy.” I eased down into a chair across from the bed. “Do you want to get dressed or something?”
“I’m good. I still need to take a shower anyway.”
I was pretty certain is was the first time I had a conversation with a naked man, but so be it. “Elizabeth cornered me at the Excalibur about an hour ago. Then she went and passed out cold while we were in the middle of a conversation—before she even told me what she wants from me. It was more than just a little bit bizarre, Sammy. For no reason, the woman went down for the count, right onto the casino carpet.”
He nodded knowingly. “Uh huh. She tends to do that now and again. That woman needs her head examined, if you ask me. I think someone said she’s a necrophiliac.”
I had to laugh at that. “Well, I certainly doubt that. Narcoleptic might be the word you heard.”
“I don’t know, dude. I guess that sounds right. Necro…narco. Whatever.”
Of course, I was still baffled. “Alright, listen…who the heck is this woman and why would she be in this line of work if she randomly falls asleep without any friggin’ notice? None of this makes any damned sense.”
“I don’t know all the details, dude.” He adjusted his pillow. “Bottom line is, she blackmailed me into helping her. And her people are apparently after Mother.”
“Your mother? Lucia?”
He nodded again. “That’s the only one I got, right?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “She says she thinks you’ve been compromised somehow.”
Sammy looked confused, as usual. “Elizabeth or my mother?”
“Mother. Yes. Your mother. Damn it, Sammy, what does this mess have to do with me? How’d I get wrapped up in this crap? I don’t even work for Lucia. Not anymore. I haven’t for a long time now. On purpose.”
He shrugged and closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know, dude. Something about a job you helped my mom with a few years ago, back east. That’s all I know. Seriously. People don’t tell me much.”
“Just wonderful,” I breathed.
For the life of me, I couldn’t recall what I’d done for Lucia that could have been all that troubling to someone after all this time. I used to do stupid errands for her, sure. I’d been to both New York City and Newark, New Jersey, on her behalf. But I couldn’t remember anything worth chasing me down years later over. “So, what does Elizabeth have on you? And—I’m really afraid to ask this next question—why are you sitting here, in her room? Naked.”
“This isn’t her room, it’s my room. Her room is down on the thirty-seventh floor. She put me up here to be near you. Keep tabs. Until she figured out you left the hotel. We’ve been in a holding pattern ever since, or so she said, ‘cause we couldn’t find you.”
“Okay, great. Then tell me this—why would you agree to any of this? Your mother is going to seriously kill you, Sammy, you know that, don’t you? Lucia will find out all the details. She always finds out about shit like this. And she already suspects something is up with you and this sleepy woman. Mother has eyes everywhere. I’d be more scared of her than this crazy new chick with the many wigs and bullshit backstory. You’ve got to tell me—what is this narcoleptic holding over you?”
He looked at me sheepishly then shook his head slowly. “I’m not in a place where I feel comfortable sharing that with you. Not right now.”
