Fast and Loose (10 page)

Bert bristled a bit when Jack outlined their plan, but he finally agreed to call a one-hour closed-circuit meeting in conference room three with Pete Justice, Kelly's second in command, along with the rest of Babylon's security team.

He bristled again when Sparrow said very matter-of-factly that something was off in regard to Kelly. “I'm hoping we come up dry. If not, we'll do what we have to do. That's the way it works. You know that. Look, buddy, you called us, not the other way around. You want to call this off, say the word, and we're outta here.”

“No, no. We need to know what's going on. Let's just hope it's a false alarm where Dix is concerned. Call me back the minute you leave his apartment. Are you planning on checking his condo in town and the room he keeps at Babylon?”

“That's a really stupid question coming from a former director of the FBI,” Sparrow said.

“You're right. Old habits die hard. Call me when you're out of the apartment.”

Sparrow promised to do that very thing and ended the call.

“Abner, you need to . . . uh . . . short-circuit the feed to the floor cameras. You can do that, right?” Fergus asked.

Abner nodded.

“Do every other floor or every third floor, so they think it's just a glitch. Ten minutes on, ten minutes off, that kind of thing. Remember, these people take security more seriously than they do at the White House. We'll keep an open channel for Sparrow so they can enter on the ten minutes off and exit the same way.”

Abner was busy clicking away as Snowden, Jack, Harry, Cyrus, and Sparrow left the suite to take the stairs down to the seventeenth floor. Snowden's two operatives left for the eighth floor, where Kelly kept a room. Sparrow would stay in the stairwell to stand guard. They all agreed that the condo in town would be searched later.

Snowden cracked the fire door and looked out into the long, luxurious hallway, which was decorated with fresh flowers—lilacs—the scent heady and intoxicating. He looked over at Sparrow, who had his phone to his ear. He nodded. Sparrow nodded, then said “Go!”

He watched as the three men sprinted halfway down the hall to room 1709. The card reader went in and out; then they were in the room, the door locked behind them. Sparrow let loose with a long sigh just as the elevator door opened and three giddy women ran down the opposite hallway, laughing and joking about their three-hundred-dollar win on the penny slots. He wished he were in the room with the guys, but he knew if there was anything to find, they'd find it.

Inside the room, the three men split up. It took only a few minutes to discover that Dixson Kelly liked fine things. He had a closet full of designer suits and shoes. The dresser drawers revealed top-of-the-line monogrammed shirts. Another drawer held pricey cashmere sweaters and outdoor wear. The top drawer held men's jewelry: several Rolex watches, a dive watch, a West Point ring, gold chains, three different pinkie rings, diamond cuff links, and a stick pin.

Snowden turned to the guys and said, “These things must be gifts from women. Wonder how he keeps them straight. Must keep a black book somewhere. Imagine showing up wearing some other chick's gift?” Snowden cackled at his own wit.

Jack and Harry just rolled their eyes. Cyrus patrolled the apartment by sniffing everything and anything but came up dry and went to sit by the door.

The second closet held ski equipment and other sports items: a tennis racket, duffel bags, two bowling balls, a set of weights. Other sports equipment had been pushed into the back of the closet. There was no way of knowing if the equipment belonged to Bert or Dixson Kelly.

“Kitchen and living room are clear. Looks like he's a mystery reader. That's about it. The books look like they've been read, unless they belong to Bert,” Jack said.

“Nothing in the fridge but bottled water, wine, and beer,” Harry said.

Snowden laughed. “Boys, the mother lode is right here in front of us, on this dresser. Take a look.” He cackled. “Nine burner phones. With a name alongside each one in a little black book. I gotta say, this guy has it going on. Okay, quick now,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Check the messages and the dates they were left. Be careful not to delete them. Upload them to your phones and send them off to Charles. Then we gotta get out of here. What's Sparrow saying?”

“He just sent a text saying we need to move our asses. Lots of traffic in the hall. Said security is running around like headless chickens. They're due to hit this floor anytime now,” Jack said.

“Tell him to cause a diversion!” Snowden barked.

“Like what?” Sparrow barked in return over the open channel.

“If it looks like they're heading this way, go down a couple of floors and pull the fire alarm. Then meet us up on our floor.”

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Sparrow mumbled under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to the next floor, the phone tight against his ear. Even in the stairwell, which was solid concrete, he could hear the running feet and the shouts outside the fire door. Snowden was right; these people did take their security seriously.

“Almost done,” Jack said. “My hat is off to this guy.”

“He should be dead by now, if what all these women are saying is true,” Harry growled.

“I wonder when he sleeps,” Jack said as he finished the last upload to Charles. “Okay, done!”

“Me, too!” Harry said.

“Make sure the phone numbers match up to the names they're assigned to,” Snowden said.

“We're good. C'mon. We need to get out of here,” Jack hissed.

“Everything put back in place?” Snowden asked.

“We didn't touch anything but the phones, so yeah, everything is okay. Let's go!”

“Are we ten on or off? I lost track,” Harry said.

“We're coming up to off. A minute to go, according to Sparrow, and security is on the fifteenth floor and working their way up here. Come on, come on. Move!” Jack cracked the door to look out into the hallway in time to hear the elevator swish shut.

They raced to the end of the hall, with Cyrus in the lead. They barreled through the door and galloped up the steps, taking them two at a time. They exited on the concierge floor and flopped down on the buttery leather chairs in the hospitality area. Jack popped up a moment later and grabbed three beers from the refrigerator under the counter and a bottle of water, which he poured into a bowl for Cyrus, who lapped up the whole thing. Jack pulled out a fourth longneck when he saw Sparrow walk through the door.

Their breathing had just returned to normal and they were sipping on the longneck Buds and discussing their winnings when the door flew open and six men rushed into the hospitality area.

“Hey! Hey! What's going on?” Snowden said, brandishing his longneck. “No one is supposed to be on this floor but us. What's going on?” he repeated.

Cyrus was on his feet in a second, snarling and growling. The security team stepped back.

Jack thought they looked like Special Forces guys, even though they were wearing suits and ties. “Yeah, what's going on? Easy, Cyrus. They're friendlies.”

Sparrow remained quiet, hoping against hope that the men didn't look at him too closely.

“Camera feed went out. Sorry for the intrusion, gentlemen. Everything is okay here on the floor?”

“Other than the beer isn't ice-cold, we haven't had any complaints. Feel free to pass on my comment,” Harry said coolly.

The spokesman for the group stepped forward. “And you would be . . . ?”

Harry stuck out his hand. “Harry Wong. I'm a personal friend of Bert Navarro, as are these other gentlemen, as well as the dog. Actually, Bert is the dog's godfather.”

“I know . . . you're the . . . okay, okay, sorry for disturbing you folks. Just doing our job.”

“And I'm sure you do it very well. We'll pass that on to Bert the next time we talk to him, won't we, guys?” Harry smiled his special evil smile.

“You bet,” Jack said.

“Absolutely,” Snowden said.

“Yes, we will,” Sparrow mumbled as he turned to look at something over his shoulder.

Cyrus barked three times.

The moment the door closed behind the six men, Jack had Abner on the phone. “Wrap it up, Abner. We're good here. We'll be coming down the hall to the room any minute now, so have the door open.”

Snowden rubbed his hands together. “I think that went rather well, all things considered. Now we can concentrate on the messages on those nine phones.
Nine
phones! This has to be a first!”

Chapter 9

E
ven though the windows were tinted on the concierge floor, the gang could see that it was going to be a beautiful day. They had assembled, per Charles's orders, to discuss strategy and eat the breakfast that had been set out for them.

With the sun doing its best to invade the large, spacious area where they were all gathered, Charles assessed the group. He wasn't happy at what he was seeing. Maggie looked like an angry wet cat, her eyes spewing sparks; Ted was sullen and nontalkative. Espinosa simply looked out of it, while Dennis chowed down on fluffy golden scrambled eggs, which the others were just picking at.

Charles let his gaze go to Abner, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink. His hair was standing on end, he was unshaven, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. He was drinking tomato juice and nibbling on toast. His gaze moved to Jack and Harry, who simply looked . . . He searched for the word he was looking for and came up with
expectant
. From there, his gaze moved to Avery Snowden, who looked ready, in his opinion, to pounce on someone or something.

Cyrus was the only one who looked happy and content. He'd had his early morning outing, followed by a monster breakfast, and was now waiting for tidbits from the dawdlers.

“Who wants to go first?” Charles asked.

Maggie raised her hand. Then she waved her arms about as she grappled with what she wanted to say. “I've been in this business for a long time, and the guys agree with me. Kelly is on to us. Oh, he's cooperating, saying all the things he thinks we want to hear, but he is bored out of his mind. His cell phone is glued to his ear, and he was on it, talking or texting, the whole time we were with him. Every so often I'd catch a sly grin, like he knew he was yanking our chain. Then, when he found out that Bert had called a special meeting in conference room three, with that guy Pete Justice running the show, he about exploded. I heard him arguing with Bert that he should be in there with the security staff and asking what the hell was going on. He was not happy. Right guys?”

The guys agreed.

“Today is going to be more of the same, and he's just about ready to send us packing. I feel it coming,” said Maggie.

“I know we signed on for this, but damn, that guy is a piece of work,” Ted grumbled.

“He doesn't like to get his picture taken, either. I'm wondering if that might have something to do with those nine burner phones you all were talking about last night. You know, with the ladies and all,” Maggie said.

Dennis decided it was time to voice an opinion. “That makes sense. If he has a . . .
harem
, like you guys said, and he's trying to keep his conquests a secret from the others, he doesn't want his picture plastered all over. I gotta say, the guy is photogenic, and he dresses like a male model. It's just my opinion, for whatever it's worth, that he is more worried about the women than about what's going on here at Babylon.

“You guys did catch that moment when he wanted Pete Justice to stand in for him, right? Maggie chopped him off at the knees and told him this article was about him, not Pete Justice. I don't think it would hurt to get some stuff on Justice and a couple of good shots. The guy is a good-looking dude, and he was in Special Forces. The public eats up that kind of stuff. In other words, when the public reads this article, as well as the casino owners, they are going to feel really safe and secure knowing these two guys are protecting them and safeguarding their interests. Like I said, that's my opinion.”

“And a sterling one it is, kid,” Snowden said.

Harry clapped Dennis on the back in a show of approval. Dennis turned various shades of pink at the compliment.

“Okay, we'll work that angle today,” Maggie said. “But just for the record, I'd rather be trailing around with you guys. What else do we have? Anything I can play into our article?”

All eyes turned to Abner, who was yawning.

“What do you have, sport?” Snowden asked.

“Do you want the short version, or do you want to know what I did? If I told you this is all about unbreakable encryption, diversified cipher keys with rights that afford different degrees of access, would you know what I was talking about? Meaning access is top level, mid-level, low level. Double, triple passwords that are changed hourly sometimes. These casinos use a very sophisticated encryption program. Ever hear about ten-twenty-four-bit polymorphic encryption? Or twenty-forty-eight, forty-ninety-six, or eighty-one-ninety-two?” Abner looked around and said, “That kind of stuff is top level, Pentagon, White House, all top government agencies, and yeah, even the FBI. We're talking rocket-science smarts here.”

“So does that mean you can't find out who's helping themselves to the casino's money?” Charles asked.

“I didn't say that. I was just explaining what I am dealing with. And I'm just one person. I hate to bring this up, much less even suggest it, but how about if you bring PIP on board, and the two of us work on it? You want quick. That's the only way I can give you quick, and even then, no matter how much I would like to, I cannot guarantee anything.”

“You still think it's that guy RCHood?” Fergus asked.

“More so now than ever. Then you guys had me stop and go to work on those burner phones. I was up all night doing that. I'm going to blow your socks off with what I found.”

“What?” they chorused as one.

Cyrus was up and stood at attention. He'd heard the excitement in Abner's voice. Excitement always turned into action, and he did love action. He barked to show he was listening.

Snowden moved forward. He'd finally found something to pounce on.

Abner rubbed at his gritty eyes. “I only had time to run off one copy of all of this, so you can share what I got until you can make more copies. These women, ladies, girls, whatever you want to call the people the phones are allocated to, are past as well as some current relationships Kelly has had and is still involved in. The messages from all of the nine phones are there, separated for easy reading and identification. You may find yourself squirming or getting uncomfortable, because all of them are pretty explicit. I myself got light-headed a couple of times. All indications are that these nine are more or less recent and just the tip of the iceberg. Let me just say, this guy is a legend in his own time.

“Except for burner phone number nine, which is allocated to one Miss Kitty Passion. She does a lot of purring on the phone, and she also does a lot of ‘meowing.' She is not yet a conquest, but Kelly is working on it with all deliberate speed. In other words, they have not as yet slept together. She seems to be playing hard to get, but Kelly is not taking no for an answer. As you will see when you read through all that is in front of you, the man has sent Miss Passion some very provocative messages.

“I listened and was going to finish up, but somehow, for some reason, I just knew that I had to hack into Miss Passion's phone. And let me tell you, I almost fell off my chair when I heard some of the conversations she had with her friends, who are collectively referred to as the Dixson Kelly Alumnae Club.”

“I'll
knock
you off that chair if you don't spit it out, Tookus,” Harry said.

Abner yawned again before he smacked his hands together to show he was about to get into it. “Okay, okay. Miss Meow is a shill. You all know what a shill is, right? Of course you do. You're in the spook business. These women—and there are a lot of them, thirty or so—they're all showgirls here in Vegas. All of them have had a relationship with Dixson Kelly. Except Miss Kitty Passion, also known as Meow. She's new to Vegas, has only been here for a little over two years. One of the girls at MGM recruited her, and she's all for it.

“As I said, these women refer to themselves as the Dixson Kelly Alumnae. They are banding together to do . . . something to him. What, I don't know. I went back and hacked into all their phones, but while they talked around it, up and down it, they never came outright and said what nefarious deed it is that they're going to try to pull off.

“One of the women—Kitty, I think—arranged a meeting in town, at a place called the Cat & Cradle, for Friday at noon. That was their original plan, but two of the women called and said they couldn't get off their day jobs, so the meeting was moved up to
today
at noon. You all might want to think about attending.” Abner yawned again, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Did you get any sense of what this dastardly deed is that the women are planning?” Jack asked.

“Yes and no,” Abner said, his eyes drooping.

“Whatever it is, they said he would go to prison, and when and if he got out of prison, his dick would be the size of . . . I can't remember the word they used, but it made me laugh out loud. These women are vicious. Can I go to bed now? Everything is there for your reading pleasure.” He tapped the tabletop to make his point before he stumbled out of the room.

As one, those in the group looked at each other. Clearly, none of what Abner had told them was anything any of them had expected.

“This might be the thread that does link Mr. Kelly to what Bert is worried about. Obviously, some of us need to attend this particular luncheon. I suggest Harry and Jack. But Cyrus has to stay behind on this one. Avery, I want you to put your two operatives on this,” Charles said, pointing to Abner's report on the nine burner phones. “Sift through those messages and texts. Something might jump out at you. There might be something that Abner was too tired to pick up on. But only when you get back from the Cat & Cradle. You three need to be Harry and Jack's backup at the restaurant.”

Maggie jumped to her feet. “Charles, did you just say what I think you said? You're sending men to do this, without a woman in tow! I can't believe you would do that! What are you thinking? We either need to give Kelly the day off or just have the guys babysit him. I need to go to the Cat & Cradle. I can come up with a story and maybe get invited to join up since I already know the backstory. If they're determined to burn Kelly, I might be able to add some fuel to the fire. By now, you all should know it pays to have someone on the inside, and I am obviously that someone.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack said. “Harry, what do you think?”

Always a man of few words, Harry simply nodded and said, “Yeah.”

“Then I guess that settles that,” Charles said. He looked at Maggie and smiled. “I don't know what I was thinking, my dear. Forgive me. You are absolutely right. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Sparrow spoke for the first time. “Abner mentioned that it might help if we could convince PIP to join the cause. While I am not a computer wizard, I do understand what he is talking about. Two sets of fingers tapping and hacking are better than one set. How about if I meander over to The Venetian and escort PIP back here, along with Mr. Snowden's two operatives? I think we can smuggle her in.”

Charles tapped the spook on the arm. “Are you in agreement, Avery?”

Without taking his eyes off his reading material, Snowden nodded.

“All right, then, let's sit here and plan Miss PIP's extraction,” Fergus said.

“Hold on. Hold on. Should we inform Bert? We don't know for sure that this little side venture has anything to do with why we're here. He might not want us wasting our time on a gaggle of women wanting revenge on the man because they were scorned,” Jack said.

“Let's not tell him till after the luncheon. If it's nothing of concern, all we've done is waste an hour or so,” Maggie said. “But if it will make you feel better, we can vote on it. Raise your hand if you're in favor of holding off on informing Bert.” Every hand in the room went in the air. “Well, I guess that settles that!”

Maggie was so gleeful, Jack cringed. Maggie could be the proverbial bull in a china shop. He relaxed almost immediately when he thought about the reporter's uncanny ability to ferret out what needed to be ferreted out and make it seem natural.

The group scattered to get ready for whatever the rest of the day held in store for them.

* * *

Philonias Needlemeyer stepped out onto his skinny terrace, coffee cup in hand, to view the new day. He loved spring. Hated summer because he sweated like a Trojan. He could take or leave winter. With nothing on his agenda, he might throw caution to the winds and take a walk, go to a park, feed pigeons, contemplate his navel, and think about the luncheon that he planned to attend tomorrow at the Cat & Cradle.

Philonias finished his coffee, looked around at the new day from his lofty penthouse perch, then entered his apartment. He never bothered to lock his French doors. The only way anyone could enter the penthouse was by dropping from the sky. The thought always amused him.

He looked down at his watch. Ten thirty. He'd slept in this morning, something he never did, unless he had a cold or the flu. But he hadn't gone to bed until six o'clock, because he'd been up all night hacking into Bert's, Kelly's, and Pete Justice's text messages. In the end, there had been nothing to alert him to anything of concern.

It was eleven thirty when Philonias, showered, shaved, and coiffed, took his seat in his computer room. Half the day was already gone. He hated that. Now his whole day was ruined; his routine shattered. He might as well chalk it up to a wasted day and sit down and read a good book. But something perverse in him made him take his computer out of sleep mode and do
something
. He recalled his parents telling him as a child that one had to do
something
, no matter what it was, each and every day, or the day would hold no meaning. He still, to this day, subscribed to that old adage.