Double Blind (59 page)

“Do you think there’s any way to keep Crabtree from killing me for running out?” Ethan asked, trying to joke, but Randy knew he was nervous. “Because I’m kind of wanting more than a few more hours with you.”

Now that Randy’s head was clear, he suspected this was the outcome, or something like it, that the gangster had been hoping for all along. “I bet we can work something out.” He took Ethan’s hand, then lifted it and kissed it. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

Sam was waiting for them in the interior deck, but he came up to them, grinning, when they came through the doors. “Everything’s okay?”

“Aces, Peaches,” Randy said, and slipped his arm around him too, a man on each side. “We’re aces.”

It was a nice ride down the elevator, with lots of snuggling and Sam beaming.

“Mitch should be back anytime now,” he said, when they were back in the lobby and passing through the shops toward the exit. “He said he was just pulling into town and to watch for him at the casino.”

“Excellent,” Randy said, then stopped because he realized Ethan wasn’t standing next to him anymore. He was two shops back, staring into a window display with a funny look on his face. Randy nodded at Sam to follow him and then backtracked to Ethan. “Hey, Slick—what are you doing?”

“This.” He was pointing to a display in the window. He was also looking rather pale. “This is Sam’s aftershave lotion.”

Randy peered through the glass at the poster-sized image of Nomad: available in cologne, aftershave lotion, and bar soap. He remembered it from seeing it beside the sink, but he remembered, too, using it to aid some fantastically sexy friction. He grinned. “Yep. That’s the stuff. I bought it right here for Sam. Thought it was appropriate, given the way he and Mitch wander all over, and also, it smelled nice.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Felt even better.”

He knew something serious was up when even this didn’t penetrate Ethan’s focus. Ethan didn’t turn away from the poster, but he asked quietly, “Randy, do you know Crabtree’s real name?”

“Fuck no,” Randy said. “Nobody does. And don’t try and guess, either. He doesn’t take kindly to it.” He saw that Ethan had the bit between his teeth, though, and it scared him. “Seriously, Slick—
don’t
.”

Ethan would not look away from the window. “You said Crabtree had an affair with Billy Senior. Is that all? Did he have an affair with anyone else?”

“Probably.” This was weird. “What’s going on, Slick? Talk to me. You’re freaking me out.”

“What about Evelyn Carter?” Ethan asked very, very quietly. “Did he ever have an affair with him?”

Randy laughed. “What does it matter if Crabtree fucked a dead money launderer? And what does it possibly have to do with shaving lotion?”

Now, finally, Ethan looked at him, confused. “Money launderer? I thought he was a hit man.”

“You’ve been reading too much Wikipedia. Carter wasn’t a hit man. He was the laundry man. He made money so clean you thought it just came off the press. Some people think he wasn’t even a real person, that he was made up or that he was actually several people at once. I think he was real, though. But he never killed anybody as far as I know. Nobody on a big scale, anyway.
Crabtree
was the hit man. Keeps himself far to the back of the room, never gets in a group picture, meets you out back with a knife or a gun. I suppose it’s possible he had a fling with Carter. But who cares?”

Clearly Ethan did. He pressed his hand to the glass, looking very sick. “What about the money they say Carter hid before he died? Is that true?”

“Maybe. Why?” Randy was getting irritated now. “What the fuck is this, Slick?”

“I don’t think Evelyn Carter is dead,” Ethan whispered. “And I think Crabtree gave me his money. It’s the only thing that explains it. And if I’m right—” He stopped, and swayed on his feet.

Randy caught him. What the fuck was this shit? “Baby, Carter is dead. And if he isn’t, he’s just an accountant. And Crabtree isn’t going to kill you. I don’t know what he’s going to do with the casino, but it has something to do with you. He likes you.”

“I hope so,” Ethan said. He splayed his fingers on the glass.

Randy turned and glared at the display. “What the
fuck
is it with this poster, Sli—”

But the word died in his throat as Randy saw the poster, the whole poster: the product, but the logo too. The name of the company, spelled out proudly and elegantly over the top of the bottle, spelled out also over the entrance to the store, the store that Randy had walked past and into many, many, many times.

Crabtree & Evelyn.

“
Crabtree
cannot be Evelyn Carter,” Randy said for the thousandth time as he paced back and forth between the bikes in the Stratosphere parking garage. “Carter is dead.”

“If he could make dirty money disappear, how hard would an already obscure mobster’s life be?” Sam said.

It was a good point, and Randy wished he could deny it. “Crabtree has a lot of money. It could be his money he’s been giving you.”

“You think Crabtree has twenty-five million dollars?” Ethan asked. He wasn’t pacing, but rather was leaning against Randy’s bike. He looked like he’d fall over without it.

That made Randy stop short. “He’s given you that much? Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

“I thought it had to be wrong. I thought it was for something else. I thought it was scary as hell, so I just didn’t ask any questions and only spent what I felt like I needed.” He shook his head. “And Sarah kept telling me to send people to her who asked questions about where I was getting it. It’s not all in my account, either. It’s in investments and things all over the place, but they all come back to me. There’s a book at her desk that explains how I got them—it’s false, but it looks amazingly correct. It’s even retroactive, as if I’ve been amassing this money for years.”

Randy had to admit it added up. And there was no reason Crabtree couldn’t be Evelyn Carter. The timing even made sense; the time he died was when Billy went reclusive, and Crabtree had gone with him. For years he didn’t touch the casino at all—probably waiting things out while Nevada rotated through several gaming commissioners. And he’d bet Crabtree had grown the big ass beard then, too, and put on the weight.

He never entered the casino from the front, and he spent as little time as possible on the floor. Because it was technically illegal for him to be there, if he was Evelyn Carter. But if Crabtree, the jolly old elf, just hung out in the shadows, who would look too closely at the mugshots?

“But
why?
” Randy asked. “Why is he giving you all this money?”

Ethan just shook his head, his expression indicating he’d been asking himself the same question for some time and had given up finding the answer.

It was Sam who spoke.

“Because he wants Ethan to buy the casino,” he said.

Both Randy and Ethan turned to him. “What?” Randy said.

Sam went on, clearly putting the pieces together as he spoke out loud. “He’s been saying all along he has a buyer. A buyer he never talks about, and who has never shown any official interest in the place. What he has done is get Billy to shift the assets around, to spruce the place up, and to let Ethan take full control because he thinks he’s getting the better of his godfather. He also thinks it’s going to get him his cash so he can get out of there. Which I bet Crabtree is going to make sure happens. Just probably not the way Billy wants it to.”

“Hold on,” Randy said. His head was spinning. “You’re trying to tell me that Crabtree
gave Ethan twenty-five million dollars
, which is weird enough all by itself, but then for fun decided to fuck him over for it?”

But as soon as the words were out of Randy’s mouth, he remembered that first night, what Crabtree had said as they sat there on the couch watching Ethan play.

The only way aces go high after falling as hard as this one has is under extraordinary circumstances. And even then it isn’t guaranteed.

Fucking hell. That’s what this had been? This was Crabtree’s version of “extraordinary circumstances?” But then, as Randy thought about it, of course it was. For Crabtree the pot was someone to take over the casino for him, someone who could handle it and would do a good job. Someone who would care for it. Someone who would care for Billy Senior’s greatest love—outside of Crabtree. But for Crabtree this was all that was left of his Billy. Yes. It made sense that he’d try to find someone to take care of it, someone he thought would treasure it in the same way.

But twenty-five million dollars. What a fucking blind.

“He’s testing me,” Ethan said, having come to the same conclusion. He looked thoughtful, and, finally, composed. He smiled at Randy. “He’s willing to give me two things near and dear to his heart, if he’s decided I’m worthy. I think all of this, every last maneuver of this, has been part of his testing of me. Now I just have to show up at this game and lay down my cards.”

Two things? Randy frowned. “You get the casino and all his money?”

“No,” Ethan said, still looking Randy in the eye, his expression soft. “The casino—and you.”

Randy faltered. “He—he doesn’t feel that way about me,” he tried to object, but Ethan had his head spinning now, and he couldn’t argue the point any further.

“He does. And so do I,” Ethan said, and came closer to press a kiss against his forehead. Randy shut his eyes and accepted it.

“What I don’t understand,” Ethan said, “is how he’s going to get Billy’s controlling shares. It must be part of this game, but it’s not legal for Billy to toss in the deed. Is it?”

Sam pulled out his phone. “Well, it’s probably moot anyway now. The game started half an hour ago.”

“Oh, I suspect it’s been delayed.” Ethan pushed off the bike and reached for one of the helmets on the back. He smiled at Randy. “Want to go play the game of your life, Ace?”

Randy thought about telling him he was already in it and holding pocket aces as long as Ethan was around, but said instead, “What makes you think Crabtree is going to let a jackass like me into Billy’s Room?”

“Because I won’t go in without you,” Ethan replied, finished strapping on his helmet, then waited for Randy to climb on in front of him and drive.

The
game had, as Ethan predicted, not started without them. And as Randy had predicted, Crabtree was not interested in having Randy back in the room.

“He doesn’t have the ante,” Crabtree said. “Not for the game we’re playing.”

“Then I’ll cover him,” Ethan said, and he’d known Sam was right when he saw the flash of alarm in the gangster’s eye.

The ante was one hundred thousand dollars, and it was all done under an honor system, apparently, because Crabtree simply handed out stacks of chips which were already ready for them in the room. Ethan noticed there were exactly enough and that none had been brought in extra for Randy. Which meant there had been a spare set. Which, he realized, meant that Crabtree had meant for Nick to be playing in the seat where Randy currently sat.

Crabtree had been offering Ethan his revenge: money back from what Nick had taken from him. Money Crabtree had likely assured Nick he’d get returned, and which he’d intended to rob him of on Ethan’s behalf. But Nick wasn’t here now.

Ethan was glad. He didn’t have any interest in revenge or in the past. Just the future. And all he had to do was get there without running afoul of the law or Crabtree’s knife.

Besides Crabtree, Ethan, and Randy, there were five other players: Billy Junior and a collection of men and women Ethan knew were the live ones in the show. He recognized Canada Cate beside him and smiled, and she smiled back before settling in to her seat. It was a very nice seat, as they all were: lush, buttery-leather chairs that swiveled and would have made a cozy place for a nap, if they weren’t pulled up to a table of high-stakes poker. The walls were dark and expensive-looking in rich mahogany paneling, and the floors were lush tan carpet. A chandelier twinkled beautifully above the green felt of the table. Four cameras were poised above them, and two microphones drooped down, but beyond that there was nothing but simple opulence and luxury all around. Wait staff of both genders slipped in and out of the room, though Ethan noticed they were not in the standard butterfly costume of the main floor. They were in more classically tailored uniforms: tasteful, but flattering.

The men were also almost universally gifted with beards or at least hinted they were well-favored in body hair, and several were just a little bit round.

“What’s the pot, Crabtree?” Cate asked, accepting an elegant umbrella drink from a waitress. Ethan thought he caught her giving a slow, seductive smile to the young lady, who smiled back warmly before turning away to the next gambler. Ethan
knew
he saw Cate admire the line of the waitress’s neck beneath her upswept hair.

“That,” Crabtree boomed, patting his ample stomach, “is a good question. Quite obviously the pot is at least eight hundred thousand. But I thought that number was a bit crass, so I’ve added an additional ante to make it an even million.”

Everyone at the table nodded, satisfied, but not exactly impressed. No one voiced this—except Billy.

“Come on, Crabbie,” Billy said, giving his godfather a withering look. “There’s no way you brought us back here just for spare change.”

Ethan doubted, no matter what happened, that he could ever regard one million dollars as “spare change.”

“Well,” Crabtree went on, “I did have one thought.” He looked at his godson with a nasty twinkle in his eye. “I’ve heard a rumor that Billy here is interested in selling his casino. As it so happens, everyone at this table except for me has expressed interest in investing in the casino.”

Beside Ethan, Randy snorted.

Crabtree gave him a quelling look. “
Most
everyone. Excepting Randy and Ethan, however, everyone else here is known to have interest and capital enough to buy, and as we can all see, this is a place with potential, thanks to Mr. Ellison’s diligent efforts. And so I propose a game: the winner gets the pot, and he—or she—also gets the casino.”

Billy stood up, white-faced. “You can’t do that! It’s illegal! It’s also
mine!
”

“It isn’t yours, young man,” Crabtree reminded him. “The shares are yours: twenty-five percent outright, twenty-six percent in assets in trust, which are yours to use but the transfer of which I control. If you agree to this game, I will transfer that control to you. That’s a total of fifty-one percent of the shares you would then own. But to get that control, you must play—and win—this game. Because your ante, boy, will be three percent of your shares. If you win, then all the money is yours, as are all the shares, and you may liquidate this place, or sell it, or demolish it, or whatever you like. If you lose, you will no longer own the controlling interest, and someone at this table will own the three percent you put in the pot. But since, as I said, everyone here would like to own the casino, I suspect we could all enter in a gentlemen’s—and ladies’—agreement that the winner will offer to buy you out to finish gaining the monopoly.” Everyone around the table except for Randy and Ethan nodded. “There, you see? You can’t lose, Billy, and if you do, it won’t be very much. It certainly looks as if you have the best of it, doesn’t it?”