Liquid Smoke (8 page)

An attractive woman with a bun of blond hair greeted us from behind an oak reception desk. “Gentlemen, how can I help you?”

Carter whispered, “Gentlemen?” and chuckled before he went back to sucking on his straw.

“We’re looking for Ben Moffitt,” I said.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Do we need one?”

She smiled patiently. “Of course. Mr. Moffitt is a very busy man.” She seemed to finally notice that we were dressed in shorts and T-shirts and one of us was enjoying a Slurpee. “Has there been a problem in the casino?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “We were just hoping to speak with Mr. Moffitt.”

“Are you selling something?” she asked, squinting at us like that might help her figure us out.

“If you could tell him it’s in regard to San Quentin, that would be great,” I said, smiling.

She looked back and forth between us for a moment, then picked up the phone. She turned away from us as if she was looking at her computer, but I thought the move was more to keep us from hearing.

“Carolyn, I’ve got two young men out here asking to see Mr. Moffitt,” she said, apology apparent in her voice. “Regarding San Quentin?”

She looked at me, smiled, and held up a finger to indicate it would be a second. I gave her a thumbs up. Carter moved the straw up and down in the lid so that it made a horrible groaning noise. She frowned in his direction. He gave her a thumbs up, too.

Her eyes moved away again. “Alright. Certainly. Thank you, Carolyn.”

She hung up and swiveled back to us. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry. Mr. Moffitt’s schedule is full today. If you’d like to leave a card, I can have his assistant get back with you to schedule a better time.”

I pulled a card out of my pocket. “May I borrow a pen?”

She smiled, grateful that I wasn’t going to fight her on it. She passed a pen to me.

I flipped the card over and wrote “Russell Simington” on the back. I slid the card and pen to her.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d take that to him right away,” I said. “Tell him we’ll be in the casino for a while. He can find us there.”

She picked up the card. “I’d be happy to take this back, but I doubt he’ll be able to see you today. But if he should ask, where in the casino might you be?”

I turned and headed for the elevator, Carter on my heels.

“We’ll be the ones making a commotion,” I said.

“Commotion?” Carter asked when the elevator let us out in the casino.

“Commotion,” I said.

“You’re not just teasing me, are you?”

“Nope. I needed something you were good at.”

I thought he was going to start skipping, he looked so happy.

We went to the change cage, and I bought a hundred bucks in chips. I handed Carter half. Then we found a roulette table.

As we slid into the seats, I whispered to Carter, “Go crazy, dude.”

He gave a tiny nod and set his Slurpee on the edge of the table.

A guy with dark hair and circles under his eyes greeted us. “Hello, gentlemen. Thank you for choosing Bareva. Place your bets, please.”

“Sure thing, boss,” I said. Then I looked at Carter and said louder than necessary, “I bet I’m gonna kick your ass here, bro.”

“You and what person twice your size, bozo?” he said, matching my volume. He dropped a couple of chips on black. He glanced at the worker’s nametag. “Fire her up, Bill, and make sure that fuckin’ little pearl lands on black.”

Bill laughed and turned to me. “Sir? Do you wish to bet?”

“I wanna be black,” I said.

“So did Vanilla Ice,” Carter said. “Let’s go. Drop your money.” “You may also bet on black, sir,” Bill said.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I want to be the only one on black.”

A perplexed expression settled on Bill’s face. I looked at Carter. “Next round, I’m black.” “Whatever, Vanilla.” He pounded the edge of the table. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I dropped a couple of chips on red.

Bill spun the wheel. The tiny ball jumped like it was electrified. “Come on, you little fucker!” Carter yelled, pounding the table again.

The ball bounced into the black slot and settled as the wheel came to a halt.

Carter stood and jumped up and down like a two-year-old in a crib. “Oh yeah, baby! Pay the big man!”

Bill laughed and slid some chips toward Carter. Carter reached for them, but I grabbed his wrist before he got there.

“That’s my money,” I said.

“The fuck it is, Vanilla,” he said, appropriately appalled. “And you better let go of me before I make you eat this wheel.” “I called black.”

“Too slow, bozo.” He glanced at Bill, like can-you-believe-my-buddy. “Bill, that’s my money, dude.”

Bill now appeared as if he wished he’d called in sick. “Fellas, let’s calm down.”

People were creeping closer, unable to ignore our voices.

“My money,” I said.

“My ass,” Carter said.

I tackled him, and we fell to the floor.

“This is fun,” Carter whispered as he rolled me over.

I wrapped my arms around his head. “Just you wait.”

A flurry of people surrounded us and began pulling us apart. We both ended up in the arms of security guards. Lots of yelling and people telling us to calm down. For a moment, I wondered if our show was all for naught.

Finally, though, from the area near the elevators, three men in dark suits came toward us. Large, severe men.

I looked at Carter. “Here comes the real fun.”

One of the suits took me by the arm. Not roughly, but more like he was escorting me around an art gallery.

He smiled politely. “Sir, if you’d like to come with us.” It wasn’t a question, but it lacked the threat I was expecting.

The two other suits gestured at Carter but didn’t take his arm. A wise move.

We moved away from the scene of our lunacy and toward the elevators. My escort let go of my arm but was still smiling. “You succeeded in getting Mr. Moffitt’s attention.”

“Imagine,” I said.

The elevator opened, and we all stepped in. I marveled that somewhere in the action Carter had managed to retain his Slurpee. He was sucking on the straw as if nothing had happened.

My escort stuck a key in a lock above the floor numbers and turned it. The doors closed, and we rose much higher than the fourth floor where we’d originally started. I guessed we went up about ten floors.

The doors opened, and the floor didn’t look much different than the admin offices. The men escorted us into a conference room with a view of the hills and the afternoon sunshine. A crystal pitcher filled with water sat in the middle of a huge mahogany table, accompanied by six matching glasses.

My guy gestured at the plush leather chairs around the table. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.”

We sat down, and they left.

Carter set his Slurpee on the table. “Now what?”

“Vanilla Ice?” I asked.

“You like that? I thought it was pretty good.” “I should’ve dumped the Slurpee on your head.”

“Now that wouldn’t have been good.” He waved a hand around the room. “So?”

“So let’s see who comes to visit us.”

Twenty minutes and two glasses of water later, the door to the conference room opened. A guy a couple inches taller than me with a neck the size of a barrel led the way. His brown hair was buzzed short, and the skin on his face seemed stretched too tight, as if there weren’t enough skin to cover his skull. Acne dotted his forehead. He scowled at us. He wore khaki pants and a black dress shirt with a butterfly collar that was open at his huge neck. Sweat stains darkened the shirt near his armpits. Lots of muscles in just about every place.

He was followed in by a man considerably shorter and less muscular. The second man was around five-ten with the build of a cross-country runner and shaggy black hair that hung to just above sleepy hazel eyes. He appeared to be trying to grow a goatee, but it didn’t seem to want to come in. He wore white jeans and a bright purple polo shirt.

“Hi, fellas,” he said. His voice was high-pitched and squeaky. “What are you here for?”

“Is either of you Benjamin Moffitt?” I asked.

“No. I’m Ross.” He pointed at the gorilla, who had moved next to me. “That’s Gus.”

“We’re here for Moffitt.”

Gus’s right hand shot out and drilled into the side of my head. My head snapped to the side and a rainbow of colors flashed in front of my eyes. Gus was strong.

“Easy, big guy,” Ross said.

I shook my head, clearing the colors from my vision, and realized he was talking to Carter, who was halfway out of his seat. I held up a hand, and Carter sat back down.

Ross smiled in my direction. “Wanna try again?”

“We’re here for Moffitt,” I said. “Dickhead.”

I felt Gus move again, but this time I was ready. I swept the pitcher off the table, swiveled in the chair, and smashed the pitcher into Gus’s head. It disintegrated into a fine mist of water and glass when it hit his temple. His teeth snapped together like a bear trap, and he fell to the ground.

I looked at Ross, who was no longer smiling.

“Is Moffitt coming or do we need to go find him?” I asked.

Ross glanced at his partner. Gus was clutching the side of his head as blood percolated out of his mouth, his eyes shut tight in pain.

“I’ll go get Mr. Moffitt,” Ross said. Carter stood. “We’ll go with you.”

“No need,” Ross said, a little too quickly. “If you’ll just wait here—”

“You can ceme back with who knows what,” Carter said. He walked over and took Ross by the elbow. “Show us the way, buddy.”

I stepped over Gus to follow them. The side of my head was still throbbing.

“Hang on,” I said to Carter.

I turned around and drove my foot in Gus’s solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him like a slashed tire, his eyes bulged, and his mouth opened into a silent, painful oval.

I pulled my foot off of him and faced an amused Carter and a worried Gus.

“Now let’s go,” I said.

Ross took us down a long hallway to a corner office. He knocked, timid, on the partially open door. A polite voice invited us in.

The room was huge and crescent-shaped, backed by a window that opened up to the expansive valley beyond the casino. Several leather chairs and a matching sofa sat around a glass coffee table in one corner. A magnificent mahogany desk was fronted with two more leather chairs. Our feet sunk into the plush carpeting.

Ben Moffitt leaned back in his chair behind the desk and smiled. “Hello, Ross. What’s going on?”

Moffitt appeared to be in his early fifties. Dark hair that looked like it might have had some help in holding off the gray. Tan face. Bright, hazel eyes. A small pointed nose that fit perfectly over his small tight mouth. An expensive blue dress shirt opened at the neck. A gleaming watch on his left wrist.

Ross shifted his weight nervously. “Uh … ah … Mr. Moffitt … these guys … ah … wanted to see you.”

Moffitt nodded as if he’d been expecting us. “Fine. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“To start, you might want to call a doctor for Gus,” I said, gesturing behind us. “His face is going to need some help.”

Moffitt’s eyes clouded over, confused. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like people hitting me in the head,” I said. “Gus learned that the unfortunate way.”

Moffitt frowned and moved his gaze to Ross. “Ross? What’s he talking about?”

Ross shifted again, his feet kicking at the floor like he had to go to the bathroom. “Well, we didn’t know … uh … I’m not … they were in the casino and …”

Moffitt held up a hand and shook his head. “Thank you, Ross. We’ll speak more about this later.”

Ross took the opportunity to pivot and slink out of the room.

Moffitt stood and held out his hand. “I’m Ben Moffitt. I apologize for any trouble you encountered.”

I shook his hand and was taken aback. I’d expected to walk into an unfriendly room. Moffitt was treating us like long lost friends.

“I’m Noah,” I said.

He held out his hand to Carter. “I’m Ben Moffitt.”

Carter hesitated, then shook his hand. “Carter.”

Moffitt gave a sharp nod and gestured for us to sit down in the chairs that faced his desk. We did, and he eased down into his own chair.

“Again, I apologize for any trouble Gus and Ross may have given you,” he said, forcing a reluctant smile onto his face. “Sometimes they get a little excited and don’t make the appropriate decisions.”

I nodded. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll make sure we make it up to you,” Moffitt said. “No need,” I said. “Really.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Moffitt said. He smiled again, showing some coffee-stained teeth. “Now, how can I help you?” “Hold on a sec,” Carter said. “I’m confused.” “How so?”

“We came up here half an hour ago, and it was all your receptionist could do to shoo us back into the elevator,” he said. “Then we get your attention in the casino, Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumbass try to put the squeeze on us, and now we’re sitting here and you seem happy to see us?”

Moffitt looked amused. “First off, the receptionist is instructed to turn away anyone looking to see me. If I made myself available to every person who lost twenty bucks in my casino, I’d never get anything done.” He smiled. “I don’t know what you’re referring to in the casino. Gus is one of my heads of security. He’s instructed to handle situations.” His smile dimmed. “What he’s not instructed to do is harass our patrons, regardless of what has occurred.” He leaned forward. “My willingness to speak to you is my way of apologizing for the inappropriate treatment you may have experienced.”

Moffitt was smooth, polished. Just like the room. I thought it was interesting that he hadn’t asked what occurred downstairs. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. But I had a difficult time thinking he didn’t know about every little thing that was happening in his casino.

“I’m an investigator,” I said.

“Not from the gaming commission, I hope,” Moffitt said, chuckling.

“No. I’m working for a man named Russell Simington.” I watched for a reaction but saw nothing. “Should I know that name?” Moffitt asked. “I believe he worked for you.”