The Night Monster (10 page)

“I’d be happy to give it a try,” I said.

Standing in front of the wall-sized monitor, I tried to pick out the reader.

Cheating at blackjack wasn’t hard. Each player at the table received two cards, as did the dealer. The object was to get close to twenty-one, without going over. The dealer went last, and had the advantage of receiving one card facedown, the other face up. If the cheaters could learn the value of the dealer’s facedown card, they would know if the dealer was weak or strong, and play accordingly.

At first, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The gang was drinking and smoking and having a swell time. So was the crowd standing around them. It was like one big party, and had Valentine not tipped me to the scam, I would have been clueless.

After twenty minutes of watching, something strange happened.

The dealer flipped over his facedown card, revealing an eight. His other card was a three, making his total eleven. The dealer dealt himself another card. It was a ten, giving him twenty-one, a winning hand. As the dealer raked in the losing bets, the seven men at the table frowned disapprovingly.

“Somebody screwed up,” I said.

Valentine put down the can of diet soda he was drinking. He shouldered up next to me, and stared at the monitor.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yeah. I want to see this again.”

Valentine crossed the room, and two-finger typed a command into the keyboard that was wired to the monitor. The film was rewound. Again I watched the dealer pull twenty-one, and the cheaters’ reaction.

“See their faces?” I said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re right,” Valentine said. “So who’s the reader?”

“I’m not sure. Can we watch it in slow motion?”

“Sure.”

Valentine typed another command into the keyboard. This time, the clip ran in slow motion. Behind the cheaters I noticed a tall, menacing-looking Hispanic wearing a glittering array of gold jewelry. As the dealer raked in the losing bets, the Hispanic brought his hands up to his eye as if to replace a fallen contact lens.

“The tall Hispanic standing behind the players is your reader,” I said. “His contact lens fell out, which caused him to screw up.”

Valentine picked up a house telephone and called downstairs to the floor. “Put an RF tracking device on Table Sixteen.”

Hanging up, he smiled at me and resumed drinking his soda.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The Hispanic is standing too far behind the table to be using signals,” Valentine explained. “I’m guessing he’s got an electronic transmitter in his pocket that he’s using to signal the others. Cheaters call these transmitters thumpers. A radio frequency tracking device should pick up the signal, and we’ll have our proof.”

“Are thumpers illegal inside a casino?”

“They sure are.”

A few minutes later the house phone rang and Valentine took the call.

“So they
are
using a thumper,” he said. “Go ahead and arrest them, but be careful. One of these guys slit our dealer’s throat.”

Valentine dropped the phone into the receiver. He looked tired but satisfied. All his hard work had paid off, and now he was going to get his reward. He called the other men over, and explained that the bust was about to go down.

I continued to watch the lanky Hispanic on the monitor. He had a menacing quality that the other members of the gang didn’t have. Then I spotted something that I hadn’t seen before. Beneath the Hispanic’s right eye was a small tattoo. I edged up to the monitor for a better look. It was a tear drop. Criminals often had tear drops tattooed beneath their eyes after they murdered someone. In a loud voice I said, “The Hispanic is your killer. Tell your guys on the floor to be careful when they arrest him. He’s probably carrying a weapon.”

Valentine grabbed the house phone and relayed the information to the men downstairs. “Put the heavy on these guys,” he said.

“That’s a new one,” I said.

“Just watch,” he said.

Sixty seconds later, an army of security guards appeared on the monitor, and swooped down on the table where the cheaters were sitting. Working in tandem, the guards upended the table, and wrestled the gang and the Hispanic to the floor. It was lightning fast, with the cheaters never knowing what hit them.

The Hispanic was handcuffed and frisked. From his pockets the guards removed the thumper, along with a thick wad of cash. Strapped to his leg was a stiletto, which was held up to the camera for us to see.

“You were right,” Valentine said. “Sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Beginners luck,” I said.

A bottle of champagne was broken out, opened, and poured. I had not had champagne since my wedding, and forced a glass down.

“So what can I do for you?” Valentine asked.

“Help me find a missing girl,” I said.

gave Valentine the details of Sara Long’s visit to the Hard Rock. He was frowning by the time I finished filling him in.

“I’ve got some bad news for you,” Valentine said. “We may not have this guy on any of our surveillance tapes.”

“But I thought the surveillance cameras were on twenty-four/seven,” I said.

“They are, but they don’t catch everyone.”

My knowledge of how casino surveillance worked was limited to what I’d seen on TV and at the movies, where bad guys inside casinos always seemed to get caught on film. I shook my head, not understanding.

“The Hard Rock’s casino is the size of three football fields,” Valentine explained. “At any given time, the eye-in-the-sky cameras are watching half the floor, leaving the other half unwatched. That means that one hundred percent of the time, fifty percent of the casino isn’t being watched. A bad guy can come in, pull a scam, and walk out, and the cameras may never spot him.”

“So your systems aren’t foolproof.”

“If they were, I’d be out of a job. Now let me ask you a question. This young woman who was abducted, was she pretty?”

“Very pretty.”

“That’s in our favor. Most of the technicians working surveillance are men, and they usually film the pretty girls that come in. It’s against the rules, but they do it anyway.”

“So there may be a tape of Sara.”

“Yes. And hopefully, a tape of your suspect. Let’s go find a tech.”

I followed Valentine across the surveillance control room to where a tech sat staring at a computer screen while eating his lunch. The tech had wild, unkempt hair, and two-day stubble sprouting from his chin. His work station was littered with fast-food wrappers and Post-it Notes stuck to every available space. He glanced at Buster, who had not made a sound since entering the room, and tossed him a french fry.

“What kind of dog is that?” the tech asked.

“Australian Shepherd,” I replied.

“He’s cool. I want one.”

“Joey Riddle, this is Jack Carpenter,” Valentine said. “He’s an ex-cop.”

Riddle looked me up and down.

“You could have fooled me,” Riddle said.

“I need a favor,” Valentine said. “A pretty college girl was on the casino floor two nights ago, and I want to see if one of the hot-blooded males on duty filmed her.”

“What time was she here?” Riddle asked.

“Around eleven p.m.,” I replied.

“Did she gamble?”

“No. She was with two of her friends. They just people-watched.”

“Then they probably hung around the Tower of Power Center Bar,” Riddle said. “It’s a real popular spot with the ladies.”

“We’d like to see the film from the Tower of Power two nights ago,” Valentine said.

“Your wish is my command.”

Riddle’s bony fingers danced across his computer’s keyboard. A surveillance film of the Center Bar appeared on his computer screen. The bar was circular, and situated in the middle of the bustling casino floor. Stamped in the corner of the film was the date and time the film had been taken. It was from two nights ago at 11:00 p.m.

My eyes scanned the bar. Sara Long, Amber Woodward, and Holly Masterson were sitting together, sipping Cokes. I pointed at Sara.

“That’s her,” I said.

“Beau-ti-ful,” Riddle declared.

“Do you see the stalker?” Valentine asked.

I edged closer to the screen. The strange little man who called himself Mouse was not in the picture.

“No,” I said.

“Maybe he’ll show up later on,” Valentine said.

We watched Sara, Amber, and Holly mingle at the bar, then take a stroll through the casino, stopping to watch the different games or when someone hit a jackpot on a slot machine. The three young women were all pretty, and the camera never left them. It didn’t help my cause, because I couldn’t see if anyone was following them.

“Damn,” I said. “I can’t see who’s around her.”

“Joey, can you check the database to see if we have any other surveillance footage of these girls?” Valentine asked.

“Sure thing,” Riddle said.

Freezing the images on the screen, Riddle typed a command into the computer while tossing pieces of bread from his unfinished sandwich to my dog.

“Our system stores all the films taken inside the casino over a thirty-day period,” Riddle explained. “I just fed the images of these ladies into the hard drive, and asked the system to find identical images that might be stored in its memory banks.”

A new film appeared on his computer screen. On it, Sara and her friends were standing at the Hard Rock’s entrance, and Amber was wagging her finger in the face of a small man wearing khaki shorts, a faded T-shirt, and a baseball cap. It was Mouse.

“That’s the stalker,” I said.

I placed my face a few inches from the screen and lip-read. Amber was telling Mouse to leave them the hell alone. Mouse held his arms out innocently while shaking his head like he didn’t understand. Finally he shrugged and walked out the door.

“Want me to see if there are any more films of this guy?” Riddle asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Riddle checked the system, and came up empty.

“That’s the only film of him inside the casino,” Riddle said.

My spirits sagged. The film proved nothing that I didn’t already know. It wasn’t anything I could take to the police to prove my case. Feeling defeated, I looked over my shoulder at Valentine to see if he had any ideas.

“What about films of this guy outside the casino?” Valentine asked.

“There’s an idea,” Riddle said.

Riddle typed another command into the keyboard. The bread from his sandwich was gone, and he was now feeding Buster pieces of meat. The dog sat at stiff attention by Riddle’s desk, avoiding eye contact with me.

“The casino is required to film the grounds in case we get sued for a slip and fall,” Valentine said. “It’s a pain in the ass, but the insurance companies won’t cover us if we don’t. I’m guessing this guy had a vehicle, which might have been picked up by one of the cameras on the side of the building. Maybe we can get his license plate.”

“That would be great,” I said.

“Here we go,” Riddle said.

A film appeared on the computer screen showing the Hard Rock’s enormous parking lot. Mouse appeared, walking toward the back of the lot.

“There he is,” I said.

Mouse’s vehicle was parked in the last row. It was the same stolen maroon Ford minivan he’d been driving when he’d abducted Sara.

“Shit,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” Valentine asked.

“The vehicle he’s driving was stolen. He and his partner already dumped it.”

“So getting the license plate won’t do you any good.”

“No.”

My eyes were starting to hurt from staring at the screen, and I wearily rubbed them. There was no greater frustration than chasing
down a lead, only to find that it was a dead end. I clicked my fingers, and Buster reluctantly left his spot beside Riddle’s chair.

“Thanks for your help,” I said.

“Sorry it didn’t pan out,” Valentine said. “I’ll show you out.”

I followed Valentine across the surveillance control room. Riddle stared at his computer, oblivious to my leaving. He pointed an accusing finger at the screen.

“Whoa! Take a look at this.”

I hurried back to his desk. The film of Mouse in the parking lot was still playing. Mouse stood by the minivan along with two poorly dressed men holding knives. Mouse handed his wallet to them, then slipped off his watch and one of his rings.

“It’s a stick-up,” Riddle said. “These two guys have robbed patrons before.”

“You know them?” I asked.

“They’re a couple of crackheads. They hide in the bushes at night, and rob people leaving the casino. We’ve tried to catch them, but never had any luck.”

I watched Mouse hand over his jewelry. One of the crackheads pointed at the minivan. Mouse unlocked the rear door and stepped back.

Both crackheads stuck their heads into the back of the minivan. As if being sucked by a giant vacuum, they were pulled inside. As they struggled helplessly, their weapons and loot fell to the ground. One lost a shoe. Although the tape had no audio, I could almost hear their screams.

“What was
that?
” Riddle asked.

“Your crackhead thieves just got the tables turned on them,” I said.