The Scam

  “I’m either having déjà vu or the internal bleeding has deprived my brain of oxygen,” Nick said. “Isn’t your private dining room in the same place in Las Vegas?”

  “It’s exactly the same building, only with half as many floors,” Trace said. “Ironically, it was twice as expensive to build, if you factor in all the bribes I had to pay Chinese officials.”

  Nick wasn’t in the mood to appreciate irony. He was trying to think of how he was going to talk his way out of this.

  The guard held the door for the three men as they passed, then closed it behind them. They walked into the sunny atrium, over the bridge, and into the open dining room. There was a man waiting for them who looked like he’d used his face to pound in fence posts. He was holding a mallet.

  Not a good sign, Nick thought. This guy wasn’t wearing a chef coat so you could assume he wasn’t going to use the mallet to pound the heck out of a veal cutlet.

  Dumah pushed Nick into a chair at the pond’s edge and secured Nick’s wrists to the arms of the chair with zip ties.

  “You already know Dumah, from your experience in Dajmaboutu,” Trace said. “This other gentleman is Mr. Garver, our senior customer relations technician. You really don’t want to know him.”

  “At least not until I can put some plastic sheeting on the floor,” Garver said, hefting his mallet, enjoying the weight. “This is nice carpet.”

  “Look, this has gone way too far already,” Nick said. “Untie me, pour me a drink, and let’s have a civilized conversation about whatever has got you riled up. You don’t want to do something you’re going to regret.”

  Trace smiled and leaned close to Nick. “I don’t have regrets. Only losers have those. Tell me about the scam you’re running. Every detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “I’m not scamming anyone,” Nick said. “I’m getting into the junket business.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Garver tipped Nick’s chair so that the back of the chair was flat to the floor and extended over the pond filled with piranha.

  —

  Kate didn’t wait for the elevator. She took the stairs down to the casino, listening on the earbud as Nick pointed her to the VIP salon and Trace’s private dining room.

  She reached the ground floor and opened the door to the casino. A security guard stood in the doorway, his wide body blocking her path. He looked like a Macanese weightlifter stuffed into a Dolce & Gabbana suit that was a size too small.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  Kate jammed the corkscrew into his crotch, puncturing the fabric of his pants and pressing the sharp point against his shriveling scrotum. His entire body went rigid.

  “Unless you want to become a eunuch, you’ll step very slowly inside here with me,” she said, backing up into the stairwell. He did as he was told, but the instant the door closed behind him, he head-butted her.

  Kate fell back, dazed and angry that she’d been surprised by the same move she’d used on Natasha. He swatted the corkscrew away from her and then backhanded her across the face.

  Kate retaliated with a brutal kick to the inside of the guard’s left knee, buckling him. He toppled to one side, grabbing Kate’s other leg while going down and taking her to the floor with him.

  Kate pulled his other leg out from under him as they fell, flipped him over on his back, and drove her elbow into his solar plexus with her full body weight. It was an elbow drop. A WWE SmackDown move that took the wind out of him. A follow-up punch in the face put him down for the count.

  She searched through his jacket pockets and found a five-inch telescoping steel baton. It was a nice trade up from the corkscrew. Kate got to her feet, held the baton down between her arm and her side to shield it from view, and walked out into the casino.

  —

  Nick was balanced on the tipped-over chair with the back of his head hanging an inch above the water.

  Trace tossed a piece of dim sum into the pond and the water roiled with piranha, fighting over the morsel.

  “All it takes is one piranha brushing against your cheek, smelling your flesh, and they’ll all swarm on you,” Trace said to Nick. “They’ll eat your face right off your skull and then start chewing their way into your brain. That could happen any second now.”

  “I’d like to prevent that from happening,” Nick said.

  “Then tell me what you and Kate did to Derek Griffin.”

  “We wanted his half a billion dollars,” Nick said in a rush. “We found out where he was hiding and decided the best way to get his money was to kidnap him. Make him pay a ransom to free himself.”

  Trace tossed another piece of dim sum just under Nick’s head, and Nick could actually hear teeth gnashing, as the piranha chewed on one another in their mad lust to get a share of the steamed dumpling. He wondered if Kate, Boyd, and Billy Dee could hear it, too.

  —

  Kate could hear it. She didn’t know exactly what she was hearing, but she knew it couldn’t be good. She crossed through the crowded VIP salon toward the guard who was posted at the door to Trace’s dining room. As she neared him, she whipped the baton open in her hand. It expanded to two feet of solid tempered steel with a satisfying metallic snap.

  The guard reached for his gun. Kate whacked his arm, then his knee, and, as he fell, she brought the baton down across his back, finishing the job.

  Kate dropped the baton and took the guard’s holstered gun, trading up her weapon once again. If this trend continued, the next guard she disarmed would have a rocket launcher.

  She rummaged through the guard’s pockets, got his key card, and swept it over the sensor by the door.

  —

  “Did Griffin pay?” Trace asked Nick.

  “Not the half billion, but we got ten million dollars out of him. We split that with the pirates and set him adrift in international waters,” Nick said. “That’s it.”

  Trace sighed in a show of disappointment. “You’re still holding back. You haven’t explained how Griffin ended up in Palm Springs two days later.”

  Trace tossed an egg custard tart into the water above Nick’s head. The tart broke apart when it hit the water and the piranha went insane. The water boiled with them. The razor-toothed fish were jumping all around Nick’s head. One of the monsters was bound to land on his face soon.

  “We told some bounty hunters where they could find him,” Nick said. “I’ve got no idea how he ended up in Palm Springs after that.”

  “Why would you give him to bounty hunters?”

  “To protect ourselves,” Nick said. “Griffin couldn’t come after us if he was broke and in a prison cell.”

  “So you’re just two lowlife swindlers trying to make a buck any way you can.”

  “Of course we are,” Kate said.

  Trace, Garver, and Dumah had been so caught up in the piranha frenzy happening around Nick’s head that they hadn’t heard Kate come in. Now there she was, standing on the bridge, aiming a gun at Trace. She had a strong and natural firing stance. She was firmly in control of herself. Trace saw beads of sweat on her chest, flecks of blood on her knuckles, and stony determination in her gaze. In that moment, she was the sexiest and most dangerous woman Trace had ever seen.

  “Who else would have friends like Ould-Abdallah and Blackmore?” Kate said as she walked toward Trace, keeping her gun leveled at him as she did. “Who else would set up a junket to launder money through a casino in Macau? I don’t know what kind of people you thought we were supposed to be. Missionaries, perhaps?”

  Trace didn’t move as she approached. “I see your point.”

  “Do you? You’re making money on this deal and so are we. So what difference does it make what we did in the past? Are you in this business to make money or not?”

  She stepped right up to him and pressed the gun barrel against his forehead. Trace looked her in the eye for a long moment. He thought about what she’d said and about the violence that she must have inflicted just to get to
this room. He totally understood why Griffin risked everything to get her into bed.

  “I guess I lost my head,” he finally said.

  “Not yet, but you almost did. The only reason your brains aren’t all over the wall is because I don’t want to jeopardize the money that we’re making upstairs.” Kate lowered the gun, handed it to Trace, and then looked past him to Dumah. “Don’t just stand there, you dumb ape, get Nick out of that chair.”

  Trace gave Dumah and Garver a nod and the two men lifted the chair upright. Dumah cut the zip ties, freeing Nick’s wrists.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Evan,” Nick said. “I thought you were a smart man. You could have made a lot of money with us. But after tonight, we’re taking our business to the Grand Lisboa. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a game running upstairs.”

  Nick put his arm around Kate, and they walked over the bridge just as a bunch of security guards came rushing through the door from the VIP salon. Trace ordered the guards to stand down with a simple wave of his hand. The bewildered guards moved aside and let Nick and Kate pass.

  “That was an amazing performance,” Nick said once they were clear of the VIP salon and strolling casually through the casino toward the elevator.

  “I was going to say the same thing to you,” Kate said.

  “I had the easy part,” Nick said. “I just told them the truth with a lie or two thrown in. You had to intimidate them into folding.”

  “That’s not so hard when you’re holding a gun,” she said.

  “It wasn’t the gun that sealed the deal,” he said. “It was how you got there and what it revealed about you. I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.”

  “You have been on my bad side,” she said.

  Nick broke into a grin. “That’s right, and it was a lot of fun. I kind of miss it. And by the way, did you notice you gave Trace a stiffie?”

  “That wasn’t me,” Kate said. “He had it when I came in.”

  Trace sent everyone away except Garver and Dumah.

  “I’m surprised that you let Sweet and Porter just walk out of here,” Dumah said. “They’re playing you.”

  “I’m a reasonable man and they made a convincing argument,” Trace said. “Griffin was fair game, a swindler who got swindled. There’s nothing wrong with what Nick and Kate did to him. In fact, I admire how they did it. It shows that they’re smart and daring. The fact is, those two have done nothing to me but make me richer.”

  “It’s just a part of their plan,” Dumah said.

  “I really like that part. But now it could be over because I let my curiosity override my good judgment,” Trace said. “I have to find a way to apologize and win back their business.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Dumah said. “They’re liars and crooks.”

  “My best customers are liars and crooks. I can live with that. But do you know what I can’t live with?” Trace stepped up to Dumah. “Underlings who question my decisions.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Trace.” Dumah lowered his head. “I’m just trying to serve you better than I did Griffin.”

  “No, you want to avenge your honor,” Trace said. “So listen to me very closely. If anything bad happens to Nick and Kate while they are in Macau, I will hold you personally responsible. If Nick stubs his toe and breaks it getting out of bed, it’s on you. If Kate gets bitten by a mosquito and has an allergic reaction, it’s on you. And the consequences for you will be extreme and disfiguring. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dumah said.

  “You can go now,” Trace said.

  Dumah nodded and walked out.

  Trace watched him go. He would never admit it to Dumah, but he had taken the bodyguard’s warning to heart. He wasn’t going to act on it the way Dumah, or even Nick and Kate, would expect him to act. He was going to follow Nick and Kate’s example instead. He’d swindle the swindlers.

  Garver joined Trace at his side and gestured to the chair with a swing of his mallet.

  “This wasn’t a mistake,” Garver said. “Now you know who they really are.”

  “And they know me,” Trace said.

  “That’s a good thing,” Garver said.

  It certainly was. Because the next time one of them was in that chair, and Trace believed it was likely that one of them would be, they’d know that they deserved their suffering and that he had every right to thoroughly enjoy it.

  —

  Kate went back to her room to change her blood-splattered clothes, making a mental note to do more sucker punches to the throat and hand out fewer broken noses. She discarded the clothes, showered in steaming hot water, and dressed in an indigo cap-sleeved cashmere pullover and white slacks that were like a second skin thanks to a large percentage of spandex. She swiped on some lip gloss and mascara, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and returned to the VIP suite.

  The woman who opened the door to the suite introduced herself as Birgita.

  “Natasha has fallen ill,” Birgita said. “It hit her very suddenly, but she’ll be fine tomorrow. May I offer you a cocktail?”

  Kate declined and went into the living room, where the game was still in progress. Billy Dee and Boyd were still seated at the baccarat table. They’d each bet $150,000 against the dealer. Nick had joined them.

  “You’re missing out,” Boyd said to Kate. “Birgita makes an amazing lemon-drop martini.”

  He held up his empty glass to Birgita, who took it with her to the bar. “Another one, Mr. Blackmore?”

  “Absolutely,” Boyd said. “With lots of sugar on the rim.”

  “That’s a manly drink,” Billy Dee said. “Maybe you’d like some whipped cream on it, too? And a little umbrella stuck into it.”

  Boyd turned to Birgita. “Make sure the martini is shaken, not stirred.”

  “Now it’s manly,” Kate said.

  The four of them shared a smile. It was an acknowledgment that they were glad to be together again, alive and well.

  —

  They could have stayed at Côte d’Argent for dinner, but Billy Dee was eager to explore Macau and see what remained of the dangerous port city he once knew. Kate, Nick, and Boyd were glad to join him after being cooped up in the suite all day. They’d gone from the chopper to the car to the hotel without really stepping outside. They were in Macau, but they could have been anywhere.

  They left the casino and followed the tiled sidewalks along Avenida de Almeida Ribeiro toward Senado Square, the heart of the old city. The sidewalk was a uniquely Portuguese mosaic of black and white stones, known as calçada portuguesa, that had been painstakingly laid by hand to depict the fish, boats, and sunshine that had been vital to Macau’s economy before the casinos came along.

  The tiles in Senado Square had a wave pattern that became dizzying, almost animated, when it was revealed in glimpses beneath the feet of the hundreds of Chinese tourists and Macanese locals in the wide plaza. Kate kept her eyes up, taking in the pastel-colored neoclassical buildings around her, each one filled with history and one with a crowded McDonald’s.

  Billy Dee shook his head with disgust as they passed the McDonald’s. “There used to be a terrific whorehouse in there.”

  “This is better,” Boyd said. “They have a dollar menu.”

  “They had a dollar menu at the whorehouse,” Billy Dee said.

  “Do we have a destination?” Kate asked.

  “Lorca’s Hideaway,” Billy Dee said. “Hopefully it hasn’t been taken over by a Gap. Back in the day, it was run by a one-eyed fisherman and opium addict. Fabulous Macanese food upstairs and the best opium den in the city in the basement.”

  “It would be a shame to visit Macau and not sample the opium,” Boyd said. “It would be like going to New York and not having a hot dog.”

  There were several narrow roads spiraling off from the square. Billy Dee started to go up one of them, then abruptly doubled back, choosing to go on a different one. The road that he picked was crammed with people and wea
ved up through a tangle of side streets and dead-end alleys, toward the ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Both sides of the road were lined with pastelarias, open store fronts that sold cookies, candies, and sheets of meat jerky that were stacked like reams of paper. The competition between the pastelarias was fierce. Shopkeepers cut samples from the jerky with scissors and used tongs to thrust pieces of meat out at the passersby. Other shopkeepers held out baskets and platters of cookie pieces. It created a bottleneck. People bunched up as they stopped to grab samples or avoid colliding into someone.

  When Billy Dee doubled back Kate caught three men in her peripheral vision who doubled back with them. She couldn’t see their faces, but she had a fix on their clothes and their size. The men were doing their best to stay close but were hugging the walls to avoid being caught behind in the bottleneck or, worse, being shoved up against their quarry.

  Kate sampled the thick boar fillet from one pastelaria, the top beef filet with black pepper from another, then zigzagged across the street for a taste of spicy pork with abalone sauce. Along the way she managed to steal a pair of greasy scissors from a shopkeeper’s apron pocket.

  “Where is Lorca’s?” Kate asked Billy Dee.

  “On Travessa da Fortuna,” he said. “It’s a side street that’s coming up.”

  “You keep going,” Kate said. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  Nick kept his gaze focused in front of him as he navigated through the crowd. “You’re worried about the three guys following us.”

  “When did you spot them?” she asked.

  “When Billy Dee changed his mind about which street to take,” Nick said.

  She wasn’t surprised that he’d noticed the tail when she did. He’d been a con man and a fugitive for years, so looking over his shoulder for the police or someone that he’d swindled had become instinctive.

  “I picked up a pair of scissors, if you’d like them,” Nick said.

  That didn’t surprise her, either. He was a gifted pickpocket. “Already got my own, thanks.”