“Sure,” she said. “But isn’t it off-brand for you?”
“Brands evolve or they die. The attitude and décor inside the casino will still reflect a straightforward but elegant approach to gambling. But the fire is dramatic and it’s going to be a big draw.”
“Like the Mirage volcano, which you supposedly hate.”
“The volcano is vulgar, crass, and over-the-top,” Trace said. “This is a work of contemporary art that’s striking, frightening, even sensual. That’s a big difference. These flames represent sin in all of its myriad temptations.”
“Clever,” Kate said, trying not to look horrified. “Very impressive.”
“I hope you’ll be equally impressed with dinner,” Trace said. “We’re having a Matsuzaka steak, the best in the world, and also the most expensive. The meat comes from three-year-old virgin cows raised in the Mie prefecture of Japan. The cows are massaged each day, fed tofu and beer, and entertained with classical music. The result is perfectly marbled meat that literally melts in your mouth. I’m willing to pay the price because I appreciate the best of everything. That’s why you’re here, Kate.”
Eek, Kate thought. She was getting massaged like a virgin cow.
“I appreciate the thought,” she said, “but you don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you’re an exceptional con artist and a highly skilled killer.”
“He must have read your dating profile on DesperateSingles.com,” Nick whispered into Kate’s ear.
Kate took a beat to clear Nick’s voice from her head.
“What makes you think that I’ve killed anyone?” she asked Trace.
“I didn’t say that you have, but it’s obvious that you could. I believe that my men who fought with you are lucky they’re still breathing.”
“I had no reason to kill them.”
“Did you come to Nick’s rescue because you’re lovers, or was it simply to protect your business interests?”
“What difference does it make to you?”
“I want to know how committed you are to him,” Trace said.
“If you’re asking if I’d ever betray Nick, or cheat him out of his share of a deal, the answer is no,” she said. “But I’m a free agent.”
“In all respects?”
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
The answer seemed to please Trace. “There’s a reason why I wanted you to see the model of Monde d’Argent. It’s a huge project, crucial to the future of my business, and it’s going to come under attack from my competitors, criminal syndicates, and professional cardsharps. I need someone who can protect my interests from them and any other potential adversaries.”
“You’re offering me a job?”
“Head of security for Monde d’Argent,” he said.
“Even though you think I’m a professional crook and a stone-cold killer.”
“That’s what makes you exceptionally well qualified for the job. I was a gambler, a swindler, and a cheat before I got into the management and ownership side of the casino business. A criminal background is an asset in this business. It gives you savvy.”
“There’s nothing like firsthand information,” Kate said.
“Exactly. For instance, some of my management style comes from a mistake I made a long time ago. I got caught cheating by a casino, so they had one of their men smash my hands with a mallet.”
“Like the man who works for you?”
“It’s the same man. He did this to me.” Trace held his mangled hand out for her to see.
“Horrible,” Kate said. She’d noticed his hands at their first meeting and had tried not to stare, wondering if it was a birth deformity.
“Not at all,” Trace said. “It was a learning experience.”
Trace moved from the casino model in the middle of the room to a small table by the window. The table was set for two with candles and flowers and linen napkins. He selected a fork from one of the place settings, laid his hand flat to the table, and stabbed the fork hard into the back of his hand.
A wave of nausea rolled through Kate’s stomach.
“So what did I learn from this?” Trace asked, clearly undisturbed by the fork stuck in his hand. “I learned that this is an excellent way to deter cheating. I learned that there are more monetarily rewarding ways to make a living than cheating. And I learned that I like extreme sensations.” Trace pulled the fork out of his hand as if his hand were just a piece of meat. “My hands work fine, but I hardly feel a thing. Nerve damage.”
Kate swallowed back her revulsion and put on her game face. This was a man who fed on fear and suffering. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing any of her real emotions. And she especially didn’t want to show him anything he would interpret as weakness.
“Is stabbing yourself with a fork a regular part of your job interviews, or is that just your favorite parlor trick?” she asked him.
“Both,” he said.
He set the fork on the table, and casually pressed one of the linen napkins to the bleeding wound. Natasha swooped in from the back of the room and reset the table with a clean fork and napkin.
“Are you interested in the job?” Trace asked Kate.
“I’ll keep the offer in mind,” Kate said. “It will be a year or more before Monde d’Argent is built. A lot could happen between now and then.”
“I’m prepared to hire you now. You could run security here in the meantime. You’ve certainly proven that it needs to be beefed up.”
“No, thanks,” she said.
“We haven’t even talked salary or perks.”
“Maybe another time. I’ve had a long flight and I’m afraid the jet lag is catching up with me. I need to get some sleep before we host the junket tomorrow.”
“Of course,” he said. “You need to be at your best for your guests. Would you like me to send your meal to your room?”
“That would be appreciated.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Trace walked Kate to the elevator. “We should do this again soon.”
“I can’t imagine how you’d top the fork,” Kate said.
“Try,” he said. “I’d like to hear any ideas you come up with.”
She stepped inside the elevator, faced him, and slid her key card into the slot. “They could hurt.”
“I hope so,” he said, and then the elevator doors closed.
“I’m sorry I missed the hand stabbing,” Nick said into Kate’s ear. “Next time we’ll have to strap a GoPro camera to your head so I get the video with the audio. This guy is freaking nuts.”
“He stuck the fork into his hand, and I almost threw up. It was sick.”
“Are you okay? Would you like me to come to your suite?”
“You want half of my steak, right?”
“No, sweet cakes, I want all of you.”
Kate took a beat to steady herself. “I need time.”
“The ball’s in your court.”
Natasha was waiting at the door when Trace returned to the suite.
“Mr. Ould-Abdallah and Mr. Blackmore have arrived,” Natasha told Trace. “We have eyes on them both. Mr. Ould-Abdallah is visiting an opium den near the harbor and Mr. Blackmore is in the casino playing pai gow.”
“What’s Alika doing?”
“He’s entertaining three prostitutes in his room,” Natasha said. “He just had six bottles of champagne sent up.”
“Alika has big appetites,” Trace said. “I can appreciate that.”
“Earlier tonight, he gorged himself on four lobsters and had drinks at the bar with this man.” Natasha showed Trace a security camera picture on her iPad of a wiry Japanese man in a tight black turtleneck and black slacks entering the casino. “The man is not staying with us, but our facial recognition system got an ID. He’s Richard Nakamura, a sales representative for a Japanese auto parts company that’s owned by a senior Yakuza member. He usually gambles at the Galaxy.”
“So he came here
specifically to meet Alika. That confirms your intel that Alika is a pipeline to Yakuza’s money and therefore a man we should make very happy. Make sure he has all the lobsters, champagne, and hookers he desires.”
Trace untied the napkin from his deformed hand and examined the puncture wounds. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin was beginning to bruise from the impact of the fork.
“Does it hurt?” Natasha asked, taking his hand in hers.
“I’m feeling no pain.”
“Neither am I,” she said, squeezing his hand hard, making the wounds bleed again.
“Let’s change that,” he said and led her toward the bedroom.
—
Kate walked into the eighth-floor VIP gambling suite in the morning to find an enormous breakfast spread that included an array of Chinese, Portuguese, and Hawaiian dishes. There was also an assortment of Tim Hortons donuts, kettles of his coffee, and stacks of his signature paper cups.
Nick, Boyd, Billy Dee, and Alika were already gambling at the baccarat table, and Luisa was once again dealing cards. Natasha stood behind the dealer and tracked the wagers on an iPad. Birgita stood at the bar, ready to serve the gamblers whatever refreshments they wanted.
Alika was in his usual attire, from the wraparound shades on his head to the sandals on his huge bare feet, and he was the player being dealt the cards. Billy Dee was at the far end of the table, looking groggy.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Kate said. “How is your luck running this morning?”
“I got lucky last night an’ it’s still wit’ me t’day,” Alika said, sharing a leer with Boyd that conveyed the kind of luck that he was talking about.
“That’s a different kind of luck,” Boyd said. “And you paid for that.”
“Dey was on da house, but I still got da luck,” Alika said, flipping over his cards to prove his point. He had a five and a four. “See? Try beatin’ dat rippin’ poundah.”
It was the dealer’s turn. She flipped over her cards. She had a three and a seven.
“Ho!” Alika pounded his fist on the table and rattled everyone’s chips. “We pumpin’, brahs!”
Boyd nudged Billy Dee. “Wake up, Sheik, you won.”
“I’m not sleepy,” Billy Dee said. “I’m carefully considering my next wager.”
He was also stoned, Kate thought, and set a cup of coffee in front of him.
“There’s nothing to consider,” Boyd said. “It’s all about seeing which way the winds of luck are blowing.” Boyd licked his right index finger and stuck it in the air. “It’s blowing toward the Big Kahuna.”
“Ass right,” Alika said. “I plenny lucky.”
Kate helped herself to a donut and coffee and joined Birgita at the bar. “What are the chances of getting one of those Matsuzaka steaks with a couple of eggs, over easy?”
“It’s no problem,” Birgita said.
Nick looked over his shoulder at Kate. “It’s one of the best steaks in the world. Why bother with the eggs?”
“That’s what makes it breakfast,” Kate said. “Plus egg yolk is nature’s steak sauce.”
“You’re going to dip a Matsuzaka steak in egg yolk?” Nick shook his head. “Sacrilege.”
“I like da way you eat,” Alika said to Kate, then shifted his gaze to Birgita. “Make dat fo’ two.”
The gambling went smoothly the rest of the day. Billy Dee, Boyd, and Alika established a friendly rapport as they gambled and gorged on the constant supply of food and top-quality liquor. Nick and Kate took turns at the baccarat table, keeping the game moving.
Billy Dee and Boyd each started the day with $5 million, Nick and Kate with $3 million, and Alika with $2 million. By the end of their eight hours of gaming, Billy Dee’s slow and thoughtful approach had paid off. He broke even, while Alika was down $175,000, Nick and Kate had lost $500,000, and Boyd was out $1 million. It was a winning day for everyone. The casino was happy to make money. Boyd and Billy Dee were happy to gamble with someone else’s money. Alika was happy to launder his illegal profits for a reasonable transaction fee, taken as gambling losses, while indulging all of his desires. And Kate was happy that no one had been killed.
Alika rose from the table and clapped Nick hard on the back. “Dat was to da bomb, bruddah, to da max. Tanks, eh?”
“Glad you had a good time,” Nick said.
“How do I cash out?”
“Any way you like,” Nick said. “You can trade the chips in with us for cash in any currency or we can wire the money to any account, or to anyone, anywhere in the world.”
“What if I want to give some chips to a friend here in Macau?” Alika asked. Kate noticed he’d dropped the pidgin act and wondered if he was even aware of it.
“These chips have no value outside of this room,” Natasha replied. “But we’d be glad to exchange them for chips of equal value that can be played, or cashed, in the casino downstairs by your friend.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Birgita led a lithe Japanese man into the gaming room. He was dressed in all black, including a black onyx ring and a black-faced Rolex Cosmograph Daytona watch.
“My name is Nakamura,” he said. “I’m here to see Alika.”
Alika lifted the bottom of his tank top to create a pouch, swept a little more than half of his chips off the table into his shirt, and carried the chips over to Nakamura.
“Dis fo’ you,” Alika said, stopping in front of Nakamura. Alika shook his shirt, making the chips rattle. “Unreal, yeah?”
The Japanese man stared at Alika as if the Hawaiian had asked him to reach into a latrine.
Natasha quickly brought a silver tray and held it at Alika’s waist. “If you’ll give me the chips, Mr. Alika, I’ll escort your friend to the cashier’s window downstairs and exchange these for new chips or for cash, whatever is Mr. Nakamura’s preference.”
“That would be much appreciated,” Nakamura said.
“ ’K’den, whatevah,” Alika said, emptying the chips onto the tray.
Nick offered his hand to Nakamura and flashed his most winning smile. “I’m Nick Sweet. I organized this game. Perhaps you’d be interested in joining us next time.”
“Perhaps,” Nakamura said.
He declined the handshake and walked away with Natasha to the elevator.
Alika had just successfully laundered $2 million in cash, for himself and the Yakuza, Kate thought. The whole thing took less than two minutes. The FBI had not only let it happen, they’d enabled the unlawful transaction. Jessup wasn’t going to like it. She wasn’t thrilled about it, either. If the truth ever came out, it would be a huge scandal that would land them both in front of a Senate subcommittee and end with them in a federal prison.
Nick watched Nakamura walk away. “Friendly guy.”
“You should see him when he isn’t so relaxed,” Alika said. “You can cash da rest of my chips an’ wire da money to my Cayman Islands account.”
“Will do,” Nick said.
Alika leaned close to Nick. “Let’s talk soon about doing dis ting again, brah.”
“Anytime,” Nick said. “Would you like to join me, Kate, and our other guests for dinner? I’ve got us a table at a five-star restaurant in Taipa that usually has a three-month wait.”
“No, tanks, I’m going back to my crib an catch da next wave.” Alika turned to Birgita, who stood nearby. “I’d like da same kine room service as last night, only one more of everyting.”
“It will be our pleasure,” Birgita said. “And with our compliments, of course.”
Alika shot a grin at Boyd. “My lucky day.”
Nick and Kate returned to Nick’s suite after dinner. Nick switched off the transmission on their earbuds so they could hear Billy Dee and Boyd, but the two men couldn’t hear them. Billy Dee was snoring and Boyd was singing in the shower.
“Things couldn’t have gone better today if I’d scripted every moment,” Nick said.
“The FBI laundered two million dollars in drug mone
y for the Hawaiian mob and the Yakuza,” Kate said.
“A key part of the con. We had to do it to draw in a real mobster and create a genuine threat.”
“I know, but I still don’t like it.”
“I’ve corrupted my principles, too,” Nick said.
“You have no principles.”
“Not true. I was a criminal, running cons and stealing things for fun and profit. Now I’m doing it to put people like me in jail. I’ve betrayed the whole notion of honor among thieves,” he said.
“Honor among thieves is a bunch of baloney.”
“Maybe, but fear of reprisal is real. I’d be a dead man if the people I used to work with knew what I am doing now.” He looked out the floor-to-ceiling window. In the distance, beyond the hills of Taipa, he could see the glow cast by the casinos on the Cotai Strip, lighting the sky. “You’re still basically doing the same thing that you’ve always done, arresting people who break the law, only now you’re being a bit of a crook to do it.”
Kate nodded. She knew this to be true.
“At least we’re having some success,” Nick said. “Alika is already itching to come back and he hasn’t even left yet. As a bonus, we’ve snagged a Yakuza soldier. After a shaky start, everything is going according to plan. A week from now, I’ll run off with all of Alika’s money, and the Yakuza will be screaming for blood. All you’ll have to do is flash your badge at Trace and he’ll run into your arms. Côte d’Argent will be finished, and so will Alika.”
They went silent when through their earbuds they heard Boyd abruptly stop singing “Camelot” in mid-chorus. Someone was knocking on his door.
“Hold on, I’m coming,” Boyd said. “Be right there.”
Nick and Kate heard footsteps, and then a door opening.
“Evan,” Boyd said. “What a surprise.”
—
Trace had a bandage wrapped around his hand and held a bottle of Evan Williams Single Barrel whiskey by the neck.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Blackmore, but I wanted to have a private chat with you before you leave tomorrow. May I come in?”
“I’m always glad to see a man at my door with a bottle of fine whiskey.” Boyd was in his Côte d’Argent terry cloth bathrobe, which was cinched tight, but he cinched it even tighter as he stepped aside and let Trace in.