The Scam

by Janet Evanovich

“I’ve also got tongs and an entire sheet of pork neck jerky wrapped in paper.”

  “Now you’re just showing off.”

  They turned right onto Travessa da Fortuna, a tight, dark alley that dead-ended at a retaining wall with a mossy concrete staircase cut into it that went up the hillside. The only light in the alley was cast by the windows of a small restaurant in a lopsided old stone building that seemed to be leaning against the retaining wall for support.

  Billy Dee, Boyd, and Nick went on ahead toward the restaurant, but Kate slipped into a dark alcove, pulled out her scissors, and waited. On the stoop beside her, there was a smoking stick of incense in a small bucket of ashes. The bucket was on a decorative platter with a lemon, dried flower petals, and several small cups of tea. It was a shrine, left for good luck by whoever lived or worked behind the closed door. Kate put the scissors in her back pocket and picked up the bucket of ashes. She said a small silent prayer, asking forgiveness from whoever or whatever was in the bucket. And as the three figures passed the alcove, she heaved the ashes on them. She leapt out while they were blinded and coughing, smacked one across the face with the bucket, hit another in the groin, then whirled around, taking out the third with a spin kick. She whipped the scissors out of her pocket and jammed them against the throat of the guy she’d hit with the bucket. His head was covered with ash, but she recognized him. It was Dumah.

  “Did Trace send you, or is this personal?” Kate said.

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Dumah said, coughing on the ash.

  “You boys weren’t just out for an evening stroll.” Kate looked over at the other two men, who were getting slowly to their feet. One was the man she’d fought in the Côte d’Argent stairwell, the other was the guy who’d been guarding the door to Trace’s dining room. They all had good reason to want her dead. “Were you looking for an opportunity to kill me or just give me a good beating?”

  “We’re here to protect you,” Dumah said. “Mr. Trace has put us in charge of your safety. If anything happens to you in Macau, we’ll be held accountable.”

  “So do us a favor and stay out of dark alleys while you’re here,” the stairwell guy said, slightly pitched forward, his hand cupping his privates.

  This was the second time she’d assaulted him today. She almost felt sorry for him.

  “And please watch what you eat,” the other guard said. “Make sure the egg tarts are fresh and avoid oysters.”

  “You’re in trouble even if we get food poisoning?” Kate asked.

  “We don’t want to find out,” Dumah said.

  Kate saw the fear in his eyes and didn’t think it was from the scissors at his throat. “Have you ever considered a different line of work?”

  “Not until today,” he said.

  —

  The dining room décor and the menu at Lorca’s hadn’t changed since Billy Dee’s day, but everything else was different. The one-eyed opium addict who’d established Lorca’s had died, and the restaurant was now run by his grandson Ernesto, who’d honed his culinary skills in the finest kitchens in Lisbon and Hong Kong. The opium den downstairs had been turned into a coffeehouse and performance space used mostly for poetry readings. The customers appeared to be clean-cut and middle-class. The only pirates, con men, and thieves in the room, as far as Kate could tell, were the four of them.

  They ate pork-stuffed squid, grilled sardines, deep-fried salted cod balls, and minchi, a bowl of minced meat, onions, cheese, soy sauce, and a fried egg. Kate thought the food was incredible. It was a tasty fusion of Portuguese and Chinese flavors, unlike anything she’d had before. Billy Dee remained sour faced throughout the meal.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Boyd asked him.

  “Macau has lost its charm,” Billy Dee said. “All of the danger is gone.”

  “I almost got killed today,” Nick said. “Doesn’t that count?”

  “It’s not the same. The only person attacking anyone in dark alleys with knives these days is Kate, and she lets them live.” Billy Dee tipped his head toward the front window, where they could see Dumah and the two other security men milling around outside, smoking cigarettes.

  “Technically it was a pair of scissors,” Kate said. “And I let them go because they’re protecting us.”

  “From what?” Billy Dee said. “A painful reading from a desperate poet? Seeing Macau today is like looking at a toothless lion. It’s sad and pathetic.”

  “Your disappointment with Macau aside, this trip has been a smashing success,” Nick said. “I toast you all.”

  He raised a glass of 2011 Douros Muxagat Tinto, a fine Portuguese wine, to them and took a sip.

  “But isn’t the show over?” Boyd said. “You told Trace that you’re finished, that you’re taking your business to the Grand Lisboa.”

  “So that’s it,” Billy Dee said. “We’re done. It would be extremely suspicious if you went back to him after what he did to you.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Nick said. “That’s why it’s the best possible thing that could have happened for the success of our scam. Now we don’t have to entice Trace into our scheme. He’ll come running to us. He’ll do whatever he can to win back our junket business.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Kate asked.

  “Because his ego won’t allow him to let us take our money elsewhere,” Nick said. “That would be losing.”

  “If he’s got such a big ego,” Billy Dee said, “he’s not going to humble himself by apologizing to you and groveling for your money.”

  “He won’t see it that way,” Nick said. “He’ll see it as using his awesome powers of persuasion on us. And when we say ‘Yes, we’ll come back,’ he’ll love us for it. We’ll be in solid. Having us around will reinforce his image of himself as absolutely irresistible. Look at it from his angle. Why else would we go into business with him again, and overlook the terrible things that he did to us, unless he was amazing? Best of all, because we walked away, our legitimacy never comes into question again.”

  “So he’s conning himself and doing our work for us,” Kate said.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Nick said.

  “It’s a thing of beauty.” Kate raised her glass to him. “If it works.”

  And if it doesn’t, she thought, by her calculations they’d just given a crook $625,000 to keep up his good work.

  Kate got out of bed the next morning, opened her drapes, and stared at the Wynn and MGM Grand across the street. To her right, on the tip of the peninsula, was the thousand-foot-high Macau Tower, a Chinese version of the Seattle Space Needle.

  She was about to turn away when she saw someone dive off the Macau Tower to certain death. Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed her face against the glass, wincing into the glare, when she saw another person jump. It took her a moment to realize that both people were tethered to bungee cords and that leaping off the tower was some kind of tourist attraction. Even so, it was a startling way to start her day. But at least she could inform Billy Dee that it was still possible to cheat death in Macau.

  —

  She showered and dressed in a sleeveless black knit top, black jeans, and her trusty ballerina flats. Breakfast was being served down the hall, in the VIP gambling suite.

  Nick, Boyd, and Billy Dee were already there. They were eating fresh fruit, pumpkin cakes, steamed milk pudding, and eggs that were scrambled with onions, vegetables, and minced bacalhau, fried Portuguese salted cod. They were being served their breakfast by Natasha Ling, who greeted Kate with a warm smile, as if she was genuinely pleased to see the woman who’d decked her.

  “I hope you had a restful evening,” Natasha said.

  “Likewise,” Kate said.

  “What would you like for breakfast?”

  Kate took a seat beside Nick. “I’ll have whatever they’re having.”

  “Very good. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Natasha went away to wherever the eighth-floor VIP kitchen was hidden, and Bi
rgita came to the table with a silver tray that held a platter of donut holes and four large red paper cups with the Tim Hortons logo on them.

  “Would anyone care for an extra-large Caramel Latte Supreme and fresh Honey Dip Timbits?” Birgita asked.

  “I’ll be damned,” Boyd said. “Where did you get that?”

  “There’s a Tim Hortons in Dubai. We sent our private jet and one of our chefs there yesterday for you.” She handed Boyd a cup. “Careful, it’s very hot.”

  Boyd handled the cup gingerly, cracked open the white lid, and sniffed the aroma with obvious pleasure. “Nice. Why did you send a chef?”

  She used silver tongs to delicately place a few Timbits on his plate as if they were exquisite gourmet pastries instead of glazed donut holes. “It was his responsibility to keep the coffee and Timbits at the optimum temperature to retain their flavor, consistency, and freshness during the seven-hour flight. The jet landed in Macau just a few minutes ago.”

  “Now that’s service,” Boyd said. “You’ve all got to try this. Best coffee and donuts on the planet.”

  Birgita passed out the coffees and Timbits to each of them. Kate tried one of the Timbits and nodded in appreciation.

  “It’s donut hole perfection,” she said.

  Billy Dee sipped the coffee. “I must admit that it’s a fine cup of joe.”

  “I agree,” Evan Trace said, strolling into the room with a large Tim Hortons coffee cup in his hand. “Maybe I should talk to Horton about opening an outlet here in Côte d’Argent.”

  Trace probably could have built a Tim Hortons for what it cost him to make that coffee run to Dubai. But in the cosmic scheme of things, Kate knew, the gesture was inexpensive compared to the money he’d already earned from them and the profits he stood to lose if they took their business elsewhere.

  “You do and I’ll never gamble anywhere else,” Boyd said.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Trace said with a smile. “Nick, Kate, could I please have a word with you in the living room? Bring your coffees with you if you’d like.”

  Kate and Nick got up and followed Trace into the living room. They were still within view of Boyd and Billy Dee but presumably out of earshot if they kept their voices low. Kate knew Trace did that to make them feel safe. Trace didn’t know, of course, that Boyd and Billy Dee could hear every word on their earbuds.

  “I understand that you stopped by the Grand Lisboa last night and had drinks with the manager of guest relations,” Trace said.

  Nick and Kate knew that Dumah had probably dutifully reported that to Trace last night.

  “We were in the neighborhood,” Nick said. “We didn’t want to miss the opportunity to establish a personal relationship with the people we might be doing business with on our next junket.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Trace said, a somber expression on his face. “You had a very unpleasant experience here yesterday.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Kate said.

  “Yes, it is. We’ve comped your rooms, of course. But that doesn’t go nearly far enough. You and your guests lost six hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars at the baccarat table. I have wired that amount, along with the two million that you lost playing blackjack in Las Vegas, to your bank account in St. Kitts,” Trace said. “You aren’t out a dime to me and you’re up six hundred and twenty-five thousand if you choose not to share the refund of yesterday’s gambling losses with your guests. Whatever you decide, it will remain our secret. I just hope this small gesture demonstrates my remorse, the sincerity of my apology, and my fervent hope that we can begin a new relationship built on a foundation of mutual trust and respect.”

  Trace didn’t wait for a response to his contrition speech. He bid them farewell with a slight nod and walked out of the suite. It was a classy exit.

  Nick and Kate remained stony faced, although they were cheering inside. Natasha and Birgita were watching and would definitely report to the boss.

  “He’s hooked,” Nick whispered.

  “Yeah,” Kate said. “We should have asked him to reimburse us for the jet.”

  “Better yet, I think we should let him know there are no hard feelings by bringing him a new whale. Preferably one from Hawaii with Yakuza money.”

  They went back to the table and finished their breakfast. An hour later the four of them were on a Côte d’Argent chopper headed to Hong Kong International Airport to begin their long journeys back home.

  —

  The day after Kate got back from China, she went to her sister Megan’s home in Calabasas to relax in Megan’s backyard. Megan and her family lived in a Spanish-Mediterranean McMansion on a hillside that overlooked the Calabasas Country Club and the San Fernando Valley. They had lots of comfy outdoor furniture, a pool, a Jacuzzi, and a barbecue island with a smoker, a bread warmer, and a refrigerator. Kate considered the place her own personal resort. So did her father, who lived on the property in a detached garage that had been converted into an apartment.

  Kate and Megan were sunbathing on side-by-side chaise longues, drinking homemade sangrias and sharing Nacho Cheese Doritos from a huge bowl on the table between them. Kate was in a black bikini and Megan wore a floral “miracle-slimming” one-piece with a skirt that was supposed to hide her butt, though there was no one around to hide it from. Roger was at work, Jake was on the golf course, and the kids were at school.

  “While you’ve been away, we’ve been terrorized by coyotes,” Megan said. “They’re killing pets and crapping all over everybody’s yards. Dad wants to shoot them, but that’s illegal. So he’s come up with another approach.”

  “He’s planting land mines on the hillside?”

  “Even better. He and Roger go out at night and pee all around the yard.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “It’s true. Roger read somewhere that human pee keeps the coyotes away.”

  “I bet a guy wrote the article just to give other guys an excuse to pee outdoors.”

  “Men are strange,” Megan said, taking a sip of her sangria. “While we’re on the subject, anyone new and exciting in your life?”

  “Maybe,” Kate said.

  “I knew it.” Megan sat up on the chaise longue. “Have you had sex with him yet?”

  “There is no sex.”

  “But there’s heat,” Megan said.

  “Scalding,” Kate said.

  It was the first time Kate had admitted to the attraction out loud, and she was surprised that she said scalding. Scalding was pretty heavy-duty in terms of attraction.

  “So what’s the problem?” Megan asked.

  Kate sipped her sangria. “We’re co-workers.”

  Megan dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand that ended with her scooping a bunch of Doritos from the bowl. “Nobody at the FBI has a life except at the FBI, so don’t tell me everybody isn’t sleeping with everybody. You’ll have to do better than that. What’s his name?”

  “Bob,” Kate said.

  “Bob,” Megan said, clearly not buying it. She ate a couple of chips and stared at Kate. It was an effective interrogation technique that Kate had used herself.

  “I can’t tell you his real name because he’s an undercover agent. In fact, he’s been undercover for so long that he’s spent more time as a criminal than an FBI agent,” Kate said. “I think he actually prefers being a criminal. He enjoys breaking rules, defying authority, and being unconventional. The thing is, that’s what makes him so good at what he does.”

  “I can see how that would drive you crazy,” Megan said.

  “I believe the rules exist for a reason.”

  “I meant crazy horny,” she said.

  “Oh,” Kate said. “There’s some of that.”

  “There’s a lot of that or we wouldn’t be having this discussion,” Megan said. “Bottom line, you want to sleep with Bob but you’re not. So let’s see if we can figure out what’s really holding you back. What are his pros and cons? Pros first.”


  Kate began ticking them off on her fingers. “He’s charming, funny, adventurous, romantic, daring, and hot.”

  “Cons?”

  “He’s dishonest, manipulative, egotistical, reckless, and hot.”

  “I noticed hot is in both columns. Your problem is that you live for the chase,” Megan said. “It’s like what happened with Nicolas Fox.”

  Kate froze for an instant. “What does Fox have to do with this?”

  “I saw how happy you were when you were chasing him, and how miserable you were when you finally caught him, and how thrilled you were when he escaped so you could go back to chasing him. It’s the Fox Complex all over again.”

  “You’ve given it a name?”

  “We’ve talked about this a lot,” Megan said.

  “We?” Kate said. “Who is we?”

  “Me, Roger, Dad, and the kids.”

  “The kids, too?”

  “You’re afraid if you catch this guy, you’ll lose the excitement in your life and the goal-oriented sense of purpose that drives you.”

  “You’ve got me all wrong,” Kate said, hearing the lack of conviction in her voice.

  “So you’re telling me that you won’t be miserable if you catch Nicolas Fox.”

  “When I catch him, not if,” Kate said. “It’s going to happen.”

  “Okay, then, if the outcome is inevitable, what you should be thinking about isn’t all the ways you can avoid getting what you want, but how to accept it once you have it.”

  “Are you talking now about me catching Fox or going to bed with Bob?”

  Megan looked Kate in the eye. “It’s the same thing.”

  Kate wondered if her sister really knew that it was, or if it was purely intuition or just a coincidence that she brought Nick into the discussion. Not that it mattered. Megan was right.

  Kate showered, changed into a T-shirt and jeans, and walked into Megan’s kitchen to find her sister cutting the crusts off sandwiches, leaving the crusts on the counter, and arranging the sandwiches on a plate.

  “Wonder Bread, cold cuts, and Kraft cheese slices,” Kate said. “Dad’s favorite.”