Gheist

by Richard Mosses

  “You know fine well who they were,” said Jack. “The Commissars.”

  “Bollocks,” said Fingers.

  The Commissars? Jack had been worried about them before. And she’d dismissed Evelyn’s warning. Maybe they should be concerned after all. First things first. “OK,” said Kat. “I’ll double check where the heart is being kept.” She had no idea how she’d find it if it had been relocated. It wasn’t like there was a built-in range finder. “You guys start thinking through what you might need. I’m sure we’ll need to bring a few people in to help. I expect we’ll need someone to help with security and locks just for starters.”

  “Told you she was a natural,” said Clint.

  Getting into the Monterey was easy enough. Kat half expected to be strong-armed out the door any minute. That wasn’t the problem. There was tremor, no excitement, no feeling. Clint had been right. She couldn’t feel her heart here anymore.

  She walked through the fields of arcade machines, punters pulling on the one-armed bandits like it would make a difference. Kat drifted around the tables and sat down to a game of blackjack to avoid raising suspicions that she wasn’t here to play. If it was the thrill of the game this should have got her feeling something. After winning a couple of hands she walked away. It really wasn’t about the game.

  So where was it? Why had it been moved? It could be anywhere in the Strip. Probably the only person who would know was Danton, and Kat doubted he’d agree to tell her. Hell, she’d need to find him first. The only way she knew how to do that was to lose a lot of money and not pay her debts.

  But there might be another way. How well connected were the guys? Surely between them they could get a sighting of him from one of their contacts? Then all they’d have to do is follow him.

  Jack waited out the back of the Golden Gulch. It wasn’t one of the most prestigious casinos along the Strip, but it found its fair share of punters. Tourist guides suggested it was a good place to start as the table bets start as low as a dollar. Still, he rather resented having to lurk in the shadow of an overflowing dumpster, amongst fast food wrappers eddying and a stack of corn-oil cans. He was used to stalking prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. Efficient and deadly, a hawk swooping out of a clear sky, a viper springing out from behind a rock. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be so careful around the living, but Evelyn and Kat were proving not all of them were blind to the movements of the dead. Who knew who – or what – a cautious man like Danton had on his staff?

  Speaking of Evelyn, that one not only had one of his anchors, but had exercised that power over him, power passed to Kat. Jack was grateful to have been released from that strange prism, but he was still wary of anyone having that kind of control. If he’d known Evelyn had one of his anchors…Well what would he have done?

  They’d left it to Clint to tell him what had happened. Even then he’d come close to losing it.

  The air crackled and a small charge was grounded by the metal of the dumpster. The brief spark threw his silhouette high up the side of the casino. Shit. He needed to keep control.

  He looked about. No one around.

  What was he going to do about the anchor? Persuade Kat to destroy it? Someone had to look after it, better some slightly barmy well-meaning religious type than someone with a real axe to grind. Kat didn’t seem much worse, she had her head screwed on, even if she was a little naïve, but her motives were cloudy.

  He still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten him to do this. Was it the accent? A smile? More likely he was just gullible. A chance at real redemption, Fingers had suggested. Redemption? Standing in a greasy puddle in an alley? Seemed like a good bet when he’d agreed, but it was just a quick job. Get a girl a heart. Now there was a lot of grunt work.

  Everyone else was too busy playing at management. He knew his place and it was usually at the coal face getting his hands dirty. Usually he got paid for stuff like this. It was about time he moved up in the world, redemption or not. Let someone else stand in shit on a stakeout.

  A door opened letting out warm light and gust of damp air, heavy with the smell of French fries. Danton’s large figure blocked much of light until he walked out into the street behind the casino. Jackpot! A large SUV with blacked out windows pulled up in front of him with almost perfect timing, but not perfect enough.

  “Where the fuck you been?” Danton said, as one of his henchman jumped out and opened the door. “Keep me waiting again and you’ll get around on an electric scooter.” Despite the intimidation, there was no real threat behind the words.

  “Sorry, Boss.”

  Jack uncoiled and slipped into the back with Danton before the door was shut and they were off.

  The SUV crept through the streets behind the Strip. Clearly the driver was making sure he wasn’t being tailed. An old saloon looked like it might be trying, but it turned off back towards the lights. The SUV headed North West along Veteran’s Memorial Highway, but they hadn’t even gotten to the desert when Jack faded out, having travelled as far as his anchors would let him.

  “We’ll need to do two things,” said Kat. “First, and easiest, is to go back and follow him everywhere we can, all the time. Does he make that trip along the Highway every night, or just once a week? Where does he sleep, where does he eat? Can we find any patterns?”

  “So what’s the hardest thing?” said Jack, a weary tone in his voice. “How do we even know it’s a casino we’re looking for?”

  “Once we’ve mapped his movements, assuming all the main sites of interest are negative, and guessing he goes out along Highway 95 regularly, then we’ll need to figure out some kind of relay system. I could try tailing him, but you’ve already told us his driver is sharp. So that means I need to take your anchors out into the desert before he makes a run, first one I’ll drop somewhere close to the city limits, the second will overlap with the furthest range we can get from there. And again for the third, with the three of you we should be able to cover maybe 30 miles in a straight line. Another option might be to drop the anchors at major junctions along the route; we might narrow things down quicker. We’ll need a car too, and I don’t have a US driver’s license.”

  “This could take weeks,” said Fingers. “I want to be doing something.”

  “Then help with following Danton. Keep your cool, and keep hidden,” said Clint.

  They mapped out Danton’s movements over a few weeks. Kat visited each of his casinos on and off the Strip, as well as his three apartments and a house on the outskirts of the city. He only headed out along Route 95 once a week, although which day wasn’t regular. They found cars they could use without having to worry about a rental; Fingers spent some time instructing Kat on the finer points of selecting an old enough car, using the right tools to gain entrance and getting a car up and running.

  Kat had taken that red dress out of desperation. She deeply regretted it at the time. When Kat actually committed her first pre-meditated theft, but she didn’t even notice. The moment passed unremarked. Without any real emotion she wasn’t affected by nerves, no sweaty palms, and no guilty conscience. They used a different car each time, and always returned it, wiped clean.

  Danton drove for nearly two hours along the desert highway, flat as far as the eye could see. Sharp hills in the distance to the left and right. Unrelenting blue sky overhead and punishing sun. After the first trip Kat made sure she got a car with a working air conditioner. Eventually, Danton left Highway 95, passed through Beatty and out onto Route 374, heading towards California, before turning right not far after the sign announcing they’d entered the Death Valley National Park.

  He went along what amounted to a dirt road, Borax Drive, cleared of the bushes that stubbled the rest of the desert. The road ended at a large sprawling building which looked like a Mission Revival ranch house stretched up over three levels; the Inferno Creek Casino. Kat couldn’t help but compare it with the Church of the Holy Spirit when she visited the casino the next day, and realised she hadn’t spoken to
Evelyn in over a month. The casino was huge compared to the church, it lounged across an area at the foot of the hills, the creek itself a dusty ditch that only became much more than a trickle when, if, the rains came.

  It seemed almost impossible that Danton had been allowed to build a resort inside a National Park. Weren’t these supposed to be areas of limited development?

  Kat left the cool of the car and braved the heat of the high afternoon sun. In the casino lobby it was much homelier than she expected. The floor was made from wooden planks, lacquered and polished to a golden sheen. Two small groups of old leather chairs clustered around low tables with a large fireplace off to one side. Something it was hard to imagine was ever needed, but apparently it got cold in the desert at night. The ceiling was high with balconies running along the sides of the room, the bare wooden supports dark and looking naturally old. Kat was reminded of childhood visits to Scottish castles and wouldn’t have found a suit of armour out of place. Perhaps Danton had simply built an extension onto an older ranch building. The reception desk for the hotel was discreet and you could almost miss it if there wasn’t a smart receptionist with a fresh blazer and wide smile welcoming you in. If she was in any doubt she was in the right place, a distant sense of excitement crept in, she felt a light mix of nervousness and elation, a slight tremor of a pulse. Her heart was here, somewhere.

  Kat headed through to the main casino floor. She’d be back checking out details and analysing security once they’d tracked down some reliable plans, but she wanted to get a feel for this place that was raw. And maybe it would be nice to get that bump of emotion to tide her over until she got her heart back. She walked down through familiar rows of one-armed bandits to the tables. Blackjack was the only sane person’s game, but sane people weren’t gamblers, on to the craps tables where there was almost no skill only chance, past the roulette wheels which even insane gamblers should avoid, to the low stakes poker where a few punters where getting warmed up. Kat felt her pulse get stronger and the thought of turning this place over gave her enough of a thrill that she had goosebumps in what must be the hottest casino in the world.

  There was something to be said putting a casino in Death Valley with nothing around for miles. Only a fool would go outside, but only a fool would come here. So close to the state border too, bound to be a few Californians who’d nipped over for a quick fix before heading back home.

  She turned to go, and caught her breath. Of all the fucked up places in all the world…Tony. Typical. She turned back. Kat didn’t think she’d been seen. Was it really him? How could she be sure without being seen? She felt her heart really thumping, almost in a panic. She wasn’t used to this much feeling. Kat felt faint, light headed. Breathe. Breathe deep, hold, and relax. She got control. Got a plan. She can’t have been seen. He would have come over. She glanced over her shoulder. Tony, or someone like him, was playing craps. She walked behind him, it sure looked like him from behind, although he was wearing an expensive suit. No doubt bought with her winnings. She held her breath as she made it quickly over to the far side of the gaming floor. Kat looked back. From this side she wasn’t so sure. But there was some distance between them now. Would Tony be stupid enough to come back, and to one of Danton’s casinos? Probably he would. Maybe he didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure it was him.

  Lurking near the slot machines she got as close as she dared, ready to duck back behind the old lady hammering quarters into the slots and pushing the button to spin the wheels.

  From this angle she wasn’t so sure. If it was Tony there was something not quite right about his face, like he’d had a nose job or something. Kat remembered to breathe – although apart, her heart was racing. If this had happened anywhere else, she’d have been cool and calm. She felt drunk on emotion and drained from the experience.

  Nursing the adrenal jitters in her system it was a long drive into the night.

  18

  “You’re sure this guy can help?” Kat sat in another borrowed car, Clint in the passenger seat. She looked across the street to a modern building that housed an architecture firm, windows tinted blue, reflecting the afternoon sun.

  “Reasonably,” said Clint.

  Kat got out of the car and marched towards the building like she belonged there. She had put on her best approximation to a business outfit. After rummaging around thrift shops she’d managed to find a pencil skirt and jacket that looked like they went together. Finding a matching pair of half decent heels had been a whole different challenge.

  She swept through the swing doors and into the elevator with a few other executive types. She should’ve brought a briefcase, or some kind of bag. On second thoughts it would be an accessory like that that would give the game away.

  At Floor 14 she got out, Clint catching up with her. “Left,” he said. The glass wall was etched with the names Vadim, Maxwell, Hernandez & Summers. It didn’t say what they did. Keeping up appearances, Kat turned left and thankfully the corridor was quiet. She nodded at the people she passed like she was on first name terms with them, but too busy to stop just now.

  “Second door on the right,” Clint said.

  It was shut, so Kat just opened it and walked in. Shit. She stopped short. There was a man behind the desk. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have the wrong office.”

  Kat was half-turned away, heading out the door, when the man spoke. “You can see me?”

  Kat closed the door, just in case, before returning to face him. “Yes. Can’t everyone?”

  “Since last night, it’s like I’m invisible,” he said.

  The nameplate on the desk was for Bertram Summers, Partner, in case he forgot who he was and what he did. Although the office wasn’t that big, so it might be possible. However, that wasn’t who she’d come to see. “You’re Bertram, are you?”

  “Mr Summers. Yes. Who are you anyway? You don’t work here.”

  “Where is Vincent Vadim?”

  “It’s been twenty years and people are still asking me that. Like I had something to do with it.” Summers smiled. “In Hell, I hope.”

  “So you’ve not seen Vincent recently? Since, er, last night, perhaps?”

  “I told you, he’s dead. Why is everyone else ignoring me? I demand an answer from you, young lady.”

  Kat looked at Clint, who invited her to carry on. She didn’t have time for this.

  “Bertram, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but no one is talking to you because you’re dead. Can you tell me which office Mr Vadim was in?”

  “Ha. The guys sent you in, didn’t they? This is all a big practical joke. We’ll all pretend Berty isn’t there, that’ll be a laugh. Yeah, fucking hi-lar-i-ous. It ends. Now. Admit it or you’re fired.” Summers got up and went to the door, his hand passed through the handle. “What? Did you spike my coffee too?” He tried again. “This is not fucking funny anymore.”

  “It’ll be easier for you to just go through the wall,” said Clint.

  A man opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. Katrina McKay. I had an appointment with Mr Summers.”

  “I’m sorry, you should have been called. Mr Summers passed away last night.”

  “Seriously,” said Summers, his voice high. “This is not fucking funny anymore.”

  “Oh,” said Kat. “I’m sorry for your loss. May I ask what happened?”

  “Out of respect for Mr Summers, we’d rather not disclose that. Who were you talking to?”

  “Respect? None of you ever show me any respect. If you did you wouldn’t be continuing with this absurd act. Stop it. Stop it now. Just look at me. Go on.” Summers started waving his hands in front of the man’s face. Kat had to do her best to focus past them.

  “Just on my cell,” said Kat. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “Liar. You were talking to me,” said Summers.

  “Carlos Vadim, one of the senior partners. What were you here to discuss with Mr Summers?”

  “You’re related
to Vincent Vadim?” It looked like they might just turn this around, after all.

  “Indeed, he was my father.”

  “Just because your mother tells you that doesn’t make it true,” said Summers.

  “Well you may just be the best person to speak to,” said Kat. “I had seen this lovely casino, out near the state border and I heard Vincent Vadim had been the architect. The core ranch house has been wonderfully incorporated and the motif extended to the rest of the build and I just knew I needed to work with the same firm.”

  “Well, he was very proud of that work. Alas it was the last thing he worked on. Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, but it’s all so sudden that we haven’t had the chance to distribute Mr Summer’s work amongst us. Why don’t you come through to my office and we can talk about your project some more?”

  Kat kicked herself. If they’d spent a few more minutes researching the firm instead of blundering to find a ghost they only guessed was here they might have saved themselves some effort. It still might be a wild goose chase. “Gladly.”

  Summers stayed behind complaining loudly to no-one but himself.

  “This was my father’s old office,” Carlos said, opening a door with his name on it. “Sometimes it feels like he’s still here.”

  “Really?” said Kat, walking in first. It was a corner office with two large windows looking out over Downtown. Mostly it was a large wooden desk, but for some reason she was pleased to see there was a draftsman’s table off to one side with work in progress. On another surface was a white cardboard model of an Ancient Greek temple. “This doesn’t look quite like the Parthenon. Too big.”