Fast Crimes

by Simon Wood

  “How’s your luck tonight?” Price asked.

  “Not as good as yesterday,” Gemma said.

  “You’re not behind, are you?”

  “About even,” Roy answered, “but we hope to turn things around.”

  “Well, allow me to be your lucky charm. What can I get ya?”

  They ordered, Price poured their drinks and rang them up on the register just as he should. He bantered with them a bit about where they were from and what they did for a living before moving on to a couple of new arrivals.

  Gemma picked up the printed receipt from the shot glass and examined it. “I don’t get how we’re supposed to learn anything new from watching him. He’s doing everything right but it’s going to come out wrong. It’s like he’s a magician performing some great illusion.”

  “I don’t know,” Roy said, “but has to be doing something.”

  “Maybe he's doctoring the register history?”

  “I doubt it. He’d leave a computer trail a mile long behind him.”

  “Then I’m lost.”

  “All we can do is watch and learn.”

  Roy was determined to catch Price out. He'd reread the casino’s investigation case files before they’d come back. A couple of issues preyed on his mind. Price never rotated between bars and always worked the late shift at The Blue Oasis. Why this bar only? Why the late shift? Roy thought he had the answer. Contrary to popular belief, Vegas isn’t a twenty-four hour, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year party town. Places closed. While the casinos stayed open twenty-four seven, not every part of them did. This casino closed all its satellite bars at four a.m., which meant Price always closed the bar out. Roy found that tidbit interesting.

  They repeated their act from the night before, taking turns recording Price’s cash sales then making trips to the bathroom to make notations. Their observations would again report everything was above board, but Roy knew that wouldn’t be the case when the casino compared it to the register’s dailies. They were doing their job to the best of their ability, but it wouldn’t look that way. Time was winding down on their second three-hour stint. Price looked to have beaten the casino and worse still, beaten them.

  “I think we’re going to get the same result as last night,” Gemma said.

  Roy went to agree, but stopped himself. He’d just noticed something. He'd missed it before, but who wouldn’t? It was so subtle. He grinned. “I’m not so sure. Want another drink?”

  “Drowning our sorrows?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  He signaled to Price. He came over and they ordered.

  “Okay if I pay with a credit card?” Roy asked. “I’m getting low on cash.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Price took Roy’s credit card and left to ring up the order.

  “We’re supposed to be paying with cash. That’s the point, remember?” Gemma said.

  “I know. Humor me.”

  “Where’s he going?”

  Instead of going to the cash register across from them, Price rang their drink order up on the other cash register.

  “Why does a bar staffed by a single bartender need two cash registers?” Roy asked.

  “Convenience?” she answered without much conviction.

  “I think we should stick around for a little while longer.”

  For the next hour, they watched Price work. All but a few drinks paid with cash went in one register and those with credit card sales went in the other. Roy blamed himself for not noticing this earlier. He'd been so preoccupied with cash sales that he hadn’t bothered to watch what happened to credit sales.

  “I just noticed something too,” Gemma said. “Look at the security camera. It’s positioned over the register he's using to ring up the credit card sales. The other register is unmonitored.”

  He followed Gemma’s gaze and suddenly, everything clicked into place. He knew how Price was doing it. He had to give it to the bartender, it was audacious. He finished up his drink and put a generous tip on the bar. Price would need all the money he could get after tonight. “Time to make a call,” he said, grabbing Gemma’s arm.

  He waited to call Willie until they were outside the casino. The strip was loud with activity. They found a quiet spot to stand in the shadow of a drugstore. Roy punched in Willie’s number on his cell. Gemma leaned in to listen.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Willie complained.

  Willie was a fun character to work for, but not when you woke him in the early hours of the morning.

  “You won’t care about that when I tell you we’ve caught Price on the take.”

  “We have?” Gemma mouthed.

  Roy nodded confidently at her.

  “You’re sure about this?” Suddenly, Willie didn’t seem so annoyed about being rudely awakened.

  ***

  Thirty minutes after Willie hung up on them, Hugo Desma, the head of casino security, met them outside on the strip. He was a linebacker of a man who looked to have worked his way up the chain of command. He walked them to a nearby diner and over coffee and pie, and Roy outlined how Price was cheating the casino. Desma had been skeptical at Roy’s explanation, but he took Roy’s beliefs seriously and pulled together a four-man security detail to wait for Price in the staff service corridor when he got off shift. They were positioned out of sight, around a bend in the corridor.

  Desma’s radio squawked and a voice said, “He’s closed the bar down and he's on the move.”

  “You’d better be right about this,” Desma warned.

  “I am,” Roy said. “Ask your man, did he take it with him?”

  Desma frowned at Roy then said into his radio, “Has he got it?”

  “He sure has.”

  Desma shook his head. “He’s got some stones on him.”

  Moments later, they heard the bang of a door closing and the click-clack of footsteps on the tiled floor. Desma pointed to his four-man security team and ushered them into position while putting himself between the action and Roy and Gemma in case of a scuffle.

  Roy’s heart quickened as Price’s footsteps got closer. He took Gemma’s hand and wasn’t surprised to find it slick with sweat. He gave her a wink.

  Price rounded the corner and froze at the sight before him. His gaze went straight to Roy and Gemma. Confusion and anger flared in his eyes. To Roy, it was the mark of a guilty man. Two of Desma’s people circled behind him to cut off any thoughts of escape.

  “What’s going on?” Price asked

  “Can I see in the bag?” Desma replied.

  “Why? It’s just got my dirty uniform in it.”

  “I should have been clearer. I want to see in your bag.”

  Desma stepped forward and relieved Price of the large sports bag he was carrying. His arm dropped when he took it.

  “You’ve got some heavy clothes.”

  Price said nothing.

  Desma placed the bag on the floor, knelt by its side and unzipped it to reveal a cash register. “You want to explain why you have a casino cash register in your position?”

  “It’s not,” Price said, then stopped.

  “It’s not the casino’s,” Roy answered for Price. “It’s his own personal one. Someone might notice a bartender sneaking money from the register into his pocket, but who’s going to suspect a dummy register? He brings it in with him at the start of his shift and takes it home with him. It’s why he only works the closing shift at the only bar in the casino that operates with a single bartender. It’s brilliant, really.”

  Price just scowled.

  “Where'd you pick this up?” Desma asked Price, pointing at the register.

  “They aren’t hard to get if you know where to look.”

  “Take him to my office,” Desma said. “And call the cops. We’re pressing charges.”

  Price didn’t argue or complain. Under the circumstances, it was impossible to defend himself.


  Two of the security guards grabbed Price’s arms while the other two positioned themselves in front and behind the bartender. They marched him back towards the heart of the casino.

  When Price and the security team were around the corner, Desma asked, “How the hell did you figure it out?”

  Roy took Gemma’s arm in his. “Simple, we just followed the money.”

  The Polite Intruder

  The bang came from downstairs. Merlin and Willow barked and Patricia froze. The dogs could have been barking at someone walking by, as usual, but she knew they weren’t. Someone had broken into the house. She stood back from the bathtub, dried her hands on a towel and went downstairs.

  A smart woman in her advanced years would have stayed upstairs and called 911. But Merlin and Willow were dachshunds and no match for the feeblest of housebreakers. She descended the stairs knowing full well that she might have to fight for her life.

  Patricia’s fears of being harmed dissolved when she opened the kitchen door, the towel still in hand. Merlin and Willow had a frightened looking youth, no older than twenty, pinned against the wall with their growls. The kid was most at risk here, not her. She snapped the towel taut in her hands, garrote style. Intimidation did wonders.

  “How did you get in here?” The authority in Patricia’s voice surprised her.

  “Over the back fence, ma’am,” he replied.

  Patricia liked the “ma’am.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “Nothing.”

  Patricia frowned. “No one breaks into a house for nothing.”

  “Okay, I was hiding.”

  That put Patricia off her stroke. It was the last thing she was expecting to hear. She softened, sympathizing with the boy.

  “From whom?”

  “Two guys.” He took a step forward, but Merlin’s growl stopped him.

  “Stay right there. What guys?”

  “I don’t know. They chased me. I think they were after my wallet. I outran them, but I wanted to lie low for a few, just to make sure. I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry. Can I have some tea?”

  Cheeky, Patricia thought, but tea was a good idea—it would calm her nerves. “No, you can’t.”

  Putting the water on to boil for herself, Patricia eyed her fugitive. His clothes were ruffled and sweat streaked his forehead. He seemed to be telling the truth. He’d certainly been running, but from whom was another question.

  “So let me get this straight. Two guys you don’t know chased after you for no reason?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Patricia smiled. She’d never get tired of hearing that. Maybe she’d adopt him. No one else ever showed her that kind of respect.

  “Sit down there.” She pointed to the stools by the breakfast bar. “Merlin, Willow, leave him alone.”

  The dogs parted. He smiled and sat. “Thanks.”

  “Hands on the bar where I can see them,” she commanded. “Now, what’s your name?”

  “David.”

  “David, are you telling me the truth?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He was offended. But even she could look offended with the best of them when her bluff had been called. It didn’t mean she was telling the truth.

  “David, consider how this looks to me. A stranger bursts into my home on a weekday afternoon and tries to sell me some sob story about urban bandits, when the stranger actually is an opportunistic burglar. How’s that sound?”

  “Lady, you’re wrong.”

  Lady! What happened to ma’am? She knocked off two points for that.

  “Honest! I was being chased.” He jumped off the stool, which tumbled back.

  “Sit back down.” Patricia retreated to the knife block and let her hand hover over the array of handles. “Hands back on the bar.”

  “Be cool.” He righted the stool and reseated himself.

  “I wasn’t the one getting excited,” she said.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “Would you like me to check to see if the coast is clear for you?” Patricia asked.

  “What?”

  “Relax. You don’t want to leave here only to walk slap bang into them again.”

  David tried to protest, but Patricia waved his excuses away. She reached the front door and opened it. The moment she had the door open, David ducked behind the breakfast bar to hide. The street was deserted. Patricia closed the door.

  “Hmm, why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

  David emerged from behind the cupboards. Before he could lie to her again, a noise stopped him. Patricia reopened the front door. A helicopter circled over the neighborhood. It was low—low enough for her to see the police markings on the side. She closed the door again.

  “Do you want to have a crack at explaining that?”

  “Okay,” David raised his hands in surrender. “Two guys weren’t chasing me.”

  “You don’t say. You’re on the run from the police and for nothing minor by the looks of it. So what did you do?”

  “I stole a car.” He tried to sound charming, like it was no big thing. “I wasn’t going to keep it. I was just joyriding, but the cops chased me and I crashed into a power pole.”

  “My son’s car was stolen a few years back. It wasn’t very pleasant. He was very upset.”

  “Sorry about that.” He smiled painfully. “Can I still stay?”

  “No.”

  “But-”

  “But nothing. You stole a car. I want you to leave.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. You can hide out in the shed. But you’d better be gone in ten minutes, or I’ll call the police.”

  David didn’t have to be told twice. He was out the back door in a flash.

  The water boiled on the burner and Patricia warmed the pot. By the time she’d made, poured and drank the tea, David was gone. He’d left his jacket in the shed. It was a feeble disguise but it might work, although it was a tad too cold to be without a coat.

  She took the jacket inside. She doubted he’d be back for it. Shame really, she liked him. He might have been a criminal, but he was polite and manners went a long way with her. She left the coat on the stool he’d sat on and returned to the bathroom and her husband lying drowned in the tub.

  “Now, Mick, if you’d been as polite as David, then I wouldn’t have done this.” Patricia let the water out of the tub.

  Bumps In The Road

  The Honda bounced over the bump in the road. Karen told herself it was nothing, just a lane marker, nothing to worry about at all, no reason to stop.

  She followed Dr. Birnbaum’s instructions to the letter. If she hit a bump on the road, she wasn’t to stop to see what she had hit. Potholes and poor road construction were to be expected, just part of the driving experience. A body wasn’t being dragged under the wheels of her car. It was a chemical imbalance in her brain telling her the wrong information, feeding on her fears.

  But that hadn’t always been true. A body had been caught under the wheels of her car once—her own daughter. How could any mother run down her own child?

  But Karen had.

  Laurie had been three at the time and Karen hadn’t seen her when she reversed out of the garage. Karen thought she was still inside the house. But, the inquisitive child had wanted to wave her mother into the street like a traffic cop and stood directly in Karen’s blind spot.

  Karen hadn’t seen Laurie until it was too late, until she heard the screams. Laurie had been lucky, nothing but a concussion and a couple of stitches that would heal in a few days. But Karen didn’t heal—she got worse.

  Two days after the accident, Karen was driving back from the store when she felt the car ride over something. She checked her rearview mirror. The old man waiting at the crosswalk was missing.

  Oh God, I’ve mowed him down, just like Laurie! Karen slammed on the brakes. The Honda slued to the right and ro
de the curb. She knew what she would find—the old man’s tattered body entangled in the driveshaft and wheels. If she was lucky, he might be alive. Karen leapt from the car and flung herself on the ground. Nothing was underneath the car—no body, no bloodstains in the road, no shredded clothes—no horror.

  From that moment on, every time Karen felt a jolt, she stopped; sure that she had taken a life with her car. It was impossible for her to drive without someone else with her. Tom—her poor, suffering husband—had to ride shotgun, repeatedly telling her not to worry and that she hadn’t just committed automobile homicide. The final straw came when she stopped I-80’s San Francisco-bound traffic. Believing a woman was trapped under her car, Karen stopped in the middle lane to save her. Luckily, the rush-hour drivers had their wits about them and no one slammed into Karen while she scrabbled under her car, but four other vehicles collided with each other causing extensive damage. The courts had no option but to revoke her license. The judge added the stipulation that she had to seek psychological help.

  That had been two years ago and now she was on her first solo drive. It wasn’t easy. She had to use every one of Dr. Birnbaum’s exercises and the belief in herself, not to pull the car over to check under the wheels.

  Dr. Birnbaum had made her mission clear at their first consultation. “Karen, you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to get angry at this monster that haunts you. Yes, Karen, it’s a monster. And you’ve got to kick its butt if you want to drive the way you used to.”

  The Honda shuddered from another hit and Karen got angry. “I didn’t hit anything except for a bump in the road. You’re my monster and every time I ignore you banging on my car, you get smaller. Do you hear me monster? Or are you getting too small to hear?” she shouted.

  Her monster was silenced.

  She felt confident. It was working. She was giving her monster hell and it didn’t like it. She smiled.

  It was worth the agony she had been through for this moment. To acclimatize her to different sensations, Dr. Birnbaum had made her drive over objects in a parking lot to replicate every conceivable kind of bump in the road.