To Vegas with love

by J. A. Cipriano

  “I’m going to try to use my pen to fuck with his stock price. It probably won’t last long, but it should be enough to make the trade.” I took a deep breath. “Can you make this work?”

  “Yes, but let’s do it this way,” she said before rattling off a bunch of complicated details, and as she did, I wrote alongside her. A few minutes later, it was done. Somehow, someway, we’d managed to drive the stock down enough to purchase nearly everything for the paltry sum of ten million dollars, and as I watched all the words I’d written down fade away, Amy let out a yelp of joy.

  “It fucking worked, Roger,” she squealed. “You’re a genius.”

  “Not really, but I love hearing it,” I laughed. “Now, let’s kick his ass out of his own company.”

  “I’ll put it together,” Amy said as my phone rang again. This time, it was Skye.

  “Roger,” she said as I answered, “You need to get down here right now.”

  30

  “What the actual fuck?” I exclaimed as I stood beside Skye, Perry, and Missy because somehow, they, along with everyone else, was locked out of the damned building.

  “As I’ve told you, sir, this building has been closed, pending inspection.” The inspector glanced down at his notepad. “There’s really nothing we can do, and no way we can let you inside. It’s simply not safe.” He peered steadily at me through his horn-rimmed glasses. “You wouldn’t want to put your people at risk, would you? Especially since you’re the owner of the building.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong with the building.” I crossed my arms over my chest and took a step toward the man. “Or show me.”

  “We won’t know until the reports are completed next Thursday. Then you can file the proper paperwork.” He met my eyes, steadfast in his resolve to fuck over my people by keeping them out of the building. Worse, this had happened to virtually every building I owned.

  “Right, okay.” I took a deep breath before turning my back on the man and looking to Skye. “Is this the only problem?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Because with everything we have shut down, we’re having a hell of a time trying to counter all their attacks over the air. And then there are the picketers.” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s like being eaten alive by fucking ducks.”

  “Heh,” I said, fixing my eyes on Missy. “I’m assuming you have your stuff prepared?”

  “Roger, we don’t even have jobs anymore,” Perry interrupted, one hand swinging out toward the building. “Everyone, and I mean, everyone involved in what we did last night has been ‘suspended pending investigation.’” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I’m pretty sure we’re all getting blacklisted.”

  “I understand.” My eyes flicked back to Missy. “Can you counter this with the resources inside?”

  “Maybe.” Missy looked unsure. “I’d like to think I can, but nearly every reporter in the country is calling for our heads. Every expert is on Chet’s side.” She shook her head. “I don’t think we matter enough.”

  “Pfft. We matter and we’re in the right.” I spun on my heel and glared at the inspector. “Pass the building.” I gestured to his stupid forms. “Right now.”

  I’d never seen someone rush to comply with my orders so quickly. His hands were a blur of motion as he did as I asked. Though since I’d spoken the command, I had no idea how long we had.

  “There you go.” He offered me the form. “I’m glad your building passed. However you still need to wait the mandatory twenty-hour waiting period.”

  “The waiting period has been waived.” I barely glanced at the forms he held in his hands. “Look for yourself.”

  “So it has,” he said, voice bland. “Well, you’re free to enter.”

  “Good. Get all your people out of here.” I made a circular gesture over my head. “Now.” I didn’t stop to see if he were going to comply because the ping in my ears let me know he would. Instead, I turned my attention back to Perry. “Get everyone inside and get us on the air so Missy can do her thing.”

  “How did you do that?” Missy asked, not moving as she stared at me. “That should be impossible.”

  “After we’re through this, I’ll tell you.” I nodded to her than to Perry. “I’ll tell both of you.”

  “Well, I guess in Roger we trust.” Perry rolled up the sleeves of his sweat-stained white dress shirt before addressing all the newscasters, crew, and reporters who had been rushed out. “Come on, people, back to work.”

  As they began to head inside, I grabbed Skye by the arm and pulled her inside. “I have a plan.”

  “You do?” she asked, peering at me. “Is that before or after you travel to every single building you own and do this exact same thing because that’s going to take all damned day.”

  “Well, I can fix that, I think.” I pulled out my pad and wrote a quick line.

  All the inspections on my buildings have passed and the waiting period for reentry has been waived.

  “Yes!” Skye cried as the words remained on the page, and her excitement was so contagious I let out a little whoop of joy myself. “You’re awesome!” She glared at the departing inspectors. “Fuck those guys.”

  “They’re mostly just doing their jobs. The problem is that Chet has a lot of pull. I want to fix that.” I smiled. “Here’s what I need.” I told her my plan, and as I did, her grin grew three sizes.

  “That’s genius.” She was already walking toward the building. “Do you think you can do it?”

  “Won’t know if I don’t try,” I said as we entered the building and headed toward what Perry liked to call the Warroom, which was really just a giant conference room with a few dozen television screens on the walls that displayed news stations from all over the world. They were all off now, but as I settled at the conference table, Skye booted the system back up. All at once, we were inundated with stories.

  “Okay, just give me a second,” she said, biting her lip as she settled at the control station computer in the corner. “I’m going to just run a quick search.” She hit a few keys, and a moment later, several of the screens changed to show live news feeds. All of whom were talking about me, my people, or Chet McMahon.

  “Who’s first?” I asked, looking them over. They were all muted and had subtitles scrolling across the bottom. “Who has the most viewers?”

  “Um …” Skye hit a few buttons and instantly ‘estimated ratings’ appeared on each of the screens, making it easy. “I’d go with screen six F.” She pointed at a screen six columns over and six rows down which displayed a man with a crazy bouffant and a plastic smile. He was red in the face as he screamed at the reporter who was looking more shocked. “Here, let me get the volume.”

  A moment later, the man’s deep baritone filled my ears. “See, that’s why the whole thing is ridiculous. Chet McMahon is an absolute pillar of the community and has been for decades. He has been through numerous investigations, and nothing has ever been found.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If he were guilty, something would have been found.”

  “Well, the allegations are that he covered it up,” the reporter, a svelte redhead in a power suit, said. “What do you say to that?”

  “That’s just what people say when they have no hard proof.” He glared at the camera. “If they had proof, this would be open and shut.”

  “But the pictures—”

  “The pictures are fakes, and everyone who says otherwise has been discredited.” He shrugged. “I’d say this is pretty open and shut.”

  “I’d say your face is pretty open and shut,” Skye growled as she glared at the screen while he continued to ramble.

  “Well, let’s just try this out.” I took a deep breath. “What’s his name?”

  “Ryan Flotscrein.” She hit a few buttons. “Do you need more information?”

  “No.” I wrote a quick line.

  Ryan Flotscrein can only tell the truth.

  On screen, Ryan’s mouth opened and closed in mid-word, his eyes pr
actically bugging out of his face as he tried to finish his sentence. Only he couldn’t, and suddenly veins were popping out on his forehead.

  “What’s the reporter’s name?” I asked as she looked at Ryan in horror.

  “Angela Smithe.” Skye hit a button, and suddenly their names were displayed under them on the screens. The same thing happened to all the others.

  “What was that, Mr. Flotscrein? Is everything okay?” Angela asked, squirming uncomfortably in her chair while glancing around in a vain effort to will someone to help her.

  “I just need some water,” he said, taking a huge breath before grabbing a water glass off the stand next to him and chugging it in a single gulp. “There, now, where were we?”

  “You were telling us why, in your expert opinion, those pictures were fake and that this is one big conspiracy to discredit Mr. McMahon?” Angela suddenly looked relieved.

  “Yes, well, the thing is …” He stopped like he was trying to formulate his words, and I smirked. The line on my paper held him from lying, and I could tell that, while he knew he couldn’t straight up lie like he’d been, he was trying to think of a way to still save face.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Angela Smithe decides to grill Ryan Flotscrein.

  “You seem to be having a problem, Mr. Flotscrein. Is that because you are, in fact, on Mr. McMahon’s payroll and have to do as he says?” She looked like she was going to say more, but as Flotscrein struggled to come up with an answer, the news story cut away, revealing two anchors who stared at each other in confusion.

  “Well, folks, it seems we’re having technical difficulties,” the man on the television with his perfect chin and cornflower blue eyes said to the buxom blonde next to him. “Now here’s Miranda with the weather …”

  “Well, that worked great.” Skye rolled her eyes. “I think we need to be more direct.”

  “I agree.” I nodded to her. “Who is next?”

  “Ben Judge. Channel six.” The volume switched so I could hear Ben interviewing McMahon’s lawyer, Claudia Shanks, who was making a statement, and that’s when I rubbed my greedy hands together.

  “Excellent,” I said, picking up my pen and writing a note that made me overjoyed.

  Claudia Shanks decides to come clean and spill the beans on every dirty secret McMahon has.

  31

  “I cannot believe how quickly all these stations cut to commercial,” Skye said as we watched yet another interview suddenly go off the air when the reporter started playing hardball.

  “I’m just glad no one is bad-mouthing us anymore,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow with one hand. “And it seems like we’ve definitely done something.” I pointed to the screen to the left. “We’re trending and so is McMahon.”

  “Yeah, as if that matters.” She shrugged. “I’m starting to realize that most people don’t matter. All that matters is power, and douchebags like McMahon have it all.” Skye rubbed her face with her hands as she sat down next to me and stared at the screens. Already most of the traces of what we’d done all across the county were gone. “This is starting to feel like we can’t win.”

  “Nah, we’ve almost got this. Look at all we’ve done in a few days. We should be wiped out, but we’re not, and even better, we’re winning.” I smiled at her. “Remember, we own the majority of his company now.”

  “That’s true.” Skye gave me a hopeful look. “Guess I’m just tired.” She tried to smile, but she just wound up yawning. “After this, I wanna go to Bermuda for a week.” She met my eyes. “It’ll be fun.”

  “You mean just us?” I asked, surprised because, unlike some of the other girls, Skye had never really vied for my attention in particular.

  “Would that be so bad?” She wasn’t quite looking at me. “I mean, I don’t mind sharing, it’s just so easy to get sucked into things like this. I want to just shut everything off for a week or two and recharge, and I don’t want to do it without you because I want to have ridiculous amounts of sex.”

  “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound quite so bad.” I smiled at her before holding out my hand. “It’s a date.”

  She shook my hand. “Good, now let’s—”

  Her words were cut off as an explosion of light and sound rippled from across the room as reality rent itself open and through the glowing green pustule of space stepped my least favorite FBI agent.

  “Hello, Roger.” The raven-haired goddess swung her gaze around the room in one quick, practiced motion that took in every last detail. Then she settled her glittering eyes on me. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “Agent Smith,” I replied as she sauntered toward me. “I trust you remember Skye.”

  “I do.” She gave Skye a polite nod. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” Skye stared at the pen-wielding FBI agent. “Do you need something?”

  “The proper response is to ask how I am.” Agent Smith frowned. “Or if I’d like to sit and have a beverage.”

  “Right.” I gestured at one of the chairs. “Would you like to have a seat and chat? Maybe have a drink? We’re not busy or anything, so please, feel free to interrupt us.”

  “And they say chivalry is dead.” She pulled one of the chairs away from the table and spun it so that she could sit in it while leaning over the back to peer at me. “I’m not thirsty though.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Skye mumbled before giving me a pointed look. “I’m going to go see how Missy and the others are doing. Call if you need something.”

  “Sure, and if anyone got fired or whatever because of what we did, see that they’re given a job at twice what they made before.”

  Skye nodded in assent before exiting the room, leaving me alone with Smith.

  “You’ve been a busy boy,” Agent Smith said the moment the door swung closed. “Can you tell me why you are doing what you’re doing?”

  “What are you referring to specifically?” I nodded to the badge prominently displayed on her breast. “Because I’d hate to incriminate myself.”

  “Oh, right now, we’re decidedly off the record.” Her eyes sparkled. “For now, anyway.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Let’s begin this another way. I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she adjusted herself in the seat. “And let me also add that I am not your enemy. Yet, anyway.”

  “Good to know.” I watched her carefully. Agent Smith’s pen could control space and time, and while I was sure I could beat her, I’d seen more than enough episodes of The Flash to know what someone with super speed could do to a guy in power armor.

  “It should be.” She waited for a beat, before pushing an empty coffee cup off the edge of the table like she was a curious cat. Only as the Styrofoam cup began to fall, I felt time all around us slow down until it seemed like it was tumbling through cement a millimeter at a time. Almost as quickly as it happened, time snapped back to normal, and as the cup hit the carpet, I had little doubt the agent wouldn’t hold back if it came to fisticuffs.

  “You don’t need to show off.” I waved away her display. “Just tell me what’s going on. You need my help with something? If you do, you’ll have to take a number because I’ve kind of got a full day.”

  “What I need, Roger, is for you to let me help you.” She drummed her fingers on the table again. “I’m here because Chet McMahon talked to someone with a lot of pull who talked to my boss.” She narrowed her eyes. “And because they know I know you, I’m getting a lot of shit.” She took another breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t even like talking to people I like. How do you think I feel about getting my happy ass marched into the Director of the FBI’s office because some asshole senator wants to know about you?”

  “What did you tell them?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. It was a bit strange because I knew vaguely I should be worried, but I just wasn’t. No, I was more formulating how I would take down the FBI and if Agent Smith would
help me. I didn’t think she would, but Presley definitely would, assuming I could get her to leave her villa in Hawaii.

  “Something between Jack and shit.” She put her hands flat on the table. “The Director is a good guy. He has a ten-year term that just got renewed. He doesn’t give two handfuls of warm shit what McMahon wants. But what he does want is to not be bothered by the likes of you.” She sighed. “Are you getting my drift?”

  “I think so,” I mused. “You want me to stop being a problem for you.”

  “Bingo.” She gave me a Cheshire cat grin. “So, if you’re going to keep this up, you need to bury McMahon now before he brings the full might of the US Government down on your head.” She looked at me pointedly. “We know what you’ve been doing, by the way, with the stock prices and the law rewrites.” She drew her thumb across her neck. “That needs to stop. Trust me.”

  “It’ll all be over soon.” I stood and held out my hand. “You have my word.”

  “Good.” She studied my hand for a long, long time before rising to take it. “Know I can’t help you with this officially.” She winked. “But unofficially? Fuck that douchebag.”

  I didn’t even see her leave. One moment she was there, and the next, well, she just wasn’t. The crackle of static electricity ran up and down my arms, and as I rubbed them uncomfortably, I decided it was time to get serious. While I didn’t mind going head to head with the FBI, Smith, or the President of the United States, it would be a hassle.

  “All this because I wanted to open a fucking free hospital,” I said, staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed letting me know I’d gotten a text. “No rest for the wicked.” I sighed and pulled out the phone, and as I stared at the screen, I nearly let out a whoop of relief.

  Meeting with the Board in forty minutes. Chet doesn’t know.

  32

  There was just one problem. The location of the meeting was almost a half hour away without traffic. There was no way I’d make it in time if I took the limo, but I could probably make it fine if I drove myself, especially if I used my pen to help with the traffic. The only wrinkle was that if I took the Tesla back on my own, well, Skye would need a ride.