The Casino Switcheroo

by Michael P. King

“Where are they?”

  “Private dining room.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  They walked up through the heavy dust and the concrete rubble in the hotel lobby and turned into the restaurant. In the main dining room, one server was vacuuming while others were already cleaning up the tables, setting new tablecloths, and resetting the chairs. To the right, two men the size of football linemen stood at the door to the farthest private dining room. They stepped aside for Gower and Johnson. Smithson—black suit, white shirt, no tie—was sitting by himself at the head of a long table, half-filled glasses and unfinished plates of food marking the empty places. O’Brian and Ninovich were hovering around like they were waiting for orders. The detectives ignored them.

  “Mr. Smithson, I’m Detective Gower, and this is Detective Johnson.”

  “I know who you are. You’re with organized crime.”

  “And we know who you are. But make no mistake, we’re going to do everything we can to get your grandson back. May we sit?”

  He nodded.

  “Where’s your son and your daughter in-law?”

  “They went up to their room. She’s hysterical. He’s called their doctor.”

  “Can you tell us how it happened?”

  “We were eating. Fire alarm went off. They were waiting in the hall. They shot Allen. Grabbed Mikey. Two of my guys went after them, but they got away.”

  “Your people are armed? I thought guests weren’t allowed to carry guns here.”

  “There’re special rules for VIPs. Professional bodyguards.”

  “So everyone has a permit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Smithson, can you point us in the right direction? Does this kidnapping have anything to do with your business?”

  “That’s crazy. It’s got nothing to do with us. They took my grandson. You should be focusing on that.”

  “There’re teams of people working this crime scene. And there’re surveillance cameras all over this island. We’re going to find out who did this. If they’re in the system, we’re going to know who they are,” Gower said. “In the meantime, you’re going to get a ransom demand. It’s going to come fast. When the kidnappers call you, you need to call us. We’ll get your grandson back.”

  “You really think you can get him back safe?”

  “We’re trained for this, Mr. Smithson. We’ll get him back. And don’t say anything to the media,” Gower continued. “We’re going to keep the kidnapping completely quiet.”

  “One other thing,” Johnson added. “We’re going to need information on all of your people who are on the island.”

  “None of my people had anything to do with this,” Smithson said.

  “Everybody on the island has to be cleared.”

  Gower and Johnson stood up. “Here’s my card,” Gower said. “If you remember anything else, or if the kidnappers get in touch, that’s my cell number. Day or night.”

  “Okay,” Smithson said.

  Gower and Johnson walked back through the restaurant and out past the wreckage in the lobby. “He’s not going to call us,” Johnson said.

  “No, he’s not. He’s going to try to take care of this himself.”

  “I feel sorry for the kid and his parents,” Johnson said. “They aren’t in the business.”

  “Yeah, it’s a shitty deal for them, but it’s a great opportunity for us,” Gower replied. “Let’s try to get them all under surveillance. We can piggyback on whatever they do to get the kid back, and maybe we’ll catch them up in a crime along the way.”

  “You know they’re going to get a copy of the island surveillance footage.”

  “Yeah, usually that would piss me off. But in this case, kidnapping a kid, if they can get him back without killing any innocents, I’ll call it a win.”

  Back in the private dining room, Ninovich and O’Brian had sat down at the table. Smithson was stirring sugar into his coffee. “Who are they kidding? Putting them in the loop is the quickest way to get Mikey killed.” He rapped his teaspoon on the table. “What have you got so far?”

  “My guys scooped up three of them trying to get off the ferry in town,” Ninovich said.

  “Good. Where did you take them?”

  “Fifth Street warehouse.”

  “And we’ve got the two we found on the twelfth floor,” O’Brian said.

  “Grifters?”

  “They were robbing the hotel rooms. They had the room safe master keycode.”

  “That sounds like something. Get them off the island as soon as possible. Take them to the warehouse with the other three. We’re going to find out everything they know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Smithson looked at each of his lieutenants in turn. “Keep digging. I’m going to check on my family. Meet me at the office in two hours.”

  Anders eased the motorboat up to the public docks at Connor’s Cove State Park. Max and Kelly Jo had put their Kevlar vests, weapons, and go bag into two duffels. They’d passed several fishing boats on the way in, their occupants on deck working their fishing rods. A dozen cars were parked in the gravel lot. Anders handed Max a set of keys and a scrap of paper with an address on it. He pointed to a Sentra at the far end of the lot. “The gray one. It should be safe for a couple of days. The house is good for a week. The storage locker is paid up for the month. I’ll get rid of this boat and be in touch.”

  Max nodded.

  “Thanks,” Kelly Jo said.

  “Hell of a gamble, but I guess we’re done,” Anders said.

  “No,” Max replied. “We’re not done yet. You’re still in for a fifth. It’s just going to take longer to get it.”

  Max and Kelly Jo carried their gear across the lot to the Sentra and loaded it into the trunk. Kelly Jo got into the driver’s seat. Full tank of gas. She drove out of the parking lot, headed toward Bathsheba City. Max got out Koenig’s phone and called him. He got a no-service recording. He pulled the chip from the phone and threw the chip and the phone out the window. “Koenig sure planned this right.”

  “We escaped.”

  “Who was that kid?”

  “The one in the confirmation suit? No idea.”

  “We need to find out what’s going on.”

  He took out his own phone, called Zeb, and filled him in. “Give me a call when you know something.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  They drove into a neighborhood of small, single-story houses near a school that had been closed down. On Tulip Street, Kelly Jo turned up the driveway of a ranch-style house next to a two-story house with a for sale sign in the yard and pulled into the attached garage. The house was furnished. The freezer was full of pizza and TV dinners. The refrigerator had beer, soft drinks and milk. There was bread and breakfast cereal in the cabinets. “Looks like we could stay here a while,” Kelly Jo said.

  “We’re going to keep our heads down for a few days.”

  “We’ll need to pick up some clothes.”

  “Yeah. Hope you weren’t attached to anything we left at the motel.”

  At Galaxy Yacht Sales, Smithson and his lieutenants sat around the desk in Smithson’s office. “Kidnappers spoke Spanish to each other,” Smithson said. “So it could be Rey’s drug crew making a move.”

  “That’s not their style,” Ninovich said. “They’ve never gone after families.”

  “But what about the Salvadorans?” O’Brian asked. “They’ll do anything.”

  Ninovich worried a gum wrapper between his fingers. “We won’t know who they are until they make their demands.”

  “But you’re supposed to know what the competition is up to,” Smithson said. “I want you out on the streets shaking down anyone who might know anything.”

  He turned to O’Brian. “And you were in charge of our security.”

  “We’re going to look hard at everyone. Heads are going to roll.”

  “They were moving around the island like they owned the place.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t worry, sir. If anyone’s dirty, we’ll find them.”

  “If anyone’s dirty? Two of your employees were robbing our rooms. You better get your house in order. Somebody on the island sold us out, helped kidnap my grandson. And now the place is crawling with cops. God knows what they’ll find while they’re investigating.”

  “They won’t find anything. Period. The money is completely safe. As soon as the cops are out of the way, we’re back in business.”

  Smithson turned to Ninovich. “You’re running security at the warehouse.”

  “My people are already set up,” O’Brian said.

  “Yeah, and your people got screwed on your home turf, so all your people are suspect.” Smithson got out his inhaler, shook it, and sucked a puff into his lungs. “From here on out, there’s going to be no more mistakes. Ninovich’s people are in the clear. That means he’s walking point.”

  “We’ll get Mikey back,” Ninovich said. “We’ll find out who did this. They’re all dead. Every last one of them.”

  Smithson turned to O’Brian. “Have you started questioning the ones we rounded up?”

  He nodded.

  “Have they told us anything yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Ninovich tossed the gum wrapper into the trash can. “I’ve got a couple of guys who will make them talk.”

  “Don’t accidently kill them. We need to know everything they know before they die.” Smithson drummed his fingers on the table as he looked from Ninovich to O’Brian. “Both of you put out feelers. We’ll pay for Mikey. As soon as he’s safe, we’ll start hunting these assholes. They’ll never enjoy a penny of that money. Now get out of here and do your jobs.”

  O’Brian and Ninovich walked through the sales office and out into the parking lot. “This was supposed to be our day,” O’Brian said.

  “So much for that,” Ninovich replied.

  “Anything you need, you just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” Ninovich said. “You got your work cut out for you.”

  “I’ll be back in business inside the week.”

  “That’s great news. I hate to sit on too big a pile of cash. Good luck getting your people sorted.” Ninovich walked off to his Mercedes Benz.

  O’Brian climbed into his BMW. He needed to prove to Smithson that he still deserved his job. He called his IT manager. “Martin. You need to get into the office. JB Turner, maintenance tech, and Lulu Osmond, front desk. Run face recognition on the surveillance footage going back a month. I want to know where they went and who they were with on the island. Any patterns that might be suspicious. I need this info as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hernandez drove into the garage of the Ridgeway safehouse and parked next to the Ford Transit. As he was getting out of the car, the door to the kitchen opened. Sanchez stood there holding an M-4 rifle. “Hola.”

  Sanchez nodded.

  “Did you get the kid?”

  Another nod.

  “Who’s here?”

  “Just Raymond.”

  They walked through the kitchen to the living room. The TV was on a local news channel. Raymond came up the stairs from the basement. “You made it,” Raymond said.

  “It was a good plan.”

  “Sanchez, go downstairs and keep an eye on the kid.”

  Raymond waited for Sanchez to disappear down the stairs before he continued. “How did you get off the island?”

  “I made my own arrangements.”

  “Smart move.”

  “How many guys got away?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Raymond nodded toward the TV, which showed the police checkpoint at the ferry dock from two hours earlier. “They should start trickling in. Everyone should be here before midnight.”

  “Everyone alive. Where’s Koenig?” Hernandez asked.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “And that’s when he’ll share the details?”

  “As many as he has to.”

  “From here on out, every step of the way becomes more dangerous,” Hernandez said.

  “Until we have the money.”

  “Until we’ve dealt with Koenig. He’s not just going to let us walk away with the score.”

  “One step at a time, my friend, one step at a time,” Raymond said. “First we have to get rid of the kid and get the cash. Then we’ll deal with Koenig.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We’re the best guys to do the swap. Koenig has got to send us. We hand off the kid, we get the money. If nothing goes wrong, we run with the cash. It’s the best opportunity we’re going to get. If Koenig gets his hands on the money, taking it’ll be ten times more difficult.”

  “If we stiff him, he’ll be hot after us.”

  “He’ll be too late.”

  7

  Wheeling and Dealing

  The next morning, Max and Kelly Jo sat in the living room of the Tulip Street house drinking coffee and keeping an eye on the street. The casino heist was on all the morning news shows and the internet, but there was no news about a kidnapping. “Should we run?” Kelly Jo asked.

  “Anders dropped us in a nice spot. We’ve got everything we need. Every corner that the cops aren’t watching, one of Smithson’s people is. I vote we stay, at least for now.”

  “Eventually the cops are going to find us on the surveillance footage.”

  “But we’re not doing anything illegal on the footage, right? So we’ll be low priority for facial recognition.”

  “But when we don’t show up for work—”

  “News story said they won’t be open until next week.”

  “Okay, so we’ve got a few days. We still need to work on our exit strategy.”

  “I agree. Our problem now is that we don’t know what we don’t know. Who was the kid they took? What’s he worth? Who’s going to be pissed? But we’re in pretty good shape. We’ve got some money and new IDs in our PO box. We’ll need a fresh car, but that’s no big deal. Do you want some more coffee?”

  She passed him her cup. He went into the kitchen, filled their cups, and brought them back.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He sat back down. “Koenig has got to trade the kid.”

  “But we don’t know where Koenig is or when that’s going to happen.”

  “And we can’t be out and about because of the cops and Smithson’s crew.”

  “Maybe Zeb will know something,” Kelly Jo said.

  “Maybe.”

  Later, after lunch, while Max was reading the newsfeed on his phone, looking for any new information about the casino heist, Zeb called. “It’s worse than you can imagine. That kid is Smithson’s grandson. You need to tie off any loose ends and get gone.”

  “Thanks, Zeb.”

  Kelly Jo was loading the dishwasher when Max told her. “So that was the deal all along,” she said. “There was no money delivery this weekend. We were just part of the diversion.”

  “He probably wasn’t planning to retire at all.”

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “What do you think the ask is?”

  “One million, five million, it doesn’t matter. Messing with that kid, that’s Russian roulette with all the chambers loaded. As soon as Smithson has the kid back, and figures out who did it, it’s pliers and blowtorch. And if the kid’s got a scratch on him…”

  “Glad I don’t have anything to pack. We running for the airport?”

  “Our IDs are probably blown. The new ones are downtown in the Mail-N-More PO box. So let’s just sit tight. Wait for dark. It’s been almost twenty-four hours. Smithson has gotten a call, or he’s going to get a call. All he has to do is snap his fingers to pull the money together, so this is going to happen fast.”

  “And while Smithson’s people are focused on the kid, we slip out of here.”

  “Once it’s dark, if nothing’s happened, we get out of town, switch cars and run like hell.”

  Midafternoon, the Smithsons were gat
hered at the family compound on Rocky Shore Drive. Armed guards manned the gates and walked the perimeter on the shore side of the property. Smithson and his son, Tim, sat in the family room of the mansion. The football game was on the TV, but no one was watching it. “I haven’t seen Myrna,” Smithson said. “Is she doing any better?”

  Tim sighed. “She can’t seem to get out of bed. I think the medicine is helping, though.”

  “We’ll get Mikey back. That’s the medicine she needs. You wait and see, everything is going to work out.”

  The landline rang. Smithson picked it up. “Mr. Smithson, two million in dirty money. Two bags. One million in each bag. Three o’clock tomorrow. You and two of your guys. The boy’s parents can come if they like. We’ll call with the address at two o’clock.”

  “I want to speak to Mikey.”

  “No can do. No one is going to hurt the kid. He’s not in the game. This is business. Bring the money to the spot. Do what you’re told. We’ll trade the kid straight up. You want the kid; we want the money.” The line went dead.

  “Was it them?” Tim asked.

  “We’re getting Mikey back tomorrow.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Smithson patted Tim’s shoulder. “Think this through. We won’t be pulling our punches.”

  “Mikey’s going to be there. I’m his dad. I’m going to be there.”

  “Okay. I understand. Just do yourself a favor. Don’t ask any questions. Don’t see anything you don’t need to see.”

  “I know, Pop.”

  “I don’t think you do know, Timmy. It all goes perfect, you may end up having to give a statement or having to testify under oath. It goes bad, you might end up shot or at the hospital. Are you ready for that?”

  “I’m coming, Pop. I don’t care about any of that. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect Mikey.”

  “Okay, then. But I’m not giving you a gun.”

  “I don’t want a gun.”

  Smithson hugged his son. “Let me make the arrangements.”

  He walked out onto the patio and got out his cell phone. “O’Brian, I need two million in old bills, ASAP. Deliver it to Ninovich today.” He ended that call and called Ninovich. “We’re on for tomorrow at three o’clock.”