Wild Cards

by Katalina Leon

  * * * *

  The moment Kai opened his eyes and saw the glass of water jumping up and down on the nightstand he knew it was going to be one vicious bitch of a day. Untouched by outside forces, the water sloshed over the rim of the tumbler like a restless goldfish trying to make a prison break from its bowl.

  A dire omen indeed.

  Of course, he’d seen this uncanny H2O activity before. As the mortal son of one of Oceania’s major gods, this was the sort of thing that happened to him right before the shit hit the fan.

  With a violent chatter, the glass rocked and toppled, drenching the bedcovers. He bolted upright and tossed the damp sheets to the floor. “Damn!”

  An elemental disturbance this powerful only occurred when the natural energies of the immediate environment were wildly out of balance. He knew the signs. Any number of catastrophic events could be headed his way—electrical storms, tidal waves, or worse, a damp miasmic fog of maleficence so soul-chilling, any humans unlucky enough to come in contact with it would crumple to the ground screaming like witches burned at the stake.

  Crap like that would be bad news for the casino resort where he was employed. Luckily, one option could be ruled out. Being trapped inland in Las Vegas, it was safe to say a tidal wave wasn’t on the disasters du jour menu, but without doubt something nasty was in the works.

  The bone-dry air in the climate-controlled hotel suite he presently called home left him parched. For someone who’d grown up in the balmy South Pacific, Vegas felt like punishment. But what the hell, it was meant to be.

  He plucked the empty tumbler off the mattress, strolled to the kitchen sink, and turned on the faucet. The water from the tap twisted in a tight, gravity-defying corkscrew as it filled the glass—another sure sign someone nearby had activated a dark juju. He stared at the alarming sight.

  Something was up. Raising the glass, he pressed his lips to the rim and gulped the contents. The water instantly revived him. With his eyes closed, his mind focused. He thought of sparkling surf crashing over coral reefs and sighed. Being a proud descendant of a long line of Polynesian kahunas, he was accustomed to having dominion over the ocean. On a good day, a powerful kahuna could cause rivers to flow uphill, part the clouds, lift the tides, and hail all the creatures of the sea. Pods of whales, schools of shimmering fish, and black-eyed sharks grim as hitmen would appear on the coastline when summoned.

  Too bad he’d fucked up and got himself exiled to Vegas, where he was employed as an in-house security detective, aka house dick. In a moment of weakness, his status had slipped from future chieftain of Oceania to glorified bouncer at the perpetual party that was Poseidon’s Palace on the Strip.

  Someday, when his penance was paid, his uncles, the overlords of the sea, would allow him to return to his natural element—the Pacific Ocean. Until then, he’d just have to buck up and endure the arid Nevada clime.

  The phone rang. His supervisor’s number displayed, and Kai tensed. A call from Roy this early in the day was unusual. He grabbed the phone off its charger and clicked.

  “Kai, I’m glad you’re up.” Roy’s wary tone raised concern.

  “I just woke. Hey, Roy. You’re calling early.” A quick glance at the clock showed 1:04 p.m. He usually slept until two, swam fifty laps in the hotel pool, showered, then grabbed a sandwich and a strong cup of joe. He’d show up at his security post at four, to face an endless night of debaucheries committed by drunken patrons on the gambling floor, parking structure, and hallways. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to wake you, dude.” Roy didn’t sound sorry, he sounded flustered. “I need you on the job ASAP.”

  “No swim?” He was dying to dive into cool water and plow across the pool until his muscles burned and the lethargy between his ears washed away.

  “Not today. We’ve had a murder on the first floor. I want you at your post, eyes on the surveillance screens.”

  “Another murder?” He groaned.

  “That’s what happens during hot weather, a full moon, whatever you want to blame it on. Whenever people get testy, someone always gets dead.”

  “I’ve got no authority. Call Homicide.”

  “I’m not an idiot.” Roy scoffed. “Homicide is already here bagging body-bits and scraping goop off the ceiling. They’ll be here for hours. The mess and the yellow tape requires we close down the west-wing elevators and reroute as much foot traffic as possible away from the crime scene. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Directing people through the gift shop and into the dining room is the only option.”

  “No!” Kai toppled backward onto the mattress, kicking his limbs like a child having a tantrum. “Don’t make me babysit the buffet, waiting for some rude slob to stick his grubby fingers in the never-ending cascade of chocolate and ruin it for everyone. Give me something more important to do.”

  An impatient huff burst free from Roy. “The chocolate you are casually referring to is gourmet Belgian ganache, imported to us at great trouble and expense. The casino considers it a signature offering and an asset. It’s a crying shame to be forced to dump gallons of it at a time.”

  “It’s part of a buffet. Face it, people do bad things at buffets.”

  “Not at our buffet.”

  Was he the only realist there? “You’re living in a fantasy world. What about the dead body? Any information about who, why, or how? Maybe we should be looking out for the patrons’ mortal safety and let the ganache protect itself.”

  “This murder was a weird one. Two middle-aged twin brothers, by all accounts friendly and seemingly sober, arrived in the lobby wheeling a pet crate and their luggage. All smiles and casual banter. They were here for some sort of occult arts convention. After they checked into their double room, it’s quiet for about ten minutes and then—bam! Gunshots. One brother runs out of the room wearing a coonskin cap.”

  “What? A furry hat?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he in police custody?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shit. It’s 112 degrees. How far can you get in Vegas wearing a Davy Crockett cap before someone stops you and asks what the hell is up with the stupid hat?”

  “Pretty far. He’s still a free man. I need you to review the footage from the security cameras before I release everything to the police.”

  He leaped to his feet, grabbing at any clothing he could reach. “Don’t withhold evidence. Show the tape to Homicide ASAP.”

  “I will, but I want you to see it first because…” Roy’s voice faded.

  He jiggled the phone and pressed it to his head, even though he knew it wouldn’t help reception. “Roy, speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  “I didn’t say anything. I’m thinking. Just get your ass over here. I want you to see everything I saw. Then you tell me if I’m crazy or not.” The phone clicked off.

  Kai stared at the silent phone then tossed it onto the bed. In his rush, he buttoned his shirt so crooked it was faster to strip it off, choose another, and start over. He reached for some pants and stepped into a pair of charcoal-gray Italian-made trousers and zipped the fly. He tugged on a sleek pair of black boots that looked elegant enough for him to pass as a high roller on the casino floor, yet comfortable enough to walk the acres of hotel corridors he patrolled every night.

  He strolled into the bathroom and paused to gaze into the mirror. A tired face stared back. A recent scar above his eye, delivered by the claw of a tipsy demon who couldn’t pay his gambling tabs, had healed well, but left a fire blaze through his thick chevron brow where hair refused to grow. It seemed likely the souvenir from that battle with evil was a keeper.

  Okay, battle was an exaggeration. The incident had been more of a skirmish with a kicking, thrashing demon shouting obscenities and ended with an angry cab driver who was left with a vehicle that reeked of brimstone for weeks. That was the sort of otherworldly crap he had to deal with on a daily basis. Vegas was rife with supernatural shenanigans.
So much so, it was a little-known fact that every major casino worth its salt employed an undercover PHD—paranormal house detective, like himself.

  He stuck his tongue out. “Ahh.” It looked a bit pale and his breath was stale. Twisting the cap off the mouthwash, he gulped a quaff straight from the bottle and swished it around until he foamed at the mouth like a rabid animal. After spitting the stinging blue liquid into the sink, he noticed the lines around his wide, generous mouth had deepened—the obvious result of too much frowning and too little joy.

  Providing behind-the-scenes security to a huge, corporate-run casino-resort meant he rarely met reasonable people, only his fellow lost souls who’d already done something wrong. Fraternizing with his fellow hotel employees and possibly blowing his cover was another no-no. Yep, working a night shift and having nothing close to a personal life had taken a toll. But what the hell, he didn’t deserve a private life or a lover. Not here. Not now. Vegas would never be home. With luck, someday he’d be vindicated and set free.

  Kai turned the faucet on. The water trickled in a slow counterclockwise spiral. Whatever was wrong in this hotel was getting worse. In other words, someone had just turned up the volume on an active juju.

  With cupped hands large as bear paws, he splashed water on his face to rinse the grit from his eyes. Rush or not, he still had to take the time to look the part of an elegant player who could approach any table or section of the resort appearing like he belonged there. A few energetic swipes with a brush tamed the dark locks that curled past his jaw. The flick of an electric razor shaped the black sideburns that lent him a retro Wolverine look. Of course, he didn’t have to try that hard; being the son of a demigod meant he cleaned up good. He looked meaner than he was, which was great for his career but bad for his social life. For a big man, with a broad build and tough-guy face, he still had days where he just wanted a hug from someone. For sure this was one of those days.

  Gathering the essentials he needed to get through the day, he slipped his phone and ID into the lining of his jacket and exited his room. He stepped into the hallway and allowed the door to lock behind him.

  With extra foot traffic being rerouted, he figured it would be faster to take the stairs to the second floor. The soft soles of his boots were silent on the steps. Opening the door to the mezzanine level, he entered a scene of pure chaos.

  Forensics had set up a wall of blue tarps to block the view of casual observers. A swarm of latex-gloved homicide detectives came and went from the room, carrying on quiet conversations. A detective named Jenkins whom he’d seen at similar crime scenes hailed him.

  “Mr. Moana!” Jenkins crooked his finger, motioning for him to approach. “What are the particulars of Poseidon’s Palace pets-on-the-premises policy?”

  He couldn’t help himself. “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”

  “What?” Jenkins appeared confused.

  “Never mind.” He walked closer, but Jenkins blocked the doorway of room 214. He had to peer over the crown of the man’s bald head to see the blood fanned across the flat-screen television and ceiling cornice. The dead man lay on the carpet, palms up, legs splayed. He appeared to be floating on his back with an expression of utter shock frozen on his face. His bloodstained tee shirt read Wizards 2 U. The whole scene screamed yuck.

  Feeling queasy, he wiped his mouth. “Technically speaking, Poseidon’s Palace doesn’t allow animals in the rooms. We have a kennel to house our four-footed guests. But if our human guests are willing to risk an exorbitant deposit in the event their fur-buddy makes a smellsome deposit in one of our rooms, we turn a blind eye and place them on the mezzanine, near the garden terrace. Why do you ask?”

  Jenkins pointed to the pet crate sitting in the middle of the bed. “I’m asking because the victim checked into the hotel with a cat. At least he said he had a cat. No one actually verified his claim or looked inside the crate. My point being, the crate is now empty.”

  His heart sank. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to spend my time and effort searching this gigantic hotel for what might be a stray cat?”

  Jenkins pulled a large plastic baggie from under his arm and held it up for display. Coiled inside was a delicate lavender pet harness studded with glittering rhinestones. “The creature we are looking for is as wide as a loaf of Italian bread and not strong enough to snap this absurd excuse for a leash. I spotted some long silvery hairs on the floor of the crate. I’m thinking Ragdoll, possibly a Persian.”

  Afraid to sneer, he glanced away. “Thanks, Jenkins. Your description is very helpful. After the cat show awards have been distributed, I’m sure the murder will just solve itself.”

  Jenkins eyes bulged. “Don’t mention it. I mean that literally—don’t mention it. We need to find that cat. My superiors hate it when I go off on tangents, but what the hell. I’m an animal lover. Gunshots. Bloodshed. That poor cat! I’m worried sick about it.”

  “I promise to keep my eyes peeled for a frightened gray cat.”

  “Not gray.” Jenkins stared down his nose. “Marbled silver-tone coat.”

  “Whatever.” Kai was used to Jenkins’s myopic outlook. The poor man tended to focus on a wrinkle and miss the elephant. “Don’t lose sight of the fact we still have a killer on the loose. The hotel is on partial lockdown. Every guest has to walk past a gauntlet of security cameras and be viewed from every angle. Apparently, we’re hunting for a killer who looks identical to the man lying dead on the floor except the guy we want still has a pulse and is wearing a fur cap.”

  Jenkins clucked his tongue with a cool snap of disapproval. “Some days I’m ashamed to say I live in Vegas.”

  “I gotta run.” Kai ducked beneath a barricade of yellow tape and headed toward the security headquarters. HQ was located above the main gaming floor. He swiped his ID badge to gain access. The air was frigid to keep the banks of powerful computers calm, cool, and collected. The dim lighting highlighted the multitude of images on the many dozens of surveillance screens. Panels of monitors manned by keen-eyed personnel watched over every aspect of the casino, like hungry eagles seated above a bowl of mice.

  Roy opened the door to his office. “Kai! Come in.”

  He entered Roy’s minimalist black-and-gunmetal-toned office that featured not a speck of personality. Once inside, the door shut with a heavy thud.

  A dour expression clouded Roy’s swarthy face. “I know you’ve worked here for months, but those guys out there staring at the security screens still don’t know about our paranormal house detective division and we want to keep it that way. They need to concentrate on bunco, pickpockets, card counters, identity thieves, counterfeiters, and con artists. You know, the stuff they can actually cope with. Those loyal men and women seated in front of those monitors are completely unprepared to deal with vengeful witches, greedy warlocks, intoxicated demons, and the whole fucking weird spectrum of supernatural sinners that pours through the casino every day. So, until we know what we are dealing with, let’s agree to be discreet and keep this matter between ourselves.”

  Kai nodded. “Yes, sir, always.” Sometimes, in a certain light, especially when he squinted one eye shut, Roy looked like a curly-haired pirate straight out of a Robert Louis Stevenson story. “Sir, may I ask a personal question?”

  A smirk formed on his face. “You can ask, but be warned, I’m under no obligation to answer.”

  “You know what I am.” He paused. “May I ask what you are?”

  Roy’s black eyes flashed. “Nope. I’m not telling.” Tense moments passed. His expression softened. “Kai, you do great work. I mean that. You’re one of the best PHDs we’ve ever had on the job, which surprises me because when you were first recommended to us, I had doubts. I was convinced with your looks that you’d be incredibly vain and eager to call attention to yourself. To be honest, I expected trouble. I’m happy to say the only complaints I hear are from frustrated female employees begging me to find out if you’re single. You’re almost too quiet an
d professional. Let’s be frank, you’re not going to stay here for long and after you leave… My secret stays in Vegas. Got it?”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  “This is what I wanted to show you.” Roy tapped a keyboard. “This is the first few minutes of surveillance footage shot from the hallway in front of room 214. Watch.”

  A black-and-white image of an empty corridor appeared. The door burst open and a middle-aged man stumbled out, wearing baggy cargo shorts, a dark tee shirt with a huge pentagram on the front, and a coonskin cap with a bushy tail. A wild gleam shone in his eyes.

  Kai rubbed his chin. “He looks guilty.”

  “Or scared,” Roy said softly. “I’ve already turned this footage over to Homicide. I had to throw them a bone. It clearly shows the face of the likely perp and gives them a place to start.” He raised a finger. “But I haven’t shown them this, and I’m not going to until we figure out what we’re dealing with. Homicide is not equipped to deal with this anyway.” Tapping the keyboard, he played back footage from another surveillance camera situated around the corner from room 214. The time stamp on the bottom of the frame indicated mere seconds had passed. “This is where it gets weird.”

  The man rounded the corner, mouth agape and face shiny with sweat. He approached a service elevator and pounded his fist on the Call button. When the elevator did not arrive, he darted into a stairwell.

  “Okay. You saw that.” Roy typed another command. A fresh camera angle from inside the stairwell appeared. A flight of stairs that led to sub-basement levels played many seconds of static footage with no one in the frame.

  “Nothing’s happening,” Kai grumbled. “Maybe he went up instead of down?”

  “Wait.” A few moments later, a fat raccoon descended the stairs. It stood on hind legs like a human and held on to the handrail with one tiny paw. At the bottom of the flight, it waddled to the fire exit and pushed against the metal bar. The door opened and the creature escaped into the laundry section of the hotel.