“And to you,” Gwen said back to him. The heat from the brief contact surprised her. The promise made her want. Jerry’s party didn’t matter, she thought dizzily. The only thing that mattered was getting Del alone. Now.
“Hey, how do I get me some of that,” Jerry said behind them.
Del shot him a frown. “I think the supply is all out, buddy. You’re going to have to settle for a poker groupie.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Gwen forced flirtatiousness into her voice. “Congratulations. We’ll see you upstairs at the party,” she told him, making herself lean in to peck him on the cheek before turning back to Del and Roxy.
“So,” Del said, “party first, then I need to take you two poker superstars out to celebrate a little.”
“Man after my own heart,” Roxy said, ruffling his hair affectionately. “You don’t happen to have a brother, do you?”
“Yep, but he’s married with three kids.”
“Rats. You’ll tell me if anything changes?”
“You’ll be the first,” he promised.
THE PARTY MIGHT HAVE BEEN IN Jerry’s suite, but it had spilled out into the concierge bar and lounge area. Guests milled about, only a fraction of whom he probably knew, Gwen was betting. Behind the bar a hotel staffer mixed drinks. Appetizers tempted the hungry from tables covered in snowy-white linen.
“Quite the host, our Jerry is,” Del murmured in her ear.
“Just as long as he’s not planning to pay for it in cash,” she responded. “You might want to skip the me-Tarzan-you-Jane routine, by the way,” she added in a low voice. “As long as Jerry thinks he has a chance, he might tell me something.”
“He’ll tell you more if he’s trying to impress you into dumping me and taking up with him.”
She slanted a look at him. “Which would be the only reason you did it, of course.”
“Of course,” he said blandly. “And now I’ll wander over and talk with Roxy, leaving you wide open for Jerry.”
“You are devious.” She gave him an admiring look.
“That’s why you love me.” He walked off, leaving her staring after him.
Just a joke, Gwen decided, blinking away her shock. Definitely nothing she should take seriously. It wasn’t as though she could possibly be foolish enough to let herself have feelings for Del, anyway. It was just a fling while they were working together. What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, she reminded herself.
“Hey, you made it!” Jerry came up to her. “How you doing, babe? Ready to mow ’em down in the next round?”
“Careful. You might just wind up at my table.”
“Hey, the other night showed us who was hot.”
She tilted her head. “You mean the night I took you to the cleaners?”
He frowned, the memory coming clearer. “Yeah, but I’m on a roll now. I’m hot and the cards are loving me.”
“We’re all hot.”
“I’ve got a license to print money,” he told her.
A weedy-looking blonde with a deep tan and the carved lines of a longtime smoker walked up to them carrying a highball glass of what looked like whiskey. “Well, if it isn’t the hotshot kid himself,” she said and took a swallow of her drink. “I guess you’re the host of this little do.”
“Hey,” Jerry crowed and gave her a sloppy kiss. “Rennie, I want you to meet Nina. Nina, this is Adrienne—or Rennie, as we call her.”
Every atom of Gwen’s being went on alert. It was Rennie—the Rennie listed in the matchbook, the Rennie who’d begun the whole chase.
The Rennie who might know something about where the stamps were.
Staying relaxed took work, but Gwen managed to put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. So, what do you think of our boy making it into the money round?”
“Oh, Jerry’s always done well for himself,” Rennie said in a not-entirely-pleasant tone. “I should know it. I’ve watched him for a long time.”
“Rennie and I go way back,” Jerry put in. “We met up in Reno. Used to joke about starting a radio show. ‘And now,’” he announced, “‘it’s Jerry and Rennie from Reno.’”
“The way I remember it, it was Rennie and Jerry from Reno.” She took another gulp of her drink. “It’s that memory of yours, Jerry, always gets you in trouble.”
There was definitely something simmering here, Gwen thought. If she could coax it to the boil, who knew what might bubble up? “Jerry, sweetie, can you go get us drinks?” Gwen asked, channeling a bit of Nina, a bit of Roxy.
“Drinks?”
She nodded. “A martini for me and what, whiskey?” She looked at Rennie inquiringly.
“Jack Daniel’s,” Rennie supplied and took a last swallow of what was in her glass.
“Okay, a martini and a Jack Daniel’s.” He went off a bit unwillingly, but he went, allowing her to concentrate on Rennie. “So, nice party, huh? Has to be costing a bundle. Of course, I’m just a guest, so I guess I shouldn’t worry about it.” Poke the sore spot, see what happens, Gwen thought.
“He always was a dipshit when it came to money.” Rennie looked after Jerry with a scowl.
“So, you from here in Vegas or still living in Reno?”
“I’m a dealer here at the hotel. He wouldn’t even have known about the tournament if it weren’t for me.”
And another puzzle piece clicked into place. “Wow. He’s lucky he’s got a friend like you. I just found out by accident. So, what did you guys do up in Reno?”
“Who, me?” Rennie took another look at Jerry. “I was dealing blackjack and passing odd jobs to the hotshot kid. ’Course, it don’t look like he needs the work anymore,” she added, turning to survey the concierge area. “Fancy place, his own bartender—looks like he’s got all the money he needs.” She bit off the words and stood staring moodily until Jerry returned.
“Here we go, a martini for you and a J.D. for you. Let’s toast to the big payoff at the final table,” he said, holding up his glass.
“Let’s toast to payoffs, period,” Rennie returned in a hard voice. “And promises. Remember promises, Jerry? You ain’t too good on them.” The bourbon was hitting her bloodstream; it showed in her eyes and the increased volume of her voice.
Jerry’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you ought to quiet down,” he suggested.
“Don’t tell me what I oughta do.” Her voice rose.
“We’re gonna talk about this in private,” he hissed and half led, half pulled her into the hallway that led to the bedroom.
Del drifted over to Gwen. “That looked interesting.”
“That was Rennie,” she said.
“So maybe we need to go lean against the wall over there and canoodle a bit?”
“You read my mind.”
The bedroom door closed, but Gwen and Del were able to get close enough to hear faint voices behind it.
“What’s your problem?” Jerry demanded.
“What’s my problem? You gotta ask? You owe me money, you asshole. You’re here having a great old time with big bucks from a job that I threw your way. Meanwhile I’m spending eight hours a day on my feet dealing cards, waiting on that big lump of cash I was supposed to get from you. ‘It’ll pay off big, Rennie,’” she mocked savagely. “‘Take a couple months off.’ Pissed off? Damned right I’m pissed off.”
“You’ll get your money.” Her response must have been a rude look because Jerry’s voice roughened. “I’m working the deal as fast as I can.”
“Keep talking, you’re breaking my heart here. You look like you’re workin’ real hard, playin’ poker, sucking down liquor, acting like the big man.”
“There’s been a holdup.”
“Always is with you.”
“Look, you brought me the guy. If he’s a screwup, then it’s partly your fault. If that means you got to sweat a little more, well, it ain’t gonna keep me up at night.”
“Asshole,” she spat.
“Yeah? Right back atcha. He’s the one who ain’t paying. Until he coughs up
the cash, I don’t get it, which means you don’t get it. Unnerstand?”
“Tell me you didn’t make some idiot move like giving him the goods already.”
“The stuff’s in a safe place. It’s cool. Everything’s cool, or it would be if you’d stop being such a psycho bitch.”
“I’ll back off for now, but I’m warning you, I’d better see something soon.”
“Saturday night is gonna be the handover, babe. I’ll get you the dough, you can put in your notice. Maybe we’ll take a nice trip or something.”
“I’ll show you a nice trip if you’re feeding me a line.”
“Hey, Ren, would I do that?”
“You always did have a habit of asking stupid questions,” she returned.
GWEN LAY ON THE SHEETS, waiting for her breath to return to normal.
“Are you trying to give me heart failure so I’ll forfeit my seat at the table?” Del croaked.
She grinned. “I just wanted to help you release your post-tournament tension.”
“You helped me release my tension, all right.”
“Mmm.” She moved so that her head lay across his belly. “So, based on that conversation we overheard, it sounds like Jerry’s planning the handoff on Saturday, which means we’ve got to get our act in gear.”
“Yep.”
“So, I think I’ve figured out a way to do it.”
“How?”
“Well, it depends on Jerry making the final table. If he does, then we’ll know without a doubt where he is during the last night of play.”
“Of course, you might be there also.”
“I suppose, but just because I start the game doesn’t mean I’ll be the last one standing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everybody but the champ has to lose sometime. If I’m the first one out, I’ll be free to roam while Jerry’s stuck there.”
“Too chancy.”
“Not at all,” she argued, rolling over to prop her arms on his chest. “They’ll be showing the play on the closed-circuit television system throughout the hotel. All I need to do is put it on and I can monitor Jerry the whole time. I know where they are, Del,” she reminded him. “It won’t take long.”
“And what do you think he’s going to do when he finds them gone?”
“What can he do? They were stolen to begin with.”
“What about fingerprints, assuming he does go to the cops?”
She dismissed it. “We were just in his suite. My fingerprints are going to be all over the place anyway.”
“You made sure of it, didn’t you?”
She grinned at him. “Nina’s no dummy.”
“It still feels risky to me. What if someone catches you up there?”
“It’ll work out fine. You can put money on it.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
19
DEL LEANED AGAINST ONE OF the marble pillars of one of the casino bars—the Sun King Court—and watched Gwen being interviewed for the tournament video. It was one of the fifteen-minute segments the filmmakers were doing with all the front-runners. He’d done his only the day before. Somehow, though, Gwen’s segment had stretched to nearly an hour. Not that he blamed them. She made a fetching subject and it wasn’t just him being biased.
Behind him, on the stage in the bar, the singer of the house band warbled a version of Madonna’s “Holiday.” That was what this whole week felt like, a holiday from the real world.
He pulled out his cell phone to check his voice mail while he waited. It might feel as if he was on vacation, but there was still work to think about.
He punched in the number and then navigated his way through the voice-mail menus, punching the key to play his first message. “Hey, Redmond—” the voice jumped out of the phone “—it’s Kellar.” A casino waitress hustled past, her tray of drinks held high. “Jessup put me full-time on that stamp story you dropped. I need to get a list of your sources and where you left things, so give me a call or shoot me an e-mail, okay?”
Del jabbed at the key that deleted the message and stood, quietly steaming. Maybe Jessup hadn’t been ready to let the story go so easily and had asked Kellar to follow up. More likely it was Kellar getting industrious, Del figured, hoping that a little sniffing around would net him a story and a clip. Dream on, buddy. No journalist who wanted to remain competitive coughed up his sources. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he owed Jessup anything. The thing to do was sit tight and let Kellar cool his heels. With nothing to go on, the kid couldn’t possibly get an angle on the story.
Del hoped.
Someone bumped him on the hip and he turned to see Gwen. “Hey, you,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “Sorry that took so long. Did I miss anything important?”
“Not a thing,” he told her and hoped like hell he was right.
“WELCOME TO THE THIRD ROUND of the Tournament of Champions.” The MC’s voice came across the PA system as the players and audience milled around the tournament room. The mood had become even more focused, even more intense as the tournament had progressed. The good news was that everybody was in the money. The bad news was that the sooner a player went out, the less of a payoff they got. By the end of play that day, the field would be winnowed from thirty-six to the final table of nine.
And someone at that final table would walk away with a cool two million.
On the surface, players behaved just about the same, only more so. The loquacious ones coffeehoused just as much as they always had, perhaps out of nerves or as a calculated attempt to distract their cohorts. Punks like Jerry grated ever more on the nerves.
And the cool, focused players like Del just kept coming. The power balances had changed at the tables. The chip leaders, some of them sitting on several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of chips, bet relentlessly, raising and reraising, trying to break their poorer competition.
Much to her own surprise, Gwen had worked her way up to over two hundred thousand dollars in chips by the time she was reseated at a shorthanded table with Jerry.
A chance for a little revenge.
She didn’t want to knock him out of the tournament. She needed him there where she could keep an eye on him. The more of his chips she could steal away, though, the higher up the ladder she would move and the more of her grandfather’s property she could buy back.
And she began to seriously play.
THE NIGHT AIR WAS COOL AS Gwen pushed through the doors that led out of the casino and onto the long, covered arcade that looked down on the front entrance. The hint of coolness in the air helped ease the stress headache that beat in her temples. After ten hours at the tables, the players had winnowed their numbers from thirty-six to thirteen, and the pressure rose every time someone dropped out.
Four more and they’d be down to the final table. Four more and she’d be guaranteed enough money to buy back all of the low-value stamps that Jerry had sold and then some. She’d taken a few chips from Jerry, but she’d left him with enough to survive and he’d built back from there. If luck were with him, he’d get to the final table.
If luck were with them both.
The message light on her cell phone flashed a peremptory red. A minute, Gwen thought, leaning down to rest her forehead briefly against the cold marble of the railing. She’d give herself just one precious moment before she hit redial.
When she did, Joss answered. “Hello?”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Grampa. You need to call him.”
“Come on, Joss, it’s eleven o’clock at night.”
“So? It’s the middle of the morning there and he just called again. I’m out of excuses and he’s starting to get suspicious. You’ve got to call him.”
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t now, Joss. We’re down to the final thirteen. I’ve got to go back inside in, like, ten minutes.”
“I told him you’ve been really busy. Just five minutes?” she wheedled. “He just needs to he
ar your voice.”
The headache felt as though someone was merrily thumping Gwen’s brain with a meat tenderizer. “All right.”
Gwen repeated her grandfather’s phone number as Joss read it out to her, repeated it again before she said goodbye, then recited the number out loud as she punched the keys. The clicking in the electronic circuits and the ring sounded farther away somehow. Half a world away, she thought suddenly. Half a world and a dozen time zones.
“Good morning.”
It might have been coming from half a world away, but when she heard her grandfather’s voice, it was as though he were right beside her. “Grampa. It’s Gwen.”
“Gwennie!” The pleasure in his voice warmed her, easing her headache. “I was about ready to come looking for you. What have you been up to? All Joss can ever tell me is that you’re off somewhere busy.”
“Oh, just working hard,” she said vaguely. “I only have a few minutes to talk but I wanted to say hi. How’s Australia?”
“Tasmania today,” he corrected her. “And we leave for Papua New Guinea day after tomorrow.”
His voice sounded richer, she thought, more thrummingly full of bass, as though a tightness none of them had been aware of had eased. “You sound happy, Grampa.”
“We’re having the time of our lives. Your grandmother learned how to use a boomerang a couple of days ago.”
“A boomerang?” The image of her quiet, buttoned-down grandmother hucking around a boomerang made her laugh.
“Almost took my head off with it, but she had fun. Oh, we’ve been having a blast. I don’t know why we didn’t do this before.”
“You were married to your business?” she speculated.
“No longer,” he assured her. “That’s someone else’s job now. Speaking of the business, how’d that new kid you hired work out?”
The headache returned with a vengeance. “Oh, all right,” Gwen said briefly, hating the fact that she wasn’t being straight with him. But how could she tell him and chase away all the joy and pleasure she heard?
“How’d the Chicago estate sale go?”
“Great. Made a couple of surprise finds and already unloaded some of the issues.”
Certified Male Page 17
