Skin in the Game

by D P Lyle

  “Do I have a choice?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m working hard to make you perfect. How about some gratitude?”

  Was he fucking kidding? She wanted to rip his eyes out. Bite his face. Kick his balls into his throat.

  Pipe dreams. She saw no way any of that could ever happen.

  “When you’re finished, what then?” she asked.

  He patted her arm, causing an involuntary jerk. “All in good time.”

  “Why? Why me? Why this?”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  They had. Several times. He was the artist, she the canvas. She becoming truly beautiful. In his eyes. In his madness.

  He had said she would be his Chelsie Cheetah. And she looked like one. Much of her skin now orange, black dots everywhere. In no pattern she could see. Like the plague. Or some other dreaded disease.

  She heard footsteps. Outside. Then a door scraping open. She tensed. Had someone arrived to rescue her?

  He stood and turned toward the door. She looked that way.

  Two men.

  “What are you doing here?” her captor asked.

  “We need to talk,” the taller of the two said.

  Blond hair, more shaggy and unkempt than her captor’s, same blue eyes. Were they related?

  The two men approached. Each walking around the table. Examining her.

  “Remarkable,” the shorter one said.

  Darker, stocky, more dangerous looking.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said.

  Her captor smiled. “I told you she was special.”

  The tall one ran a hand along her leg, up her thigh. “Amazing.”

  “Still want out?” her captor asked.

  Out? Out of what?

  “Did you see the paper this morning?” the tall one asked.

  “Sure.”

  “General Kessler’s granddaughter? Are you crazy?”

  Her captor looked around. “Let’s step outside. It’ll be more private.”

  The shorter one gave a smirk. “Do you think that makes any difference? She’ll never tell anyone.”

  Her heart fluttered. The tension in her body felt as if she had lifted from the table. Floated on some insensible cloud. She had known from day one that she wouldn’t survive this. No way he could do this and let her live. But, hearing it said, in so many words, was an affirmation that made it even more real. God, if you can hear, if you even exist, please, please help me.

  “Okay. There’s no way she can be traced to us.” He nodded toward Chelsie. “Chelsie either.”

  “That might be true,” the tall man said. “Or not. The problem is that her being so high profile could lead to a more vigorous investigation.”

  “Relax. I told you. They were both purchased. From someone who doesn’t know me. Has no way of finding me. Or you. Truth is, he doesn’t know what I look like.”

  “But, you’ve met him. Haven’t you?”

  Her captor shook his head. “Never.”

  “Then how did you…?”

  He raised a hand. “I never met him. The girls were delivered by a couple of his guys. In a dark warehouse. Where no one could see anyone else.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am.”

  The shorter one now ran his hand over her ribs, cupped one breast. “She’s remarkable.”

  “And she’ll be more so once I’ve finished.”

  The tall one sighed. “When?”

  “Two more days. Three at the most.”

  The tall man nodded. “Okay.”

  “I guess this means you’re still in?”

  The two men exchanged a glance. “We are.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Cain pulled in to the Nashville Airport’s general aviation area. After maneuvering past the check point and following the guard’s directions, he rounded a hangar and General Kessler’s Gulfstream G650 came into view. Nearly 100 feet of high-speed, long-range luxury—the speed being just under Mach One and the range around 7000 miles. The General could get anywhere, in a hurry.

  “Wow,” Harper said. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “What? Just a regular old Gulfstream?”

  “Since you put it that way, yeah.”

  Cain smiled. “You underestimate the General.”

  “Wonder what something like this costs?”

  “I think it’s one of those things that if you have to ask you can’t afford it.”

  Earlier, as Cain left Carlos’ place, he had called Kessler. Said Carlos’ guys recognized the killer.

  “Who is it?” Kessler asked.

  “They didn’t say who but they know him.” Cain explained the photo Harper had taken and how he saw recognition in the eyes of Munoz and Reyes.

  “You’re telling me the guy who did this is a friend of Martin Stenson’s?”

  “Looks that way. Hell, it could be Stenson himself.”

  “I never expected the trail might lead there.”

  “Every mission has its own surprises,” Cain said.

  “True. What’s your next step?”

  “We need to go to Vegas. To see the valet who recommended Carlos to our guy. See if he can pick him out.”

  Kessler didn’t hesitate. Said he’d have the jet spun up and ready within the hour. So, here they were, headed to Sin City.

  Cain parked, nose in, near the hangar. They grabbed their overnight bags—because you just never knew—from the trunk, and walked toward the aircraft.

  A young lady appeared in the doorway at the top of the stairs. She offered a pleasant smile as they climbed to where she stood. She ushered them inside.

  “Mr. Cain. Ms. McCoy. Welcome aboard.”

  “Thanks,” Harper said.

  “I’m Brooke.”

  She turned and nodded toward the cockpit. Inside the pilot and co-pilot busied themselves with their pre-flight checks.

  “This is Captain Bart Henderson and his co-pilot Adrian Lindberg.”

  They turned. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Henderson said. “We’ll be ready to roll in a few minutes.”

  Brooke stored their bags in a front compartment and then directed them into the cabin.

  Plush didn’t cover it. Two rows of white leather captain’s chairs, dark wood trim, thick carpeting. Space for twelve in three four-seat groupings, each arranged with two seats facing forward, the other two aft.

  Cain and Harper settled mid-way back and sat facing each other.

  “Anything to drink before we take off?” Brooke asked.

  Cain and Harper declined. Brooke walked toward the front. She closed and sealed the front door and then disappeared into the small galley.

  Cain’s phone rang. The William Faulkner one. The caller ID told him it was Adam Parker.

  “Adam?” he said.

  “Where are you?” Adam asked.

  “Why?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Cain glanced at Harper. “About?”

  “I’d rather do it face to face. Not on the phone.”

  “I’m headed out to Miami right now. But, I’ll be back tomorrow. Can it wait?”

  Adam hesitated. “I guess.” He didn’t sound thrilled about waiting.

  “Go ahead; tell me.”

  He heard Adam sigh. “I’m having some second thoughts about all this.”

  “Oh?” Cain said.

  “Maybe I’m overreacting. Or being paranoid or something.”

  “In this business a touch of paranoia is a good thing. What exactly’s bothering you?”

  “When I started this, when I hooked up with Carlos, it was all fun and games. I found girls who wanted to make money, he gave them the opportunity. Everyone did well. The girls, most of them anyway, were grateful. Several of them helped pay for their college and living expenses.”

  “Okay. And now?”

  “Cindy Grant changed everything.”

  The last thing they needed right now, when they might be just a few hours from identifying the killer, was Adam Par
ker making waves. Making Carlos nervous. Carlos was deeply invested, hungry for money, making him vulnerable. But if Adam created ripples, Carlos might become wary. Might bolt. Cain wanted him fat and happy and clueless.

  “How so?” Cain asked, already knowing the answer, but letting Adam vent.

  “Carlos sold her. To some guy who did stuff to her. Killed her. I mean, Jesus, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Did you express these concerns to Carlos?”

  “No way. He’d be super pissed if he thought I wasn’t sold on this whole idea.”

  “Probably.”

  “And, he’s scary. Those two guys he hangs with are even scarier.”

  “Adam, I appreciate your concerns. As you heard earlier, I share them. I don’t like Carlos selling girls locally. Overseas, okay, but not here in his own backyard.”

  “What happens to those girls? The ones that go overseas?”

  “They make money. Some even begin a new life. A plush life.”

  Cain’s lies rolled out easily. He hated it, but it was the only play right now. He had to keep Adam in the fold.

  “How do you know?” Adam asked.

  “We keep track.”

  “I see.” Adam fell silent.

  “Look, I’m going to fix all that. Clean up the mess Carlos made. Get us all on the right track.”

  “How?”

  “Leave that to me. But I want you to lay low for a day or two. Stay away from Carlos. If he calls, tell him you have classes, or appointments with new girls, anything to put him off.”

  Adam let out a long sigh. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow and I should have a solution worked out by then.”

  After he hung up, Harper asked, “He getting rattled?”

  “Sure is.”

  “And here I didn’t think he had a soul.”

  Cain smiled. “He’s a kid. A punk-ass but a kid.”

  “You mean not a killer, just a pimp?”

  “Something like that.”

  Brooke appeared. “Buckle up. We’re ready to go.”

  The flight took just under three hours, the sun setting when they landed at the Henderson Executive Airport. A black Lincoln Town Car and driver awaited them.

  “Call when you’re ready to go,” Brooke said as she escorted them to the car.

  “Shouldn’t take too long,” Cain said. “Couple of hours, maybe.”

  “The guys and I are going over to a little pub we like and grab something to eat. It’s nearby, so let me know when you’re headed this way and we’ll be waiting.”

  “Sounds good.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Their driver was Raquel Scotto. A tall, fit young lady who wore black slacks and a white collared shirt. She spun the car toward the exit.

  “Caesars, right?”

  “That’s it,” Cain said,

  Mama B had said Luis Orosco’s shift today ran until eight p.m. so he would still be on duty. When Cain asked how she found that out, she replied, “Want to see his pay stubs? His work schedule for the next three months?” Was there anything she couldn’t dig up?

  Now, Cain and Harper shuffled through the pages of intel Mama B had sent. Originally from Tijuana, Luis had been in the US eight years, and at Caesar’s for four. Besides his two pandering arrests, neither going anywhere, he hadn’t had so much as a parking ticket.

  From his photo he appeared stocky, muscular, with shaggy dark hair and a grin that was actually pleasant. As the Town Car swung into the Caesars’s valet area, chaos ruled. Cars unloading way too much luggage, others reloading similar baggage plus multicolored bags of shopping and souvenirs; still others held the routine comings and goings of gamblers and drinkers. The party crowd. The valet guys were hopping, somehow making it all look easy.

  Cain spotted Luis near the entry door, phone to his ear. He pointed.

  “He looks almost normal,” Harper said.

  “He’s not.”

  Another valet approached as Cain stepped out. Harper didn’t.

  “She’s just dropping me off,” Cain said.

  The guy nodded and headed toward the car that had pulled in behind them.

  “We’ll circle back in about fifteen,” Harper said.

  Cain waited until Luis hung up and then approached him.

  “Luis?”

  He turned, smiled.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Bill Faulkner. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  His smile evaporated. “About what?”

  Cain scanned the surroundings. “Maybe just over here.” He indicated an area twenty feet away, near a column, removed from the bustling entrance drive. He walked that way. Luis followed.

  “What’s this about?” Luis asked.

  “Girls.”

  His gaze cut right and left. “You got the wrong guy.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Luis hesitated. “You look like a cop.”

  “I’m not. I’m a friend of Carlos Campos. You might say we’re business partners.”

  His smile returned. “Oh, I see. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for a guy. One you sent Carlos’ way.”

  “Why?” Luis asked.

  “Let’s just say he can throw a kink into some things Carlos and I have planned.”

  “Back in Nashville?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I sent this guy to Carlos?”

  “Several weeks ago. Maybe a month or two. He was looking for a girl. Not just for the night. Something more long term.”

  His brow furrowed. “I should call Carlos.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Cain said.

  “I’d feel better.” He slipped his phone from his pocket.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” Cain smiled.

  “What does that mean? Who the hell are you?”

  “Bill Faulkner. And I’m trying to solve a problem for Carlos.”

  Luis glanced at his phone then back up to Cain. “That makes no sense.” Again, he began working his phone. “I’d better call him.”

  “No,” Cain said. Luis’s head snapped up. “This is a delicate matter and it’s best for Carlos if he has no connection, or even knows of this conversation.” Again, Cain smiled. “Gives him plausible deniability if things get sideways.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “It’s simple. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll go away. You’ll have no other involvement and your name will never be spoken again.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll have to follow another path. Perhaps involve the Las Vegas PD. And I’d rather not.”

  “What the hell did this guy do?”

  “Better you don’t know that.”

  Luis glanced back toward his coworkers. One looked his way, raised his shoulders and opened his arms as if to say, “We could use some help here.”

  “Just tell me about the guy you sent to Carlos,” Cain said. “That’s it. Then you can get back to work.”

  Luis considered that for a full half a minute, ultimately saying nothing, just giving a brief head shake.

  Cain considered his options. Going hard at Luis wasn’t a good choice. Not here. Public place, his friends nearby. But, he didn’t have time to woo him. Convince Luis he was a good guy. Not a threat. Finally, Cain pulled out his phone. “Let me show you a photo. Tell me if you recognize anyone.” He brought up the image of Stenson’s crew and held it toward Luis.

  At first he looked away, then gave in, studied the photo. His pupils widened a notch. Recognition. No doubt. He shook his head. “None of those guys look familiar.” He looked at Cain. “Who are they?”

  “Just some guys. You sure you haven’t seen any of them before?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. That’s all I needed.” Cain returned his phone to his pocket. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this conversation between the two of us.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “I got
to get back to work.”

  Cain watched him walk away. Before he reentered the chaos, one of his co-workers rolled down the passenger window of a car he was parking and shouted to Luis. “You going to that party tonight?”

  “Yeah, man. Wouldn’t miss it.” He glanced at his watch. “I get off in about forty-five. Got to run by my place and clean up. I should be there by ten.”

  The guy gave a thumbs up. “Going to be fun. Lot’s of ladies I hear.”

  Luis waved. “Later.”

  The Town Car pulled up and Cain jumped in.

  “Tell me something good,” Harper said.

  “He recognized someone. Don’t know who. He denied it, but just like Munoz and Reyes, he knows who we’re looking for.”

  “What now?” Harper asked.

  “Plan B.”

  She laughed. “I always love plan B.”

  Cain gave Raquel Luis’s address. She eased into the thick traffic along Las Vegas Boulevard.

  Cain’s cell buzzed. Mama B.

  “He just called Carlos,” she said. “Told him some dude—that being you—had harassed him about the guy he had sent to him.”

  “Harassed? I was polite. Mostly.”

  Mama B laughed. “Right. Bottom line—Carlos isn’t happy.”

  “I’m not either.”

  “Let me guess, you’re going to have another chat with Mr. Orosco?”

  “Chat might be a little polite.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Bobby Blade, Age 9

  It started when he was four. Uncle Al’s games. Back then, Bobby had no idea they were actually training sessions. He discovered that much later.

  Uncle Al began with trees. Not simply scaling them, but ascending without anyone being aware. How to use the trunk, limbs, and foliage for cover. When to move, when to remain frozen. How to avoid the weak branches that might break, or creak, or sway, and seek out those that would not only support him, but wouldn’t give away his position. The game was to reach the highest point and not be seen. They practiced in parks, in the woods, even in people’s backyards, often while the family was eating just beyond a bank of windows.

  He then moved on to ropes, trellises, even sheer walls. Brick and stone were the easiest. They found abandoned houses and Bobby learned to reach the second floor, open windows and doors, move quietly, even across squeaky floors.