by Meg Gardiner
‘‘To hang myself with, you’re implying?’’
‘‘Rohypnol.’’
My head started thumping again. ‘‘The date-rape drug?’’
‘‘Yes. Somebody wanted you incapacitated.’’
This had to do with i-heist and the missed deadline. My eyes throbbed.
‘‘Jax, I’m not in the mood for games. Tell me if it was you.’’
She got the other coffee. ‘‘Realize something. I am not here to hurt you. I have your back.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘You couldn’t look out for yourself last night.’’
‘‘Thanks. But that’s not good enough.’’
‘‘You’ll just have to live with it.’’
‘‘Is this what you wanted to warn me about—what I was supposed to ignore at my peril?’’
‘‘No, this surprised me.’’
I swallowed some more coffee, trying to think. ‘‘Where’s Harley?’’
‘‘In the casino.’’ She walked to the window, looked out at the searing day. ‘‘We’re all comped. Harley’s been here before.’’
‘‘She has connections. Her dad was a—’’
‘‘High roller. She told me.’’
Outside, the Strip was blanched white with sun, mirages sweltering above the asphalt.
Jax said, ‘‘Harley’s running away from something. And it isn’t a broken love affair.’’
‘‘Did she tell you that?’’
‘‘You know what I’m talking about. You just need to admit it to yourself.’’
In the light her face looked hard, tired around the eyes. My stomach went hollow. For a second I thought I might be sick again.
‘‘You think she’s involved in this mess with Franklin Brand,’’ I said.
‘‘Of course she is.’’
Harley was Mako’s corporate counsel. She had been warning Jesse and me away from the company since the start. She knew what was happening.
I squeezed my temples. ‘‘She won’t talk. Attorney-client privilege.’’ I felt a bolt of pain. ‘‘I don’t mean you should try to make her talk. Forget I said that.’’
‘‘Chill, would you? I’m not going to wire her up to a torture machine, Evan.’’
I felt unsteady, near shivering. ‘‘Do you think Harley drugged my drink?’’
‘‘Most likely. She was around your glass. But so was everybody else. And where did you get that last bottle, in the kitchen? Was it open when you got it?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Did you ever leave your glass in the kitchen?’’
‘‘Yeah. Anybody could have come in the back door while we were watching the lingerie extravaganza, and dropped a pill into it.’’ I rubbed my temples. ‘‘Why would somebody want to knock me out?’’
‘‘To do something bad to you, or to keep you from stopping them while they went in your house.’’
‘‘But Harley didn’t do anything bad to me.’’
‘‘Is everything okay at home?’’
I didn’t know. I got my cell phone from my purse. There were three missed calls, all from Jesse. I phoned back, got his machine.
I said, ‘‘If Harley was behind it, she wouldn’t have let our road trip become a threesome, don’t you think?’’
‘‘That idea has a certain logic to it.’’
I drank some more coffee, deciding I didn’t have the neurotransmitters for diplomacy. ‘‘Jax, I think you’re screwing with me. I don’t know why, but I think you and Tim are playing some twisted game. I don’t know what, but this ghostwriting project is a front. Your altruism is a front. And I still think you’re the one who drugged me.’’ I set down the coffee cup. ‘‘I’m getting out of here.’’
I turned to go, forgetting to add, Once I find some clean pants to wear.
She said, ‘‘Check in that sack. It’s a goodie bag from the bridal shower.’’
It was a big shopping bag with the magenta Dazzling Delicates label. I rustled through sheets of pink tissue paper and found a bra and panties with Countess Zara tags. They were an indefinable fabric with a silvery sheen. In the bathroom I changed, putting on my dress, and over it the Zero-to-horny T-shirt, inside out, to cover the stain. The Dazzling Delicates were giving me a special feeling called scratchiness. I came out and grabbed my purse, thinking, Let’s see if Jax really lets me go.
She was leaning against the window. ‘‘Sit down a minute.’’
‘‘I knew it.’’
I made for the door. Had she dead-bolted it? Or was Tim North waiting in the hall outside? Hand on the knob.
‘‘I know why the FBI is after Jesse.’’ She was a shadow backlit by the shrill Vegas sun. ‘‘And it all goes back to Mako.’’
I walked over to her and sat down.
Jax handed me a bagel and orange juice. ‘‘You need to get back on an even keel. You don’t want to be out of it, physically or mentally. Things are deteriorating.’’
I did as she suggested.
She said, ‘‘Cherry Lopez has deep and dirty ties to Mako Technologies.’’
‘‘And this has to do with the FBI?’’
‘‘Listen, and see if you can follow. You have no idea of the shitstorm you’ve wandered into.’’
She paced in front of the window. ‘‘First, background. Lopez works with two men you’ve seen, Mickey Yago and Win Utley.’’
‘‘I know, they call themselves i-heist.’’
‘‘They’re into online theft and extortion. Preventing that should be Mako’s raison d’être, but the opposite is occurring,’’ she said. ‘‘History—Yago was originally a coke dealer, and that’s how he got his claws into Mako.’’
‘‘You saying he was their corporate cocaine supplier?’’
‘‘He was Kenny Rudenski’s dealer.’’
My pulse picked up. It hurt my head. I drank the coffee.
‘‘It was an ordinary commercial relationship until Kenny screwed up the business unit he was running, and realized he wasn’t going to make payroll. He worked out a deal with Yago. He bought large quantities of coke at discount, and sold it to generate quick cash to cover the paychecks.’’
‘‘That’s . . . unbelievable.’’
She lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘You haven’t spent much time around the wilder corners of high tech, have you?’’
‘‘Why would Kenny do something so risky?’’
‘‘Desperation, lack of morals, fear of Daddy finding out he couldn’t run the business unit . . .’’ She waved a hand. ‘‘The point is, Yago had his hooks in, and Kenny thought he’d found a savior. They now have a deeply symbiotic relationship. When Mako went public, i-heist invested heavily in the IPO. Yago is a significant Mako stockholder. Under the names of shell corporations, of course.’’
‘‘And this helps Kenny how?’’
‘‘Yago buys and holds Mako stock, supporting its share price and market capitalization. In return, Kenny gives i-heist special access to Mako’s security software, under the table.’’
I thought about it. ‘‘Kenny’s been selling them Mako source code, hasn’t he?’’
‘‘Yup.’’
‘‘And when i-heist gets it, they program in a back door, so they can hack into secure databases to blackmail people.’’
‘‘One of Cherry Lopez’s favorite things to do,’’ she said. ‘‘And after she wrings people out to dry, i-heist empties their bank accounts and runs their credit cards up to the limit. Just a little kick in the pants to send their victims on their way.’’
I drank my coffee, trying to take in the information. Trying to put this together with the fact that the FBI’s money-laundering unit was investigating i-heist.
I said, ‘‘There’s a Mako slush fund called Segue. Yago’s been running his criminal proceeds through it, hasn’t he?’’
‘‘It appears so.’’
‘‘Kenny Rudenski’s been helping Yago launder his profits.’’
‘‘That’s the gist of it.’’
‘‘Damn. And Kenny gets a cut, which he uses to prop up his balance sheet,’’ I said. ‘‘Who’s in on it at Mako, besides Kenny?’’
‘‘I don’t know. That information Lopez didn’t have.’’
Her face was expressionless. I wondered how she and Tim decided that a person was out of information.
‘‘I still know people in Washington. Guy at Treasury gave me a rundown on Win Utley,’’ she said. ‘‘He was a programmer the IRS brought in to test their security. Try to hack the system, help them plug any holes. He stole thousands of Social Security numbers and electronically filed tax returns, and used them to blackmail people who were evading their taxes.’’
‘‘If your friend at Treasury knows all this, why isn’t Utley in jail?’’
‘‘Not enough evidence to indict.’’
‘‘Then how do we help the authorities get the evidence? It must be in Mako’s books, proof that can be untangled.’’
Her feline eyes looked bemused. ‘‘What do you think I’m going to do about it, hack Mako’s computers? Who do you think I am, honey?’’
I stood up and put my hands against the window, looking out at the fulminating day. The glass was hot.
Jax said, ‘‘And don’t think what you’re thinking, either. You’re not going to crack Mako’s system, no way, no how.’’
I didn’t answer.
‘‘Evan, security is Mako’s business. You’re not going to beat their encryption or reconfigure their routers to grant you access to their net. You wouldn’t get through all the barriers they have, multiple levels of admittance to their system. You’re not even going to bribe an employee to get the information for you. You don’t have the money.’’
‘‘How about if I asked them really, really nicely?’’
‘‘The only way a rank amateur like you would ever get into Mako’s computer system is by getting physical access to a terminal in their office. If somebody propped open the door to a secure room, or taped a password to the bottom of their keyboard, then fancy encryption software and firewalls wouldn’t keep you out. But that, my dear, would be a long shot.’’
‘‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were double-daring me to do it.’’
She set her coffee cup down. ‘‘I’m trying to make a point here, and it’s that i-heist is a ruthless bunch. They’re tight with Kenny Rudenski, and they’re not going to back off. If they’re after Jesse, my guess is that they want him to set up a new portal for money laundering.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Maybe because their present portals are on the verge of collapsing.’’
She stared at me, waiting for me to draw the conclusion. I felt sick again.
I said, ‘‘Harley.’’
23
I stepped from the elevator, phone to my ear, trying Jesse again. Still no answer. I headed into the casino. Instantly I felt nauseated at the shininess and noise. It was midday, when casinos show their dismal empty heart. Craps tables empty, cleaning crews vacuuming, waitresses hustling free cocktails to the tourists playing roulette.
Harley was playing blackjack at a table with a fifty-dollar minimum. She had a stack of chips in front of her.
She saw me coming. ‘‘It lives. Feeling better?’’
‘‘Take a break.’’
‘‘Sweetie, I’m grooving here.’’
The dealer busted, and she added more chips to her pile. Her eyes were gleaming.
‘‘We have to talk,’’ I said.
‘‘Great.’’ She placed a fifty-dollar chip on the table in front of the empty seat next to her and nodded to the dealer. ‘‘Deal her in.’’
My head throbbed, hot. The dealer was looking at me. I sat down.
Harley said, ‘‘This trip is exactly what I need. And your friend Jax, she’s cool. I got tickets to the show tonight over at the MGM Grand.’’
The dealer slid cards from the shoe. A nine for me, and then an eight.
I said, ‘‘You’ve been moving money for Mickey Yago.’’
The dealer drew to a twenty-three, and I was up fifty bucks. Harley wasn’t looking at me.
‘‘I was drugged. Was it you?’’
The cards came again. I hit on sixteen, and on nineteen, and on twenty. When I deliberately busted Harley finally came to life, standing up. She gathered her chips.
‘‘You’re not well.’’ She put the chips in her purse and walked away from the table.
I followed her past fountains and gilt columns out into the sun, blinding on the pool.
‘‘Harley, don’t ignore me.’’
Flint was in her eyes. ‘‘You have some bad juju going. Time to get you out of there before you wreck my luck.’’
‘‘What is going on?’’
‘‘Did you actually just accuse me of drugging you? You need help.’’
‘‘What’s happening at Mako? Who’s in on it?’’
‘‘I’m going to ignore all this, and chalk it up to a major case of the morning-afters. I’m here trying to clear my head, and you’re going off the deep end.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘But nothing. I’ve told you before, do not fuck with Mako Technologies. It will only lead to grief. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m up five thousand dollars. That dealer is good for me, and I want to keep it rolling before she goes off duty.’’
Fuming, I headed back toward the room. Jax was right. Harley was dirty. And she was coming unraveled.
I was halfway up the escalator when I looked across and saw Cherry Lopez coming down on the opposite side. She had on the bandanna and gold hoop earrings and was blowing a bubble the size of an orange. For a moment we locked eyes, moving past each other. Then she turned around and started running up the down side, coming after me.
I started running too, up my own side. It was a long escalator, and I wove my way in between fat grannies and Elvis wannabes, aiming for the mezzanine. Behind me I heard a shout, and I looked back to see Lopez jumping over the central divide between the two escalators, now charging up my side.
I got off on the mezzanine and looked around. Ahead, I saw a security guard.
I ran up to him. ‘‘There’s a girl coming up the escalator. She tried to pick my pocket downstairs in the casino.’’
His head swung around. ‘‘What does she look like, ma’am?’’
‘‘Black hair with a red bandanna and big earrings. A tattoo like a snake. I think she’s underage.’’
‘‘Wait here,’’ he said, and headed toward the escalator.
I did wait, just until I saw Lopez coming off, right into his waiting arms.
The taxi swept toward the terminal at McCarran airport. The palms sped past in a picket line, making my vision ripple. Inside, I bought a ticket to Santa Barbara via LAX. No luggage to check; it was just me and my Dazzling Delicates shopping bag, and I headed straight for security. I tried calling Jesse again, but the battery on my phone had gone dead. I walked through the metal detector, setting it off.
‘‘Keys, belt, coins in your pockets?’’ the guard asked.
I said no, and he told me to go through again. The machine buzzed.
He pulled me aside and got out the wand. At the X-ray machine, the screener was frowning at my shopping bag.
The wand waved up and down. Whenever it passed above my bra and panties, it squelched. The X-ray screener opened my shopping bag, rustled through the layers of decorative tissue paper, and took out the bachelorette gifts I should have known were in the bottom of the bag. Tater’s party favors included Bondage for Beginners handcuffs and Lickalicious edible body paint.
The screener held up a bag of Gummi Peckers, saying, ‘‘Breakfast?’’
The wand bleated over my brassiere. The guard said, ‘‘What’s your underwear made of, detonator cord?’’
My head started racketing again. How, I thought, could this day get any worse?
The screener handed me the giant dildo labeled T-REX. She said, ‘‘Woul
d you please demonstrate this?’’
The flight landed on time at LAX, and I hiked to catch my connection to Santa Barbara. The whiff of jet exhaust contributed to the ache in my head and body. I felt as if railroad spikes had been driven into my eye sockets. I tried not to look down at my clothes. At the Las Vegas airport I’d bought a change of attire and was now wearing royal blue shorts and a matching T-shirt that blared, I’M WINNING MY GRANDKIDS’ INHERITANCE! I headed for the gate, where I’d catch a bus to the commuter terminal. It would be a twenty-minute hop up the coast to Santa Barbara.
I was reading a departures monitor when I felt it, the electric twang of his presence. I looked around and Mickey Yago was standing three feet away, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, gold ringlets shining in the sun, his blade of a face aimed at mine. A crackle went through me.
He hitched the strap of a computer case over his shoulder. ‘‘Let’s walk.’’
‘‘I have a plane to catch.’’ I started toward the gate.
He took my arm. ‘‘Your connection ain’t for an hour.’’ His hand was cool, his voice a rasp.
‘‘I’ll tell the gate agent you’re harassing me. They’ll call security,’’ I said.
‘‘And I’ll tell security you’re the one who pickpocketed me.’’ His face was hard. ‘‘Lots of that going around.’’
He must have talked to Cherry Lopez.
He said, ‘‘My wallet’s in your shopping bag. And a dime bag of coke.’’
I looked into my Dazzling Delicates sack. Beneath the tissue paper was a man’s wallet and a Baggie filled with white powder. My vision turned red. Yago’s hand curled around my arm and he led me away from the gate.
How did he know I would be here? Only ticketed passengers had access to this part of the terminal. Was this a show—an exhibition of his ability to find me? If so, he was impressing me.
He walked through the frosted-glass doors of the airline’s business-class lounge, flashing a membership card to the woman at the front desk. Inside, the leather and pale wood made the place look like a Nordic cocktail lounge. Yago’s stride was unhurried. He led me to a sofa by the windows and sat down.
‘‘Blackburn thinks he can ignore me,’’ he said. ‘‘He’s wrong.’’
I stared at him. His face lacked any hint of humor, liveliness, or interest in me. This encounter wasn’t meant to impress me. It was a message to Jesse.
