by Nina Barrett
****
He pushed the penthouse level button in Jim’s private elevator, or lift as his employer called it, and leaned back against the wall feeling his eyelids droop. Everything was catching up with him—Saturday night’s deluge, the mess at the Imperial, the cold shoulder from Cinnamon, his non-accident out at Red Rock Canyon. His stomach muscles tightened as he gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the anger away. He’d deal with it later. Someone would pay.
“So I guess the Imperial took the big prize last night. Brielle was all excited when she came in this morning,” Ron said.
He started. “Oh, yeah, we did. Best of the small independents. Actually, I left it back at my apartment. No.” He caught himself. That all seemed so long ago. “No, it’s still in the Jag. I switched over to the SUV when I came back to the Imperial.”
“A lot more practical. That Jag rides so low, you’re practically sitting on asphalt. Brielle said everyone had a great time.”
“We did until we had to go outside and deal with the weather. Saw a lot of industry people there.” At least he’d thought they’d all enjoyed the evening, but what was the story with Cinna’s attitude? She’d about taken his head off when he’d suggested sending help over for her from the hotel. Had he insulted her? Was she that stubbornly independent?
“You know Brielle.” Ron shifted, jamming his hands into his pants’ pocket. “She’s been a big help around here, picking up the load.”
“Dolores appreciates her.”
“She’s been terrific. I know I haven’t been pulling my weight, Tom.”
He didn’t reply.
Ron lowered his head.
“Brielle’s been doing her job along with most of mine, I guess. Wanda, well, since we lost R.J., she’s been drinking again. I found an A.A. group that meets evenings and I think it’s helping us through things. It’s a special group dealing with people going through loss. Brielle has been a trooper about picking up the slack when I cut out early.”
The elevator doors slid open. He waited an instant.
“I guess what I’m trying to say here, Tom, is I appreciate the opportunity. It’s obvious the Imperial’s a first-class place and I don’t want to louse things up.”
“Sure, Ron. You performed above and beyond the call of duty last night.” He offered him his hand.
“Thanks. Maybe it took a storm like that to wake me up.”
****
Food and Beverage had actually been able to produce a credible brunch from Gentleman Jim’s kitchenette on short notice. High above the mess the downtown had turned into, sunlight poured through the penthouse’s floor to ceiling windows. Dianne LaRusso had set up a tempting array of fruits, pastries, jams, flavored butters, and granola on the kitchen bar.
He bypassed the tea in favor of coffee. Fortunately, someone seemed to prefer the same full-strength caffeine he needed.
He took a seat on the couch beside Dolores who was balancing her own cup and saucer along with a platter of fresh fruit and a muffin.
“We’re pretty much finished down in Memories, Chief. I left Brielle and Leon moving everything salvageable out of the way so the cleaning crews can get in and get started. The carpeting, draperies, and damaged merchandise are out in front waiting for the trash pick up.”
“We’re getting more accomplished than I expected. God knows when we’ll be able to get new carpet laid. We’ll probably have to stand in line with the other hotels.” He took a long soothing sip of his coffee and mentally counted heads—Food and Beverage Services, Security, Gaming Operations, Hospitality, Special Events, Maintenance, Consumer Operations, Groundskeeping, Business Services, Housekeeping. Promotions?
“Eddie Rasmussen?”
“Eddie’s out of town.” Dolores dusted muffin crumbs off her manicured fingers. “Remember that conference out in Tahoe? He’s due back Monday.”
“Right.” He dragged a hand across his face. “Excuse me. I’m fogging up here.”
“Nick called in. He and Peggy are going out to see their daughter in the hospital. She had her scoliosis operation yesterday. She’s doing fine, but he wants to check on her. He’s going to try and make it in this afternoon.”
“Good. Well then, I think we’re all here.”
Gentleman Jim was in his element, enjoying himself as if he were hosting an impromptu picnic. Maybe holding an occasional staff meeting in the penthouse might be a good idea in the future. Standing at the buffet table, their employer was busy pouring tea and coffee, finding silverware, and encouraging people to try a bit of this and that.
He got to his feet. “People, if we can all get our things and find a place over here, I think we’ll get started. The sooner we can get through the agenda, the sooner we can get back to work.”
He waited as everyone pulled up chairs and Jim McMasters seated himself in his favorite red leather chair. His eyes bright, McMasters looked as if the events of the past twenty-four hours had energized him.
“To begin with I want to thank all of you for showing up on a Sunday. Especially to our kitchen crew currently serving a cold buffet to our guests up on the mezzanine. I know it isn’t easy. I’m sure everyone here has been adversely affected by the storm last night and you all have things of your own to deal with. Your sense of commitment and work ethic were major contributors to our winning the hospitality industry award last night.”
“Hear, hear!” Gentleman Jim applauded heartily. “Capital job!” He stood with the others.
“I think we’ll start by going around and having everyone summarize the state of affairs in their department. We need to get an idea of where we stand and what needs to be done. Then we can prioritize the implementation of our resources and sketch out a timetable for getting back up to speed.” He nodded at his secretary. “Candace, will be taking notes.”
He’d need to remember and ask Candace about the status of the short sell property his secretary and her husband were negotiating to buy.
He sat back in his armchair to listen, his coffee forgotten, growing cold in his cup.
Time, money, recovery schedules. It was every bit as grim as he’d feared. How could McMasters convince his investors back in Britain to put even more money in a venture still slow to show a profit after more than three years of non-stop investment?
“But on the plus side…” Andrea Devore, head of consumer operations was persistently cheerful. If a fire alarm sounded at midnight, she’d probably wake up with a smile on her face at the thought of getting some exercise. “You know considering everything we’ve had very few complaints. I mean for people who spent good money expecting a sunny Las Vegas holiday, they are bearing up. Services are minimal, downstairs is a nasty swamp, and we have no idea when our restaurants and gaming areas will be back in operation. Ditto pool and spa facilities. But people have been understanding for the most part, especially those who’ve been with us before and know the kind of quality we’re committed to.”
“Good show!” McMasters said.
“It probably didn’t hurt anything that we opened up the mini-bars last night,” Dianne LaRusso, head of Food and Beverage, said. “Bet we’ll see a lot of miniature liquor bottles in the trash today.”
“Oh, but we need to do more than that for our guests!” Gentleman Jim protested. “We must compensate them for this unfortunate turn of events while the rest of us soldier on. No charge on rooms since this mess began or for our guests booking in today. No, wouldn’t do at all, would it? And we’ll offer a discounted rate on a future stay at the Imperial for guests affected by this sorry bit of business.”
There was an awkward moment of silence. Ron and Dolores were looking at him. In the back, the door from the corridor opened and Elspeth Porter-Hayes slipped in quietly. She took a seat by the buffet table to listen. Well, he guessed it was her money they were discussing. It didn’t make it any easier. He took a deep breath.
“That’s a splendid idea, sir.”
And it was. Just not practical in their cur
rent financial state.
“I guess I’m only worried about the bottom line.” Across the room, Suresh Bindra, head of business operations, raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“Here we are, open a year now and still operating at a loss. I think we need to examine the situation from a practical standpoint.”
“My dear lad, that’s what insurance is for, you know. A rainy day. And that’s certainly what we’ve had here, isn’t it?”
“But that would be flood insurance,” Suresh said. “Our general insurance policy is on buildings, grounds, personnel, liability. It excludes damage due to flooding.”
“Oh, yes, naturally. That’s the business of the National Flood Insurance Program. One must purchase a separate policy through your federal government in Washington.”
Every eye in the room was focused on the Imperial’s chairman.
“Which I did.”
He swallowed. Had he heard correctly?
“Lord Baden-Powell, of course. I didn’t spend my youth in scouting to disregard his first dictum—Be prepared. And, you know…” Gentleman Jim sounded baffled. “It was surprisingly cheap. I think they were rather surprised, you know.”
For being asked to provide a flood insurance policy on a property in a city with an average annual rainfall of four inches?
Probably.
Elspeth Porter-Hayes led the applause.
****
He and Suresh had stayed behind to discuss details with Gentleman Jim. He’d sent the rest of the staff back to work, but not before the desk had rung the penthouse suite to say full power had been restored to the downtown area.
He stood with his head of business operations at the elevator.
“You know McMasters is one in a million. If we didn’t know that before, we do now,” Suresh said.
“We sure do. I never considered the possibility we actually had coverage for flood damage.”
A couple was coming out of one of the penthouse suites the Imperial used to comp their whales, the high rollers the casino cultivated.
“You go on,” he told Suresh. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Tom!” Magdalena waved at him. She and David looked relaxed, if not entirely rested.
“Good morning. How was the suite?”
“Topping, mate, wizard. Believe me, I’ve seen enough of the other kind knocking about as I do.”
Mate, topping, knocking about. Brit speak. Thanks to Gentleman Jim, he didn’t need a translator.
“Glad you could use it. Without service to or from the airport, it was just going to waste. And it was the least we could do for your help in getting the generator up and running last night. You saved our bacon. “
“Bacon.” David sounded mystified. “Ah, yes, refrigeration woes. Well, one does pick up the odd lot of skills in my line of work.”
“I saw Cinna this morning. I stopped in at the shop to see how everything was, but she seemed to have things under control.” Or was desperate to give that impression. Was it her pride that had caused the frostiness even Rosemary and her boyfriend seemed to have noticed? Had his offer offended her?
Magdalena looked at David and made a face. “Poor Cinna. She must be going nuts wondering where I am, leaving her alone to cope with everything.”
“Actually, her sister and a friend were over there when I stopped by.”
“Rosemary? I knew they were in town. Cinna had lunch with them on the Strip the other day.”
“Rosemary was going to stay and help out for a while. Her boyfriend walked back here with me to see some of the flood damage and I gave him an abbreviated tour.”
“We’ve been watching the news coverage online. It looks like a sodding disaster out there,” David said.
“I don’t know when we’ll be back to normal.” Tom pressed the elevator button for them. “Most of the day shift showed up today, but everything’s at six and sevens. I’ve got blackjack dealers and croupiers ripping out carpeting, bartenders and wait staff carrying out trash, spa attendants power washing walls. Everyone who depends on tips is going to be hurting for a while.”
“I’ll be glad when we’re back in business. Cinna and I may be living out of our tip jar for a while.” Magdalena grimaced and looked up at David.
“Tips. Your gratuities. I always have to remind myself they’re not included in the bill here in the States.”
“Sometimes I feel like the quarter queen of north Vegas. But even change adds up to real money.”
Tips. Real money. Change. Was there some connection there he should be seeing? The elevator door had opened. He remained where he was, frozen in thought. David and Magdalena were waiting on him.
“No, go on down.” He shook his head. “I think there are some things I need to check on.”
Chapter Twelve
Don Dennis bent forward, frowning as he examined the strands of the frayed rope. His chief of security had set up a temporary office on the mezzanine. Sitting up, he gripped an unbroken section of the rope and pulled on it. Letting out a low whistle, he looked up at him.
“And this happened when you were rock climbing out at Red Rock Canyon?”
“Yeah.” He shifted carefully in his chair. “In a section I’ve climbed a number of times although I picked a shorter way up this time. I wanted to be sure I’d have enough time to be back for the awards banquet at the convention center.”
“Well, there isn’t a thing wrong with this intact section of rope. No reason for it to give way, except it’s been tampered with.”
“That’s what I thought.” He took the rope back from Don, coiled it, and replaced it in his briefcase. “From what I can tell, only the interior strands were cut so it wasn’t apparent something was wrong until it had to support my weight.”
“So how high up were you?”
“Not too far. Couple hundred feet, maybe.”
“Enough to do a lot of damage.” Taking a toothpick from his jacket pocket, Don inserted it in his mouth and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if someone was trying to kill me or just put me out of action for a while.”
“Tom, if you’d fallen down that rock face, I’d say they really didn’t care one way or the other.”
“Probably not.”
“When was the last time you used your equipment?”
“I can’t be sure. I’d guess it’s been six weeks. Maybe more.”
“And it’s been stored in your room here.”
“Right. I checked it over when I returned after my last trip and again before I started out Saturday, but it looked fine to me.” He shook his head.
“It’s not easy to clip the interior strands and not disturb the outside. My guess is the weapon of choice was probably a pair of manicure scissors. Six weeks is a big window for someone to sabotage your stuff. Security and housekeepers carry entry cards to all our rooms. My people keep possession of theirs. Housekeepers are supposed to turn theirs in when they finish their shift. Their pay is docked if they don’t. Senior staff has access to them at the front desk.” He raised an eyebrow.
“You got any ideas?”
“Maybe. I think some things are starting to fall into place.”
“You want me to put in a call to the LVPD? This kind of thing is out of my bailiwick.”
“Eventually, yeah, I want the police to look into it, but besides having to deal with the flood aftermath here, there’s something I’d like to check out first.”
“More important than attempted murder?”
“Maybe connected to it. Care to come up with me to the eye in the sky office? I need to look at some surveillance tape.”
“Glad to.” Don pushed his chair back and pitched his toothpick in a wastepaper basket.
“Lead on, Tom.”
****
Roxane Cox was by sitting by herself in front of the wall of monitors as they entered. She turned to look at them. He waited, as Don closed the door, for his eyes to adjust to the low lights.
“E
verything’s quiet here. No surprises,” Roxane said. “Terrance called in a while ago. He’s stuck at his place with a flooded-out car. I told him I could cover things today.”
“Yeah, I’m not expecting much action.” He moved over to stand beside Roxane. The bank of monitors provided clear pictures of Ron supervising clean up on the first floor, elevators moving guests, along with sweeps of the deserted casinos, bars, and restaurants.
“Any problems, Tom?” Roxane asked.
He shook his head.
“What kind of surveillance do we have when areas are shut down for housekeeping and maintenance?” He pointed at a screen. “Like when housekeeping comes in to clean the baccarat room.”
“Well, they clean during off hours so probably no one’s really watching too closely,” Roxane said slowly. “The cameras roll on a continuous loop so we can always replay the footage if we have a question about something. Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for. Can you pull up surveillance on the slots room for me?”
“Right here.” Roxane pointed to a screen. “Looks like cleanup hasn’t made it in yet. I can give you the whole room or,” she tapped some keys on her keyboard, “I can zoom in for close-up. Do you want anything in particular?”
He shook his head. It was just as he remembered it. The camera angle was positioned behind the customers. The eye in the sky was focused on their play and the fronts of the machines.
He straightened up. Was that part of the problem?
“Don, I’d like you to find Ron and meet me down at Slotz! in about fifteen minutes. Tell Ron to bring a tool kit along.”
“Sure, Tom, I’ll track him down.”
“Thanks, and Don, let’s keep this on the Q.T. please.”
His security chief nodded and left the room. Over his years in Vegas, he’d probably had any number of strange requests.
Roxane looked at him and went back to watching her monitors.
He knew he was being mysterious, but it was hard to explain what you didn’t understand yourself. He was on the wildest of goose chases.
He let himself out and found his phone. Cell phone transmissions were back up. A month ago, he’d programmed SpecialTeas’ number into his cell.
