The Good Thief's Guide To Vegas

by Chris Ewan

  Curious visions began to form in my mind. I saw Josh lying dead in a bath tub filled with casino chips. I saw the redhead dancing nude on the theatre stage while the Fisher Twins were locked inside the magic cabinet. I saw the tiny man smoking a cigarette inside a hotel room safe that his giant pal carried under his arm. I saw Victoria writing a story on my laptop while Terry Ricks made notes from behind a two-way mirror.

  And before very long, I was no longer conscious of what I was seeing, because I’d been just dumb enough to fall fast asleep.

  EIGHTEEN

  I awoke into a haze of darkness and silence. At first, I couldn’t remember where I was staying, or even which city I happened to be in. Then my brain slowly registered that there was a wall behind my head instead of a pillow, and a suitcase beneath my buttocks rather than a mattress, and as realisation gradually dawned, I felt a painful contraction in my chest, and my skin began to tingle.

  Grabbing for the clothes rail above me, I heaved myself upright. I pressed my forehead against the louvred doors of the closet and cupped my hands around my eyes. With the lights turned off and the curtains drawn, it was like staring into the depths of a cave, but after a short while I was able to make out a hump under the bedcovers. There was a digital clock on the television across the way, and it cast the form on the bed in a greenish glow. I wasn’t sure if it was one person or two. I couldn’t tell if they were fast asleep, or if they were simply lying very still, waiting for me to make my move.

  The time on the television read a quarter to six in the morning. So I’d slept for more than three hours, cooped up in a closet with a set of burglary tools in my pocket, sitting upon a suitcase that didn’t belong to me, wearing a stolen tunic and carrying another man’s wallet. Talk about dumb. I mean, talk about flat-out stupid. What the hell had I been thinking? Was I so eager to get caught that I was prepared to lock myself up and just wait to be found?

  If I could have smacked myself over the head without making the slightest sound, I would have done it without delay. I simply couldn’t believe the jeopardy I’d placed myself in, and it only got worse when I considered the time pressures I was working under. Because who knew how long ago Harry and his girl had concluded their lovemaking? It could be that I would have had the chance to escape many hours earlier, and that I’d be walking around as a free man, if only I’d had the sense and the self-control necessary to stay awake.

  The form on the bed grunted and snorted and kicked out a leg from under the bedcovers. Judging by its lean hairiness, I was pretty sure it didn’t belong to the tubby hooker. I guessed that made sense. After all, she wouldn’t have been likely to hang around once she’d fulfilled her side of the bargain, not least because of the cash she’d taken from Harry’s wallet and pushed down inside her shoe.

  I eased up from the suitcase and straightened my knees. My feet buzzed with pins and needles, but that was the least of my concerns. My most pressing conundrum was how to slide back the closet door without making too much noise. Did I go for quick and sudden, or slow and steady? I chose slow and steady, easing the door aside and just praying that the mechanism wouldn’t squeal. I tested the gap with my hands. I’m kind of a slim fellow, and as I hadn’t eaten all that many hamburgers since I’d arrived in the States, I was able to suck in my belly and edge out through the space between door and wall.

  As soon as I was free, I pursed my lips and let go of a soundless whistle. I even wiped the back of my gloved hand across my brow. For once, it seemed that things were turning in my favour. In fact, it seemed that things were going altogether swimmingly. Or rather, they were, until the moment I reached a tentative hand out towards the money-filled envelope that I’d so conveniently left on the bedside cabinet.

  Funny. It didn’t appear to be there.

  I frowned, as if that might help, and then I used both hands to feel around the top of the cabinet. Still nothing. It occurred to me that perhaps the envelope had fallen down onto the floor during all the bedroom gymnastics, so I dropped to my knees and passed my hands over the carpet. I didn’t find anything with my first sweep, or my second. On my third sweep, my busted knuckles struck the cabinet.

  I snatched my hand away and bit hard on my bottom lip to stop myself from yelping. Harry stirred and groaned and pulled the covers tight around his shoulders. He farted. I tried not to let my pain or his stench get the better of me, and meanwhile I reached inside my jacket with the fingers of my good hand until they touched upon my penlight. I pointed the lens down against the floor, then twisted the dimpled shaft so that the bulb came on. Using my palm to shield the light, I tilted the lens and angled the glow across the carpet. All I saw was more carpet. I checked around the side of the cabinet and under the bed. I even skimmed the light across the top of the cabinet. The envelope was gone.

  I didn’t believe Harry had tidied the envelope away. He’d been too drunk earlier and he was too comatose now. So it seemed to me there was only one place the envelope could be – it must have vacated the scene along with Harry’s date.

  Could I blame her for taking it? Not really. Did I blame her for taking it all the same? Hell, yes.

  I was the one who’d faced the risks and deployed the necessary skills to open Harry’s safe. I was the one who’d chanced upon the envelope and the cash. And what’s more, I really needed the damn money. Without it, I had two empty suitcases, a staff uniform and a little over four hundred dollars to my name. So it seemed to me singularly unjust that a woman of low morals should have stooped a shade further and added thievery to her criminal repertoire. And if she’d been there just then, I’d have given her a piece of my mind, and perhaps even a kick in the shin to boot. But she wasn’t there. She was long gone. And she made me a good example.

  I inched backwards towards the door. Given how things stood, it seemed way too ambitious to attempt to remove the suitcases from the closet and take them with me. So as it happened, I was leaving with even less than I’d had when I’d first broken in. And I guess that explains why, despite all my years of training, and my dedication to the noble art of inconspicuous access and egress, I felt compelled to bang the door closed behind me as I left. Because hell, I may not have been capable of ripping the poor sap off, but at least I could introduce him to what I sincerely hoped would be the mother of all hangovers.

  NINETEEN

  I returned Gerry’s tunic to the exact same peg in the exact same cloakroom from where I’d acquired it, pulled my shirt out of the waistband of my trousers and made my way back to the casino floor. It turned out that Victoria hadn’t moved from the blackjack table where I’d last seen her, but she appeared to have aged quite dramatically. The skin around her eyes was swollen, as though she’d been stung by a swarm of insects, and her eyes appeared bleary and unfocused. Her face was pale, her lips were cracked, and she looked so drawn that I wouldn’t have been altogether surprised to learn that her glass of cranberry juice had been laced with Rohypnol. I could only imagine how desperately she must have wanted to sleep, so I knew right away that I wouldn’t be mentioning my accidental nap.

  ‘Hey, Big Spender.’ I pointed towards her surprisingly respectable pile of chips. ‘You’re doing pretty well.’

  ‘I’m winning, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘How much?’

  Victoria shrugged and ran her thumbnail up a stack of red markers. ‘Something in the region of nine thousand dollars.’

  ‘That’s terrific.’

  She didn’t look as though she believed it. Don’t get me wrong, if she’d simply walked in off the street and made that kind of money, I’m sure she’d have been delighted. But the fact was she knew as well as I did that it left us considerably short of where we needed to be.

  ‘Come on,’ I told her. ‘Imagine if you’d lost everything.’

  She barely smiled as she tossed two chips into the betting circle on the felt. Her dealer had changed – Randy had morphed into Estelle. According to Estelle’s name badge, she hailed from Fort Lauderdale,
Florida, and if it wasn’t for her ill-fitting spacesuit, she would have made an ideal extra on an episode of The Golden Girls. Her hair was dyed a virulent chestnut brown, and it was cut short and feathered around her temples. She had on a pair of gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles, secured around her neck with a gold chain. There was more gold on her wrists and her fingers, and when she slipped Victoria’s cards from the shoe and turned them over, I couldn’t help but notice her plum-coloured nails.

  ‘What happened to the Stormtroopers?’ I asked Victoria, as she studied the pair of eights she’d been dealt.

  ‘They left. Hours ago. Where have you been?’

  I watched as Victoria slid two more chips forwards and opted to split the eights.

  ‘Working,’ I said, and shot a look towards Estelle, who stared fixedly at Victoria’s cards.

  ‘You were gone a long time.’

  ‘I was working hard.’

  ‘And?’

  I patted my nose. ‘And maybe we should discuss this in private.’

  Estelle did her best to act invisible, meanwhile dealing Victoria a Ten of Diamonds and a King of Spades. She flipped her hole card over, showing a four and a nine. She hit and bust out with a Jack of Hearts, then reached for her chip tray and paid Victoria her winnings.

  ‘Is it good news?’ Victoria asked, with a yawn.

  ‘It’s not great news.’

  ‘Then perhaps I’ll just stay here.’

  ‘I can give you a little more cash, if you like.’

  Victoria held out her hand and I dropped the four hundred and twenty dollars I’d cadged into her palm. She hesitated. Her expression darkened and her eyebrows knitted together as though I’d confounded her.

  ‘You really weren’t kidding about the little part.’

  ‘I encountered some difficulties.’

  ‘But you’ve been gone for hours, Charlie.’

  ‘And you’re beginning to repeat yourself.’

  Victoria considered the cash for a long moment, then shook her head and pressed the notes back into my hand.

  ‘You might as well hold onto it,’ she said. ‘If we get really desperate, at least we’ll have something left.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ I slipped the money into my back pocket. ‘Feel free to take a break. I won’t be able to work for a good few hours now. Too many people asleep.’

  Victoria laughed half-heartedly. ‘They should come down here and breathe some of the oxygen being pumped out of those vents. A few lungfuls and you begin to forget what time it is. Not that there are any clocks, of course.’

  ‘You look pretty wiped out, Vic.’

  ‘You hear that, Estelle? He wants me to quit.’ Victoria doubled her bet and gestured for Estelle to lay the next card on the felt.

  ‘Some people quit when they’re winning,’ Estelle observed.

  ‘Sure,’ Victoria replied. ‘But how are you going to get along without my stimulating conversation?’

  Estelle’s eyes twinkled, and she worked a sly grin as she dealt Victoria’s cards. She tapped the top card with one of her plum fingernails.

  ‘Blackjack, hon.’

  ‘See?’ Victoria said, gesturing to the Jack and the Ace of Spades on the felt in front of her. ‘Can’t quit when I’m running this hot. And besides,’ she added, nodding towards a near-deserted bar on the far side of the room, ‘I have no idea what our friend would do if I left.’

  I glanced in the direction Victoria had indicated and felt my breath catch in my throat. Staring clean back at me from over the rows of twinkling slots was Terry Ricks. He was sitting on a galvanised metal stool, legs parted, with his elbow resting on the glass screen of one of the video poker machines that had been sunk into the bar counter. He still had on his brown blazer and blue shirt, though he’d ditched the yellow tie and his top button was undone. His pressed brown trousers had ridden up on his thighs, and I could see that he sported pale yellow socks to complement the absent tie.

  While my jaw grazed the table felt, Ricks raised a bottle of spring water in a wordless toast. He reached for some bar nuts, tossed one into his mouth and cracked it between his shark-grin teeth, then smoothed the silver-grey hairs of his beard with his finger and thumb.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘It looks like he’s making a nuisance of himself.’

  ‘I get the impression that’s something he’s very good at.’

  I felt Ricks’ eyes on me again, and turned to find him winking as he threw another nut into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed without averting his gaze, almost as if watching us was entirely beyond his control. I found that hard to believe. Even supposing he’d finished his shift, Space Station One was an unlikely venue for him to come to, to wind down. It was dead of all atmosphere, the casino floor empty aside from the hardiest of gamblers, the most determined of boozers and the loneliest of night owls.

  A skeleton staff crewed the tables, while in the background a team of cleaners and janitors did their best to refresh the area for another day. Carpets were being shampooed and machine dried; flower arrangements perked up; table felts vacuumed; litterbins emptied.

  I edged closer to Victoria and spoke from the corner of my mouth. ‘Maybe we should go back to our hotel for a few hours and get some rest. Let Ricks bother someone else for a while.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Victoria said. ‘I quite like it. It’s almost like having a guardian angel watching over me.’

  I slumped onto the metal stool alongside her and helped myself to some of the cranberry juice she was drinking. Even the juice tasted stale. Pushing her glass away, I scanned the area for a cocktail waitress but couldn’t see one anywhere close.

  ‘Can I borrow your phone?’

  Victoria sighed rather dramatically and snatched open her bag. She held her mobile out to me, but when I reached for it, she didn’t let go.

  ‘I don’t know why you can’t get one of your own,’ she told me.

  ‘What, and risk having someone call me in the middle of a job? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Who are you going to call?’

  ‘Tell you in a minute.’

  I pulled Josh’s wallet from my pocket and was just using my thumb to edge out the napkin with the telephone number scrawled on it when Estelle interrupted me.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t use a cellphone at our tables.’

  I pulled a face. It was a pretty unflattering kind of face. ‘Even when it’s so quiet?’

  She blinked from behind her half-moon spectacles, completely unmoved. ‘House rules.’

  ‘Then I guess I’ll go breathe some real air.’ I checked on Ricks’ position and comforted myself with the knowledge that he hadn’t moved. Victoria caught me looking and I rested my hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about him. You’ll still be here when I get back, right?’

  She shrugged. ‘I may try my luck at the roulette-table. But you won’t be long, will you?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’ll be five minutes, maximum.’

  TWENTY

  The bland morning light wasn’t kind to Las Vegas. What had appeared glamorous and spectacular in the dark, now seemed cheap and badly staged, like the backdrop to some improbable B-movie. Take the shuttle outside Space Station One. The nose cone was pitted with dents and nicks, the paint on the launch tower was flaking, and the bare bulbs strung along the metal structure looked like ugly glass cysts. If that was bad, then the robots beside the entrance doors were even worse. I’d owned toasters that were more technologically advanced.

  On the opposite side of the Strip, along from the cranes and construction towers that dotted the evolving skyline, and beneath the chain of tourist helicopters flying towards the Grand Canyon, the Bellagio fountains were undergoing maintenance. A man in a wetsuit yanked at one of the fountainheads while a second man in a rubber boat fished litter from the lake. While they worked, a sectio
n of the fountains and lights were being tested. I watched the water loop and whirl and dip. The effect wasn’t nearly so spectacular without Sinatra’s ‘Luck Be A Lady’ blaring out of the speaker system.

  Flipping open Victoria’s mobile telephone, I punched in the number from the napkin in Masters’ wallet. The display on the telephone told me it was twenty past six in the morning, which was hardly the most civil of times to place a call – but I didn’t care. If Tom-Thumb-gone-bad and his oversized companion were prepared to break into Josh’s room to leave a note telling him to ring a gentleman called Maurice, I figured the man in question would be willing to have his beauty sleep interrupted. Of course, the fact that I couldn’t tell him where Josh had run to might darken his mood just a fraction, but I was prepared to run that risk.

  The phone rang twice before my call was answered. There was a pause, and I was just readying myself to speak when a recorded message cut in.

  Thank you for calling Hawaiian Airways. Please press one to speak to a booking agent, press two for flight enquiries, press three for . . .

  I closed the phone and stuffed the napkin back inside Josh’s wallet. So it wasn’t the number for the mysterious Maurice, though at least I finally had some idea of where Josh had disappeared to. Hawaii. Not somewhere I’d ever been, and not somewhere I’d been planning to vacation anytime soon, but I imagine it had its charms, particularly if you were looking for a place to hide out and avoid having your limbs remodelled with a metal pipe.

  Discovering that the telephone number belonged to an airline booking service didn’t do a great deal to improve my mental health. On the one hand, it seemed very possible that Josh had flown so far away from Nevada that I wouldn’t have a hope of handing him to the Fisher Twins in what remained of my twenty-four hours. And on the other side of what was turning into a seriously bleak equation, my badly fatigued literary agent was preparing to take her chances at roulette. I hadn’t had the energy, let alone the desire, to ask Victoria how she intended to play. It could be she was aiming to bet small sums on red or black, with the idea of building towards our target figure. Or it could be she was planning to gamble it all on a single, straight-up bet. If she did, and she happened to win, the payout would answer all our prayers and buy us a speedboat besides. And if she lost – well, I really didn’t want to think about what we’d do if she lost.