Liquid Smoke (Noah Braddock)

by Jeff Shelby

  The doors opened, and the floor didn’t look much different than the admin offices. The men escorted us into a conference room with a view of the hills and the afternoon sunshine. A crystal pitcher filled with water sat in the middle of a huge mahogany table, accompanied by six matching glasses.

  My guy gestured at the plush leather chairs around the table. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.”

  We sat down, and they left.

  Carter set his Slurpee on the table. “Now what?”

  “Vanilla Ice?” I asked.

  “You like that? I thought it was pretty good.” “I should’ve dumped the Slurpee on your head.”

  “Now that wouldn’t have been good.” He waved a hand around the room. “So?”

  “So let’s see who comes to visit us.”

  Twenty minutes and two glasses of water later, the door to the conference room opened. A guy a couple inches taller than me with a neck the size of a barrel led the way. His brown hair was buzzed short, and the skin on his face seemed stretched too tight, as if there weren’t enough skin to cover his skull. Acne dotted his forehead. He scowled at us. He wore khaki pants and a black dress shirt with a butterfly collar that was open at his huge neck. Sweat stains darkened the shirt near his armpits. Lots of muscles in just about every place.

  He was followed in by a man considerably shorter and less muscular. The second man was around five-ten with the build of a cross-country runner and shaggy black hair that hung to just above sleepy hazel eyes. He appeared to be trying to grow a goatee, but it didn’t seem to want to come in. He wore white jeans and a bright purple polo shirt.

  “Hi, fellas,” he said. His voice was high-pitched and squeaky. “What are you here for?”

  “Is either of you Benjamin Moffitt?” I asked.

  “No. I’m Ross.” He pointed at the gorilla, who had moved next to me. “That’s Gus.”

  “We’re here for Moffitt.”

  Gus’s right hand shot out and drilled into the side of my head. My head snapped to the side and a rainbow of colors flashed in front of my eyes. Gus was strong.

  “Easy, big guy,” Ross said.

  I shook my head, clearing the colors from my vision, and realized he was talking to Carter, who was halfway out of his seat. I held up a hand, and Carter sat back down.

  Ross smiled in my direction. “Wanna try again?”

  “We’re here for Moffitt,” I said. “Dickhead.”

  I felt Gus move again, but this time I was ready. I swept the pitcher off the table, swiveled in the chair, and smashed the pitcher into Gus’s head. It disintegrated into a fine mist of water and glass when it hit his temple. His teeth snapped together like a bear trap, and he fell to the ground.

  I looked at Ross, who was no longer smiling.

  “Is Moffitt coming or do we need to go find him?” I asked.

  Ross glanced at his partner. Gus was clutching the side of his head as blood percolated out of his mouth, his eyes shut tight in pain.

  “I’ll go get Mr. Moffitt,” Ross said. Carter stood. “We’ll go with you.”

  “No need,” Ross said, a little too quickly. “If you’ll just wait here—”

  “You can ceme back with who knows what,” Carter said. He walked over and took Ross by the elbow. “Show us the way, buddy.”

  I stepped over Gus to follow them. The side of my head was still throbbing.

  “Hang on,” I said to Carter.

  I turned around and drove my foot in Gus’s solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him like a slashed tire, his eyes bulged, and his mouth opened into a silent, painful oval.

  I pulled my foot off of him and faced an amused Carter and a worried Gus.

  “Now let’s go,” I said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Ross took us down a long hallway to a corner office. He knocked, timid, on the partially open door. A polite voice invited us in.

  The room was huge and crescent-shaped, backed by a window that opened up to the expansive valley beyond the casino. Several leather chairs and a matching sofa sat around a glass coffee table in one corner. A magnificent mahogany desk was fronted with two more leather chairs. Our feet sunk into the plush carpeting.

  Ben Moffitt leaned back in his chair behind the desk and smiled. “Hello, Ross. What’s going on?”

  Moffitt appeared to be in his early fifties. Dark hair that looked like it might have had some help in holding off the gray. Tan face. Bright, hazel eyes. A small pointed nose that fit perfectly over his small tight mouth. An expensive blue dress shirt opened at the neck. A gleaming watch on his left wrist.

  Ross shifted his weight nervously. “Uh … ah … Mr. Moffitt … these guys … ah … wanted to see you.”

  Moffitt nodded as if he’d been expecting us. “Fine. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  “To start, you might want to call a doctor for Gus,” I said, gesturing behind us. “His face is going to need some help.”

  Moffitt’s eyes clouded over, confused. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t like people hitting me in the head,” I said. “Gus learned that the unfortunate way.”

  Moffitt frowned and moved his gaze to Ross. “Ross? What’s he talking about?”

  Ross shifted again, his feet kicking at the floor like he had to go to the bathroom. “Well, we didn’t know … uh … I’m not … they were in the casino and …”

  Moffitt held up a hand and shook his head. “Thank you, Ross. We’ll speak more about this later.”

  Ross took the opportunity to pivot and slink out of the room.

  Moffitt stood and held out his hand. “I’m Ben Moffitt. I apologize for any trouble you encountered.”

  I shook his hand and was taken aback. I’d expected to walk into an unfriendly room. Moffitt was treating us like long lost friends.

  “I’m Noah,” I said.

  He held out his hand to Carter. “I’m Ben Moffitt.”

  Carter hesitated, then shook his hand. “Carter.”

  Moffitt gave a sharp nod and gestured for us to sit down in the chairs that faced his desk. We did, and he eased down into his own chair.

  “Again, I apologize for any trouble Gus and Ross may have given you,” he said, forcing a reluctant smile onto his face. “Sometimes they get a little excited and don’t make the appropriate decisions.”

  I nodded. “It’s fine.”

  “I’ll make sure we make it up to you,” Moffitt said. “No need,” I said. “Really.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Moffitt said. He smiled again, showing some coffee-stained teeth. “Now, how can I help you?” “Hold on a sec,” Carter said. “I’m confused.” “How so?”

  “We came up here half an hour ago, and it was all your receptionist could do to shoo us back into the elevator,” he said. “Then we get your attention in the casino, Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumbass try to put the squeeze on us, and now we’re sitting here and you seem happy to see us?”

  Moffitt looked amused. “First off, the receptionist is instructed to turn away anyone looking to see me. If I made myself available to every person who lost twenty bucks in my casino, I’d never get anything done.” He smiled. “I don’t know what you’re referring to in the casino. Gus is one of my heads of security. He’s instructed to handle situations.” His smile dimmed. “What he’s not instructed to do is harass our patrons, regardless of what has occurred.” He leaned forward. “My willingness to speak to you is my way of apologizing for the inappropriate treatment you may have experienced.”

  Moffitt was smooth, polished. Just like the room. I thought it was interesting that he hadn’t asked what occurred downstairs. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. But I had a difficult time thinking he didn’t know about every little thing that was happening in his casino.

  “I’m an investigator,” I said.

  “Not from the gaming commission, I hope,” Moffitt said, chuckling.

  “No. I’m working for a man named Russell Simington.” I watched for a reaction
but saw nothing. “Should I know that name?” Moffitt asked. “I believe he worked for you.”

  “Mr. Braddock, I’ve got over two thousand employees working in my casinos,” he said. “I wish I knew them all by name, but I don’t.” “He’s in jail now.” Moffitt leaned back in his chair. “On death row,” I said. Moffitt still showed nothing.

  Carter reached over to the edge of the desk and picked up a medium-sized crystal paper weight. It was shaped like a large egg, and it looked expensive. He turned it over in his hands, examining it.

  Moffitt started to say something, then stopped.

  “I’ve been told he worked for you,” I said.

  “I can certainly check to see if that’s accurate,” Moffitt said, looking from me to Carter and back to me.

  “Name doesn’t sound the least bit familiar?”

  Moffitt shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. Like I said, two thousand is a big number. But I’ll be happy to have Human Resources check the name. I can have someone get you the information by tomorrow morning.” He paused. “Why is he facing execution?”

  Carter tossed the paperweight up in the air and let it fall back into his hands. He threw it again, a little higher this time, and had to reach behind himself to make the catch.

  Moffitt cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “He killed two men,” I said.

  Moffitt gave a small wince. “Wow.” “Yeah.”

  Carter set the crystal egg back on the desk. Moffitt hesitated for a moment, then reached over and repositioned the egg a fraction of an inch.

  He leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed now. “Can I ask why you’d choose to work for someone like that?”

  A loaded question if I’d ever heard one. But I wasn’t about to explain the complicated situation involving my father.

  “I’m just checking into some things,” I said. “How about Landon Keene?”

  Moffitt raised an eyebrow. “Another employee?”

  “Yes.”

  He thought about it, then shook his head. “Don’t recognize that name, either. But I’ll be happy to have my people research that as well.”

  If he knew anything, he wasn’t going to give it up. And his act was so good, I wasn’t sure if it was an act.

  “May I ask how my name came up?” he asked.

  “Basic background checks,” I lied. “Employment history and things like that. Figured I’d start at the top. I’m just looking to get a few things corroborated.”

  “Of course,” he said, seeming satisfied. “Well, as I said, it’s impossible for me to know the names of everyone who works here. But we keep diligent records. If either of them were employed here, we’ll be able to tell you exactly when they were here and what they did.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a card, and slid it across the desk. Susan Hayward, Vice President of Human Resources was printed on it, along with a phone number. “I’ll let Susan know you’ll be calling tomorrow morning. She’ll be able to give you your answers.”

  It seemed like an invitation to leave. Carter and I stood. Moffitt came around the desk and walked us to the door.

  He held out a hand. “I’m sorry again for the incident, Mr. Braddock.”

  I shook his hand and smiled. “No problem.”

  He and Carter shook hands.

  “Come back and visit us anytime,” Moffitt said.

  “Right,” Carter said.

  We walked down the hallway to the elevator. No sign of Gus or Ross.

  The bell above the elevator dinged, and we stepped in. “Guy’s a goddamn psychic,” Carter said.

  “I’ll say,” I said, pushing the button for the lobby and watching the doors close. “Dude knew my last name even though I never gave it to him.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “He was completely full of shit, right?” Carter asked as we stepped off the elevator and back into the casino. “Pretty close to completely.”

  “He really expected us to believe those guys grabbed us down here and he didn’t know?”

  “Two people fighting in the casino,” I said, looking around at the blinking lights and crowd of people. “They didn’t know who we were, they would’ve just thrown us out the door and told us to stay out.”

  “Exactly.”

  Maybe Moffitt had acted like he didn’t know the names I’d thrown at him, but he knew who we were and he had Gus and Ross bring us up to scare us off. We’d touched on something.

  “What the hell’s wrong with that guy?” Carter said, nodding in the direction of the closest bank of slot machines.

  A well-built guy about six feet tall, in black jeans and a horrible Hawaiian shirt, was in the face of a slightly smaller man. He had blond hair and a matching goatee, and he was stabbing his finger repeatedly in the man’s chest. The smaller man didn’t look scared, but he didn’t look all that happy, either. Embarrassed, maybe.

  I couldn’t make out the conversation over the din of the room. The goateed guy crowded him a little more, bullying like a good bully. The smaller man finally took a step back, turned, and walked away.

  The bully watched him go, then moved in our direction. “The fuck are you looking at?” he growled, taking a couple more steps.

  “The ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen,” Carter said, leaning forward, staring in amazement. “Pelicans, hula girls, and ukuleles? Was the shirt covered in dog shit sold out?”

  The guy’s face reddened, and he glanced down at his outfit. “You take that guy’s lunch money?” I asked. He jerked his head up and took a few more steps so that he was just a couple of feet from us now. “Excuse me?” “You’re excused,” I said.

  He looked back and forth between me and Carter. We were both bigger than he was, but that didn’t seem to intimidate him.

  “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” he said.

  “Why don’t you show us how?” Carter said, grinning.

  They stared at each other.

  “Fuck off,” the guy finally said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Carter said, still grinning.

  The guy moved his gaze to me. His eyes were slate gray and there was a fading, jagged scar under the left one. His flat nose was a little crooked. I had a feeling he was used to mixing it up. Maybe even liked it.

  I had put him in his thirties when I’d first seen him, but up close, I realized he was somewhere north of that. Years of starting fights might give you a nice physique, but you couldn’t hide the wear and tear on your face.

  His eyes flickered, and I thought he was going to start with me.

  But then the right side of his mouth curled into something between a smile and a grimace, and he chuckled. He spun on his heel and walked back into the circus of bells, slots, and noise. He went all the way through the gaming floor, turned left down a hallway, and disappeared, never looking back.

  “This place is awesome,” Carter said.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  We walked outside, the midday sunlight startling after the muted lighting inside.

  I shaded my eyes with my hand. “Thanks for driving out here.”

  “Nothing I like better than a drive out to the boonies with nothing to show for it,” Carter said. “No problem. What’s next?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  And that was the truth. I didn’t know where to head next. We could go back up and strong-arm Moffitt, but I wasn’t sure that was a wise move. He knew something, but until I knew what it was, I couldn’t just walk in and kick his ass.

  “Alright,” Carter said. “Call me when you do.”

  “Hey,” I said, as he walked off. “Are we cool?”

  He paused, thinking about it for a moment, his features silhouetted against the bright daylight. We had morphed back into our usual routine while we were in the casino, but it still felt like there was something hanging in the air between us.

  “We’re getting there,” he said.

  He headed off for his car, and I figured that was as fair of a respo
nse as I could expect.

  I walked across the parking lot and got into the Jeep. Then I started it up and zig-zagged through the aisles, heading for the exit. As I passed the front entrance, I glanced at the giant glass doors and up higher at the top floor where Moffitt’s office was housed.

  A figure in a window directly above the entrance caught my attention.

  I hit the brakes, checked the mirror to make sure no one was behind me, then looked back up to the window. It was empty.

  I let the Jeep idle for a moment and watched the window to see if anyone returned. It stayed empty.

  Finally, I stepped on the gas and headed out of the lot, wondering what that goateed bully was doing staring down at me.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The next day, I decided on a different tact. I was frustrated at making little headway and learning virtually nothing about Simington. I knew there was one person who would be able to provide some information, and I had avoided her long enough.

  I needed to talk with my mother.

  Carolina Braddock and I had reached something resembling a truce for the previous few months. We talked a couple of times a month, had dinner or lunch at least once. I tried to be pleasant, and she tried not to be drunk. We hadn’t erased the discord of the past, but we seemed to be moving forward rather than stalled in the yesteryears.

  As I pulled up in front of her house, the place I grew up in and sprinted from the day I was able, I reminded myself that this wasn’t a social call.

  This would be business.

  The house looked the same as it always did. Not great, not awful. Just indifferent. Patches of brown grass. Cracks in the driveway. Faded paint. Dusty windows. A garage door that never hit the ground squarely.

  I stuck my finger on the doorbell and wondered if it would ever change.

  Carolina appeared behind the screen door. “Noah,” she said. “This is unexpected.”

  My antenna went up. “Pleasant surprise” would have meant she was happy to see me. “Unexpected” said to me that she was partially into a bottle. But this wasn’t a prearranged meeting, so our truce rules weren’t in play.