“What is it?”
He clears his throat. “The Vegas Chamber of Commerce has chosen to present you with an award for excellence in casino security,” he says, adopting a warm yet formal tone as though he’s about to give me the award personally. “The ceremony is scheduled for eight o’clock tonight at the Armónico. Maybe it’ll cheer you up, Mister Grouchy.”
Caldwell’s casino. Does he have something to do with this?
“I still need you to sign for it,” the courier adds. “And I’m supposed to go back and let them know whether you’ll be coming or not. Fair warning, though, if the answer is ‘not,’ I got the feeling you’ll be hearing from them about it. They seemed insistent that you be there. Adamant, even. That’s my new word for the day, ‘adamant.’ Cool, right? Like Adam Ant the singer, or adamantium in the comic books...”
“Again, with the comic books.” I roll my eyes and sign the sheet on the clipboard.
I’ve never been big on awards. My works speaks for itself, I make more money than one lonely man needs, and I measure my real success in the level of awe that all those codemonkeys and tech-heads have when speaking to or about me online. I’m the best, and I know it, so I don’t need some cheap little statue with my name engraved on it taking up shelf space that Rose needs to dust.
That thought stops me. I had been the best, up until I’d stupidly allowed my lair to be hacked and toasted. That little stunt knocked a tornado of wind out of me.
Maybe this little party will give me some back?
Nixon Caldwell has plenty of dealings with the Chamber of Commerce, and if he’s involved – and he wants me there so much that he had the courier tell me so – I feel like I’d better show up. Besides, I could tell myself I need to stay home and work on rebuilding the security program, but that would almost certainly be a lie after the unproductive afternoon I’ve had so far.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” I grumble. “It’s not going to be some kind of black-tie-and-tux thing, is it?”
“Nope, but you might want to grab a nap, a shave, and a change of clothes. You look like something Rick Grimes would blast with a shotgun.”
I stare at him through bleary-eyed vision. I’m sure I do look like hell, but what gives this kid the right?
“Come on, seriously?” he says, raising his eyebrows at my apparent confusion. “Rick Grimes? The Walking Dead? Dude, don’t you watch television?”
“No.” I start to close the door.
“Wait, hang on,” the courier says, his voice rising to a plaintive whine. “What about my tip?”
In a rush to get rid of him, I rummage in my pocket and pull out a twenty. “Here’s an even better tip. Stop with the TV and comic references and try being original for a change.” After handing over the bill, I slam the door in his face, feeling like a grumpy old geezer who just told some brat to get off his lawn.
As I step away from the door, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. The courier may have been annoying, but he wasn’t wrong. I look like I just crawled out of a grave. I plod upstairs, take a quick shower, and pick out some clothes that don’t have any holes or stains.
He was right about me needing a nap too, but all I can manage is lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling until it’s time to get dressed and go. I can’t even keep my eyes closed without seeing the cursor blinking in the darkness behind them, or Darlene blinking against the sunlight as she opened her door.
***
As always, the Armónico bustles with activity when I get there. Caldwell may have a bad quarter of financials behind him, but no one would guess that from the gamblers swarming around the gaming tables like bees around a hive. I’ve gotten used to the quiet of my workspace at home, and the constant noise in here digs into my ears – people chattering, roulette tables clicking and spinning, slot machines beeping and burbling. People screaming with joy or moaning with pain.
I’ve been here enough times to find my way to the auditorium where special events are held. Sure enough, when I open the door and step in, I see the stadium seats and a handful of older men in conservative business suits clustered near the podium with Caldwell.
The turnout seems pretty weak, though – only a third of the seats are occupied, and most of the people in them look like casino patrons who are only here because they were promised free food and booze. Some yawn, their red-eyed gazes vapid, while others actually doze with their plates and plastic cups spilling into their laps.
The only one who seems awake and alert is a girl in her twenties with long blonde hair, glasses, and ripped jeans. Her platinum hair frames her face like a halo, so I can’t really see it or what kind of eyes lurk behind the coke bottle glasses. She seems like the only other person in the room who might actually be a coder like me – she has the lean, hungry, intense look of someone who spends almost every waking moment in front of a computer.
Normally, I’d make a mental note to talk to her after the award ceremony, but today I dismiss the idea. Too distracted, too much to do. If she’s got any skill or talent at all, I’ll probably run into her again at some point anyway. The tech-head community in Vegas is small. And if she doesn’t have any talent, screw it, no big loss.
Come to think of it, she does seem familiar somehow. Maybe we’ve already met, and I just forgot. That wouldn’t be too surprising, given the pressure I’ve been under lately. I tuck the urge to meet her away since I could really use a friend right about now.
There’s a table set up next to one of the walls, with a bored-looking employee in a dealer’s vest pouring out drinks, and a few long aluminum trays of catered food with flaming Sterno cans under them.
All in all, this event looks like something that was thrown together at the last minute. No wonder I didn’t find out about it until a couple of hours beforehand.
Except that rushed, cheap, and sloppy isn’t Caldwell’s style. At all.
So, what’s going on here?
“Thank you all for coming,” Caldwell says from the podium, clad in custom Gucci with a power red silk tie. He always looks like he stepped down from the pages of GQ only to grace us peons with his suave and charming presence. “If everyone will please take their seats, I think we’re ready to begin.”
I see that there’s a piece of paper with my name scrawled on it that’s taped to one of the chairs in the cute blonde’s row. When I sit down in the seat, she looks up and notices me. Based on the expression of loathing and disgust she shoots me, we must have met before somehow after all. There’s no way she could automatically dislike me so much just from watching me sit down. So much for my new karaoke song being “You’ve got a friend.” But why would she scowl like that? First that Ostrich fuckhead, and now this random woman. Why am I suddenly on everyone’s shit list? I can’t remember being that big of a prick to anyone. At least not since being drunk back in college.
“As you all know, we’re here tonight to honor excellence in casino security,” he begins. “Every year, millions of people flock to Las Vegas with one goal. To make our money their money. Most of those people are content to pursue this goal by sitting at our tables, putting down their chips, and taking their chances that the next flip of a card or roll of the dice will make them into millionaires. But as any casino owner will tell you, there are also plenty of thieves and cheats among them, many of whom have developed clever plots and ingenious methods to take advantage.”
I look around. The members of the Chamber of Commerce glance at their watches impatiently and the rest of the people here hover around the free food or drift in and out of the room. The blonde stares daggers at me. I start to feel like I accidentally stepped into a scene from a David Lynch movie. I wish he’d finish his speech and just hand me the damn award so I can get out of here.
“Due to this unfortunate but unavoidable fact,” Caldwell says, “there are more security professionals in this city than there are blackjack dealers...all chasing our business, all clamoring to be the best. But tonight, we’re blessed to be in the
presence of the true elite among them. It’s my very great pleasure to introduce you to that elite right now.”
Come on, I silently beg. Just say my name and let’s get this over with.
“And so, without further ado...”
I hate that, I HATE the phrase “without further ado” because it’s really “further ado,” for God’s sake. Caldwell, just hurry it up...
“...I present the awards for excellence in casino security to Hawk Stryker...”
Finally. I get up and take my first step toward the podium. When I’m a few steps away, I stop dead. Did he just say ‘awards’? Plural? I’m only one person.
“...and Waverly Emerson of Haven Security.”
My breath catches amid the half-hearted applause of the people sitting around me. Waverly who? What the fuck is going on here? Not only do they drag me out tonight to accept some stupid award, I have to share it with someone I’ve never even heard of?
I see movement in the corner of my eye and realize that the blonde a few seats away stands up to leave. Shit, she must really hate my guts if the thought of me receiving an award causes her to flee my presence. If her expression was furious before, it’s full-on lethal now. She looks like she wants to murder me with her bare hands.
I’m confused as hell. After all that talk about how losing the security program wasn’t my fault, did Caldwell summon me here and set this whole thing up just to screw with me and rub my nose in my failure? Even if he’s that pissed off about me losing all of the work I’d done, that doesn’t seem like his style at all. Nixon Caldwell can be a hard man when he wants to be, but he’s never petty.
The listless applause fades, so I take a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other until I reach the podium.
Chapter Ten
Waverly
Unbelievable.
Seriously. Un-fucking-believable.
When that envelope showed up at my door a few hours ago, I knew I should have declined the invitation. An award ceremony for the best casino security in Vegas? Since when is that a thing? And who would send a notification at the last minute saying I’d won? The whole thing had seemed weird and suspicious to me.
But...
But I figured it would be an important feather in Haven Security’s cap, being able to boast that we had an award from the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce, using it on all our marketing materials.
I also thought it would be a chance to meet the owners of some of the city’s biggest casinos so I could get them interested in doing business with my company.
Since I was bored, going square-eyed from staring at the screen too long, and the prospect of attending some fancy party with free food and liquor would be a fun way to kill an evening.
But I figured I’d come back with some funny stories to tell Neon over burgers and code.
But – oh, and this is the worst one, the one I’m really hating myself for right now – after tormenting Hawk during our meeting, I figured this could be one more thing to lord over him.
Ha ha, I got the award for best casino security in Vegas, so who’s a ‘computer god’ now, huh? Who’s hacking fucking Xboxes now, you smug, self-obsessed asswipe?
And now here I stand on a stage next to him, utterly blindsided and feeling like the dumbest fuck on the planet. I swear to God, if the earth could just open up and swallow me whole right now, I’d be fine with that. I’d be grateful.
But it doesn’t. Instead, a few cameras click and flash in the front row, capturing the moment of Nixon Caldwell standing between us and holding up the award. A quick glance at the award itself confirms that it was a rush job too – just a chunk of clear plexiglass with both of our names engraved at the base.
From the look on Hawk’s face, he doesn’t seem happy about this freak show, either. Oh well. At least he doesn’t know I’m “Ostrich.” That would be too humiliating for words.
“Congratulations to both of you,” Nixon says, his irritatingly-perfect smile still in place.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Do I get to make a speech?” I happen to have a two-word acceptance speech in mind. The second word is “you,” and the first one definitely isn’t “thank.”
“I’ve got a few choice words too, actually,” Hawk growls.
“No speeches,” Nixon says. “Just smile for the cameras for a few more seconds, and then both of you can yell and swear at me in private. You tech gurus are very uptight. You need to learn how to unwind.”
Once the cameras stop snapping, Nixon leads us to his office upstairs. Hawk and I fume silently, and the air around us feels like it’s full of storm clouds just waiting to unleash their lightning bolts on the unsuspecting ground.
“I know you’re both quite unhappy,” Nixon intones as he closes the office door behind us. “But before you start shouting, I hope you’ll at least take a moment to really appreciate how much effort went into getting both of you in the same room.”
“And now that you have, so what?” Hawk lashes out. “You make up some phony award and insist I show up for it, just so you can insult me in public? What’s so damn important about this little girl that you’d waste my time like this? Time I should be spending working on rebuilding the security program, by the way.”
Rage surges up inside me like an erupting volcano, and I turn to him, snarling. “Okay, first of all, dickhead, I’m not a ‘girl,’ I’m twenty-six. That’s only four years younger than you, in case your math skills are as shitty as your attitude. Second, if anyone should be insulted by us having to share a stage, it’s me. I had to drop the important work I was doing and come down here just so you can have your massive ego publicly stroked for the umpteen-billionth time, for...what? Maybe being the best programmer, what, almost a decade ago? You’re a fucking has-been, and I’m sick of seeing people line up to jerk you off for so-called ‘innovations’ that are mostly rehashes of halfway-decent ideas you probably stole from better coders.”
Nixon raises his hand into the electric air crackling between us. “Okay, okay. So, I’ve insulted both of you. I’ve lied to you, and I’ve wasted your time. I suggest you ask yourselves why I would do that?” He points to Hawk. “You’ve gotten to know me pretty damn well over the years. Does this strike you as the kind of thing I’d do lightly? And by the way, you can talk all you want about how I’ve dragged you away from your important work on the security program, but we both know that’s crap. One look in your eyes during our last meeting and I knew you hadn’t made any progress on it. That’s fine...I’m not angry with you, but I am concerned.”
He turns to look at me next. “You might not know me personally, but I’m betting you probably know me by reputation, given my not-inconsiderable influence in this town. Based on what you’ve heard about me, do I seem like some kind of eccentric billionaire who would set something like this up just for his own amusement? And by the way, you can pretend you’re not impressed by Hawk, but based on your level of skill with regard to coding, you’re too smart to actually believe he’s unoriginal or irrelevant.”
“Her ‘level of skill?’” Hawk sneers, looking me over. “Your name’s, what...Waverider, Wavelength, some stupid hippie nonsense born of being one toke over the line? How good could you be if I’ve never even heard of you?”
“Oh, but you have,” Nixon replies evenly. “Her name is Waverly Emerson, but you know her as the enigmatic ‘Ostrich.’”
Holy. Shit. Well, so much for being able to hide behind that.
Hawk’s jaw drops, and his eyes bulge so wide that for a moment, I honestly think they’re going to pop out of his head and roll around on Nixon’s desk like marbles.
“You?! You’re the one who was hiding behind all that ‘Oz the Great and Powerful’ James Bond crap? Coward! All this time, the famous Ostrich was just some–”
“Call me a ‘girl’ again, motherfucker!” I challenge him. “Go on, I dare you! I fucking double-dog-dare you! Call me a ‘girl’ one more time, and I swear I’ll grab that letter opener off the desk and turn
you into one!”
“No castrations in my office, please,” Nixon says in a frustrated voice so low I have to strain to hear him. “I doubt I have the insurance for that. Besides, I’ve never been fond of blood. It ruins my white carpet. Now, let’s get back to the business at hand. I went through a lot of trouble to bring you two together. Hawk and I have a fairly serious problem, and Waverly, it seems as though you represent the only viable solution.”
“How the hell did you know it was me?” I ask, barely refraining from stomping my foot. “I mean, how did you know I was Ostrich?”
“You two aren’t the only hackers I happen to know,” Nixon answers. “I paid a rather large sum for one of them to trace your online posts back to your true identity. I’m sure that eventually, Hawk would have thought to do something similar...he’s just been a bit distracted lately.” Nixon gave Hawk a mysteriously knowing look, as though they shared a secret.
“Well, anyway, I already know all about your little ‘problem,’ and like I told Hawk, I’m not interested,” I tell him. “As far as I’m concerned, Hawk’s security program can crash and burn, with him strapped to it. And when I develop my own casino security solution – and I will – you can line up to buy it with everyone else. As you proved today, you’ve got the cash for it.”
“There, you see?” Hawk gestures to me. “I mean, listen to her, for Christ’s sake! Clearly, I can’t work with her. Who could?”
“You can work with her because you have to,” Nixon insists. “There’s simply no other choice. I’ve got too much of my own money invested in this to just walk away, to say nothing of the money I’m projected to save once it’s implemented. And as I told you, I will drag this casino back into the black, no matter what it takes. I simply will not allow even one weak point of entry that Dante Giovanetti can exploit. And if we finally happen to spear that greaseball in the same net, I’m sure you wouldn’t be crying about that, Hawk. No, the real question is whether she can work with you. And she’s right – she has no incentive to do so whatsoever, especially with you standing there and belittling her. Which is why I knew that if I could somehow connect you two, I’d have to make my offer to her irresistible. Your nuts are already in a sling as far as I’m concerned.”
Raincheck (Caldwell Brothers Book 6) Page 7
