The Thrice Born

by Carlos Lopez Avery

  She only glanced at those, her eyes going back to the edged and chain-hinged weapons. She didn’t know the names of the swords, only that they were a collection of scythes, sabers, long staffs and bokken, nunchuks, canes, and assorted sais. Her gaze rested across the dojo where a katana, wakizashi, and tanto were arrayed from shortest to longest on a rack of sleek, highly polished black wood.

  “It’s like something out of a Tarantino movie,” she breathed, barely aware of Benjamin standing beside her. She remembered herself. “I mean, it’s so, so real.”

  “It is real, Pearl.”

  His previous words came back to her as she looked from the weapons to the long yellow-tasseled white banner of kanji script hanging at one short wall. She wondered what the black characters meant. “You want me to clean?”

  He nodded, looking at the weapons on the walls. “These are Jason’s toys. He likes to play with them everyday at 4:30 in the morning, sometimes alone, sometimes with his friends in the martial arts.”

  “That’s what this room is for?”

  “It’s his personal sanctuary, but he shares, sort of. He let’s a few of us watch him sometimes. You don’t have to be invited. You just have to be one of the ones allowed on the third floor. Which you are,” he added.

  A different sort of light came to her eyes. “I can watch him?”

  “You can come, but I would be real quiet about it. Don’t let it get around to the other waitresses and bartenders.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t want any fans, believe me, but for some weird reason, he seems to like an audience.” He looked back to her, seeing her attention on the display swords. “I think it pushes him to excel, on some level.”

  Pearl tried to adjust to the new knowledge. “This is his lifestyle?” What little she knew about martial arts was that they required extreme discipline, both in mind and body. It added a new light to her view of her employer. “It’s very strange for a casino owner. Does he drink?”

  “I can tell you for a fact, Pearl, he’s barely into eating,” he said. “I’ve never seen him touch a drink.”

  Her mind was traveling along other avenues. “And women?”

  “I know at least seven women that would sleep with him,” he said, then chuckled. “No, that many that would even marry him, if they could even get next to him for a minute. But he wants nothing from women.”

  A picture was forming in her mind of Jason. “But he likes gambling.”

  “Big time. He’s one of the world’s greatest experts on card strategy. Probably the world’s top expert on Pai-Gow. He gets invited to tournaments every year.”

  She nodded. “Is he homosexual?”

  Benjamin had expected the question. “No. I think he just avoids entanglements and keeps himself busy. If a woman works here and gets involved, they don’t last very long.”

  “Is he disillusioned?” She’d seen and heard many a story from many a bartender about wealthy men disenchanted with life and women. “Did something happen?”

  “Maybe, but if it did, he doesn’t talk about it.”

  She nodded, looking out over the quiet dojo floor. There was something oddly serene about the bamboo walls and natural fiber mats. Even the ornamental swords, deadly and sleek, had a certain beauty to them. For a moment she fancied watching Jason practice his routines, wondering at his expertise.

  She glanced to Benjamin, smiling. “Sure. I’ll make sure to clean it daily.”

  “Good.”

  Chapter Four

  ESTELLE, THE IMPONDERABLE

  Jason took Estelle through the crowded gaming floor and down the side hall to where the security eyes of the casino watched every move made by patrons and dealers alike. She hadn’t spoken again, her inviting walk giving him no indication of her mood. He didn’t offer any further explanation. He’d dealt with cheaters before, and never was the phrase less is more more meaningful.

  He stopped them at a door that looked like the other few doors in the corridor and opened it.

  Inside the room was filled with people. Most were The Crib’s security team, but there were a few others, like Corky. It had been a long night, not unusual for the security team, but it had been more tedious, as were nights when cheaters were active and Jason was on the floor.

  Estelle looked around as Jason closed the door behind them. It was the anteroom of security, with the main room filled with monitors – like the one that had taped the video of Estelle winning – beyond the authorized personnel-only doors to their left.

  Jason’s gaze went over those present, giving a swift head count to who he wanted there. “I’d like everyone to meet Estelle.”

  The men slowly pushed through each other to greet her, but Corky was first, a magnetometer in his hand, a canvas bag hanging by a strap over his shoulder with more equipment. Jason was already pointing to Chuck, a more senior member of his security staff. “Chuck Sanders, head of security,” he told Estelle, gesturing to the thickly built dark haired man to Corky’s right.

  Chuck nodded, tipping his blue baseball cap that simply read the logo “Chief” on it.

  Estelle gave him a smile.

  Corky stepped forward.

  Jason nodded at him. “Corky DeLeon from Jackpotters. He’s a security specialist we use from time to time,” he added, “for the tougher cases.”

  Estelle looked from Corky to Jason. “Am I a tougher case?”

  Jason grinned. “That’s a good question.”

  “Excuse me,” Corky said, adjusting the magnetometer as he paused before Estelle. “I’m just going to run this down the outside of your dress.”

  He let the device make an outline around her dress, unaware of the other men present watching the silhouette he traced around her body. His attention was on the instrument. “Nothing.”

  He switched it off and fumbled it the bag, exchanging it for the EMF meter. As soon as he switched it on, the needle wagged vigorously. He glanced to Jason, then Estelle. “Do you know what this is?”

  Estelle gave the instrument an indifferent look. She shook her head.

  “It’s an EMF meter,” Jason told her. “Corky here thinks you might be a ghost.”

  Corky let the slight humor in Jason’s words slip. “Or perhaps a medium?” He was looking at Estelle.

  She shifted a hip, nearly leaning against Jason as she pegged a pointed look on Corky. “If I were, is it illegal for a ghost,” she smiled more, “or a medium, to win at roulette?”

  Around the room there was a ripple of low chuckling from the men. Estelle glanced to a few of them, and then spotted a box of donuts on the table behind Chuck. “Say, could I have a donut?” She breathed a sigh. “I haven’t eaten a thing all night.”

  Chuck turned to look at the closed donut box. “Those are gone. Devoured about an hour ago.” He moved to one side as Estelle made her way to the table. “Sorry.”

  She gave him a knowing smile and picked up the box and opened it. Inside the wax paper was lined with rows of donuts. Chuck swore under his breath, eyes wide at the box, and then her.

  “Hey, I ate the last one.” He looked to Jason. “It was a coffee dunker. The good ones were all gone.” His gaze went back to the box, eyeing a glazed, peanut covered donut. “My favorite.” He cradled the box and picked up the donut, smiling in anticipation, and then dropped it. “It’s hot!”

  Estelle gave the donuts contemptuous glance, then looked to Jason.

  He was already looking at her. His attention went to Chuck. “Guess you were wrong about that.”

  Chuck frowned at the donuts. “Some kind of parlor trick...”

  It didn’t matter to the other members of the security team. Donuts were donuts. They gathered around him, eyes on the variety of sweets inside the box. Corky was still looking at Estelle.

  She stepped to where Jason stood, watching his security team’s focus now on the pastries rather than her. “You know, I’m really hungry, Jason,” she said, her tone akin to a soft purr without promise. “Why don’t you take me to lunch?”
/>
  He looked to Chuck, who was munching contentedly, giving him a shrug, and then back to Estelle. She’d disarmed his security team with a box of donuts and now wanted him for lunch. He figured he could hold his own with her. Besides, he still had questions.

  “There’s nothing more to do here,” he told her, watching her shoulder move under the beaded black satin of her dress as she settled her gold handbag strap there. He glanced back to her face, watching her eyes take on a different sort of light. “We do need to tal. I’ll meet you at the Plaza Room.”

  She nodded, smiling more. “I’ll be there.”

  He opened the door for her and she left. He watched her go, and then shut the door, turning to find that Benjamin was also watching her exit.

  The floor manager swallowed his bite of glazed blueberry cake donut. “I’ll have security tail her.”

  Jason glanced from him to the donut box, and then shook his head. “No, I’ll handle everything from here.”

  Benjamin had just taken another large bite of the donut in his hand, but Jason’s decision made him stop chewing. He frowned, curiously watching the casino owner’s pensive expression.

  The bar of the Plaza Room was buzzing with chatter and low-key lounge music that was just above the typical elevator tunes Jason had always despised. It was the pre-lunch crowd, the slight lull before the after-lunch crowd that would flock in after one o’clock. It wasn’t a time Jason usually visited. He was generally on his feet, having something delivered, or, if he was able to actually sit down and enjoy the meal, with someone in a more elegant choice for dining.

  But the bar was good enough to entertain a cheater, he decided. He took a seat at the bar, a hush settling over a few tables when some of the diners recognized him. He nodded to the bar attendant he usually saw there; she knew him, what he liked and didn’t, as she should. She gave him a nod and smile as he held up two fingers, and then she turned to place his orders.

  He picked up the napkin folded origami style to resemble a swan. There had been a debate over whether to make swans or palm trees out of the napkins among the staff. The swan had won. His mind wove back to the cheater.

  Lady Luck.

  Still a cheater, he thought.

  But how being a cheater had earned him buying her lunch – that he wasn’t so sure about. There were a couple of other oddities about her aside from donut boxes and bouncy roulette balls.

  In the mirror opposite him over the bar counter interior he saw a vivid chartreuse movement and looked there. It was the green-yellow and plaid combination that made him look twice at Estelle’s image, and then turn in his chair.

  He swiveled around, finding her making her way through the close set tables of the floor.

  She smiled at him, not something cheaters usually did when the got caught. Most had scenes of bodily damage playing through their minds, like some kind of old mob film. His eyes flicked over the chartreuse turtleneck she wore atop a Scottish plaid skirt. The color combination probably would have rivaled some video test patterns, but on her – to him – it looked perfect. She tucked her hair over her shoulder as she approached the bar, her handbag anchored tightly at her side under her arm.

  He barely had time to stand as she sat down, his gaze still on the casual brush of her knee against his leg as she joined him. He nodded to her change of attire.

  “You did all that in twenty minutes?” he asked.

  She nodded, enjoying the slight grin on him. “I looked in the mirror and realized I looked hideous.” She gave a brief glimpse in the mirror opposite them, but her eyes were on Jason in it. She turned back to him, her voice softening. “I wanted to look as perfect as I could –”

  “For me, Estelle?” He shook his head. “All this is, is two people meeting for a quiet discussion. One of them is the owner of a casino,” he added, his tone lowering, “and the other is the suspect in a casino fraud investigation.”

  The bar server met them with two plates heaping with Jason’s favorite shrimp, chicken, and pasta dish, placing one before each of them.

  “Two iced teas,” Jason told her.

  “Right away, Mr. Newhart.” The server disappeared back to the kitchen beyond the bar.

  Jason looked to Estelle. Her attention was on the plate, a ravenous look on her face as her fingers reached for the nearby fork. He was going to ask her preference of beverage, deciding maybe a little white wine would loosen her truths about the roulette table, and the box of donuts, but she had already taken the fork and was steadily shoveling food into her mouth.

  He didn’t chuckle, but he did smile, content to watch her devour a full third of the thyme butter laced pasta dish, her face hovering over the plate. It wasn’t as inelegant as it should have been, her voracious appetite, or maybe that was just how he saw it.

  That thought brought up another oddity of her and her visit to the casino.

  The server came back with the iced teas, making an unprofessional pause as she watched Estelle eat for a few seconds, before setting down the tall glasses. “Anything else, sir?” she asked, taking her gaze from Estelle for a moment.

  “No. That’s it for now. Thank you,” he told her.

  She nodded and left back to help another diner.

  Estelle seemed to suddenly realize she’d been eating non-stop for several moments. She looked to her plate, and then to Jason’s, which was untouched, and then slowly up at him.

  She looked away and took the cloth napkin from under her plate and wiped her mouth carefully, setting it beside the little swan folded paper napkin near her drink. She cleared her throat, and then turned back to him. “I didn’t come here for the money, Jason.”

  As if to emphasize her point, she hastily pulled up her handbag and set in between them on the counter. She dumped the chips on the surface, the padded edge catching the few that tried to roll away.

  “There. Take it!” she said, a challenge in her voice that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Just like that?” It wasn’t standard cheater behavior and he knew it. He leaned closer. “How much did you have when you came in here?”

  She looked up at him, searchingly, hoping. “Don’t you have records, Jason?”

  He did, lots of records. He had a whole team in charge of records. He tapped the chip nearest him with a finger.

  She glanced to it, and then her gaze rose to his face. “Fifty dollars,” she said, an urgency in her words. “Your fifty dollars.”

  For a moment he could only stare at her. His study went over the golden curls at her face, on her sweater, the defined structure of her cheekbones, and then he saw it. The woman from the street, the woman in the dirty black robe with the disheveled hair.

  The woman begging with the metal cup outside The Crib.

  “Oh, my God,” he muttered in disbelief. “It’s you! You parlayed my fifty dollars in to $240,000!”

  She nodded, watching him intently.

  He took his wallet from his jacket inside breast pocket and took out a fifty dollar bill. He handed it to her, watching her fingers graze his as she took the note. She folded it into the sleeve of her sweater.

  He gestured to the chips, eyes still on her face. “Is all this an admission of guilt?”

  “Absolutely not.” Her voice had a helpless quality to it. “I didn’t come here for money. It...It doesn’t matter to me”

  He leaned his forearm on the bar, watching her intently. “What did you come here for?”

  She sniffed, a sudden sob catching her words. “I came here, I came here for you, Jason...for you.” A dam of tears broke from her, an outpouring of sobs that she tried, and failed, to mute.

  He leaned closer to discourage any onlookers from seeing the scene. “For me? Why?”

  Estelle nodded. She grabbed the swan napkin and ripped it open, wiping her cheeks. “I have to leave now,” she said abruptly. She turned her chair from him and stepped down. Without another look to him, she hurried from the room.

  Jason caught the back top of her chair as i
t pivoted. He watched her leave, a flurry of yellow and golden hair as she maneuvered among the other tables. He sighed, glancing at the pile of chips, and then to her plate.

  He’d walked away from a lot of women, but this was a genuinely new experience for him.

  Estelle hadn’t returned to the casino floor. Jason didn’t see her there, and he really didn’t search for her, but he did notice she wasn’t there.

  There was no shapely blonde woman in a beaded black satin dress, or a brunette in a green Perry Ellis, or an old or ugly lady in a tangerine pantsuit or a champagne cheongsam or a hot twenty-something in trendy black and pink camos. He’d heard all the stories in his few moments with his security team; the collective view of the mysterious Estelle wasn’t very collective, and there was no video footage to prove who among them was right and wrong.

  Jason gave the game floor a cursory glance, and then headed to his dojo. At least, that was his intention. Instead he found himself on the third floor, but in his private lounge. It was his home away from home, more likely his third home away, as the casino and then dojo came before.

  The lounge was a collection of keepsakes he’d collected on his visits around the world, but was more than ornaments and souvenirs from exotic casinos and gaming houses.

  He saw none of them now, however, as he sat in the sable leather upholstered chair where his view out the panoramic window was of the bustling traffic of the Strip. It was a garishly bright view, lights dancing, neon tubes sequencing words and names of his competitors’ casinos. At the moment, as he sat in his favorite kimono, he didn’t see it. The room was dim, the lights off, the early dusk falling over the city. The room was cool, as always, and the kimono was of superb workmanship, styled after the traditional motifs of Feudal Japan in tan and cobalt blue.

  At the moment Jason Newhart saw only the elusive woman in the black dress that had summoned donuts to an empty box in his security room.

  Estelle with no last name.

  She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but at the moment he couldn’t recall any other female faces. There was something intangible about her, something he wanted a closer look at.