by Cassie Cole
I didn’t have the authority of a police officer, but I was respected more than a rental cop. I got to carry a firearm and could detain customers before calling the real police. I rarely had to risk my life; there just wasn’t any danger in a casino, although it could get rowdy at times.
You know what I really was? I was the equivalent of a security camera mounted on the front of someone’s house. I was mostly there for show; my mere presence deterred 99% of potential problems. Patrolling around the casino, I was a reminder that this was a place of rules. You could yell and drink and even smoke weed in the streets, but all of that existed within the confines of what we allowed.
Most of the time it was a boring job. I stood at entrances and scanned people coming and going. I patrolled around the casino floor. Sometimes I was on the shift that transported money boxes from the card pit to the storage areas. For the most part I was a Wal Mart greeter with a badge.
Still, sometimes there were troublemakers I had to deal with. Drunks, mostly. People got loose when they were six drinks deep—and $6,000 in the hole. There were disturbances from people overcome with grief from pissing away their paycheck. People punched machines and tried to knock them over. Those little old ladies you saw cranking the slot machine handle again and again? They could be as territorial as grizzly bears if someone stole their favorite machine. I’d seen grey haired women let loose a string of slurs that would make a sailor blush.
Gamblers got into fights at the card games sometimes. Just last week a smooth-faced 21 year old sat down at a blackjack table and played his first hand. He didn’t know what he was doing and he hit on 14 while the dealer was showing a 2, which threw off the whole table and kept the dealer from busting. The hardcore gambler two seats down, who had put all his chips on that hand, pulled out a knife and threatened to scoop the poor kid’s eyes out.
But that was the thing about the Volga. We didn’t get much trash. The Volga strove to be a classier casino than the competition on the strip, and for the most part it succeeded. They kept the minimum bets at the card tables over $25, which deterred the cheapest gambling addicts. That kept it pretty classy.
Of course, I now knew the real reason for having so many high wager minimums: it helped them launder money without notice.
I caught a glimpse of Sage carrying a tray of drinks to one of the blackjack tables, a big—but fake—smile on her face. Was she the right person for this job? There wasn’t much to it beyond gathering information. Another set of eyes.
What was taking her so long to decide? It had been almost a full day since we filled her in. That made me nervous. The longer she waited to give us an answer, the more likely she was to go to Yegorovich himself. Or the police. Thinking about it made me anxious. I wanted to confront her about it in the employee area, demanding that she give me an answer right now. It shouldn’t take this much thought. Either you were in, or you weren’t.
But I knew confronting her was a bad idea. I needed to trust Bryce when he said to give her more time.
The moment the clock struck 1:00am her shift ended and she disappeared into the employee section. I wondered if she was going to drink with Bryce in the pantry with the other grunts. I hoped so.
Whether she was in or out, we needed an answer from her before we could move on.
I patrolled the outer wall of the casino floor, following the intricate designs in the carpet and keeping an eye on the Russian mules. They were easy to pick out. They burned through their money quickly tonight, leaving them lingering all throughout the casino like lost children. It was hilarious how obvious they were once their job was done. They didn’t want to leave because that might be too obvious, but they weren’t here to have fun like the regular customers. Some toyed with the slot machines even though they had no money to feed into them. Others got drunk at the bar. Two mules went into the sportsbook section and watched basketball.
It was frustrating seeing it all unfold and not being able to do anything.
We needed to figure out where the money was coming from and where it was being stored. Certainly not in the same vaults as the legitimate casino take, lest it get discovered during regular casino audits by the gaming commission. Nothing could progress until we learned that, and so far Bryce and I had done a poor job of following the mules back to their original starting point.
We knew it was somewhere in the casino itself, but nothing beyond that.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Bryce: She’s out.
It took me four seconds to realize what he meant. I put away my phone and stared off, unsure of how I felt about that. I was almost disappointed. I had my doubts about her, but I’d spent the last day getting used to the idea of her joining us. Now we were back to square one.
Should we find another waitress or other casino employee to help us? Pushing harder with the three of us might be a better plan. There was more risk in using my security credentials to snoop around areas, but there was risk in recruiting another person, too.
Or maybe none of this was going to work. Smart people knew when to walk away, and I sure as hell was smart enough to know we were already stretching the boundaries of what was safe. Better to live out the rest of our lives as grunts than to wind up chopped into pieces.
As I walked around the casino, I examined every waitress I saw and wondered if they would be right for the job.
I was heading back to the employee area for a break when Bryce suddenly appeared. He locked onto me, strode over, and pulled me into a secluded corner where the arcade sound of slot machines covered our conversation.
“She’s in.”
I gave a start. “Wait, what? Did something change?”
“Just go with it. We have our fourth.”
He didn’t give me a chance to ask anything else. As I watched him walk away, I wasn’t sure how to feel.
But the job was still on, and that gave me more hope than concern.
11
Sage
We met at the diner, arriving separately. I took the bus even though Bryce offered to pick me up. I was reluctant to be seen with him now that we had a conspiracy to conceal.
Even though I was five minutes early, I was the last to arrive. The diner was mostly empty and nobody was seated near the table where the others were.
“Jesus,” Eddie said when he saw me. “You look like the Unibomber.”
I pulled back my hood and removed my sunglasses. “I usually wear my hood up when it’s chilly,” I said, though that wasn’t true. I was trying to disguise myself. Now I just felt embarrassed.
But Bryce only smiled at me with those crystal blue eyes, and I instantly felt better.
“The plan today is simple,” Bryce said. “All we care about are the mules. Once they enter the casino we need to find out where they go to get the money they launder.”
“How do you know they don’t arrive with it in pocket already?” I asked.
“Based on past surveillance, they’re walking into the casino empty-handed,” Xander said with his country drawl. He had no cowboy hat on today, but he hadn’t bothered to comb his mess of dirty blond hair. “At some point their pockets get stuffed. Literally stuffed, bulges big enough to make a girl ask if they’re happy to see her. Now, where that is is anyone’s guess. Might be a hotel room.”
“Or literally anywhere else private,” Eddie grumbled.
“Our biggest problem,” Bryce said, “is we don’t notice when they first arrive at the casino. If we did then we could follow them, but usually we discover them too late.”
Eddie shook his head. “I’ve gotten on door duty and saw them enter with flat pockets, but I couldn’t exactly leave my post to tail them.”
I grinned. “I can switch shifts with Carli. She usually gets stuck serving the slot machines by the front entrance. That will give me a chance to watch for the mules to enter.”
“She would be willing to switch?” Xander asked.
“Oh hell yeah. I’d be giving her the card tables, wh
ich all the girls want.”
“Won’t that be suspicious?”
“Well…” I thought about it for a moment. “I have a good excuse. I’ll say I’m trying to avoid my boss Zeke.”
“Good thinking,” Bryce said.
A party of four tried to sit at the booth next to ours. Eddie rose and said, “Excuse me. I’m not trying to pry into your business or anything, but my friend here has the flu. He’s super contagious. Fever of 106, probably won’t last the night. We were on the way to the hospital but he insisted on having a slice of pecan pie before he died. Now, you’re welcome to sit next to us, but…”
The party looked at Xander, who gave a weak little cough into his fist. It was a poor acting job, but it did the trick and the others took a booth on the opposite side of the diner.
Eddie sat back down and nodded as if that was that.
“Why do I always have to be the sick one?” Xander whined.
“Just be glad it’s a tame disease,” Eddie said. “I could’ve told them you have an airborne strain of gonorrhea.”
Bryce cleared his throat and slid something across the table. “Here you go.” It was the radio ring and ear piece he’d shown me the other night. The ring was too big for my ring finger so I slid it over the knuckle on my middle finger instead. The ear piece was the size of my pinky nail, and fit snuggly in my ear.
I held out my hand to the others. “Do you have anything in yellow gold? Silver isn’t my color.”
“You ought to be a comedian instead of a singer,” Xander said, though by his tone he wasn’t amused.
“It’s made to cancel out most noise so we’re not bombarded with sound,” Eddie explained. “But that means you have to put the ring close to your mouth when you speak. See how I sound now?”
“Uh huh.”
He rested his head on his chin such that the knuckle with the ring was just below his lip. “Compare that to now.”
Suddenly his deep voice was crystal clear in my ear. A sensual whisper. “Neat.”
“We try to keep cross chatter to a minimum,” Xander grumbled. “So no gossiping unless you find something.”
“That’s how we’ll play this,” Bryce said. “You’re the spotter. Call out mules when you see them come in the entrance and Eddie can pick them up from there, following them wherever they go. From my spot in the card pit I’ll have a view of most of the middle area of the casino.”
“And I’ll have a higher vantage from the stage,” Xander said. “But my act is from 8:00 to about 10:00, so I won’t be much help then. Maybe longer depending on how many autographs I sign.”
Eddie let out a loud snort. “How often do people stick around after the show for autographs?”
“Sometimes!” Xander said, offended. “I have fans.”
“Yeah, but they’re usually pushing walkers with tennis balls on the legs.”
“When do the mules usually arrive?” I asked. Xander gave me a grateful look for changing the subject.
Bryce shrugged. “No idea. Seems kind of random. It’s tough to nail down since we rarely catch them arriving. So you’ll have to be on your toes.”
“But they’re always there when it’s busiest,” Eddie added. “Some time between 7:00 and 11:00, we’ve gathered.”
“They’ve gotta blend in,” Xander said. “A buncha no-name highrollers blowing fat stacks on blackjack stick out at breakfast. But at night…”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
*
I spent the afternoon pacing my cramped apartment while Angela fiddled around on her computer. She looked annoyed by my presence, and eventually received a phone call she’d been waiting for. It sounded like Bart, who she’d told me was out of town on business. She went outside to speak in private.
Ugh. My presence was probably keeping them from having phone sex. Once his hairy, bald image was in my head it refused to leave.
I paced and checked my ring and ear piece and paced some more. I’d never had this much anticipation before, not even before going on stage for my first singing performance. Hopefully I wouldn’t bomb this like I had that night long ago. This time my life was on the line.
I walked to the casino to let out some energy. It helped, but only a little bit. I changed into my sexy Soviet outfit and then examined myself in the mirror. The ear piece was totally hidden inside my ear, especially with my hair down, but I was still self conscious about it. “Hey Sage, let me take a look inside your right ear!” someone might randomly say to me, and I would be caught on the spot.
Hey, it could happen.
I ambushed Carli when I saw her come out of the bathroom stall. “Hey! I’ve got a favor to ask about our assigned sections tonight…”
Not only did she agree to switch, she hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. She’d never had a crack at the card tables before, and a few hours there instead of at the slots would mean the difference of potentially hundreds of dollars in tips.
I grabbed a tray and headed for my new section by the front entrance. It was a grand entryway with high ceilings and a glass chandelier above a massive fountain designed to look like a marble Soviet statue, all hard lines and featureless. The stairs were covered with red carpet and the banisters were gold, leading down to the street where Uber drivers and taxis and limousines pulled up and let people out. Right now a steady stream of people were arriving in various states of dress.
I took a long look at the entrance to get a feel for it, then turned and approached the bank of slot machines at the top of the stairs. It was already crowded which wasn’t surprising since it was the first place people saw when they entered. It was a totally different crowd than the card tables. Those were mostly men, whereas these slots had a better mix of sexes, and even skewed toward women. It also trended older. Much older—there was more grey hair than red, blond, and black combined. Everyone smoked. Exclusively cigarettes. The smoke rose from dozens of glowing butts, mingling into a cloud through which I had to walk.
Within minutes my throat was scratchy and dry. No wonder Carli had been excited to get away, even for just one night.
The slot machines were arranged in a grid, four long rows of squealing and flashing boxes with stools in front of each one. I walked up and down them as slowly as I could, constantly glancing at the top of the stairs in search of arriving mules.
Slot players were a needy bunch. Everyone had a drink order that needed filling, sometimes two, and if I didn’t have it back to them within a minute they were complaining. I cringed when I had a full tray of orders and had to leave my post to go fill them. During the short interludes when I was at the bar impatiently waiting for my drink orders to be filled I was certain, absolutely certain, that the mules were arriving at that moment. That they were slipping through my fingers and I’d be left apologizing to the guys for failing.
I rushed back as fast as I could, nearly dropping my drinks on the way.
The night dragged on as I watched the entrance like a hawk. I received fewer tips than normal and it wasn’t only because of the people I was serving—I was noticeably less friendly as I took their orders. I even forgot one thanks to my focus on the door, which the crabby little lady was sure to lecture me about.
But I didn’t care about tips tonight. The payout I was gunning for had six zeroes on the end.
The guys checked in on our ring devices every so often. Each time I told them there was nothing. They didn’t add further comment. In my imagination I wondered if they were disappointed in me, or thought it was my fault.
It was close to 10:00pm and I was starting to feel frustrated when the first mule showed up.
He arrived at the top of the stairs and stopped to button his jacket. He looked as Slavic as possible with his jawline and the gold chain around his neck. I recognized him immediately, and was so surprised by his sudden appearance that I did a double take. He walked with purpose like he was an employee rather than a guest, even though he was dressed like the latter.
I
shifted my tray to my right hand, rubbed my nose to bring the ring close to my mouth, and said, “Got one. Navy suit. Brown boots. Gold chain.”
There was a pause before anyone answered.
“Where’s he headed?” Bryce asked. He must not have been dealing at a table.
“Right walkway.” I followed him into the crowd, ignoring the customer who was trying to wave me down to place a drink order. “He’s heading toward the east cash counter. Now he’s walking past it.”
“Keep up with him.”
“I’m leaving my area. I can’t follow for long without sticking out.”
“On the way.” That was Eddie. “Coming from the stage area.”
“Get your ass movin’,” Xander growled.
“Working on it.”
Having their voices arguing directly into my ear was distracting. I weaved in and out of the patrons in the walkway, most of whom were in no hurry as they looked around the casino with wonder. The mule in the navy suit was drifting farther and farther away. Finally I abandoned my tray of drinks on a nearby ATM so I could keep up.
The mule took a right turn at a bank of video poker machines that led away from the outer wall and into the middle of the room. I lost visual on him for nine or ten seconds thanks to the forest of poker machines until I reached the corner myself. When I turned, I winced.
“I lost him,” I said into my hand.
“How!” Eddie demanded.
“He turned down the center cross-path that intersects with the card tables. I don’t see him anywhere.”
“You should have warned me he was coming this way,” Bryce hissed.
I kept walking in that direction, gazing up and down the rows of slots on either side of the aisle. It was a crowded night, and half the men wore suits. I swung my head back and forth, becoming more frantic with every step.
The aisle ended at another intersection in front of the card tables. I saw Bryce down in the pit looking around; he was on a break right now, not assigned to any table.
