“Looks like most of the police and the newspaper are onto this, and a lot of people have been taken, not just Ben. So far, everyone’s keeping a lid on things, but I doubt, and so do others, that lid’s going to hold much longer.”
My stomach twisted. The last thing we needed at this point was a panic, a mass exodus away from casinos and Las Vegas.
“Heard you talked to Stan last night,” Screamer said. “Did he give us any help?”
“Some,” I said, surprised that Screamer knew I had met with a gambling god. Maybe Screamer had done the same thing. “Stan told me how big this problem really is, gave me a couple of warnings and a suggestion or two.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll chase down what leads I can, then catch up with you and Patty at the diner. How does around noon sound?”
“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks, Screamer.”
“No problem,” he said. “You just be careful. From everything I hear these ghost slots are not something to be fooled with lightly. And I doubt that if there are people behind this mess, they are either.”
“Stan said the same thing. You watch your back as well.”
“Doing just that,” Screamer said. “No worries, we’ll tackle them together.”
With that he hung up, leaving me holding the phone and very much awake. And very glad he was helping me.
The clock on the nightstand said two minutes after six in the morning. Way too early for a poker player to get up.
Poker players are, by the nature of the game, night people. I have seen six in the morning more times than I want to think about, but always from the night side, almost never from the morning side. I don’t care what anyone says, getting out of bed before the sun comes up is just not natural.
Still, with Screamer’s words echoing in my mind, I bid a final goodbye to the last dream-thoughts of a gambling goddess, climbed out of bed and did all the things a person, or superhero, does to get ready for a day.
By seven in the morning, the sun was up, and I was drinking coffee and reading the morning newspaper in the diner across Front Street from the Horseshoe.
I silently thanked all the gambling gods that Madge wasn’t there.
The paper had three reports of people going missing, but they were scattered and buried. Only one report mentioned the fact that the person had vanished from a casino. All three were tourists and the newspaper said the police were working at their cases. The big story was staying buried.
So far so good.
At a few minutes after eight, Samantha, her dog, Sue, and Patty joined me.
Patty somehow managed to be stunning, even early in the morning. She wore no make-up, faded jeans, and a tucked-in white blouse that gave just enough hint of the white lace-trimmed bra underneath to be alluring. Her hair seemed to shine in the diner light, and she had pulled it back exposing my favorite mole for the entire world to see.
Samantha, on the other hand, looked like she hadn’t slept all night, had barely managed to get dressed this morning, and was in desperate need of coffee. Not even her black glasses could hide the rings under her eyes.
“Good morning, ladies,” I said, tossing my paper aside and standing to let them join me in the booth.
Patty gave me a beaming smile and a “Good morning to you as well.”
Then she helped Samantha into the booth and stepped back as Sue curled up at her master’s feet.
“How was your night?” Patty asked as she slid into the booth and against the wall on my side. “You or Toledo get any leads?”
“Screamer’s following one now,” I said, doing my best to ignore her wonderful raspberry smell and the closeness of her arm against mine in the booth. “He’s going to meet us back here at noon.”
“Good,” Patty said.
I kept talking because it was the only way I knew to not just stare at her.
“I talked to a friend of mine last night up in the tournament room, called in a marker, and got a little help as well.”
Patty turned sideways, moving her arm away from mine so she could look at me with a steady gaze. “Anyone I know?”
“Not unless you know some of the gambling gods,” I said, smiling at her, pretending to be joking. I often figured that the best way to tell someone something they wouldn’t believe, and get them to change the subject, was to flat tell them the truth.
“Oh, yeah, right,” Samantha said from the other side of the booth, shaking her head in clear disgust.
Patty, on the other hand, kept staring at me, then just nodded slightly.
I was starting to gain a lot of respect for Patty. Clearly my current sidekick knew a lot more about the behind-the-scenes working of Las Vegas and the gambling world than I was giving her credit for.
Plus, she was beautiful, smelled wonderful, and had hair a person could get lost in while searching closely for a mole.
“I’m going to the police again right after breakfast,” Samantha said, clearly upset, as she had every right to be. “I’m going to make them start looking for Ben if I have to stand there and just scream.”
“Good idea,” I said, turning my attention from the allure of my sidekick to the task at hand. “You never know when we might need their help.”
I didn’t tell her that I had no doubt the police were already working on finding Ben. And all of the others taken by the slots before him.
Samantha seemed a little surprised that I had agreed with her that quickly. Clearly, she still thought we were trying to run some scam on her, and had discounted the images of her husband Screamer had put into her mind last night. I didn’t blame her. Believing that a person could be taken by ghost slot machines wasn’t easy, even for someone like me who was used to the strange happenings.
Many, many of the people I help don’t believe I can help them at first. It’s an occupational hazard of being a superhero. In fact, I bet if there was ever a convention of superheroes, and we had panels and meetings about the problems we all faced, this would be one of the main topics of discussion. After all the years, I had gotten used to it, and having a person like Samantha not believe in the real problem didn’t even surprise me.
“I agree,” Patty said, nodding to me, then turning to talk directly to Samantha. “I’ll be glad to drive you down to the main station after breakfast. I have a detective friend there that will waive the forty-eight hour waiting period for me if I ask real nice.”
I’d waive anything if she asked nice, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“Thank you,” Samantha said, some of the anger draining from her posture. “That would be really helpful.”
“Help is why we’re here,” I said. “Besides, they frown on people standing in the lobby of the police station screaming. It gives Las Vegas a bad image.”
Patty gave me a beaming smile that reached her eyes, and Samantha actually laughed as the waitress came up to take our order.
The morning waitress wasn’t a lot better than Madge in looks, but clearly younger by about twenty years, and lighter by forty pounds. Her name was Fran, her hair was bleached blonde, and her make-up heavy in the purple eye-liner department. The coffee pot in her right hand seemed to be glued there as she listened to our orders, asked the right toast and hash-brown questions, and then went off with a “Got it.”
She hadn’t written anything down, which seemed almost magical to me. How could she remember all that, plus have a conversation with the booth next to ours while refilling their coffee cups? Of course, what I do at a poker table looks like magic to some people, so I guess it’s just where a person’s focus is. And where they make their living.
Who knows, maybe Fran was a superhero in the waitressing world. Maybe she went around saving truck drivers with bad body odor with the help of the waitressing gods. I know for a fact there are such things as evil bacon, and Mexican food with a bite. So why couldn’t there be superhero waitresses who rush in to save the day like we’re trying to do with Ben?
“So what’s the plan?” Patty asked after
Fran left.
“Well,” I said, “after we help Samantha get Ben officially reported as missing with the police, you and I could do some tracking. My source last night tells me the best thing to do is try to track the machines to where they live, which I assume meant where the old machines are stored.”
“You think they’re stored and haven’t been destroyed?” Patty asked.
“I would bet just about anything on it,” I said. “My source also told me they can only move around in the time frame which they existed, which means since Ben was taken yesterday, those things still exist somewhere.”
“We just have to find them,” Patty said, nodding. “Which means we have to figure out where the old Valley Slots graveyard is.”
“Wouldn’t it be owned by Standard Slots now?” I asked. “Since they bought out Valley a long time ago?”
“More than likely,” Patty said. “I called my dad last night and he gave me a name to contact at Standard Slots. But he seems to think that there is still a Valley Slots graveyard somewhere.”
“Graveyard?” Samantha asked, clearly not liking the sound of the term.
“It’s what they call the monster warehouses in which they store the old slot machines,” I said.
“Why don’t they just haul them to the dump?” Samantha asked.
I shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not one hundred percent certain, but from what I’ve heard over the years, it has to do with their value. Some are junked, others have parts switched out to working machines, but by-and-large, they just store the things.”
“I heard it was taxes,” Patty said. “And corporate valuation. A corporation just can’t go throwing away assets, even though the assets have no real use any more. Plus, I think there are regs that make junking a slot machine more expensive than just renting a giant warehouse and storing them in mass.”
Samantha nodded, then asked, “So how many machines are in these storage places?”
“I doubt anyone knows,” I said. “I’ve seen basements full of the things, warehouses stacked with them, and hallways in the backs of hotels lined with the things.”
“Oh,” Samantha said. “And you think you’re going to find four of them from more than a decade ago?”
Patty and I sat there looking at each other, not answering her. Samantha had a point. Las Vegas was a haystack made up of hundreds and hundreds of thousands of slot machines. And we weren’t even looking for a needle. We were looking for a piece of hay.
A very old piece of hay.
Chapter Ten
A NAP AND A SEARCH
I TOOK A NAP right after breakfast. Yes, superheroes take naps. I know that blows the image built with decades of comic books and movies, but it is true. It’s just tough for those comic book artists to draw naps, and besides, when naps are done right, they’re really boring.
My nap was done perfectly.
After breakfast, Patty took Samantha down to the police station to file the missing person’s report. She was going to call me in my room when she got back.
I had intended on making a few phone calls to find out what had happened to Valley Slot’s slot graveyards, but it only took one call to a friend of mine at city hall to get the address of what he thought was the only Valley Slots graveyard left, owned, of course, by Standard Slots.
I sort of remember sitting there on the bed after hanging up the phone.
The soft bedspread had looked so inviting.
What would it hurt to just stretch out there and think for a few minutes?
I told myself that.
Just think.
Patty’s call woke me an hour later. It was six minutes before ten in the morning.
“Any luck?” Patty asked without saying hello.
The sound of her voice had me instantly awake. “Yeah, got us an address. I’ll be right down.”
“Meet you in front of the main desk. I’m double-parked so don’t take long.”
She hung up.
I sat there for a moment wondering if I had just dreamt that call, finally convincing myself I hadn’t.
I tossed a handful of water on my face, combed my hair enough so that it wouldn’t look slept on, put on my hat and Poker Boy leather coat, and headed out the door.
By the time I hit the lobby, I was feeling much, much better, and ready for a day of work.
“Good nap?” Patty asked, smiling at me.
I managed to not show I was surprised at the question. “Naps are always good.”
Patty laughed. “You poker players are all alike.”
“A society of nappers, huh?”
“Pro nappers,” she said, still laughing as she led the way out of the casino and into the warm morning air.
I could tell the day was going to be hot again. Considering it was still April, I would wager the high desert was going to be in for a really hot year.
Patty had a new model Honda, which looked a lot like most other mid-sized cars being made. It was the first halfway-plain thing I had seen about her. But even though it was a dull design, the inside of the car was clean, the air conditioning kept me comfortable, and the car had acceleration enough to get through traffic just fine.
Patty drove like a professional, smooth and direct, changing lanes when she needed to, and driving ahead, watching for problems. And she didn’t tailgate. So far, even with a dull, regular car, there was nothing about this woman I didn’t like.
When I gave Patty the address I had gotten from my friend in city hall, she started out what was called the Old Boulder Highway without hesitation. They’ve built a freeway along the same route, but Patty stayed on the old highway, going past the dozens of strip malls, old motels, and small casinos that lined every mile of the old highway.
What people think of as Las Vegas was actually made up of four medium-small cities. There was Las Vegas, North Las Vegas, Henderson, and Boulder City. There were actually a number of other smaller towns as well, but they had been pretty much swallowed by the growth of the other four.
I let Patty focus on her driving while I worked on how we were going to get into the warehouse. We sure couldn’t just tell whoever was guarding the place that we were looking for the home of a ghost slot machine. Never work.
By the time Patty turned off the old highway onto a side road just south of Whitney, which is sometimes called East Las Vegas, I had us a cover story.
She pulled the car into the tumbleweed-covered parking lot of a giant warehouse and put it in park, letting the air-conditioning run on low. She looked at the huge metal building and then turned to me with a smile. “Now what?”
I could see the faded address numbers on the side of the building. It was clear that unless there was a security guard roaming the place, we weren’t going to need a cover story. From the looks of this building, I doubted anyone had been around it for years. The desert sun had taken the metal to a dull gray, and the winds and sand had removed any sign that the place might have been painted at one time in the past.
“We go in, I guess,” I said, shrugging. “And in case anyone stops us, we’re thinking about working on a book about old slot machines, and trying to get an idea what some of them looked like.”
“Good cover story,” she said, nodding. “But I doubt we’re going to need it here. More than likely, we’re going to have to go to the Standard Slots main office and get someone to bring us back and let us in.”
“Yeah,” I said, shoving the door open, “but we should take a look around first.”
I was hoping we wouldn’t have to waste time going to the main office, and with what Stan had told me, I really didn’t want anyone from Standard Slots to know we were even looking around, just in case they were involved with the kidnappings. It never hurt to be careful.
The highway noise from a few blocks over cut through the warm air as we started toward what looked to be a main door. The warehouse had four large, drive-in bay doors and a regular-sized door beside the bay door on the left.
Since I was a good blo
ck from the closest casino, I wasn’t sure if my superpowers would work. Sometimes, I had what I called hold-over powers if I had spent a lot of time in a casino right before I needed the power. Spending the night in the Horseshoe might be enough, and having a small casino a block away would be a little help. At least I hoped it would, because I was going to try using a power I very seldom got to use. I called it my Open-Says-Me Power.
It worked like a charm the few times I had had to use it on locked casino doors. I had no idea if it would work on this warehouse door.
“Looks closed up tight,” Patty said. “I’ll bet no one has even checked on this place in six months.”
“True,” I said, shrugging. “But maybe we’ll get lucky.”
I took hold of the door knob and then, focusing my power like I was studying a guy trying to bluff me off a pair of queens, I turned the knob and heard the dead-bolt slide back. I smiled at Patty and opened the door.
The door made a scraping sound on the sidewalk as it opened, and let out cool, musty-smelling air from the dark inside.
“Looks like we got lucky,” Patty said. She was shaking her head and half frowning at me. But I could see amusement in her eyes as well, and maybe a little fondness. Or maybe I just hoped to see the fondness.
“Hello!” I shouted into the warehouse as I stepped into the darkness.
The sound of my shout echoed back at me.
“No one home,” Patty said, moving in to stand beside me, leaving the door open behind us. “Now that’s a surprise.”
“The trick is going to be finding the lights,” I said.
I went left along the wall, Patty moved right. A moment later I heard a few loud clicks from Patty’s direction and the warehouse flooded with light.
“Oh, my,” Patty said, moving over to stand by me as I stared at what stretched out in front of us.
The place looked a lot bigger inside than it did outside, with fourteen aisles big enough to drive a forklift through. And on each side of every aisle, sometimes stacked in crates, were slot machines.
“There have to be thousands in here,” Patty said.
Slots of Saturn: A Poker Boy Novel Page 6
