by Jan Swick
The man went into a cubicle, so Lisa went to the washbasins and rinsed her hands. In the mirror she was aware of the closed cubicle door and the guys at the urinals craning their heads round to look at her. Some guy drying his hands was grinning at her. When he came towards her, she sneered and shook her head, and he quickly vanished with a sneer of his own.
The white guy exited the cubicle after flushing the toilet. So Lisa quickly scuttled inside and shut the door.
Meanwhile, the lady at the slot machine kissed her single purple chip, trying to bring herself some luck. Matt remembered what the ghoul had said. Hope you're lucky or control luck. He stared at the machine, using the glass to watch the room behind him. He tried to distinguish a recognisable face amongst the glittering dresses and obsidian suits that morphed and swirled and danced in the glass. He expected they were being watched, but the watchers didn't need faces on the ground for that. They had electronic eyes.
So he concentrated on the machine. The woman spun the reel, got nothing, and sat there as if in disbelief. The guy on her left seemed to decide Aston Martins weren't for him and got up. It was Daz's turn. He took the seat and Matt stood behind him. The shocked lady was still just sitting there, maybe trying to work out what had gone wrong with her Tarot cards or whatever. Control luck, Matt thought. He was getting a funny feeling. The chip had been given to them in a plush bag, by casino staff. Control luck.
Jesus, he thought. They were going to win. The eyes were watching. The chip was blessed in some way, but not by God: it contained a microchip that could trick the machine, or the watching eyes were connected to hands on magical buttons. Whatever, the chip they had been given was designed to win. They'd been given just one, under strange circumstances, and something major was planned for it.
Lisa strode through the bar and found a free armchair. She sat and watched. The black guy had gone. She saw the white guy give a nod to a new player in this game. That guy gave a thumbs up and nodded to someone else, although Lisa didn’t catch this guy. Her heart was really thudding now.
"That was quick," Daz snorted. Matt jerked himself back to the real world. “Thieving bastards.”
So much for a magical chip. Another victim claimed. They left the machine and their seat was quickly snatched by a man in a suit who carried a chip in his teeth and a bunch in his hands. Not sixteen-point-seven million, but more than one, and so he had a better chance than they'd had.
They stood quieter spot, near a pillar surrounded by tall, fake potted plants.
"Now what?" Daz said. "For a minute there I really thought they'd given us that chip so -"
"Excuse me," cut in a voice. They turned to see a man in a grey suit, middle-aged, bulky up top but with thin legs. One of those guys who lifted weights with just his torso and arms in mind, probably a vanity thing, just for looks. "I'm Mr. Carter, here to inform you that the casino manager would like a word. Nothing sinister, nothing wrong. Would you like to follow me to his office?"
Bingo.
“Stay behind me,” Daz said to Matt, who nodded like a good robot bodyguard. Off they went, single file, guy in grey leading, Daz in the middle, Matt bringing up the rear, each man five feet away from the next. The guy in grey walked purposefully and didn’t even check that his guests were following. The cameras, of course, knew they were, and the guy had an earpiece that put him in contact with whoever was watching.
They aimed a straight line for the door Matt had seen the other day, the one in the corner that was guarded by an ape in a suit. This was it. They were going in. For sure such an important door would lead them to the manager’s office. To Orbach. Matt touched his belt, just to make sure it was still there, and maybe to reassure himself. Five minutes from now and –
“You bastard,” shouted a voice from behind them. There were a hundred people talking, laughing, sighing, cursing, but decorum insisted on low volume and the loud shout cut through it all like a bomb blast. Heads turned, even that of the stony bull in grey. Daz turned. Matt turned.
Lisa was right there, her face full of anger. But that anger, surprisingly, was directed at Daz, who looked shocked.
“You cheating bastard,” she yelled again. “Who the hell is Jane? I told you that would be the last time you bloody fucked some other woman behind my back, you asshole!”
Daz opened his mouth, but nothing came. He didn’t know where to look. The guy in grey vanished, but into the mix came men in black, three of them. Standard security. To escort them out. Game over, Matt realised. Lisa stormed off as the security guys arrived.
They were told to leave, please, and a finger pointed at the exit, just in case they thought they should climb out through the roof, and the apes followed them all the way to the doors, and held them open, and thanked them for not raising a scene. Lisa had vanished, but once outside in the dark, standing there like lost children, they saw her. She was across the road, in the car park, standing by Daz's vehicle. Waiting.
“She may not shag you tonight after this,” Daz said.
They approached. No one said anything. The men took the back seat.
Lisa moved the rear-view mirror slightly so she could see them. She flicked something over her shoulder. It landed between both men on the back seat. A little oblong packet wrapped in newspaper, no bigger than a cigarette case. A second package landed beside it, but this one bounced onto the floor.
She held out her hand for the keys and they were slapped into her palm. She started the engine and pulled away. They were free of the car park before she spoke. Both men were willing to wait. They knew what the packages were.
“Bombs, you bloody idiots?”
Matt stayed silent. Daz said, “Where did you get these?”
“I saw your men, Daz. A lot of them. I followed two and found those things planted. One in a toilet. One moron planted one under a gaming table, right where people were sitting.”
“They’re just smoke and noise,” Daz said. “Subterfuge. For the escape. Which we won’t need now you’ve ruined everything.”
The look she gave him in the mirror was pure disgust. “And your men? They were still there, still lurking. They didn’t leave. No, Daz, it was not all subterfuge. They planted those things and then conveniently placed themselves near all the security guys. Planted. Like something an army commander would set up for an attack. You better explain to me right now.”
It was Matt who spoke now. He no longer sounded meek or embarrassed. And he wasn’t. Lisa had just ruined his chance to get answers, and he was growing more and more angry about it the further the car took them from the casino and Orbach and retribution.
“Attack is right, Lisa. We know damn well that Orbach hasn’t done this thing alone. There were a number of them, and I don’t have names and addresses.”
“So you were planning to make sure by getting everyone? That was your plan? You kill Orbach and Rambo here sets his dogs off and they – what? They were planning to kill all the security guys?”
“Damn right,” Matt spat. “I want them all. Every single one of them. So why did you ruin it?”
“Listen to you. All of them? The Watchdogs are all the security guys, then? No chance a few of those guys are innocents? The odd guy who just happens to actually be a security guy, genuinely hired to work in a casino? No? No chance that one of those waitresses is part of it? One of the croupiers? That seems like a better disguise than being a doorman. You really think all the men involved in Karen’s death are all nicely and conveniently packaged up in black suits and waiting in that casino? That would be God smiling down at you, if so, Matt.”
Matt didn’t speak. Daz watched both of them.
Lisa was driving fast now, but she watched the mirror more often than the road. Half a mile passed before she spoke again. Now her tone was softer.
“You were doing so well until today, Matt. So well. You did research and you took no real risk. Tonight was just wading in with giant boots on.”
Matt’s anger was gone, too. “So what do you
suggest?”
“Find out for sure who’s involved, Matt. No innocent casualties. Do some more research.”
He said nothing
The car pulled up back at the hotel car park. Daz scuttled out first without a word. It was obvious he felt awkward in the middle of what was essentially a domestic. He rushed inside, leaving Matt and Lisa alone in the car. Lisa got out and climbed into the back seat.
“I understand what it’s like, Matt," she said, stroking his hand. “You’re so near the end, and you want to rush it, get it done. It’s like a sprint at the end of a race. But that means taking risks, and we can’t take risks against these people. So tomorrow, let’s continue the research. We know Orbach’s probably involved, and we can use that to find the others.”
He grabbed her, hauled her close, and kissed her. She responded with equal vigour. He tore at her dress, yanking it up, over her thighs. She responded, again with equal vigour, tearing away his belt with ease and pulling down his trousers. She sat astride him, but he tossed her off, hard into the side of the car. Yanked her legs so she lay flat, head bent awkwardly against the corner where the door met the seat. He entered her slowly, but quickly built up momentum like a runaway train.
There was something about his intensity that she didn’t like, and it wasn’t because there was pain, because there wasn’t, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t enjoying it, because she was. What she didn't like was that he wasn’t fucking because he wanted to fuck. He was venting anger, but the intensity didn’t diminish, even when his stamina started to wane. The drive was still in his eyes even as his thrusting started to lose power.
“Let it go,” she moaned at him. It served only to intensify his wild eyes. This was some kind of bloodlust vented as sexual lust. She lifted a leg, slid it across his chest, and pushed him away, hard. He hit the other side of the car and sat there, panting. He thumped his fist against the back of the driver’s headrest.
Lisa sat up, fixed her underwear and smoothed out her dress. “I want no part of it. It’s suicide. You won’t get away with it. I won’t watch you throw your life away.”
“It’ll kill me if I think even one got out, Lisa,” he said.
She knew that. She had always known that. He could kill everyone in that casino, and that night his dreams would become nightmares as he worried that one, even just one, survived, escaped. But he was no monster. There would be guilt, too.
“This will destroy you, Matt. What if you hurt someone innocent? You’ll have both worries. They’ll tear you both ways. Tear you right down the middle like two wild horses. You have no way of knowing who is innocent and who isn’t. Don’t do this.”
He closed his eyes. He was already torn two ways, that much was obvious. When he opened his eyes again, she saw immediately that his mind was made up. There was no sitting on the fence on this. He had come down on one side. It was the side he’d already been on.
“I want no part,” she said again. She got out of the car and retook her place in the driver’s seat. Sat in silence. Waited. She still hoped Matt would come around to her way of thinking, and this looked like happening when he got out and stood by her door and looked ready to say something. But in the end he said nothing, and she drove away certain that she would never see him again.
She didn’t want to go home, because of the trouble with Adrian, but she also didn’t want to stay in London. She was torn, much like Matt was. So she stopped on a dual carriageway, just for a few seconds. It was enough. Like a runner who loses his momentum and drive after pausing, she suddenly found herself with no desire to be out driving so late. She turned off at the next side street, found a space on a residential road, and lay down in the back of the car. The morning would bring fresh ideas, she hoped.
Matt and Daz were drinking and watching TV. They spoke about various things, but not casino managers or dead sisters. Daz had called his men and aborted the plan, but only for tonight. Like Lisa, they were awaiting whatever new feelings the morning would bring.
Lisa’s morning started just after four a.m., when she woke cold and hungry. She found a McDonald’s, loaded up on fats and carbs, and drove back to the casino. She had dreamed about what she should do, and she was going to do it.
Mat and Daz slept late, past ten, and woke fresh and vibrant, and also sure of what they needed to do. Matt had come too far to give up now. Too much determination was in his blood to now rethink his entire plan. So Daz called his men and told them they were on again for tonight. Same plan. This time, he said, don’t get watched as you plant your devices. Oh, and you’ll need to get two more, because they’re in a car that’s probably in Manchester by now. Knowing that Orbach would die tonight, as well as all the other Watchdogs, Matt ate a big breakfast with a smile on his face. He willed himself to avoid thinking about guilty men who might escape the net, or innocent ones who might get caught up in it.
In the afternoon, Daz finally came off the phone and announced that he’d bloated his bank account by almost ninety thousand.
“Sold assets?” Matt said.
“Lawsuit,” Daz said. He saw Matt’s frown and added: “Something I won’t go into. Business thing. Refused to cut a deal. Just cut it. Quick cash settlement. Assets take too long to turn into cash. We need it tonight, right?”
“Hopefully.”
“Better do, because my lawyer promised me close to half a million dollars. I just got about a hundred and seventy. So this better work. Hey, you listening?”
Barely. He was at the window, thinking about Lisa –
- who was in Daz's Merc, watching the front of the building housing the casino. Earlier she had watched the rear of the casino, but something told her Orbach might have a different way out than the sloping road into the underground car park. She had also checked out a nearby residential block because he was the boss, the big dog, and the big dog might want to have his home close to his baby. But she had seen nothing of interest, no one who might match her man.
The front, then. The establishments in the bottom half of the edifice belonged to various companies, but the upper half of the building was entirely uniform windows, maybe a single office space. There might be access to that upper section from the casino. She scanned the windows, looking for movement, but there was nothing. She tried to empty her mind, focus on nothing so that movement behind the glass would draw her attention, but street activity kept breaking her trance. Cleaning staff had come and gone. A food delivery truck had been and gone. A postman had made a cameo in this production. Extras by the dozens went to and fro, just getting on with their lives. But there had been no appearance by the leading man.
An hour later, her brain was beginning to wear down. Ten hours straight she had been in the car, just watching. Lethargy turned her mind to Matt –
- who was out with Daz at a restaurant. Daz ate a fish meal alone at a table, while Matt stood nearby, alert, watchful. Other guests looked and pointed at Daz, perhaps figuring he might be a film star or powerful politician because of the Terminator-like bodyguard. It was all an act for anyone watching. Rich man, dining richly. The image would have been blown away if they had seen the car the pair arrived in – a battered Mondeo. Matt had waited until they'd left the hotel before telling Daz that Lisa had taken his expensive rented Merc.
Lisa was circling the building again. A rhombus-shape of roads allowed her to do a complete revolution every four minutes. She scanned every face and peered into every manned car, just in case Orbach was out running some errand. Some of the pedestrians were completely bald, like Orbach, but of the four she saw, one was leaning against a jalopy that no executive would own, one wore catering staff uniform, and the other two were just wrong in all imaginable ways. No joy.
Matt and Daz went to a Porsche showroom. The salesman took one look at Daz’s scruffy grey beard and told them the price of their cheapest model with a grin on his face, as if he expected them to scatter. When they didn’t, he followed them around. And each time they stopped to admire a car, he cut
in with the cost. They made sure they admired the models nearest the large windows, in case of watchers. Back at the Mondeo, Daz made a show of pointing at the car, flapping his hands in annoyance, pretending to wipe dust from it. Acting like a guy embarrassed to be near such an eyesore. Again, for the watchers, who would hopefully note the absence of both the girlfriend and the Merc and assume one ran off with the other. Matt's assurance that this would help allay suspicions didn't make Daz worry about the sixty grand rental any less.
They found an outdoor café. Daz sat alone at a table, no fish meal this time. He sipped tea with one hand and appeared to be fondling his balls through his trouser pocket with the other. Matt did his Terminator thing a few feet away. His mobile buzzed in his inside jacket pocket. He put his hand in and lifted the phone out just enough glance down and check the text message.
BIKE GUY, MY TWO.
Matt had already seen the guy with the bike. Fifty metres away on Daz’s two-o’clock, meaning ahead and to the right. Some guy in a tracksuit was locking his pushbike to a lamppost outside a newsagent's shop. And had been doing so for four minutes. Not locking it up at all, then, but watching them. So, the Watchdogs hadn’t given up on them.
Daz finished his tea and stood. Started heading in the direction of the bike man, who suddenly decided he didn’t need a newspaper that badly after all and got on his ride and vanished. But Daz and Matt knew there might be others.
Before they went back to the hotel, they found a quiet street that ran along the back of some school field and hit the gas. Ninety miles an hour in a forty zone. Just for show. Just to prove a point. Just to remind the Watchdogs that Daz really did like speed. Daz was shocked the old Ford made it in one piece.
