Double Blind

by Heidi Cullinan

  Randy stopped when he realized Ethan wasn’t standing next to him anymore. He was two shops back, staring into a window display with a funny expression on his face. “Hey, Slick—what are you doing?”

  Face going pale, Ethan pointed to a display in the window. “This is Sam’s aftershave lotion.”

  Randy peered through the glass at the poster-sized image of Nomad—available in cologne, aftershave lotion, and bar soap. He remembered it from seeing it beside the sink, but he remembered, too, using it to aid some fantastically sexy friction in Ethan’s office. “Yep. That’s the stuff. I bought it right here for Sam. Thought it was appropriate, given the way he and Mitch wander all over, and also, it smelled nice. Felt even better.”

  Ethan didn’t turn away from the poster. “Randy, do you know Crabtree’s real name?”

  “Nobody does.”

  Ethan would not move his focus from the window. “You said Crabtree had an affair with Billy Herod Senior. Is that all? Did he have an affair with anyone else?”

  “What’s going on, Slick? Talk to me. You’re freaking me out.”

  “What about Evelyn Carter?”

  “What does it matter if Crabtree fucked a dead money launderer? And what does it possibly have to do with shaving lotion?”

  Ethan broke away from the window, looking confused. “Money launderer? I thought he was a hit man.”

  “You’ve been reading too much Wikipedia. Carter wasn’t a hit man. He was the laundryman. He made money so clean you thought it just came off the press. Some people think he wasn’t even a real person. I think he was real, though. But he never killed anybody as far as I know. Nobody on a big scale, anyway. Crabtree was the hit man. Keeps himself far to the back of the room, never gets in a group picture, meets you out back with a knife or a gun. I suppose it’s possible he had a fling with Carter. But who cares?”

  Ethan looked sick. “What about the money they say Carter hid before he died? Is that true?”

  “Maybe. Why? What the fuck is this, Slick?”

  “I don’t think Evelyn Carter is dead. I think Crabtree gave me his money. It’s the only thing that explains it. And if I’m right—” He swayed on his feet.

  Randy caught him. “Baby, Carter is dead. And if he isn’t, he’s just an accountant. Crabtree isn’t going to kill you. I don’t know what he’s going to do with the casino, but it has something to do with you. He likes you.”

  “I hope so.” Ethan splayed his fingers on the glass.

  Randy turned to the display. “What the fuck is it with this poster, Slick—”

  But the word died in his throat as Randy saw the poster, the whole poster—the product, but the logo too. The name of the company, spelled out proudly and elegantly over the top of the bottle, over the entrance to the store, the store Randy had walked past and into many times.

  Crabtree & Evelyn.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  RANDY PACED BACK and forth between the bikes in the Stratosphere parking garage, trying to get a grip on reality. “Crabtree cannot be Evelyn Carter. Carter is dead.”

  Sam shook his head. “If he could make dirty money disappear, how hard would an already obscure mobster’s life be?”

  Randy hated how much sense that made. “Crabtree has a lot of money. It could be his money he’s been giving Ethan.”

  Ethan leaned against Randy’s bike. He looked like he’d fall over without it. “You think Crabtree has twenty-five million dollars?”

  Randy stopped short. “He’s given you that much?”

  “I thought it had to be wrong. I thought it was for something else. And Sarah kept telling me to send people to her who asked questions about where I was getting it. It’s not all in my account, either. It’s in investments and things all over the place, but they all come back to me. There’s a book at her desk that explains how I got them—it’s false, but it looks amazingly correct. It’s even retroactive, as if I’ve been amassing this money for years.”

  Randy had to admit it added up. There was no reason Crabtree couldn’t be Evelyn Carter. The timing even made sense—the time he died was when Billy went reclusive, and Crabtree had gone with him. For years he didn’t touch the casino at all—probably waiting things out while Nevada rotated through several gaming commissioners. Probably Crabtree had grown the big ass beard then too, and put on the weight.

  He never entered the casino from the front, and he spent as little time as possible on the floor. Because it was technically illegal for him to be there, if he was Evelyn Carter. But if Crabtree, the jolly old elf, just hung out in the shadows, who would look too closely at the mug shots?

  “But why? Why is he giving you all this money?”

  Ethan shook his head, his expression indicating he’d been asking himself the same question for some time and had given up finding the answer.

  “Because he wants Ethan to buy the casino,” Sam said.

  Both Randy and Ethan turned to him.

  Sam raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “He’s said all along he has a buyer. A buyer he never talks about, and who has never shown any official interest in the place. What he has done is get Billy to shift the assets around, to spruce the place up, and to let Ethan take full control because he thinks he’s getting the better of his uncle.”

  “Hold on.” Randy’s head was spinning. “You’re trying to tell me Crabtree gave Ethan twenty-five million dollars, which is weird enough all by itself, but then for fun decided to fuck him over for it?”

  But as soon as the words were out of Randy’s mouth, he remembered that first night, what Crabtree had said as they sat there on the couch watching Ethan play.

  The only way aces go high after falling as hard as this one has is under extraordinary circumstances. And even then it isn’t guaranteed.

  For Crabtree the pot was someone to take over the casino for him, someone who could handle it and would do a good job. Someone who would care for it. Someone who would care for Billy Senior’s greatest love—outside of Crabtree. This was all that was left of his Billy. Yes. It made sense he’d try to find someone to take care of it, someone he thought would treasure it in the same way.

  Twenty-five million dollars. What a fucking blind.

  Ethan looked thoughtful. “He’s testing me. He’s willing to give me two things near and dear to his heart, if he’s decided I’m worthy. Now I just have to show up at this game and lay down my cards.”

  Two things? Randy frowned. “You get the casino and all his money?”

  “No.” Ethan met Randy’s gaze, his expression soft. “The casino—and you.”

  Randy faltered. “He—he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

  “He does. And so do I.” Ethan pressed a kiss against Randy’s forehead. “What I don’t understand is how he’s going to get Billy’s controlling shares. It must be part of this game, but it’s not legal for Billy to toss in the deed. Is it?”

  Sam pulled out his phone. “Well, it’s probably moot anyway now. The game started half an hour ago.”

  “Oh, I suspect it’s been delayed.” Ethan took one of the helmets off the back of the bike and grinned at Randy. “Want to go play the game of your life, Ace?”

  Randy snorted. “What makes you think Crabtree is going to let a jackass like me into Billy’s Room?”

  “Because I won’t go in without you.” Ethan strapped on his helmet, then waited for Randy to climb on in front of him and drive.

  THE GAME HADN’T started without them, but as Randy predicted, Crabtree balked at having him play. “He doesn’t have the ante for the game we’re playing.”

  “Then I’ll cover him,” Ethan said, and he’d known Sam was right when he saw the flash of alarm in the gangster’s eye.

  The ante was one hundred thousand dollars, and it was all done under an honor system, apparently, because Crabtree simply handed out stacks of chips already ready for them in the room. Ethan noticed there were exactly enough and that none had been brought in extra for Randy. Crabtree had m
eant for Nick to be playing in the seat where Randy currently sat.

  Crabtree had offered Ethan his revenge—money back from what Nick had taken from him. Money Crabtree had likely assured Nick he’d get returned, and which he’d intended to rob him of on Ethan’s behalf. But Nick wasn’t here now.

  Ethan was glad. He didn’t have any interest in revenge or in the past. Just the future. And all he had to do was get there without running afoul of the law or Crabtree’s knife.

  Besides Crabtree, Ethan, and Randy, there were five other players—Billy Junior and a collection of men and women Ethan knew were the live ones in the show. He recognized Canada Cate beside him and smiled, and she returned the gesture before settling in to her seat. The chairs were buttery leather that would have made a cozy place for a nap, if they weren’t pulled up to a table of high-stakes poker. The walls were rich mahogany paneling, floors lush tan carpet. A chandelier twinkled beautifully above the green felt of the table. Four cameras were poised above them, and two microphones drooped down.

  Waitstaff of both genders slipped in and out of the room, though Ethan noticed they were not in the standard butterfly costume of the main floor. They were in more classically tailored uniforms—tasteful, but flattering. The men were also almost universally gifted with beards or at least hinted they were well-favored in body hair, and several were a little bit round.

  “What’s the pot, Crabtree?” Cate accepted an elegant umbrella drink from a waitress. Ethan thought he caught her giving a slow, seductive smile to the young lady, who returned the gesture warmly before moving on to the next gambler. Ethan knew he saw Cate admire the line of the waitress’s neck beneath her upswept hair.

  Crabtree patted his ample stomach. “A good question. Quite obviously the pot is at least eight hundred thousand. But I thought that number was a bit crass, so I’ve added an additional ante to make it an even million.”

  Everyone at the table nodded, satisfied but not exactly impressed. No one voiced this—except Billy.

  “Come on, Crabbie.” Billy gave his godfather a withering glance. “There’s no way you brought us here for spare change.”

  Ethan doubted, no matter what happened, he could ever regard one million dollars as spare change.

  “I did have one thought.” Crabtree regarded his godson with a nasty twinkle in his eye. “I’ve heard a rumor Billy here is interested in selling his casino. As it so happens, everyone at this table except for me has expressed interest in investing.”

  Beside Ethan, Randy snorted.

  Crabtree gave him a quelling glare. “Most everyone. Excepting Randy and Ethan, however, everyone else here is known to have interest and capital enough to buy, and as we can all see, this is a place with potential, thanks to Mr. Ellison’s diligent efforts. I propose a game—the winner gets the pot, and he—or she—also gets the casino.”

  Billy stood up, white-faced. “You can’t do that. It’s mine.”

  “The shares are yours—twenty-five percent outright, twenty-six percent in assets in trust, which are yours to use but the transfer of which I control. If you agree to this game, I will transfer control to you. That’s a total of fifty-one percent of the shares you would own. But to get control, you must play—and win—this game. Because your ante, boy, will be three percent of your shares.”

  Billy stilled.

  Crabtree continued. “If you win, the money is yours, as are all the shares, and you may liquidate this place or sell it, whatever you like. If you lose, you will no longer own the controlling interest, and someone at this table will own the three percent you put in the pot. I suspect we could all enter in a gentlemen’s—and ladies’—agreement that the winner will offer to buy you out to finish gaining the monopoly.” Everyone around the table except for Randy and Ethan nodded. “There, you see? You can’t lose, Billy, and if you do, it won’t be much. It certainly looks as if you have the best of it, doesn’t it?”

  The wheels of greed revolved in Billy’s eyes. “Who owns the other forty-nine percent?”

  Crabtree motioned to a corner, and a man came forward with an open binder. “Here you are, the list of shareholders. Most of them aren’t people, just entities and such. Of course, everyone here owns a share or two, at least, which you can see for yourself.”

  “Yes.” Billy looked up at Ethan. “He does too.”

  Ethan managed not to blink and shrugged to cover his astonishment. “I like Herod’s, and I know investments. I thought this place was a good one.”

  Except several of the names on the ledger were for shell companies, part of his twenty-five million dollars and fabricated investment past. Ethan owned a great deal of Herod’s already, it seemed.

  Billy considered the ledger. Ethan could see him trying to find the catch.

  Randy leaned forward. “This is all a fine plan, but if I win, I can’t buy Billy out.”

  Crabtree had an answer for this too. “Yes, Randy and Ethan are something of a problem. So since it is Billy who risks the most, we will make Randy and Ethan part of his team. If either of them wins, they may offer to buy him out of his remaining shares.” He laughed, and everyone else did too. “Or they will cede to Billy, who will get to keep his three percent and they keep the million-dollar pot. Is this agreed?”

  Billy seemed pleased, but none of the other gamblers did. “That’s a huge advantage,” a round, red-faced man beside Crabtree said. “I won’t stand for it.”

  Crabtree appeared troubled. “Hmm. I suppose Billy could put in a few percent more of his shares?”

  “Fifteen,” a sniveling, permanently unhappy-looking man said from Cate’s right.

  “Oh, that’s too much.” Cate shook her head. “I think five more would be acceptable.”

  “Ten,” a man in a cowboy hat between Billy and Crabtree said.

  “I’ll do eight.” Billy’s eyes danced. “And no more. And you’ll all increase your ante. To double.”

  This was roundly approved by all. Crabtree smiled—wolfishly—at Ethan and Randy. “The boys can owe me.”

  Randy leaned forward. “No. We’re staying in as we are.” When the rest of the table protested, he waved a hand at them. “Come on. We’re already screwed out of winning anything but the monetary pot. You all ante up and get double the chips. We’ll enter in with what we have.”

  Ethan leaned over to whisper to him as the table erupted in argument. “Do you think that was smart?”

  “None of this is smart. But they’ll take it. They know I could kick everyone’s ass here but Crabtree’s for playing, and they know I taught you. But now they have a double chip advantage over both of us, so they’ll agree. That, and they’re all pot-blind now. And fuck, Billy’s so on tilt it isn’t even funny.”

  “What’s on tilt again?”

  “Letting your emotions lead, not your logic. It’s a gift to play with someone on tilt, and Crabtree and his little performance has just wrapped up half this table in a big fucking bow. You’re right, he’s testing you. Because he wants to see if you can take it. He wants to see if you can handle this kind of heat.” He squeezed Ethan’s hand beneath the table. “You can, baby. If it’s what you want.”

  Ethan didn’t know yet exactly what he wanted, but he played along, watching as it unfolded as Randy predicted. Randy’s terms were accepted, and then the lawyers descended, collecting signatures, offering copies, answering questions until everything was satisfactory to all parties. Then, finally, play began.

  The cowboy hat went out first. Everyone else played tight, but he sashayed into each hand, always sure he could win, and he did—twenty percent of the time. Within the hour he was all-in. Crabtree descended on him, and he was out. The red-faced man followed soon after, falling prey to a trap set by Randy, and then, with a great deal of noise, Billy was gone. The sniveling, unhappy man went soon after, and then it was Crabtree, Randy, Ethan, and Cate.

  What was more interesting than who was out and who was in was how the remaining chips were distributed. Cate was the curren
t leader, but not by much. Crabtree was right behind her, and Ethan, to his shock, was just behind him. He had played tight the whole time, and as a result he had done little but amass chips one after the other. He’d never been ahead, and his won pots were usually small, but they were starting to add up.

  Randy was well behind, and Ethan had figured out a long time ago his lover played only to protect Ethan’s stack. Whenever Ethan made a bad mistake, Randy quickly outdid him and Ethan got his money back the next round. The oddest thing was, sometimes he thought Crabtree was doing the same thing, though not as well as Randy. Cate, however, played for real, and she took no prisoners. She aimed herself at Ethan, trying to draw him all-in, but Ethan wouldn’t bite. So she turned her sights on Randy—which ultimately was what did her in.

  Oh, it had been sweet to watch Randy play Canada Cate. It was the clash of the titans in skill, but what tripped Cate up was that Randy didn’t want to win. He went from the tight, stealthy plays he’d used all night to abruptly erratic moves, and she was so distracted she never noticed that though Randy was losing, she was losing more, and it was all going to Ethan. Crabtree cut it off and swept her up, but by then the damage was done. Ethan, by a hair, was the chip leader. Randy was almost out. Cate, with a rueful smile, inclined her head and left the room.

  Play turned ruthless as Ethan was caught between the other two men, Crabtree trying to win Randy’s chips and Randy trying to funnel them to Ethan. It was the strangest kind of play, and it gave Ethan a headache trying to keep up—it wasn’t about who won at all, it was about who lost and where and by how much and who picked up whose chips. He held on as best he could, and when it was over, he had managed to catch most of Randy’s salvos. He was still ahead—but only by two thousand dollars.

  One million and one thousand dollars. That was the total amount of the chips sitting in front of Ethan, and as this thought hit him, he felt it drag him like an anchor. One million and one thousand dollars. More money than he had ever had in his life, more money than he’d hoped to amass for a retirement package. Technically he had much more than this in the bank, but that was scattered about and all on paper. This was a stack of chips. This was sitting right in front of him.