Las Vegas

by A. C. Fuller

  “That’s okay.”

  Another group joined the party. Then another. All were well-dressed and smiling. If Sunny Lee was about to get killed, there’d be a lot of well-dressed witnesses.

  “If someone took out Sunny Lee, who would it be?” Cole asked.

  “Rival gang, maybe. Or someone lower down in the NVM. More likely the latter because...” He trailed off, frowning.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Something’s not right here.”

  For the next half-hour, she ate her sliders and watched another dozen people enter through the side door and disappear into the back. As each new group entered, she became more and more convinced that Takigawa had it wrong. When the clinking of glasses sounded from the banquet hall, she stopped expecting to hear a gunshot. She dropped her napkin on her empty plate. “Rob, what if this is just a party? An actual retirement party?”

  “A retirement party, not a retirement party.” He used air-quotes to make his point. A look of recognition crossed his face. “Oh, damn.”

  He glanced at Takigawa, who stared, stone-faced, at his salad.

  “He got an earpiece in?” Cole asked.

  “Probably. Likely getting feedback from the vans outside. Guess is they’ve had wires on every inch of this club for a while. Maybe video. Which adds to your theory. Why would someone commit a murder here of all places?”

  Another half-hour passed. No more guests arrived, but raucous laughter spilled out of the banquet hall at regular intervals. Warren got another coffee. Cole took a shot of tequila, and Warren stopped her when she tried to order another.

  An hour passed and the club filled up with younger people, for whom the night had just begun.

  A DJ appeared on a raised stage in the corner. Etheric string and horn music filled the club. Soon after, the men and women they’d seen entering through the side door began streaming out of the hall in small packs. One group came out, smiling and laughing, stopping only to take a group selfie with the club in the background.

  “What the hell?” Warren asked.

  The dreadlocked woman across from Takigawa left. Takigawa paid, then followed her out.

  “What the hell?” Warren repeated.

  Cole shook her head, paid the bill, and followed Takigawa out of the club.

  Outside, Takigawa was talking through the front window of a brown van. As Cole approached him, he turned, “Hold on.”

  His head back in the van, he lowered his voice so Cole and Warren couldn’t hear them. After a moment, he joined them on the curb across the street from the club.

  “Lemme guess.” Cole’s voice was pure snark. “Mistakes were made?”

  Takigawa hung his head.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Warren said.

  Takigawa stepped toward them, shooting a look behind him at the van. He wasn’t supposed to be sharing with them, but he seemed as dejected as Cole felt. “It was an actual retirement party. Sunny Lee officially passed the torch to Nathan Jackson. He’s the new head of the organization. We don’t know if it’s real or not—I’m guessing not. Probably knew the club was bugged. They were careful not to mention anything illegal. But the party was…” He looked at the ground.

  “An actual retirement party,” Warren said. “We’re nowhere.”

  A group emerged from the side door, led by the smiling blond woman in the black dress. Sunny Lee. She strolled right up to Takigawa and lit a cigarette, studying him as she inhaled.

  She blew the smoke right in his face. “Thanks for coming to my party, Alan. Tell your interns to hurry up and start combing through my successor’s Instagram account.” She laughed and continued down the block, followed by her crew.

  Cole let her head fall back, staring straight up into the dark. At least, for once, she and Warren were in total agreement. “We are absolutely nowhere.”

  17

  “I’m not going to London,” Cole said. “I’m going home.”

  They’d been wandering the casino for an hour—past clothing stores and coffee shops and restaurants, all closed for the night. They’d weaved through banks of slot machines and card tables, populated by a mix of twenty-somethings on their way to or from the clubs, sad-eyed gamblers with cigarettes dangling from their lips, and businessmen wandering around with drinks, looking for companionship.

  Now they followed a red carpet that weaved through the center of the casino, back in the direction of the elevators.

  “Hear me out,” Warren said.

  “You made your case, and I get it. The fourth murder happened in London. You want to keep researching this thing. I’m telling you it’s not gonna happen.”

  “Michael Wragg knew something about Matt. What he told you, coded as it was, matches what Frankie said. Go back to New York, get a lawyer...you’ll be stonewalled for years. Go to London and—”

  “Every detective in London is probably working this thing now. MI5. And who knows what kind of people the Saudis have flying to London right now to help?”

  In their manifesto, the killers had announced nine murders. Cole’s map had told the world which cities would be targeted. The story now led every hour on every news channel in the world and dominated the front pages of every newspaper.

  Even the late-night shows joked about it. One spoof Cole saw on a muted TV was a fake tourism ad for all the cities not included on the map. Come visit Seattle: We’re NOT on the map. Or See Beautiful Houston: NOT a target of deranged killers! Tasteless, sure, but the image had spread far. It gave the cities on the map a better chance of protecting themselves.

  “I have an old professor in London,” Warren said. “Expert on political history and extremist movements.”

  “How will that help?”

  Warren went quiet for a minute, then said, “Might not. But if Wragg knew something, it meant he had access to files somehow.”

  “Wragg’s dead.”

  “But the folks he was working with—or for—aren’t.”

  A group of people in their twenties spilled through a door, followed by the heavy beat of electronic dance music. “It’s two in the morning,” Cole said. “Some of the clubs are letting out. This is why Matt and I never visited Vegas.”

  “Why?”

  The twenty-somethings were drunk and staggering, some wide-eyed like they were on drugs. Two of the young women kissed, then one rolled an ankle, stumbled against a garbage can, and fell over. A young man pulled her up and she vomited on him. A security guard appeared out of nowhere and ushered them away. “That,” Cole said. “The desperation. I already know enough about the sorry, desperate state of humanity. I don’t need a closer look.”

  As they neared the elevator, Warren stopped short. Cole followed his eyes to a short woman with light brown skin and black hair that was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wore blue jeans and a black top, a silver and black laptop bag slung over her shoulder.

  Warren stared for a long moment, then his face broke out in the widest grin she’d ever seen from him. “Gabby!”

  They sat at a low table in a dark bar. Gabriella Rojas had taken a seat with her back to the wall and, as she spoke, she glanced past Warren and Cole, who sat opposite her. She struck Cole as living on a line between hyper-vigilant and outright paranoid.

  “How’d you find us?” Warren asked. “And why?”

  “The how was easy,” Gabby said. “Credit cards. The why is a, well...a little more complicated. The last two years, I’ve been leaking NYPD documents to a half dozen news outlets around the world. Once I made it to JTTF, I gained access to a lot more info. FBI records. I started leaking them. Never anything that put a life in danger. Only things the public needed to know. Corruption. Incompetence.”

  Cole watched Warren take this in. He didn’t say a word, just shook his head in disbelief.

  “You’re the Edward Snowden of the NYPD?” Cole asked.

  “I guess, though I think he was out for his own reasons, too. I’ve lost everything.”

  “What do you mean?” Wa
rren asked.

  “That’s why I’m here. Someone caught wind I’d helped you. I had to disappear.”

  A waiter set down two coffees, plus a tequila for Cole.

  “Mazzalano?” Warren asked.

  “Nah. He had a side hustle protecting dropgangs. He oversaw Wragg’s pickup of the nine rifles, but he didn’t know anything about what Wragg was up to. Don’t worry, that scumbag will hear from me soon. But this thing goes higher.” She looked from Cole to Warren, giving her statement time to sink in. “That’s why I’m here.” She slid a large envelope across the table. “Passports. Tickets. Visas. I can’t get out of the country right now. You two need to go to London.”

  “What?” Cole asked. “Why?”

  “I have a theory, and you’re in the best position to test it.” She held Warren’s gaze for a moment, then turned to Cole. “Which is what you both want to do anyway.”

  Cole nodded. “What’s the theory?”

  “Killing these people—Ambani, Meyers, Diaz, now Mohammad bin Muqrin—won’t actually achieve the stated ends of the group that claimed responsibility. Killing them won’t end globalization, won’t stem immigration, won’t make international banks any less predatory.”

  “True,” Cole said. “But isn’t terror the point of terrorism? Even if it won’t change anything long term, it’ll still make their point.”

  Gabby sighed.

  Cole shot her tequila, studying Gabby’s eyes. She seemed to be looking for the right words, as though she knew more than she wanted to say.

  She glanced at Warren, who shrugged. He was probably still processing the revelation that, as Gabby had climbed the ranks of the NYPD, she’d been illegally leaking documents all along. Cole doubted this sat well with him.

  “Michael Wragg was an old man,” Gabby said firmly, as though she’d finally landed on an approach. “Tech-savvy, sure, but no criminal mastermind.”

  “The manifesto mentioned a General Ki,” Cole said. “Presumably he’s the real mastermind.”

  “And I don’t know who that is. I’d tell you if I did.” She spoke slowly, firmly, choosing every word carefully. The more she spoke, the more Cole trusted her. “Someone is organizing this thing. Someone smart. Someone powerful. But ask yourself this: What if a ragtag group of extremists didn’t simply band together on the Internet under the leadership of the mysterious General Ki? What if the folks doing the killings and releasing the manifesto weren’t capable of carrying out the most complex terrorist attack since 9/11? What if the stated aims of the terrorists, the mission they articulated in the manifesto, is just a sideshow? A diversion?” She tapped the envelope.

  Warren picked it up. “Passports and plane tickets?”

  Gabby nodded and looked at Cole. “Go to London, Jane. I’ll be here looking into things as best I can, and I’ll be in touch when I can.”

  Cole took the envelope from Warren. “Gabby, you know my situation, right? My husband?”

  She nodded. “Warren told me a bit.”

  “At this point, all I want is to find out what happened to him.”

  “I can’t help you with that,” Gabby said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  Warren added, “You’re not likely to get the answers in New York. Like I said, too much red tape.”

  Gabby stood and scanned the bar like she was planning her escape. She looked down at Cole. “Honestly, if you figure out who’s really behind this, it’ll answer all kinds of questions.” With that, she strolled out of the bar, ducked between two rows of slot machines, and disappeared.

  Cole opened the envelope and examined the plane tickets. “Flight leaves at nine in the morning.”

  Warren took out the passports. “They look pretty real. Very real, actually.”

  Cole put the tickets back in the envelope. Warren added the passports.

  She looked around the bar. Warren stared at the table. Neither said a word. They both knew what they had to do next.

  —The End—

  The Crime Beat: Complete Series List

  Click the image to reach the series page for The Crime Beat, or find individual titles below. Prior to the spring of 2020, some of the later episodes may be on pre-order.

  Episode 1: New York

  Episode 2: Washington, D.C

  Episode 3: Miami

  Episode 4: Las Vegas

  Episode 5: London

  Episode 6: Paris

  Episode 7: Tokyo

  Episode 8: San Francisco

  Episode 9: Los Angeles

  Author Notes, October 2019

  Thanks for reading Episode 4 of The Crime Beat!

  While writing this episode, everything went wrong. My computer died, my kids got sick (nothing serious), and the weather turned cold. So it’s been a rough month. But the phenomenal response to Episodes 1-3 of The Crime Beat has kept me motivated. So, thank you!

  If you’re reading this before November 12, Episode 5 is available for pre-order. If you’re reading this after November 12, it’s available for sale.

  I’m working with a consultant on this series, a man named Gary Collins. I met Gary at the 20Books Writing Conference in November of 2018, and we hit it off right away. For The Crime Beat, Gary is providing important insights into weaponry, military life, and police work. He’s also a consistent sounding board and story fixer. Many of the coolest little nuggets in this series were his idea. In addition to having a military and law enforcement background I don’t have, Gary is the author of seven non-fiction books. Find out more about them, and about Gary, by flipping a few pages.

  Now, some thanks…

  Special thanks to everyone in the A.C. Fuller Fiction Fans Group on Facebook. Your interest in my work—plus your constant support and encouragement—keeps me going.

  Thanks to the good people at Rocking Book Covers, who designed the art for all the books in The Crime Beat series.

  Thanks to Chet Sandberg, who edited this book.

  Thanks to my wife Amanda, who read multiple versions of this book and improved it in so many ways.

  Gary, Chet, and Amanda all fit this project in last-minute, and I can’t thank them enough.

  And to the readers who enjoy my books, thank you so much!

  Over the next few months, The Crime Beat will be taking me all around the world. I hope you’ll come along for the ride!

  A.C. Fuller

  About the Author

  Once a journalist in New York, A.C. Fuller now writes stories at the intersection of media, politics, and technology. He also teaches writing workshops around the country and internationally.

  Before he began writing full time, he was an adjunct professor of journalism at NYU and an English teacher at Northwest Indian College.

  He now lives with his wife, two children, and two dogs near Seattle. For a free copy of one of A.C.'s books, check out: www.acfuller.com/readerclub.

  And he loves hearing from readers.

  www.acfuller.com

  ac@acfuller.com

  Other Books By A.C. Fuller

  THE ALEX VANE MEDIA THRILLERS

  Follow journalist Alex Vane from 9/11 into the social media age in the breakout thriller series from A.C. Fuller.

  The Cutline

  (An Alex Vane Prequel Novella)—Available free, and only though my website

  The Anonymous Source

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 1)

  The Inverted Pyramid

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 2)

  The Mockingbird Drive

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 3)

  The Shadow File

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 4)

  The Last Journalist

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 5)

  AMERITOCRACY

  The two-party system was broken, so Mia Rhodes created an alternative. Welcome to Ameritocracy, the new political series readers are calling "The West Wing meets Survivor" and "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington for the social media age."

  Open Primary


  (Ameritocracy, Book 1)

  Off Message

  (Ameritocracy, Book 2)

  Echo Chamber

  (Ameritocracy, Book 3)

  PRAISE FOR A.C. FULLER’S BOOKS:

  "A talented new writer sure to do damage to the best-seller lists."

  -Robert Dugoni, #1 Amazon and New York Times Bestselling Author of My Sister's Grave

  "Elite Indie Reads anticipates that Fuller will soon be a household name."

  -Elite Indie Reads

  "An ode to American news served just the way I like it--fast, bloody, and utterly righteous."

  -Roger Hobbs, New York Times Bestselling Author of Ghostman

  About Gary Collins, Consultant on THE CRIME BEAT

  Gary Collins has a unique background that includes military intelligence, Special Agent for the U.S. State Department Diplomatic Security Service, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, and U.S. Food and Drug Administration. Gary’s background and expertise bring a much-needed perspective to the topics of simple living, health, nutrition, entrepreneurship, self-help and self-reliance. He holds an AS degree in Exercise Science, a BS in Criminal Justice, and an MS in Forensic Science.

  His website, www.thesimplelifenow.com, and The Simple Life book series (his total lifestyle reboot), blow the lid off of conventional life and wellness expectations, and are essential for every person seeking a simpler and happier life.

  You can find all his books on Amazon here.

  The Simple Life Guide To Financial Freedom: Free Yourself from the Chains of Debt and Find Financial Peace