“No, not at all,” I said. “I just wanted to see the Janet planes while I was in town. Is there any chance your driver would take a picture of you standing with us and the jets in the background?” I pulled my cell phone out and offered it to him.
“No, sir, there’s no chance of that happening. I have to ask you to move on now.” He didn’t move, but the word
now
still sounded like a threat.
“Of course. In case you need to fill out any paperwork, my name is David Fraser, I’m from Denver, and I’m staying at the Trove. Let me know if you have any more questions. I’ll be happy to cooperate.” We got back in the limo and took off. The Jeep followed us until we passed Tropicana Boulevard.
“You got some
cojones
, bro.” Our driver snorted, shaking his head. “Those survivalists would have crapped in their pants with that guy. He was the real deal.”
“I know. That always makes it a better story.” I smiled, leaned back, and savored the rush of cool air flooding the inside of the car.
* * * *
We made it back to our booth ten minutes before our greeters showed up. Shae, Frisco, Neko, and Heather were all friends, having met while working the conventions and trade shows. Their agency had assured me all of them were shooter and role-playing gamers as well as fantasy and science fiction fans. I turned them over to Nadia after making it clear they were not to take any direction from Mitch—just myself, Rose, and Nadia.
For a moment, I entertained a fantasy that Mitch would never show up. A towering Transportation Security Administration agent would arrest him on suspicion of his feet being a bioweapon, and Mitch’s mouth would get him shipped to Cuba. The mere thought brought a smile to my face.
While Nadia ran the ladies through character generation, I broke out my laptop and went through my email. Right at the top was one from Ishmael, my buddy in the FBI. He was part of the Visitor Services Group, an association of folks who had once been Dragonbound, as I am. They tried to cover up incidents which might compromise the visiting Dragonesses, mostly as a way to cope with not being Dragonbound anymore.
The email contained a picture of me talking to the Man in Black, probably taken by the camo guy driving the Jeep. The Man in Black was on the left side of the image and only his back was showing. All the rest of us were clearly identifiable. Two of the Janet jets were right behind us on the tarmac. I clapped and pumped my fist in the air.
Under the picture, all the email said was “Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.”
I replied with a promise that I’d be good. I meant it, too; the speed with which that photo had gotten to the FBI and into Ishmael’s hands was nerve-rattling. Well, to be fair I
did
give Happy Fun Ball my name. I promised myself I’d keep my nose clean for the rest of the trip.
Most of the remaining emails were trivial matters I could deal with later. The one from the company’s lawyer was not. He was our contact for finance and investment issues, and had an investor who wanted to meet at two p.m. Friday. In the gentleman’s suite. The investor was a senior VP at the second-biggest oil company in the United Arab Emirates, and a member of one of the six families ruling the UAE.
Ever seen a cartoon duck have his eyeballs turn to dollar signs and bulge out of his head while making a cash register sound? Trust me, it hurts like a sonofabitch and makes people point at you.
Neko asked, “Are you all right? You can get dehydrated fast if you’re not careful.”
I waved and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just…got overexcited.” I looked at the email again, trying to puzzle out some of the comments at the end. “Um, Nadia, you have more Vegas experience than I do. What’s a whale with a high nine Central 15M CL?”
“Well, whales are the highest of high-rollers. They’re the kings and queens of Vegas.” She shrugged. “No idea on the rest.”
Frisco said, “High nines from Central means an average bank balance in the nine digits. That’s just under a billion dollars, cash on hand. The rest means a fifteen million dollar line of credit just for walking into the casino.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Sounds like you have a hot date.”
“Better than that. A potential investor.”
“Nice. Good luck with that.” She looked me over and shook her head. “Want some advice for harpooning your whale?”
I laughed. “Please.”
“Find out where he’s staying. Go over to the hotel, tip whoever you have to, but get to the admin for the VIP hospitality group. Ask her who handles your guy, and only refer to him as Mister A, or Mister B, whatever the first initial of his last name is. Mister X from Chicago, arriving tomorrow. She’ll know who you mean. Drop a hundred on her, and ask for ten minutes with Mister X’s host so you can ask what gifts he likes. Give him at least five hundred for his time and promise to double it if you get a favorable reception.”
Since I’m not a codfish, I closed my mouth and went back to breathing through my nose. “What if the guy says no?”
Frisco’s grin turned malicious. “You ask him what Mister X is going to say when he finds out his good buddy wouldn’t help you pick out a nice gift that says, ‘thank you for meeting with me’. You wanted to give him something you know he’d like, something personal from you to him, something that wasn’t just some random trinket, and
that guy
refused to lift a finger.”
I shook my head. “It’ll never work. He’ll see right through it.”
“David, these people
expect
to be showered with gifts. This is
Las Vegas
, and the asses of the mighty taste of gold. Pucker up and win, baby.”
She was right. I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m going to be on my knees begging anyhow. That should put his big ol’ booty
riiiiiight
...there.” I made a little popping sound as I marked the air. “Easy access from all angles. However, I can’t afford the kind of stuff he’s going to want without him giving me the money first.”
“You’re not trying to secure the deal here. You’re just trying to get him to remember you. Do that, and you’re a finalist right out of the gate.”
I nodded. “I guess I should go do a little research.”
Finding out who I needed to talk to was easier than Frisco had suggested. I called Karen. Being a VIP host herself, it seemed logical she would know the major players, and I had her cell phone number.
“Karen, this is David Fraser, Nadia Llewellyn’s employer. We met when you comped us lunch earlier today.”
“Of course. How can I help you? And by that, I mean help Nadia.”
I chuckled. “I have a meeting with a potential investor. Mister M is a high nine player with a fifteen-million credit line, coming in from the UAE. I’d like to meet with his host to discuss what kind of gifts Mister M might appreciate. I was hoping you could tell me who I should speak with.”
“Nadia told you what to say, didn’t she?”
“One of our booth greeters, actually. She’s a local and knows the system. I’m not ashamed to rely on the kindness of strangers.” Well, I was, but no need to tell her that.
“Mister M likes racehorses. American Thoroughbreds as well as Arabians. He prefers small-breasted redheads and women covered with tattoos. What he wants above all is a cure for low sperm count, because he has three wives and no children. His weakness is gifts for his wives. He’s the kind of man who gives his wife a bowling ball for her birthday, after he’s had his name engraved on it and the holes sized for his fingers.”
“Even I’m smarter than that. What do his wives want?”
“What’s in it for me, David? I’m happy to whore my resources for you…if you can afford me.”
I pictured her with warty green skin and a long, pointed nose, saying, “Show me yer gold, chump”. Yeah. Definitely a goblin. “For some reason, I think you already have something in mind.”
“Miss Nadia’s parents. I want to know anything useful you learn about them. They aren’t your standard players. You hear that a lot, but…I’ll give you an example. Mrs. C has a pet mongoose she carries with her everywhere. Fifteen years ago, at another casino, a floor manager got in her face and demanded she cage her mongoose up or leave, despite her having just lost over two million playing roulette. Mrs. C’s response was, ‘Are you sure you want to piss me off?’ She put a million on double-zero. It pays thirty-five to one. She hit. She said, ‘Let it ride.’ She hit
again
, and again she let it ride. They closed the table, but she demanded they spin again anyway. She hit.
“The casino owed her one-and-a-quarter
billion
dollars from those first two spins. As security walked her off the floor, six other roulette players at different tables hit their numbers. All six were the largest bets on the table. It kept happening while she was in the security office. When the president of the casino heard what was happening, he came down himself, reprimanded everyone, and apologized for the manager’s actions. He asked what he could do to make up for the inconvenience and poor treatment.”
“Mrs. C said, ‘This is Riki. He’s a service mongoose. I keep him with me at all times because he helps me. If he’s not welcome in this casino, I’ll go somewhere he is.’ She tore up the marker for the billion she’d won, walked out, and went back to losing at roulette. Mrs. C ended the night down a million five and tipped her dealer a hundred grand in chips. I was that dealer. The next day I got fired for conspiring with her. She found out, ripped management a new one, and came to this casino on the condition they give me a job. I started in VIP services with Mrs. C as my first client. I owe her my career, and I’ll do anything to keep her happy.”
“Understandable.” I fell silent, weighing pros and cons of yet another Faustian bargain. Well, they can’t repossess my soul more than once, right? “I’ll tell you what I find out, provided the information doesn’t put anyone at risk or otherwise cause people harm.”
“Acceptable. Mister and Mrs. C have been great customers and I enjoy working with them. I want to keep them as customers, but I don’t know how to appeal to them. I’ll tell you what you need to know, and you get me something I can use.”
“All right, I agree. However, I would like to know how you got so much information on Mister M.”
“He used to own a partial stake in a private 747, kind of a timeshare arrangement. Everyone involved usually took a large entourage wherever they went, so it made sense to use this plane instead of commercial or business-class private jets. When there was a big event here in town, sometimes the pilots would have to carry two groups of owners at once. I got to meet Mister M and his wives two or three times, since the majority owners were Mister and Mrs. C. They bought out Mister M’s share a few years back so he could put a down payment on an A380.He was the last of the co-owners still invested.”
I sat down. “Blessed Mother…I can’t even get my head around wealth on that scale. How do you cope?”
“Years of practice. Now, shall we discuss Mister M’s wives?”
A few hours later, Rose skipped through the sliding doors outside baggage claim, bounced into my arms, and belched in my face as she tried to kiss me. I can guess how I looked, because she started giggling at me. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “Giant squid burps. The meat’s too dumb to know when to stop fighting.”
I smiled at the skycap waiting behind her and held out ten bucks. He got everything stowed in the limo’s trunk while I stood there kissing my fiancée. Money well spent.
When we pulled out, I checked my watch and leaned forward to talk to the driver. “We have about ten minutes. Will you be able to get to the executive terminal by then?”
“No problem, sir, we go by it to get to the Strip. Done it lots of times.” He pulled the limo out onto the road and floored it into the tunnel running under the south half of the airport.
“Good deal. Excuse us a minute.” I rolled up the privacy barrier and handed Rose a paper-wrapped bundle. “Welcome to Vegas. I got you something slinky.”
“Ohhh….” She unwrapped the package and pulled out a deep red silk dress. She held it up against herself as best she could in the seat. “Oh, my. There’s not much fabric here. Do you really want me to put it on?”
“Very much. We’re on our way to meet a potential investor so you can give his wives a few small tokens of our appreciation.” I helped her change, and draped a string of pearls worth half my annual salary around her neck. It was on loan until tomorrow, and looked striking on her.
Rose got her shoes on just as the driver tapped on the privacy shield. I lowered it and saw we’d arrived at the terminal. I thanked the driver and gave Rose a thumbs-up. “We’re here. The names are on the packages. Bloody hell, I hope this works.”
“If it doesn’t get their attention, I’ll pop home, change, and be back a few seconds later.” Rose fluffed her hair out and gave herself a once-over. She furrowed her brow a moment, changing her face to look like she was wearing makeup and changing her physique to, well, better support the dress.
Behind the terminal, a tug was hauling a huge-ass jet with red, green, and black stripes away from the terminal. Aircraft aren’t my specialty, but I was willing to bet it was whatever an A380 is. The business jets it rolled past seemed little more than die-cast models by comparison.
Six other limos were waiting outside the terminal, along with a dozen security guards. As we got out of our limo, a guy who looked like a concrete brick wrapped in five grand of designer suit planted himself in front of us. “Please state your business or I will summon the police.”
I smiled but didn’t step forward. “David Fraser. This is my fiancée, Rose Drake. I have an appointment with Mister M the day after tomorrow. Rose felt that while Mister M and I discussed business, she wished to offer Mister M’s ladies some small tokens of respect and welcome to our country. I felt such a gesture from myself to Mister M might seem improper or presumptuous, but I hoped Rose’s gifts would be acceptable.”
The Brick smirked. “Is she a gift as well?”
“Only for the eyes,” I replied. I kept smiling. The biggest issue with Rose tearing his heart out was that it would stain her new dress.
Mister M’s party had finished going through customs and was waiting inside the terminal, watching us. The Brick stayed silent longer than I liked, but eventually pulled out a cell phone. The conversation was brief, but after he hung up, the doors opened and people moved to their respective limousines.