Red Queen (6 page)

He told them we wanted checks for the amounts we had won, and insisted the chips be counted in front of us so that they never left our sight.

Our chips were loaded into two glass racks: one for Russ, one for me. We followed the loot and the floor manager to a cashier's window. The manager wanted to take us in the back but Russ insisted he count the chips right there on the counter. He seemed reluctant to pass through any door that could be locked behind us.

The manager agreed to Russ's terms. He called for two women who grouped the chips in stacks of twenties, after first separating them by color. Russ had won so many gold chips—worth a thousand dollars a pop—it made my head swim. Yet
Russ seemed to take it all in stride. It was just another night at the casinos to him.

The women completed my count first. $57,800.

“You've got to be shitting me,” I gasped.

“Would you like a check or cash?” the manager asked me.

“A check,” Russ replied. “Jessie, is your legal name Jessica?”

“Yeah. Jessica Ralle. Do you need my middle name?”

“It's not necessary unless your bank prefers it,” the manager said.

“Hell. My bank has probably never seen a check that large.”

The women finished with Russ's count. $642,450.

“My full name is Russell Devon,” Russ said.

“We need to see both your IDs,” the manager said. “And as I'm sure you're aware, we'll automatically be withdrawing the sum you'll owe the IRS for these winnings.”

I suddenly felt faint. Of course, I had been playing with a fake ID. I had never planned on winning an amount where they would need to see my ID, never mind withdraw money for the IRS. I leaned against Russ and buried the side of my face in his ear.

“I need to talk to you alone,” I said.

Russ asked if we could be excused for a few minutes and the manager was agreeable. We went around the corner, out of earshot, and even before I could explain what the problem was, I burst out crying.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I kept saying through my tears. Luck like
this really didn't happen in the real world. I wasn't going to get the money.

Russ stared at me with a faint smile on his lips.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You're not twenty-one.”

“I'm so sorry, Russ.”

“Relax. Did they ask for ID when you two first sat down?”

“We showed them something our friend whipped up on his computer. These guys will know it's fake.”

“I'm sure they will, since they'll want your Social Security number as well. But it's not as big a problem as you think. You're going to leave here, now, and walk across the street to the Mandalay Bay. It's only two hundred yards up the Strip. That's where I'm staying and that's where I planned to take you for coffee when we were done here. Go through the front door and take a sharp right. You'll find a coffee shop that's always open.” He checked his watch. “I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Tell them that you were obviously playing with my money and under my direction and that we changed our minds and want it all under my name. But I'll take out sixty grand in cash so you get your share tonight.”

“Will they give you that much cash?”

“They won't want to. But I'll tell them if they can handle this whole matter quietly, I'll promise to return tomorrow night to gamble. They'll go for it. At this point, all they care
about is getting a chance to win their money back.”

I wiped at my teary eyes. “I feel like such an idiot.”

He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

“Not at all. Anyone else would have gotten hysterical if they thought they had lost so much money.” He paused and glanced around. A pit boss watched us from a distance. “It's important you leave before they stop and check your ID. If they see it's fake, they'll deny your winnings.”

Just then a faint doubt stirred deep inside me.

What if I went to the coffee shop and sat there for thirty minutes and I started to get nervous with him taking so long? And what if another half hour went by and he still didn't show up? Then, finally, what if I went to the front desk and asked them to ring Russell Devon's room and, lo and behold, he wasn't registered at the Mandalay Bay?

What would happen?

I'd realize I was the biggest fool on the whole damn Strip.

“Shouldn't we meet in your room?” I asked casually.

He didn't hesitate. He pulled a room card from his pocket. “First tower. Room four-three-one-four. Be careful, that's the only key I have on me. I'll knock four times.”

I suddenly felt much better. “Great.” I went to leave.

“Jessie?” he called.

I paused. “What?”

“What's my room number?”

“Four-three . . . Ahh . . . damn, I'm drunk.”

“Four-three-one-four. Say it aloud three times.”

“Four-three-one-four. Four-three-one-four. Four-three-one-four.”

“Once you're in the room, call down for coffee and dessert.”

“What kind of dessert do you want?”

“I'll have what you're having. Now get out of here.”

The moment I stepped out of the casino and onto the busy Strip, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The night was still warm but I felt embraced by a delicious joy that cooled my brain. I had just won an impossible sum of money, I realized, but it seemed as if my happiness came from another source. Russ was not an ordinary guy, he was a magic man. I had a strange feeling that if I stayed close to him, really got to know him, I'd discover the source of his magic.

RUSS'S PLACE WAS PHENOMENAL. ON
the top floor of the Mandalay Bay, he had the corner suite facing the Strip. It had a huge bedroom, a dining area, a kitchen, and a posh living room that I believed only the rich could truly be comfortable in. I mean, I hesitated to sit on the sofa. The light brown material was so soft, so luxurious, I could drown in it. To keep from dozing, I ended up sitting in a black leather chair that overlooked the endless hotels.

Fortunately, I could reach the phone from where I was sitting. The guy down in room service referred to me as Mrs. Devon. I found the name amusing until I realized he might have spoken to a real Mrs. Devon earlier in the day. It was possible. How well did I really know Russ? The truth was, all I knew was that he was a genius at blackjack.

After placing an order for a pot of coffee and an assortment
of cakes and ice cream, I jumped out of the chair and did a hasty search of the suite. As a rule, I hated snoops, but caution told me to learn what I could about the mysterious Russell Devon while he was out of sight.

There were only male clothes hanging in the closets. He had brought two large suitcases to town; he had three full suits, and plenty of ties and shirts to choose from, not to mention four pairs of shoes, all made of rich leather. Clearly, he planned to be around for a while.

He had left a laptop running on the table in the dining area, beside a pile of flyers that were stamped with two bright red letters:
WW
. A closer look revealed that the initials stood for West World.

I assumed it was a company he worked for. I didn't study any of the brochures in detail, but read enough to learn the firm dealt with some kind of genome project—in other words, the study of human genes.

His laptop posed a real temptation. His files were open and available to be read; he had already entered his password. He had obviously left it on with the confidence he would be the first one to return to his room. I could read his private mail if I wanted to. He must have forgotten about the laptop when he had given me the key to his room.

Nevertheless, I found it odd he had left the computer on. I wasn't a privacy freak but I never left my laptop in a position where even my mother could read it.

Two things kept me from checking out his mail: the fact that I would hate it if he did the same to me, and the chance he would later discover I had done so. Russ was obviously smart; he wasn't someone to miss that kind of detail.

I returned to the comfort of the leather chair. It was a quarter past midnight. It had been a long day, an eventful day, and with the alcohol in my bloodstream, I began to yawn and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew there was someone knocking at the door; the noise woke me with a start. But the person hadn't knocked four times. Of course I had just called room service. Carefully, quietly, I crept to the door.

“Hello?” I called.

“Room service.”

“Great.” I opened the door. The guy—he was young, but quick on his feet—wheeled in a tray loaded with enough desserts for a party. What the hell, I thought. Russ couldn't be worried about the bill. After writing in a big tip for the waiter, I signed the check using Russ's name. The waiter smiled and left and I poured myself a large cup of coffee, topping it off with cream and sugar. One sip told me I was drinking coffee I had never been able to afford in my life.

Ten minutes later there were four light knocks on the door. I opened it and smiled when I saw Russ's grin and the bag of cash he was carrying. I assumed it was cash. He tossed me the leather sack, and it had that “money” feel to it.

“Did they let you take sixty grand?” I asked.

“A hundred.” He walked in and saw the tray of desserts. “Jesus, Jessie. You must be someone who doesn't easily gain weight.”

It's funny but it was only then that I took the time to size up his body. I wondered if the inspiration came from the sack of cash I held. Why did money and sex go so well together? Without a blackjack table in his way, I could see just how well-built he was. He must have worked out regularly. With such a great ass, and those blue eyes of his, he was going to be hard to resist.

However, it wasn't as if I decided to sleep with him right then. But yes, I began to think about it.

“You're wrong,” I said. “I count every calorie I eat.”

He gestured to the desserts. “How much is here?”

“About sixty thousand.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a hint?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you afraid I'm not going to give you your money?”

I shrugged, trying to act cool. “I had a good time winning it. I don't care if you keep it.”

“Bullshit!” He laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face when I asked that question. It was priceless.”

“Great. Then I just earned my money.”

“Touché.” He paused. “You can let go of it, you know.”

“What?”

“The bag of money. You're holding on to it for dear life.”

I wanted to snap at him that I didn't give a damn about the money, but he had me. I was hugging the bag so tightly to my chest I had to make a conscious effort to set it down. The bag was hard not to stare at. It represented a whole new future for me.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“How old do I look?”

“You're a tough one,” I admitted. “Your body language puts you past thirty. That's a compliment, by the way. You have a commanding presence. But if I just saw your picture, I'd say you could be as young as twenty-five.”

“Interesting.”

I picked up the bag of cash and threw it at him. “Interesting? Is that all I get? How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“I'm legal.”

“Legal for what? Not gambling, that's for sure.” He paused. “You must be between eighteen and twenty.”

“True. Now you give me an in between for your age. As long as it's only two years apart.”

He shook his head. “No can do.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I'd have to lie to you. And I don't want to do that.” He held up the bag of cash. “You know what? You're a first.”

“A first at what?”

“I threw a bag of cash at you and you threw it back. I've never seen a woman do that before. Once they have their hands on it, they usually don't let go.”

I was flattered. “I trust you. Besides, it's not really my money, and now I'm being serious. I did nothing to earn it. You're under no obligation to share it with me.”

“You trusted me. That's enough.” He set the cash down on a nearby table. “By the way, you can keep the whole hundred if you want.”

I almost fell over. I shook my head firmly. “No, absolutely not. That wouldn't be fair. After taxes, at most I should get thirty-five grand. You can't give me three times that amount.”

“I can give you whatever I want. It's up to you to accept it. You saw how much I won. The extra money won't make any difference to me. But it can help you. At the table, you mentioned how you wished you could go to the same school as Alex.” He gestured to the bag. “Well, there's your ticket.”

“Like I could walk into UCLA and pay for my tuition with cash.”

“Believe me, they would take it and not ask a single question. All the campuses in California are hurting for money. They'll be happy to let a bright young woman like you in, especially if you're not asking for financial aid.”

“It's too late to apply for the fall semester.”

“Show them the money and see what they say.”

My head spun. I retreated to my chair and my cup of coffee
and swallowed a big gulp of caffeine. The waiter had brought six different dishes of ice cream—all of which rested on ice cubes—and six varieties of cake. The dishes looked divine but my stomach was spinning along with my brain and I didn't know if could eat. Russ sat on a nearby sofa and poured himself some coffee. He took it black.

The funny thing was, I knew he was going to take it black.

“Was the floor manager upset I left?” I asked.

“If he was he didn't show it. Remember, the money you won pales compared to what I won. At this point, his job is to treat me nice so I'll feel at home in his casino and return to play some more.”