She came to the Cleopatra and her attention was immediately drawn to the side-by-side Tigris and Euphrates Towers. Her eyes drew along the mirrored glass of the top floor of the Euphrates Tower and held momentarily on one window.
Her eyes dropped to the rising triangular form of the glass atrium that covered the sprawling casino twenty floors below. The reflection of the sun was as sharp as a diamond on the side of the mirrored glass uprising. The complex was set almost a hundred yards off the Strip and the entrance drive took the visitor past a series of reflecting pools at graduated levels and from which fountains rose in a choreographed water dance. Set in the reflecting pools were pure white statues of children at play - all under the benevolent eye of Cleopatra, who sat in a throne at the edge of the highest pool. Behind her, an Egyptian motif was integrated into the modern design of the sand-colored exterior of the hotel and casino.
Cassie drove by and waited with the traffic to turn onto Flamingo and head out into the industrial warrens on the west side of the city. She couldn't help but think about Max. About their times here. About the end. She had not expected such biting pain and regret upon her return. The landscape of Las Vegas was always changing, reinventing itself. She had not expected a place that was essentially just a facade to have such a nostalgic resonance. But it was there and it burned. She had not been with another man since Max and she was sure she never would be. Perhaps, she thought, this pain was all she would ever have. That she should embrace it. But then she remembered there was more. There was the plan out on the horizon.
Hooten's Lighting & Supplies was located in an industrial complex near an elevated section of the freeway. It had been there for almost forty years, though its business had changed markedly over that time. Originally a wholesaler of lighting equipment to the casinos, its business had evolved more into the arena of electronics. It was no longer simply a supplier but a manufacturer as well. HLS now built and sold much of the sophisticated surveillance equipment employed in the casinos in Nevada as well as in gaming rooms on Indian reservation land throughout the West.
What the operators of HLS and the casinos that purchased the equipment were not aware of was that inside the company there was at least one person who made the same technology available - for a price - to those intent on circumventing the casino security systems the company installed.
Cassie parked the Boxster in the fenced rear lot, where the installers parked their trucks at night, and went in through the back door. Once inside she stood still for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. When she could see clearly, her attention was drawn to the long counter that ran the length of the right side of the no-frills equipment-and-catalog room. Behind the counter were a half dozen men working with customers or working the phones. Most of them had copies of the thick HLS catalog open in front of them and were writing down orders. Cassie noticed that not much in the place had changed. The same slogan that had been painted along the wall behind the counter seven years ago was still there.
IN GOD WE TRUST
ALL OTHERS WE MONITOR
It took Cassie a few seconds to spot Jersey Paltz. He was working on the phone at the far end of the counter. He had a beard now and more gray hair. But he still had the ponytail and the silver loop earring. It was him.
Paltz hung up just as Cassie stepped up to the counter but he didn't look up at her. He finished writing notes on the top page of an order book. Reading upside down, Cassie could see the order was from the Tropicana. She spoke while he was still writing.
"So, Jersey, too busy to say hello to an old friend?"
Paltz finished the line he was on and then looked up smiling. The smile faltered a little and his face showed the slow register of recognition.
"Cassie Black?"
Cassie nodded and smiled.
"Hey, girl, sure been a long time. When did you . . . uh . . ."
"Ten months ago. I just haven't been around. After High Desert I moved to California. I like it out there. Where I live the temperature only hits trips a few times a year."
Paltz nodded but there was hesitation there. Cassie could easily read him. He was realizing she wasn't there to make old acquaintances - there had never been anything but a business relationship between them in the first place. She glanced around to make sure their conversation was private and then leaned over the counter, her elbows on his open catalog and order book.
"I need a kit. Full rig, at least three cameras, and one has to be green."
Paltz put the pencil he'd been using behind his ear and shook his head once without looking directly at her.
"I'm going to need a pair of NVGs and a roll of Conduct-O tape, too," Cassie added. "I stopped at Radio Shack on the way over and they don't sell the tape anymore. The rest of the tools I brought with me."
"Well, that might be a problem," Paltz said.
"The goggles or the tape?"
"No, all of it. We don't . . . I mean, I just don't get involved in that sort of - "
"Look, Jersey. Don't you think that if I was going to set you up I would've done it six years ago when it could have done me some good? I mean, Max and me, we made you a lot of money back then. You remember that, don't you?"
He nodded his head once, reluctantly.
"It's just that things are different now in this town. You cross a line and they come after you. I mean they really come after you."
Cassie straightened up.
"You don't have to convince me of that. Or Max."
"Sorry. I know that."
He nodded once more and put his hands flat on the counter.
"So what do you think, Jersey? I've got cash and I'm ready to rock and roll."
She casually swung her backpack under her arm and flipped up the top flap, exposing the stack of hundreds Leo had given her. She knew that loyalty and trust were one thing in the outlaw world, but showing the cash was another.
"I gotta know now 'cause if you're not going to help me I've gotta find somebody else."
Paltz nodded. She could tell, the money had turned him.
"Tell you what," he said. "I might be able to do something for you. What time are we talking about?"
"We're talking right now, Jersey. Tonight. I'm here. I gotta job to do."
He looked up at her, maintaining his hands on the counter pose. His eyes moved around to make sure they were still talking in private.
"All right. . . . I'm working till five. How about Aces and Eights at six?"
"That old dump's still in business?"
"Oh, yeah. Always."
"I'll see you at six."
She started to step away from the counter but Paltz made a low whistling sound with his mouth and she turned back to him. Paltz took the pencil off his ear and wrote something on a scratch pad. He tore the page off and handed it to her.
"You'll need to have that with you."
She took the page and looked at it. It had a price on it.
$8,500
She thought it was high. She had read enough about the current technology to know the costs for what she needed should be in the range of five thousand dollars, including a nice profit for Paltz. Before she could say anything Paltz apparently read her.
"Look," he whispered, "you're gonna pay high end for this stuff. What we make here is proprietary. You take a bust with this stuff on you and they'll trace it right back here. Now sellin' it to you ain't illegal per se, but they could get me on an aiding-and-abetting bit. They throw conspiracy charges around now like confetti. On top of that, I'd lose my job. So you gotta pay high to cover my exposure here. Take it or leave it, that's the price."
She now realized she had made a mistake showing him the cash before they had a deal.
"Okay, fine with me," she finally said. "I'm on an expense account."
"See you at six, then."
"Yeah, six."
10
CASSIE had two hours to kill before her meeting with Jersey Paltz. She thought about going to the Cleo and picking up
the package waiting for her at the front desk but decided against it because it meant she would have to leave to make her meeting and then come back. That would mean two extra trips under the cameras. She didn't want to give the people on the other side of those cameras two extra chances at making her.
Instead she stayed away from the Strip. She first stopped at a nail salon in a strip mall on Flamingo and had the manicurist cut her nails as short as possible. It wasn't very stylish but the manicurist, who was Asian, probably Vietnamese, didn't ask any questions and Cassie tipped her nicely for it.
She then drove east on Flamingo out past UNLV and into the neighborhood where she had lived until she was eleven. On the drive from L.A. she had convinced herself that she wanted to see it one last time.
She passed the 7 -Eleven where her father took her to get candy and the bus stop where she was let off after school. On Bloom Street the little house her parents had owned was still painted pink but she could see that some changes had been made in the two decades since they had left it. The swamp cooler on the roof had been changed out with a real air conditioner. The garage had been converted into living space and the backyard was now fenced, just like all the other houses on the block. Cassie wondered who lived there now and whether it was the same family that had bought it at auction after the foreclosure. She had the urge to go knock on the door and see if she could be allowed a quick look at her old room. It seemed that the last time she had ever felt completely safe had been in that room. She knew how nice it would be to have that feeling again. The image of her room as it had been back then made her momentarily think of Jodie Shaw's room and the collection of stuffed dogs on the shelf over the bed. But she quickly dismissed that image and moved back to her own memories.
Staring at the house, she thought about the time she came home from school and saw her mother crying while a man in a uniform tacked a foreclosure notice on the front door. He told her it had to be in public view but as soon as he left her mother tore the papers off the door. She then grabbed Cassie and they got in the Chevette. Her mother drove with reckless abandon toward the Strip, finally pulling to a stop with two wheels up on the curb in front of the Riviera. Yanking Cassie along by the hand, she found Cassie's father at one of the blackjack tables and shoved the foreclosure papers into his face and down the front of his Hawaiian shirt. Cassie always remembered that shirt. It had topless hula dancers on it, their swaying arms covering their breasts. Her mother cursed her father and called him a coward and other things Cassie could no longer remember, until she was pulled away by casino security men.
Cassie could not remember all of the words but she vividly remembered the scene as through the eyes of a child. Her father just sat on his stool and kept his place at the gambling table. He stared at the woman screaming at him as though she were a complete stranger. A thin smile played on his face. And he never said a word.
Her father didn't come home that night or any of the nights after. Cassie saw him only one more time - when she was dealing blackjack at the Trop. But by then he was deep inside the bottle and didn't recognize her. And she didn't have the courage to introduce herself.
She looked away from the house and again images from the house on Lookout Mountain Road intruded. She thought of the drawing on the easel in Jodie Shaw's bedroom. The little girl in the picture was crying because she was leaving her home behind.
Cassie knew exactly how she felt.
11
TRAFFIC into North Las Vegas was a miserable crawl. By the time Cassie got to the Aces and Eights Club she was fifteen minutes late. But before going in she still took the time to sit in the car and put on the wig she had bought for the Lookout Mountain Road open house. She flipped down the visor and used the mirror to style the wig and then used an eyebrow pencil to darken her eyebrows to match. She added a pair of pink tinted glasses she had bought at a Thrifty drugstore.
The Aces and Eights was a locals bar and up until six years ago Cassie had been a regular. Most of the patrons made their living off the casino trade - legally or otherwise - and if there was anyplace where she might be recognized, even after a six-year absence, it was the Aces and Eights. Cassie had almost told Jersey Paltz to choose another spot for the rendezvous but she'd gone along with his choice so as not to spook him. She also had to admit to herself she was a bit nostalgic. She wanted to see if the old hangout had changed.
After checking herself once more in the mirror, she got out of the Boxster and went inside. She carried her backpack over one shoulder. She saw several men at the bar and could tell by their uniforms or the colors of their dealer's aprons what casinos they worked for. There were a couple of women in short dresses and heels with their pagers and cell phones on the bar - hookers waiting for jobs and not worried about being obvious about it. Nobody cared at the Aces and Eights.
She saw Paltz in a circular booth in the rear corner of the dimly lit bar. He was leaning forward over a bowl of chili. Cassie remembered that the chili was the only thing on the menu that the regulars dared to eat. But she'd never eat it again, here or anywhere else, after having to eat chili every Wednesday for five years in High Desert. She walked up and was sliding into the booth when Paltz began protesting.
"Honey, I'm waiting for - "
"It's me."
He looked up and recognized her.
"Little early for Halloween, isn't it?"
"I thought there might be people in here who'd remember me."
"Shit, you haven't been around in six years. In Vegas that's ancient history. You know, I was just about to give up on you but figured, hey, you haven't been here in six, seven years. You don't know how bad traffic's gotten."
"I just learned. I thought L.A. was bad but this is . . ."
"Makes L.A. look like the fucking Autobahn. They need about three more freeways here, all the building they been doin' around here."
Cassie didn't want to talk about traffic or the weather. She got right to the point of the meeting.
"Did you bring me something?"
"First things first."
Paltz slid around in the booth until he was right next to Cassie and moved his left hand under the table and started patting and feeling her body. Cassie immediately stiffened.
"Always wanted to do this," Paltz said with a smile. "Ever since I saw you that first time with Max."
His breath was chili and onions. Cassie turned away and looked out into the bar.
"You're wasting your time, I'm not - "
She stopped when he brought his hand up her torso to her breasts. She pushed his arm away.
"Okay, okay," Paltz said. "You just can't be too careful these days, you know? You got eighty-five bumblebees in that bag?"
She looked out of the booth and across the bar to make sure no one was watching. They were clear. If people were noticing their serious looks, they were dismissing it as a pointed negotiation between a big-haired hooker and a john. No big deal. Even the pat-down could be seen as part of the negotiation; these days a buyer had to be sure of the quality and gender of the product.
"I brought what you told me to bring," she said. "Where's the kit?"
"In the truck. You show me what I need again and we'll take a walk."
"We already did this once," Cassie protested. "Move back."
Paltz slid back to his spot. He scooped some chili into his mouth and took a long pull on a bottle of Miller High Life.
Cassie moved the backpack across her lap and put it down on the seat between them. She pulled the flap back halfway. Her rubber tool satchel was now in the bag. On top of it was the sheaf of currency. Hundred-dollar bills - or bumblebees, as some of the longtime locals called them. It was Vegas slang dating back several years to a time when thousands of counterfeit hundred-dollar chips had flooded the Vegas underworld. They were perfect counterfeits of the black-and-yellow hundred-dollar chips used at the Sands. They were called bumblebees. The fakes were so good that the casino had to change the colors and design of their chips. The Sands
was long gone now, demolished and replaced by a new casino. But the underworld code of calling a hundred-dollar bill or chip a bumblebee remained. Anyone who used the term had been around a while.
Cassie made sure Paltz got a good look at the money and then flipped the backpack closed just as a barmaid came to the table.
"Can I get you something?" she asked Cassie.
Paltz answered for her.
"No, she's fine," he said. "We're just gonna go outside and then I'll be right back. I'll need another beer then, sweetheart."
The barmaid walked away and Paltz smiled, knowing that what he had just said would leave the waitress thinking that they were going outside to complete a sexual transaction. This didn't bother Cassie because it played into her cover. But what did annoy her was his calling the waitress "sweetheart." It always bothered Cassie when men called women they did not know by endearing names they didn't mean. She bit back on an urge to call Paltz on it and started sliding out of the booth.