Stone explained, “Jerry Bagger probably killed those people in Portugal and left her partner for dead. She needs our help, but feels it would put us in too much danger.”
Caleb squared his shoulders. “She obviously doesn’t know that this group absolutely revels in danger.”
Stone cleared his throat. “Yes, well, my original plan had been to investigate this Jerry Bagger and see if we could work to have him put in prison.”
“A good plan in theory, but how do we do it for real?” Reuben said.
“I thought it might be worthwhile to go up to Atlantic City and check him out.”
Milton said, “Here’s a picture of him. The Pompeii Casino has its own Web site.”
Caleb looked at Bagger smiling up from the computer screen and moaned fearfully. “Good God, look at that face; those eyes. He’s clearly a mobster, Oliver. You don’t go and check out mobsters.”
Reuben eyed Stone. “It might be a little dicey going to his home turf.”
“It’s only for information gathering,” Stone said. “No confrontations at all. Just observing and perhaps talking to a few people who might be helpful.”
“But if this Bagger person finds out? He might come after us!” Caleb said.
“What happened to you reveling in danger, Caleb?” Reuben reminded him.
Caleb retorted, “This man kills people, probably for jollies.”
“The good news is you don’t have to go, Caleb,” Stone said. He turned to the other two. “I thought Milton and Reuben could do the first recon; that is if Reuben can get some time off from the dock.”
“I can always find an excuse not to go lug big shit off big trucks for not-so-big bucks.”
Milton said simply, “Sounds good.”
“Sounds good?” Caleb exclaimed. “Milton, this man is dangerous. He’s a casino operator, for God sakes,” he added in a hiss. “He makes money off people’s addictions. I bet he’s involved in drugs too. And prostitution!” He ended with a dramatic flourish.
“You need to be careful,” Stone warned. “No unnecessary risks.”
“Understood,” Reuben said. “I can pick Milton up in the truck tomorrow morning.”
“And while you’re doing that, I’m going to track down Susan. She’s checked out of her hotel, but I have some ideas.”
“So what am I supposed to do while the three of you are out gallivanting around?” Caleb asked.
“Just the usual stuff, Superman,” Reuben said. “Keeping the nation’s capital safe for truth, justice and the American way.”
Stone said, “Oh, Caleb, I need to borrow your car. I doubt Susan’s still in the city so I’ll have to travel.”
Caleb stared at him in alarm. “You want to borrow my car? My car! That’s impossible.” Caleb’s ride was an ancient pewter gray Nova with an eternally rattling tailpipe. It had more rust than metal, more springs than upholstery, no working heat or AC, and the man treated it as though the wreck were a vintage Bentley.
“Just give him the keys,” Reuben growled.
“Then how will I get home tonight?”
“I’ll drive you on my motorcycle.”
“I refuse to ride in that death trap.”
Reuben gave him such a ferocious look that Caleb hastily pulled out his car keys and handed them to Stone. “Then again, there’s nothing wrong with trying new things.”
Caleb said suddenly, “Oliver, do you even have a driver’s license?”
“Yes, but unfortunately it’s been expired for over twenty years.”
Caleb paled. “But that means you can’t drive legally.”
“That’s right. But given the seriousness of what we’re doing I knew you’d understand.”
Stone left Caleb standing there openmouthed and moved over to Reuben, who was motioning to him from the front door.
Reuben spoke in a low voice. “Carter Gray’s house was blown up with him in it.”
“I was aware of it.”
“I hope not too aware.”
“The FBI has already spent time with me. I went out to Gray’s house or what’s left of it with a pair of agents and Alex Ford and gave them the benefit of my thoughts.”
“Murder?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Reuben said, “This doesn’t have anything to do with, you know, your past?” He was the only member of the Camel Club who remotely had any knowledge of what Stone had done decades ago.
“I hope not. I’ll see you when you get back from Atlantic City. Remember, keep a low profile.”
“While I’m there, you want me to lay down a bet for you at the craps table?”
“I never gamble, Reuben.”
“How come?”
“One, I don’t have any money, and two, I hate to lose.”
CHAPTER 21
THE NEXT MORNING Bagger met with Joe, from the PI firm. The man was trim, with calm gray eyes. Though soft-spoken, Joe was not intimidated in the least by the casino king. It was one of the things Bagger loved about him. He sat down across from Bagger and opened a file.
“We got some quick results on this one, Mr. Bagger.” He scanned the pages and then looked up. “I’ve got a written report for you, but let me just give you the essentials.” He handed a photo across. “We had an associate of ours in Vegas check out the wedding chapel where Conroy and DeHaven were married. It’s a typical mom-and-pop; the same couple run it today, in fact. After a little financial encouragement they let us take a peek at their records, and that’s where we got a copy of that photo. Apparently they take pictures of all the people they marry and put them up on the wall. I’m assuming from the look on your face, Mr. Bagger, that that’s our girl.”
Bagger was smiling and nodding as he stared down at a photo of a much younger Annabelle Conroy and her brand-new husband, Jonathan DeHaven. “That’s my little friend. Good work, Joe. What else you got?”
“Well, this has the potential to make our job easier. I’m just not sure yet.”
Bagger looked up from the photo. “What has the potential?”
In answer, Joe handed Bagger a newspaper clipping. “The name DeHaven rang a bell for me, but I didn’t know why at the time. Then I did some digging. And bingo!”
“He was murdered!” Bagger exclaimed, reading the headline.
“Very recently. Found in some vault at the Library of Congress in D.C. It was all tied into some spy ring going down in Washington.”
“Are we sure it’s the same DeHaven?”
Joe handed Bagger another photo of DeHaven from a newspaper article detailing his death. “You can see it’s the same guy, only older.”
“So Annabelle’s hubby was a spy and got whacked?”
“Her ex-husband. We also found out that the marriage was annulled a year later.”
“Annulled? Doesn’t that mean they didn’t have sex or something? For a whole freaking year?” Bagger stared down at Annabelle’s wedding picture. The lady was a stunner. Bagger of course hated the woman for ripping him off, but how in God’s name did her husband keep from jumping her the minute the “I do’s” were said? “Was this DeHaven guy secretly gay or something?”
“I don’t know the details of why the annulment took place, but it did and was made a matter of record in Washington, D.C., where the couple presumably came back to live. And DeHaven wasn’t part of the spy ring. Details are still coming out and some of it’s being buried because of national security interests, but it looks like he was an innocent guy who got killed because he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have.”
A pensive Bagger sat back. Annabelle had conned him into thinking she was with CIA and that the money he had given her was a way for the government to launder cash overseas. But what if she really was with CIA? What if it had been the government that had screwed him? You couldn’t sue the government. You couldn’t kill Uncle Sam.