"What's the matter, honey?" Her voice was agitated.
"It's Vera. She's… well, she's drunk out of her gourd and she wants to drive to town and party. She's almost out of it but I can't stop her. What'll I do?"
He gritted his teeth. "Do you know where the distributor cap is on the Mercedes?"
Of course she didn't. He explained carefully how to disconnect it. "After she can't get the car started she'll call a cab," he went on, "but in the meantime she'll have two or three more drinks, the dumb bitch. In the medicine cabinet you'll find a bottle of Nembutal – small yellow caps. Empty two into one or her drinks and that'll slow her down. Then strap that dildo on and fuck her until she faints. But listen, I don't care how you do it, don't let her take off, understand?"
"Count on me," Shawn said and hung up.
Lane was satisfied. The girl was getting sharp, very sharp and lately his mind had been toying with the idea of kicking Vera out on her luscious ass and just setting up housekeeping with Shawn. As tempting as it was he just couldn't bring himself to ditch Vera. He loved that crazy drunken woman in his own brutal way and felt compelled to take care of her.
His eyes went back to table four, to the sleek hustler – then to table one, to the brunette in red. He picked up his phone and dialed Upstairs Security.
"Johnson here," a voice answered.
"Johnson, I want cameras on tables one and four. Keep them pinned there until further notice."
He slammed down the phone. He knew the dealers working those tables personally and they were beyond thieving. But all his jarring instincts told him something was wrong!
He didn't have the vaguest idea what it was, but his senses were alerted sharply.
Two hustling winners, two losing tables. It stunk.
That's how Day One went.
CHAPTER SIX
In her small drab, stuffy apartment on the outskirt of Omaha, Carol Shaw tossed feverishly in bed. Five more days, five endless, tortuous, achingly lonely days of waiting for Jack. There were times when she thought she'd lose her mind, when she had the terrifying sensation she'd never hear from him again.
At one in the morning she made up her mind. Fingers trembling, she dialed Reno Information and got the number of the Green Wheel. She called them.
"Green Wheel Casino," the nasal voice rapped out.
"Listen, I, uh, I'm calling long distance for Mr. Jack Watson. He's, um."
"Is he an employee?"
"Well, no, but he… he should be there, gambling…"
"We can't page customers, I'm sorry."
"But you've got to!" Carol said shrilly. "I mean there's an emergency, do you understand?"
The operator paused. "An emergency? What kind?"
Carol's mind spun helplessly for a few seconds. "Life and death," she said desperately. "His mother's been in an accident and…"
"Well," the operator said in a softened voice, "that's different. Hang on, please."
Beads of sweat popped out on Carol's face as she gripped the phone fiercely to her ear. In the background she could hear the din of the slot machines, the dealers' calls at the crap tables, then Jack's name being paged, echoing throughout the casino.
At table one Sally froze as she scooped up chips. Jack had left almost an hour ago, having reached his quota for the day. No one would call him here! Unless… unless it was his call to her, an emergency call. She hesitated, biting her lip nervously as the voice continued paging.
Then Sally went over to the cashier and was shown where to pick up a house phone.
"Jack?" she said nervously.
"Um, is Jack Watson there?" Carol asked, confused.
Sally frowned. "Who's this?"
"Um… this is… my name is Carol Shaw and I'm calling Jack Watson from Omaha," the blonde said, thinking Sally was another operator.
Then it clicked in Sally's mind and a surge of white-hot jealousy and rage tore through her blood.
"Well, this is Mrs. Jack Watson," she said viciously. "I'm his wife. Do you have a message for him?"
Carol looked at the receiver, stunned. "His wife? There must be a mistake."
"No mistake," Sally said flatly. "I'm his wife, dig?"
"Then… then it must be the wrong party, a different Jack Watson," Carol stammered.
"About six feet two?" Sally said sweetly. "Black hair, dark greedy eyes, fantastic build, gigantic cock? Easiest, smoothest, most charming grin in the world? That's my husband."
The room began to spin and Carol's nails tried to squeeze blood from the receiver.
"No," she whispered. "No. Mistake. No message."
She put the phone down, her fingers trembling violently.
In the Green Wheel, Sally slammed her phone down, icy triumph singing in her blood. Well, that took care bf that fat-assed blonde, from. Omaha. There was only one thing in the world Sally would lose her cool over and that was Jack. Still flooded with vicious exultation, the brunette started cashing in her mounds of chips. She had ten thousand, one hundred and twenty dollars. The cashier strongly suggested she take a check. She flatly insisted on cash. It was for her own protection the cashier patiently explained. Cash only, Sally told him. He doled out hundreds, pressing a buzzer for a guard.
With the money crammed in her purse, Sally was escorted to the exit by a guard. He stayed with her on the crowded sidewalk, hailing a taxi for her. When she was safely inside and the cab lurched away, he returned to the casino.
The casino people took very good care of their winners.
In the cab, Sally lit a cigarette with slightly shaking fingers. She felt terrific, almost in ecstasy. There was more than ten grand in cash in her purse. But the fact that she'd shoved it up the Omaha blonde's ass was equally satisfying to her. She'd better not mention it to Jack. His nerves weren't exactly in prime condition right now, but the glow of vengeance sang sweetly in her heart like a lingering melody.
Back in Omaha, Carol sank her face into her hands and cried. She sobbed and wailed and bawled for thirty minutes.
And when that was out of her system, a terrible smoldering fury began sweeping through her blood, so savage her body shook from head to toe, and low raging moans came from her throat.
So she'd been taken by a smooth hustler – she was a simple country hick in the perennial story of city-slicker fleeces rube. She was a sucker. So he was going to marry her! Of course, he already had a wife, but what was a minor item like that? All he'd ever wanted was the cards switched, he'd used her!
And on top of that, he'd probably forced himself to fuck her, laughed at her inwardly when the smooth lies and promises rolled from his beautiful lips.
"You sonofabitch!" Carol screamed at the top of her lungs, her face a deathly white.
She made a pot of very strong coffee and then began packing a suitcase. Her lovely profile was serene, almost like a radiant angel's as she moved around her apartment for the last time.
But the black fury in her heart seethed like a terrible storm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day Two moved like a roller-coaster gone berserk.
Jack was no longer concerned about Lane's glinting, watching eyes. If the bastard hadn't made him by now he never would. And the money rolled in a gushing stream, as if the blackjack table were having a series of blissful orgasms, and simply couldn't stop coming.
By six that evening, Jack was already eight thousand ahead. It took a serious effort of will to lose some of it back to the house, so as not to appear too incredibly lucky. Maybe, just maybe he told himself as he sipped his double scotch and painfully dropped two hundred, they ought to stick around Reno an extra few days. What the hell, every day was twenty thou in cash, right? Two extra days, forty thousand smackers, which equaled three Caddies or even one gleaming, elegant Rolls-Royce.