Jingle of Coins (17 page)

If she hurried, there would be enough time to watch the tape one last time before they met. This certainly hadn’t been what she’d expected to happen when she’d made the decision to move to Vegas. She thought she’d be on easy street and have her nest egg firmly established by the time she’d been here a month.

So much for wishful thinking, she thought cynically. Now she had to share her talent with someone else. She still didn’t like it, but at least Glen had opened her eyes to the fact that she’d been teetering on the slender tightrope that divided jail from freedom, and her balancing bar had tilted more heavily toward jail with every second she spent utilizing her talent.

He’d better be able to come through on his promise to help her refine her talent. If not, she was going to skip town and leave his butt behind. She made a mental note to convert all the money she had into traveler’s checks and stash them in her apartment, in case she had to make a quick getaway. It wasn’t much of a backup plan, but at least it was something. And something was better than nothing. She’d already been down that nothing road twice. Once after the divorce, and then again after the accident. No way was she going back there again. Not now, not ever.

“You’re late. How many items did you come up with?” Glen asked brusquely as he closed the door.

Emily sent him her best ‘go to hell’ look, slapped the video case on the coffee table, and perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’m fine. How are you?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She cast a swift glance around the room. It was a lot like hers, except that he had a dark brown leather overstuffed sofa and two chairs, plus a massive black wall unit that eclipsed the wall closest to the bedroom. She swung her glance toward the kitchen.

He snapped his fingers, and she flinched. “Pay attention. This is business, not a social call. If you want to check out my apartment, do it some other time. We have a lot of ground to cover. You’ve got to be prepared to work as soon as you step through that door. Understand?”

“Fine. Let’s get started.”

He took a seat across from her. “All right. Tell me what you found.”

“I only found four things.” She pulled a scrap of paper out of the side pocket of her shorts. “First, I wore work clothes to the casino. Second, I tilted my head each time I listened for the slots. Third, I didn’t talk to anyone, and fourth, I hit the jackpot right after I moved to a different machine.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Well, that was better than I thought you’d do.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. So…what were the three other things?”

He rubbed one palm with another, laced his fingers together, and cracked his knuckles. “First things first. I think I know how your talent works, but you need to explain it to me—in detail. I have to understand exactly how it works.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. Arguing would only aggravate him, and he probably needed to know how her talent worked in order to help her refine it.

“Fine. Ever since my accident, I’m able to hear background noises other people don’t. For instance, I can hear the fluorescent bulb in the brass lamp at the end of the sofa.”

He looked skeptical, and she continued. “Want a better example? Did you know you left your computer on? The tower buzzes every time your screen saver cycles.”

“What about slot machines?”

“I’m getting to that. The audiologist at the hospital gave me special hearing aids to help block out sounds, but every time I go to the casinos, I can hear the slot machine reels change pitch.” He started to speak, and she held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say. Slot machines work from computer chips. It doesn’t make any difference. My hearing is so exact that I can still hear the change in pitch as the reels line up for the jackpot. They change pitch two or three times, depending on what kind of machine it is, before the jackpot symbols line up. I simply cruise the aisles and listen for a machine to talk. Then I play that machine until it hits the jackpot, which can be anywhere from ten to thirty spins later.” She paused, waiting for him to speak.

“Any down side?”

She nodded. “Other than worrying about getting caught? Yeah, a big one. I don’t know if a machine is going to change pitch. Whenever I walk into a casino, I have to wait until I hear something. It’s possible that at any given time, none of the machines will change pitch. There’s no way I can control that problem. I have to hang around until a machine either makes noise or I run out of money. Unfortunately, it’s all or nothing; there is no in-between. I either win big or lose all my money for that night.”

“What else?”

“Yes, there’s one other thing. There’s always the problem of a machine changing pitch that’s being played by someone else. If someone else is on the machine when I hear it change pitch, I can’t do anything except wait and hope the player leaves before it pays off. That happened several times already.”

“So, to recap, you go into a casino, walk the aisles until you hear a certain noise, then zero in on the machine that’s making the sound, and play it till the jackpot hits. Is that right?”

She nodded. “More or less. Now what?”

Glen rubbed his chin. “Well, that could create a problem, but we’ll deal with it later. First, we have to get your act cleaned up.”

She bristled. “Gee, you have such a way with words.”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot, Emily. You’re going to have to develop a thicker skin. I’m sorry if I’m being blunt, but when it comes to business, I call things like I see them. Thick skins make for successful learners. Remember that. You’re going to have to unlearn everything you’ve taught yourself about this talent of yours. Otherwise, you’re headed for nothing but trouble.” He grabbed the video case from the coffee table and stuffed the tape into his VCR.

“I’ve already watched that tape a dozen times. Why are we watching it again?”

Glen switched on the television set and picked up the remote. “Because you didn’t catch the most obvious thing there was. So, we’re going to watch it together. As many times as it takes for you to figure it out.”

She smacked her head with the palm of her hand as a light bulb went off in her head. “Oh my God, how could I miss it? I feel like an idiot.”

He laughed. “Rule number one of outwitting security people. Invisibility. In order not to be noticed, you have to become one of the masses. You must be invisible, blended into the crowds playing the machines. If you stand out, by body actions that vary from the norm, like not talking to the person standing next to you, unusual clothing, or body gestures, etc., you get noticed. And watched. In your case, you tilt your head while you play, as if you’re listening for something. The way you do it is unusual, and that makes you stand out, which gets you noticed. We’ll work on that in your next lesson.”

He clicked the remote. “Okay, now that you’ve figured out Rule Number One, how about we move on to Number Two?”

Chapter Eighteen

“Would you like the end cubicle, Ms. Avrill?” the security guard asked as he tugged the safety deposit box out of the wall.

“Yes, please,” Kate answered, absently rubbing the side of her forehead.

The guard carried the box to a short table inside the partitioned workspace and stepped aside. “We close in twenty minutes. Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll put it back.”

Kate waited until the sound of his footsteps faded, then lifted the lid. Her smile widened as she contemplated the diamonds, sapphires, and pearls that sparkled and gleamed in the bank vault’s fluorescent lighting. Underneath the jewelry, stacks of cash, bearer bonds, and stock certificates filled out the remainder of the steel container. She rummaged through the box until she found a silver necklace inlaid with twenty pear-shaped diamonds, then slipped it into a zippered pouch on her purse. Ten minutes later, she finished moving the remainder of the safety deposit box contents into her one-of-a-kind compartmentalized briefcase. She checked the safety deposit box one last time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, then spun it around to remove a two-inch square piece of clear plastic taped to the rear. She tucked the paper-thin slip inside an envelope and buzzed for the guard. “Can you provide an escort to the courier’s office?”

“Sure thing, Ms. Avrill.”

Kate kept the conversation to a minimum as she and a female guard rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Once they reached the courier department, she walked over to the manager’s desk.

“Ms. Avrill, how nice to see you. What can I do for you?” Clyde Dumas asked softly as she took a seat.

She noted with amusement that his eyes zeroed in on the fullness of her breasts and never left. “You still have overnight service to Rome, right?”

He checked the delivery schedule tucked under the glass top of his desk. “Yes. Unfortunately, the cut-off for tomorrow’s delivery was eleven a.m. I’m afraid you’ve missed it.”

Kate removed a card from her purse and handed it to him. “Tell the bank to hold the package for Emile Suggiatchi. His number’s on the back. He knows it’s coming.”

The manager completed the form and, after Kate signed it, taped a copy to the handle of her briefcase. Moments later, he stuffed the case inside a special courier pouch, slid a copy of the form into the plastic window fitted to the outside, and handed the last copy to Kate. “How do you want to pay the fees?”

She shifted in her chair. “Take them out of my business account.”

“What about insurance?”

“I’ve already made arrangements with Lloyds of London.” She folded the copy and inserted it into a pre-printed, postage- paid envelope addressed to Lloyds of London, then stuffed the envelope into her purse.

“Very well.” He sealed the pouch, then carried it over to a metal bin in the rear of the office. Holding it carefully in one hand, he unlocked the lid and set Kate’s package inside. When he returned, he pulled out the bank’s inter-branch transfer form and filled in the account name and dollar amount to be transferred. It only took a few moments to look up her account number, and after filling in the missing information, he slid it over to Kate. “If you’ll sign this, I’ll have a teller transfer the funds and you can be on your way.”

“No problem, Ms. Avrill. I’m always happy to assist you in any way I can.” He accompanied her to the elevator and held the door so she could step inside. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Thank you. I will.” Stepping back, she flashed the manager one last smile as the door closed and the elevator began its descent.

By the time Kate reached her apartment, the sun was below the horizon and the temperature cooled from a furnace blast to a slow bake. The anger she’d kept in check all day rose up like bile in the back of her throat, and she vowed to make that bastard pay for what he’d done to her. Mike would pay—even if she had to kill him herself. Nobody slapped her around and got away with it. She thought about calling in a marker with one of Vegas’ other crime bosses, but decided it would be much more satisfying to have the Feds take care of Mike. That way there wouldn’t be any chance of retaliation before she could get out of town.

As she turned the lock on her door, she saw Emily enter Glen’s apartment. So, Emily had decided to further her acquaintance. Good. Just because Glen didn’t interest her, that didn’t mean he wasn’t right for Emily.

Kate checked her door one last time and then moved to the bedroom to turn on her computer. After logging in, she connected to a special account via the Internet and waited for the identification screen. She typed in a few keystrokes and connected to a remote network. This time the identification process required a fingerprint. Smiling, she pulled out the plastic square from the safety deposit box and placed it into what looked like a horizontal space on the front of her computer. The fingerprint imprinted on the plastic filled the screen for a moment, then a list of names and addresses popped up.

She scanned the list of her richest clients and chose Paul Staymiken because he owned a corporate jet fleet. Yes, she thought, he’d suit her needs. Besides, he owed her a favor. A big one. She committed his number to memory, then closed the file and logged off.

A single press of the CD button on her computer spit out the piece of plastic. She carried it to the bathroom, melted it with a match, then flushed the remains. Even if anyone found the account, they’d never think to use her mother’s print. Four different safety deposit boxes in various countries held duplicate copies, and the master rested safely in a train station locker in Los Angeles.

Confident of her choice, Kate moved to the closet and removed three leather suitcases. One would hold the clothes she intended to bring to Mike’s villa; the other two would be packed and dropped off at the airport. Two glasses of brandy helped dull the ache at her scalp line, and once she filled and locked the bulging suitcases, she picked up her keys and lugged the two largest cases to her Mercedes.

It would have been much easier to make her calls from the apartment or her cell phone but she didn’t want to chance anybody listening in, including the Feds, so she decided to use a pay phone, and not the one in the lobby. Kate drove toward town and spotted a bank of pay phones at the edge of a well-lit gas station. One of them was accessible from inside her car. She rolled down her window and punched in Dozer’s number.