Wisdom Spring (8 page)

I opened the trunk and pulled out our luggage and her wheelchair, and wheeled it up to the passenger door. I reached in and gently picked up Jess and set her down in the chair. She remained in character the whole time.

I had hidden the extra ammunition in the wheel well with the spare tire, but the gun and all the cash were in a small carry-on that I held onto. I let the bellman take the rest of the luggage. I tipped the valet and wheeled Jess into the hotel.

The check-in clerk took one look at Jess and insisted that if we needed anything, anything at all, to call them and it would be provided. I thanked her, not feeling the least bit guilty for duping her with the charade.

We were on the twentieth floor of the West Tower. As we took the elevator up, Jess still hadn’t said a word. The bellman was polite and tried to make small talk, but his discomfort was evident as he was trying a bit too hard. At one point Jess let out a small groan, then made a slurping sound. I thought the bellman was going to heave all over the elevator. He couldn’t wait to get to our destination floor and open the doors.

We finally made it to our room and I gave the bellman an extra-large tip for the agony our act had caused him. He went away happy and I closed the door, looked through the peephole and told Jess it was all clear.

“Ugh,” she said. “I have to go wash my face. I’ve got drool all over it.” She stood up and was suddenly transformed into the beautiful woman I was beginning to fall for.

It was a nice room, a little larger than most in order to accommodate the wheelchair. As expected, there were two beds. I went over to one and pulled the covers down and messed up the sheet so I wouldn’t forget in the morning. It would look a bit strange to a housekeeper with our situation if only one bed had been used.

We didn’t unpack, as a quick getaway might be needed.

“Sorry you’re going to be stuck in the room,” I said. “At some point I’ll bring you out, but I don’t want to overdo the exposure.”

“That’s okay. I’ll watch CNN and learn some things about myself.” She walked over and put her arms around me. “I really need a shower, too. Would you like to join me?”

There was no way I was declining that offer.

Forty-five minutes later I was dressing for my foray into the casino in search of a
Wolf Run
. I looked at my watch. It was four o’clock. I promised to be back by six and we’d order room service. We kissed and I headed out on my mission.

I entered into the noise and excitement and chaos that is a casino. Immediately I realized that I should have waited until after to take my shower. Although the ventilation system was better than some casinos I’d been in, it was still smoky.

As hard as it is to do in a casino, I set up a grid system in my head and started to check out every one of their 1500 slot machines (or so their brochure said). I was right about its popularity. I counted twenty-six
Wolf Run
slots, with denominations ranging from one to ten cents. I figured I’d need to try them all, so I allotted five minutes per machine. In the two hours, I was able to play fifteen of them. Some had players entrenched in front of them, with obviously no intention of moving anytime soon, and on two of the machines, I spent a lot longer than expected. I was winning on both of them, and you just don’t leave a hot machine. By the time I returned to the room, I reeked of smoke, was $800 richer, and still had no clue.

After I showered—this time solo—and ordered room service, I said to Jess, “I know we weren’t led here to win money. I have money already, although I guess every little bit helps. I saw nothing down there that gave me the slightest reason for us being here.”

“Maybe the illumination will come later,” said Jess. “Meanwhile, you’ve got to see this,” and pointed me toward the TV. “They played it about a half an hour ago, so I’m sure they will repeat it. I don’t know whether to laugh or be scared. They located the Bible family who picked me up. Hopefully the authorities will dismiss them as crackpots.”

We waited, but the story still hadn’t come on when the knock sounded at the door. Jess jumped into the bed I had messed up, turned away from the door, and pulled the covers halfway up her head.

I answered the door and told the waiter that I would bring in the cart, if he would just hold the door. “My sister is asleep,” I whispered.

Once he was gone, Jess jumped out of bed, proclaiming herself starved. We had ordered burgers and fries, with a couple of large Caesar salads. Jess took a bite of her burger just as the story came on CNN.

“Watch,” said Jess with a mouthful.

As for breaking news, there was nothing to report. They were still trying to locate the unidentified man who was last seen with her, but so far, no one had come forward.

“Thank you for that,” said Jess.

“You’re welcome. But if you steal any more of my fries, I’m turning you in.”

She threw one at me.

Newscaster:
“Harry and Laura Joplin, of San Antonio, claim to have picked up Jessica Norton in a truck stop along I-20 in Texas late in the evening on May 15
^th
. They let her out along the side of the road an hour later. I asked the Joplins why they let her out.”

Harry Joplin:
“There was something really strange about her…”

Laura Joplin:
“She was sent by the devil…”

Harry Joplin:
“Well, I don’t know about that, but she was weird. She asked us for a ride, and we figured it was the Christian thing to do. Once we got in the car, she didn’t say much at first and was kinda freaking out our two young daughters. She just kinda sat there staring. Then out of the blue she said that she sees dead people. I’ll tell you, she scared us.”

“
Hear
dead people, not see dead people. Weren’t they even listening?” said Jess.

Laura Joplin:
“I prayed to Jesus that she wouldn’t hurt us.”

Harry Joplin:
“That’s when I saw the gun sticking out from under her shirt.”

I looked at Jess. She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

Laura Joplin:
“That’s when Harry pulled over and asked her to leave.”

Newscaster:
“Did she object or give you any problems?”

Laura Joplin:
“No. It was almost like she wanted to leave.”

“You got that right,” said Jess.

Newscaster:
“Are you sure you saw a gun?”

Harry Joplin:
“As God is my witness.”

“God must be near-sighted,” quipped Jess.

Laura Joplin:
“The weird thing? I looked back as we drove away, and she had disappeared.”

Newscaster:
“The Joplins’ supposed sighting of Norton took place the night before she was identified at the truck stop further along Interstate 20. No other confirmed sightings have been reported.”

“Well, that was … uh … entertaining,” I said. “I don’t think they came off as overly credible. The damaging part was their lie about the gun. Between that and the other report, people are going to think you are dangerous, and the police don’t take that lightly.”

I finished my dinner, with the exception of half of my fries, which had mysteriously disappeared, and announced that I was going see if I could check out the rest of the
Wolf Run
slots.

“Do you want to come?”

“No. You’ll go faster without me. And this has been a really tiring day. I’ll wait for you here.”

I headed down to the casino floor and continued my mission. I spent another hour and a half in vain. I was able to play all but two, and lost a hundred dollars for my trouble. No messages appeared, no strange people showed up, and the heavens didn’t open up and drop a clue into my lap. So I left the casino to retreat back to the room. I went through the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. While I waited, I looked at the signs advertising coming attractions. Just as the elevator door opened, one of the attractions caught my eye.

And then I knew it. The reason we were in Las Vegas.

Chapter 8

I stared for a moment longer to make sure I had all the information, then hurried up to the room. I think I scared Jess by not knocking before I used my key card.

She took one look at me and knew I had discovered something.

“You found the
Wolf Run
?”

“No, I still don’t understand that message, but I may have run across something important. I was going through the lobby, and right there in front of me was a sign. I mean a real sign, not one of your “signs from heaven” or whatever they are. Ever hear of Mill Colson?”

“The celebrity lawyer?”

“Yeah, but he’s more than that. He does take on various movie stars, rock stars, and sports stars, so people see him as a celebrity lawyer. And he’s definitely colorful and plays up his celebrity connections. But he’s actually a real trial lawyer. A good one. He got famous when he took on a couple of high profile murder cases. That’s when the stars started hiring him. It’s the trendy thing to do.”

“Didn’t I read that he’s a real asshole?”

“Only to his adversaries. I gather he has an unbelievable ego. But if there is any such thing as earning your ego, he has. On the other hand, the press loves him because he really knows how to work an audience. He can be charming and funny and interesting. His autobiography has been at the top of the bestseller lists for weeks.”

“And we’re talking about him why?”

“Guess who’s giving a lecture and book signing here at Circus Circus tomorrow in one of the function rooms? And guess who could use a good lawyer?”

“You know how much he probably charges? I have absolutely no money, and I refuse to let you use any of yours. Assuming we could even see him, once he found out how poor I am, his ego would never let him take me on as a client.”

“I think it’s the opposite. I think his ego is just the reason he would take you on. Right now, you’re the ultimate celebrity. You are on every newscast. You’re mysterious, because no one knows where you are. You are about as high profile as it gets. He doesn’t have to charge you a cent. Because of you, book deals and the lecture circuit will bring him millions. You’d be a cash cow to him.”

I paused. “More importantly though. To guarantee all of these riches, he’d have to get you off. I can’t think of anyone more capable of doing that.”

“Getting me off isn’t really the issue, is it? He could get the police and FBI to call off their search, but it wouldn’t stop Hillstrom. At some point, he’ll catch up to me and I’ll be dead.”

“But how do you think he would get them to stop looking for you? To prove someone else is guilty. Or at least shift the focus. He’s probably got an army of private detectives working for him. Let them try to go after Hillstrom.”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “I suppose it’s worth trying, but I don’t hold out a lot of hope.”

“We’ve got to at least try. And I really think this is why you were led here.”

“You might be right,” she said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was agreeing to. “Okay … Mill Colson it is.”

Millard (Mill) Colson wasn’t a lawyer, he was an institution. A master at self-promotion, Colson came up through the ranks like a comet, not because his skills were necessarily better than other lawyers, but because he made sure no accomplishment went overlooked, be it by a superior, or especially by the news media. He was not above paying reporters to write a piece on him, or to become his own anonymous source to disseminate information on himself. But those were in the early days. The publicity took care of itself now—although he wasn’t afraid to manipulate a story or two if he saw fit—because, over time, he truly had become a great lawyer.

It was assumed early on in his career that he was from a dirt-poor family and had put himself through college without any help from the outside. He liked the aura the story provided, and while he didn’t confirm it, he never denied it either. That was the way with Colson. He had a charisma that made people want to believe whatever tale he spun. In fact, he came from quite a wealthy family and never had to work hard for anything. Instead, he learned early on that with him using his brains and charm, those around him were more than willing to do all the work. It wasn’t laziness on his part, but a superior intellect. When he discovered the law, he went about it like it was a game, and he was a master at his game. He could sway juries with a simple change of expression. He had reporters eating out of his hand. Very simply, he was the best there was. And that was why we needed him to represent Jess, to change public opinion and to make people feel sorry for her. Once the public believed she wasn’t capable of murdering four people, then we could start spreading the Hillstrom story. To bring it up now would be premature. Nobody would believe it. Colson was the man who understood that timing and could make it happen.

“What’s the plan?” asked Jess.

“I’m going to run out and pick up a video camera. Think about your story. I want you to tell it to the camera. Tomorrow, I’ll try to pigeonhole him after his lecture. I’ll use the video to close the sale.”

I was back an hour later. When I got up to the room, Jess said, “You’re not going to believe this. I just saw it on the news. Guess who’s going to announce his candidacy for president next week?”

“Hillstrom.”

“Yup. He’s putting his name in the ring as an independent.”

“And that was his plan all along. He’s going to run for president, win because he’s so popular, and he and his secret organization will be running the country. Well, at least we know the time-frame we’re working with.”