For Blood or Money
1. Biting the Big One
I PICKED UP A TAIL at the start of display Aisle 200 and she was sticking to me like cat hair on a blue suit. I didn’t really mind. She was the only thing I’d seen in a skirt all week. Cocktail waitresses don’t really count.
I was in Vegas for the annual Geek Convention, also called SpyCon. A lot of private dicks, investigators, cops, and undercover geeks get together to view the latest in high tech toys, hear improbable tales of law enforcement, and act like they are on covert missions. Basically fun, and the only reason I drive from Seattle to Vegas once each year.
I’m Dag Hamar, PI. And I’m a tech geek.
I dallied in front of a display of long-range listening devices, guaranteed to filter individual voices out of a crowd at a hundred feet. She either had to stop in front of a display of interrogation techniques or move on to join me. She chose the latter.
“Do those things really work?” she asked. “They seem too small to be effective. You really need a tripod to steady it if you are going to pick out an individual, don’t you?”
Good technique. A tail would never actually approach her quarry. Doing so would call attention to her and therefore disqualify her as an effective tail. Unless she thought you’d invite her to join you. That would make the job of tailing you a lot easier. Well, it was a good ploy. I’d play along for a while.
“You’re right, a nice big mic on a tripod would be best, but it’s an interesting technology. Supposedly you can even bounce off any solid surface. It has possibilities.” We walked on to the next booth and she asked the exhibitor a detailed and intelligent question about miniaturized transmitters. The exhibitor was all too thrilled to give her an equally detailed response, just to be in her presence. She was tall and slender, and the kind of natural honey blonde whose hair stuck out in all directions. And cute. She had no end of cute.
I decided to hang around and wait for her instead of losing her at just that moment.
We chatted as we walked down the display aisle that included everything from night vision glasses, to telephone bugs, to high-resolution miniature digital cameras. This was really toy heaven. I’d already selected a miniaturized homing device in the top of an innocuous looking ballpoint pen. It was the kind of thing you could give to a mark or slip onto him without his ever knowing you were tracking him. I do like gadgets.
For her part, my tail was proving herself charming, funny, and flirtatious—sure signs she was not what she appeared to be. It’s been years since young women have been charming, funny, and flirtatious around me. I’m not only a PI, I’m a retread.
We turned into Aisle 500 and she turned more abruptly than she intended and stumbled into me. I caught her and she leaned into me and said breathlessly, “What would you say if I asked if you’d like to get lucky?” She looked up at me with teasing eyes that held a hundred unspoken promises.
Okay. I’m flattered, even if I know this is a pro job. What’s a man to say?
“Well, hypothetically speaking,” I said, “I’d have to consider that you are a very beautiful young woman making an obvious pass at an older and distinguished gentleman. Then I’d have to say, no.” She looked up at me startled.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not? Don’t you like me?”
“Oh, I like you very much. I think you’re delightful company.”
“Then why?” I couldn’t tell if she was acting hurt or insulted, or a little of both. It was the first crack I’d seen in her act.
“First of all, I try to never get involved with anyone less than half my age,” I said. Plus seven, I added silently to myself. How true. Unfortunately I’m pretty successful at it. She did not seem impressed.
“Okay, do you remember that long distance mic that could pick a single voice out of a crowd?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“They have one over on that balcony, considerably less than a hundred feet away, that’s been following us ever since we left that booth, meaning every word has been recorded.” She appeared startled and turned to look.
“Third,” I continued, “you are a woman of exquisite taste, but the buttons of your blouse don’t match. That tells me that the one in the middle is a fisheye camera that you are using to record our interaction.” She clapped a hand over the offending button.
“And finally, judging by your Olympic University lapel pin, I’d have to say that Lars Andersen is standing around here someplace laughing at us for all he’s worth,” I concluded.
“Wow,” she said. “He told me you were good.”
“The best I ever trained,” Lars interjected walking up behind me. “How you doing, Dag?” I greeted my old friend and mentor warmly. “It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten everything I ever taught you,” he said. “I was worried about your skills going downhill stuck in that office all the time. No field work, no fun.”
“Oh it’s not that bad,” I said. “I accomplish a bit here and there.”
“Like what?” Lars asked.
“Like three embezzlement cases, two bank fraud cases, six child porn cases, three industrial espionage cases, and fifteen identity theft cases,” said Jordan Grant walking up next to Lars. It was turning into old home week. I shook Jordan’s hand.
“Sixteen if you count John Doe,” I said. Damnedest case we’d ever had. He had stolen over twenty identities, but we never could identify who he really was, even after he was in custody. He had completely erased his own identity in the process.
“So you guys all know each other,” my tail said. “Anybody want to introduce me?”
“Dag,” Lars said, “Let me introduce you to the finest student I’ve had since you and Jordan. This is Miss Deborah Riley.” I reached out to shake her hand.
“I’m glad to meet you D…” I broke off as she squeezed my hand in vise-like fingers.
“If you call me Debbie, it will be the last time you ever use your tongue,” she intoned lowly.
“Geez, Riley,” I said, “why don’t you say what you mean?”
“Riley,” she repeated lightening her grip. “I like that. Nice to meet you Mr. Hamar.”
“Now what I want to know, Lars, is why you think she’s so good? I picked up on her right away.”
“Yes,” Lars winked at Riley. “I figured you’d made her back at the long-range mics. What do you have to say for yourself Riley?”
“Dagget Hamar. Arrived in Las Vegas Tuesday afternoon at 3:00 driving a yellow 1983 Mustang in mint condition. Accompanied by a small dog named Maizie, checked into the Capricorn Motel just off the Strip. Dogs accommodated. Conservative tastes. Even wears a suit to a geek convention. Spent a lonely evening last night in the third row of Cavalcade enjoying an adult circus show. Plays in the casino for no more than half an hour at a time with modest bets—mostly Blackjack.”
“You compiled quite a dossier,” I said.
“I’ve been following you for three days,” she answered. “Lars told me I had to get caught today or we’d never get together.”
“Now I am impressed,” I laughed. “It’s always good to welcome another one of Lars’s protégés.”
“He said there’s a lot I could learn from you,” Riley said, winking at me. “I’d like to find out.”
“Dag,” Lars interrupted, “we’ve got reservations for four at the Monte Vista Room at 7:00. Why don’t we pick up the conversation there. We all need to get out of this den of spies and get cleaned up before dinner.”
It was arranged, that fast. When I got to the Monte Vista Room, Lars, Jordan, and Riley were already there waiting for me. The first thing I noticed was that even though Lars and Jordan were well into a martini, Riley was sipping tonic. My kind of girl. I ordered one as well and shortly thereafter we were seated.
It’s always a lively conversation when Lars, Jordan, and I get together as we do most years at this convention. Even though he’s a good bit younger than I am, Jordan and I studied criminal justice under Lars at the same time. I went into private business and Jordan eventually joined the Feds. Our paths keep crossing, though, since I do so much computer forensics work for his department, FinCEN—the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. We’ve got along great for years.
Riley, it turned out, had done her undergraduate work in computer science and went into a graduate program in criminal justice under Lars. I have to admit: even when she wasn’t being a vamp, she was bright and beautiful, and just plain fun to be around. As of the end of May she would be all but thesis for her Master’s Degree and Lars wanted her to apprentice in a working agency. He’d chosen mine.
I usually work alone, but lately I’d had a lot of smaller projects that could easily have been handled by an assistant. It sounded like it might be workable. I suggested that she come to interview when we got back to Seattle.
When dinner was over, I stood to leave while Lars and Jordan had another drink. Riley stood and walked out of the restaurant with me.
The casino we were in was an aging beauty of the old Strip, not likely to last much longer against the modern megaplexes that now dominated Las Vegas. It had a gold rush theme from the 1840s. The waitresses were dressed in old-time cancan skirts with the hem pulled up and tucked in the waistband.
I estimated some of them to be the original owners.
Riley put her hand through my arm as we walked through the casino, maybe as much for protection as from any sense of attraction. The tall, elegant blonde was dressed in a black cocktail dress that exposed about fifty not so very square inches of flawless flesh to the harsh casino lights.
“So, Dag Hamar,” she said looking up at me. “You wanna get lucky?”
“I thought we’d covered that point, Riley,” I said.
“I mean in the casino,” she said laughing. “Teach me how to play roulette.”
“That’s easy,” I said. We stepped up to an opening at a table and I asked the croupier for four $5 chips. I handed one to Riley and said, “The best way to play roulette is to lay your first bet on your age. If the ball rolls into that slot it pays 35 to 1.” She pushed her chip onto the 29 square. I looked at her with one eyebrow raised. She moved the chip to 28, glanced at me and sighed, then moved it to 27. I reached out and dropped the remaining chips on 26 just before the dealer called “No more bets.”
When the ball came to rest, he reached over and put the pip on top of my chips as he called out “Black 26.” He scooped off the other players’ chips and paid my three red chips with five black, and a green. I left the red and green chips on the table for him, scooped up the five hundred, shoved four in my pocket and handed one to Riley.
“You are supposed to be honest when you bet your age,” I smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her less than fully composed.
“How did you know?” she asked. “My birthday is in two weeks!”
I suddenly found that I couldn’t answer her. My smile was still on my face and I was looking at her, but I couldn’t see her. She faded in and out. There was a pain in my chest and my right leg was crumpling under me. A roaring sound deafened my ears. I reached toward her and she held my hand as I sank to the floor in the middle of the casino.
“Call 911!” I heard her yell. It was going to be too late. I knew that. I’d never had a heart attack, but there was no mistaking what was happening. Then she was shoving something into my mouth and forcing me to chew it. I tasted the bitter flavor of aspirin.
I was sure a heart attack in the company of a beautiful young woman was supposed to be under different circumstances.
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