Chapter 11 #2
“Cop’s chatting up the dealer,” I said, trying to draw John’s attention away from the blonde in a dress that caressed her ass the way I wanted to.
“Doesn’t look like he plans on playing tonight.
Probably just scouting the place.” He headed to a blackjack table with two open seats. “Moving on to twenty-one.”
“I’ve got fucking eyes. I can see what the goddamn cop is doing,” John barked, then stuck his finger directly onto the screen. Right over Amelia.
I hated when people touched the computer screen. It left prints and someone had always misplaced the screen cloth.
“Find out who she is.”
I cleared my throat. “Angela—”
“Not what name she gave at the door.” His voice turned sinister. “Find out who she is. Not what her fucking name is.”
Usually, this was when John would waltz out. I’d come up with a plausible story with weak but present evidence and peddle it to him while he was busy entertaining people. He always bought it.
But this time . . . this time, he didn’t budge.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Do what you do best and get me what I want,” John snipped like I was a fucking bellhop.
I cleared my throat and keyed in my earpiece to talk to the guy who was watching the exterior of the Four Horsemen. “Jacob, circle the block and get the plates and registration on every silver sedan.”
These were the days when I wished the casino was close to a fucking parking garage.
But no. We were a tiny blip on the outskirts of Atlantic City, forcing people to street park, find the occasional space in a lot, or walk blocks away from the bustling heart of the city.
It was that way by design. John Valentine didn’t want this to be a hot spot that was easy to access.
There was a pause before he responded, “What am I looking for?”
If Jacob had to search a parking deck it would have taken him all night, but he could case the block in ten minutes. That wasn’t enough time for Valentine to lose interest.
“Just trying to verify an ID,” I said as I watched Amelia go from her usual spot at the bar to the open spot right beside the cop. I pulled up the audio from their table and listened as they made polite, bland chit-chat as the dealer opened the game.
Amelia went big with her first bet, and it paid off in no time. Behind me, John was silent, but I could feel his rage radiating in the matchbox room.
In my ear, Jacob started rattling off names and plate numbers. I knew Amelia’s by heart. Thankfully, he hadn’t found hers yet. Maybe the street was packed and she had left her car farther away than usual.
At least we didn’t have designated parking or a valet. That would have been like shooting fish in a barrel.
As I started running all the names and plate numbers through the bootlegged DMV database, John began to pace.
“This one’s a Connecticut plate,” Jacob said as he rattled off the number. “Give me a second to get inside and see if the registration’s there. It’ll give you a name.”
I didn’t need to know the name to know that it was Amelia’s car.
“Say the plate number again,” I asked as I intentionally typed it into the system incorrectly while silently hoping Amelia’s car had some kind of sophisticated anti-theft protection that would keep him from getting inside and finding her registration papers.
“Registered to an Amelia Jane Hawthorne,” Jacob said.
“Hawthorne?” John reared back. “That’s the last name of that kid who stole a hundred grand from me.”
“Probably just a coincidence,” I mused, hoping to put some distance between his assumption and her identity.
John wagged a finger at the computer screen. “Look her up. None of the fancy shit. Just Google her. Prove me right.”
Dammit. I hated when he said that. It meant he wasn’t letting this go no matter what.
Amelia was fucked.
I typed her name into the search engine and hit enter, hoping a plan would appear faster than the search results. In my heart of hearts, I knew this day would come. The day when I’d have to decide to cut my losses.
I just didn’t expect today to be that day.
Unfortunately, Amelia was more striking on paper than she was to most people in person.
Dozens of articles about her as an adolescent mathlete flooded the screen, only topped by her presence as a professor at Alcott University.
John touched the screen again as he pointed at her faculty photo. “That’s her.”
“She’s probably just blowing off steam after the school year.”
John glowered, staring at Amelia’s smiling photo like she was public enemy number one.
“People who are ‘just blowing off steam’ don’t give fake names.
” He grabbed the desktop inkjet printer and, with a grunt, threw it across the room.
It smashed against the wall and fell in a torrent of plastic parts.
I didn’t even flinch. I mean, it was a shitty printer. I had wanted to throw it at the wall on more than one occasion. Much like upgrading the casino, Valentine couldn’t be bothered to spring for a bottom-of-the-line laser printer.
This was par for the course with him. He was an emotionless businessman. A slick charmer. A calculated crime lord. But when he thought someone had wronged him, his truly dark side came out to play.
“She’s been here every damn night, taking my money just like her—her brother? Cousin?”
Twin, but I didn’t correct him.
He braced his hands on the edge of the desk, seething as he stared at Amelia, who had just won five grand. “Math professor . . . She’s a card shark.”
Card counter. Not a shark.
She didn’t need to sneak cards up her sleeve when she had an eidetic memory at her disposal.
“It’s not like Alcott is some school for savants. It’s a college rich kids go to when they can’t buy their way into the Ivys.”
John looked at me with a gaze so dark the devil himself would have shuddered.
“Ever since those MIT kids did what they did, everyone thinks they can take a piece of us. And she’s even worse.
She’s robbing me so the other Hawthorne can pay me.
” John pushed away from the desk. “Get rid of her.” He paused at the door.
“In a way that means she won’t be back. You know how I like it when you get creative.
Make an example of her. And, since you’ll have your hands full tonight, I’ll send someone else to deal with the boy. ”
Ice raced through my veins. “He has thirty hours left to pay up.”
“I’ve grown tired of these games. We’ll call the money I lost to those kids the cost of doing business.
But their deaths will be a marketing investment.
” He grinned. “I’ve gotten soft. It’ll be a nice way to remind everyone how we do things around here.
” His eyes glossed over with the kind of deadness that only came from creating hell on earth. “Don’t disappoint me, Jude.”