10. Zoe
10
ZOE
“Have you seen my girlfriend?” Ozzie asks abruptly. “She’s tall. Beautiful but usually wearing a scowl. Her hair changes often, but she’s got very, very long legs.”
I look up to find Ozzie at my side. I haven’t even had a chance to answer the accusation Benz has hurled at me. On the inside, my pulse has elevated and I’ve become acutely aware of a sudden tightness in my chest. Benz is staring at me shrewdly, cockeyed as he looks me up and down.
He’s about as startled as I am that Ozzie’s shown up so suddenly.
Neither of us can do anything but blink for a few seconds. The vulturous grin wipes off Benz’s face as he seems to realize this situation won’t go as planned. He won’t be able to accost me like he thought.
“Oz…” he trails off. “What are you doing here?”
Ozzie shrugs, then throws an arm over my shoulder, pulling me against his side. “What does it look like? Came to find my girl. Is that a problem?”
Benz’s bushy brows jump high on his forehead and he quickly shakes his head. “Of course it’s not… I was just…”
“’Cuz I was wondering why you’d want her down here when she’s not even scheduled to work ’til tonight,” Ozzie continues in a tone that strikes a strange balance between being casual and threatening. “You’re not taking advantage of her, are you, Benz?”
“Never… I wouldn’t…” he stammers, looking between us.
Ozzie grins. “Good. Whatever you say to her, you can say to me. So go ahead. What were you telling her?”
“It wasn’t important. Just work.”
Benz catches my eye briefly before he mumbles something else about tonight’s shift starting at seven, then he’s rushing off. He purposely wedges himself in between a bachelorette group that’s just arrived at the casino to hit the slots, effectively disappearing within seconds.
I wait until I’m sure he’s gone before I slide out from under Ozzie’s arm and give him a shove in the chest.
“What do you think you were doing? Why did you follow me?”
“Were you listening? You’re my gir?—”
“I don’t need you breathing down my neck every moment of this operation!” I snap. “For all you know, you’ve just made things significantly worse, Gallagher.”
“Gee, Strauss, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was threatening you.”
“You weren’t even here to know what was going on!”
“Body language speaks volumes. He was fucking looming. He looked like a whole-ass vulture about to feed on a carcass. You .”
I click my tongue in frustration and spin on my heel.
There’s no use trying to get through to him. It’s as if we’re speaking different languages. He has no concept of discretion, of strategy. He seems to think spontaneity and shooting off at the hips will somehow keep Boone and Benz at bay.
Benz’s theory matched Boone’s. Both men are convinced that the police are running some kind of sting operation on their criminal activity.
The sole reason the original tournament had been canceled in Houston was because they believed cops were going to descend on Déjà Vu. We wouldn’t be in Las Vegas making another attempt at an even more audacious underground tournament if not for their suspicions.
But if there is a snitch on the inside whispering in Houston PD’s ear, it isn’t me or anyone from the FBI—we have a separate investigation going.
Ozzie scaring Benz away could have the opposite of his desired effect; he could’ve just made the club owner even more suspicious of us.
Why else would Benz pull me aside to let me know he thinks I’m the snitch? He must have some sort of evidence, and now I won’t know what that is because of Ozzie’s interruption.
I’m so frustrated that I head out the automatic glass doors at the front of the casino and start down the passageway that connects to the casino next door. Anything to get as far away from Ozzie as possible in this moment.
But, never one to be ignored, the tatted-up biker follows .
He jogs after me, calling my name.
“Jade! Hold up!”
He catches me as I’m halfway down the passage. Several onlookers glance over in curiosity, all tourists who are clutching plastic bags of souvenirs and their phones to snap photos.
“Will you chill the fuck out?” he says. Then he grabs my arm to pull me to his side and drops the volume of his voice. “Let me explain something to you about this world. It’s something you need to understand if your mission’s gonna be a success.”
I roll my eyes, too damn stubborn to concede, though secretly I’m interested to hear what he’ll say.
“Men like Benz don’t respect women like you.”
I scoff, half a second away from erupting at him, but then he goes on.
“You’re a bottle girl. Just some chick. All the girls at the club are. That’s why he felt comfortable inviting you downstairs,” Ozzie explains. “But Benz is a coward. He doesn’t respect you… but he respects me.”
“Because you’re my boyfriend,” I supply and he nods.
“I’m not saying it’s right. I’m saying that’s how guys like Benz think. It’s how all the guys in these circles think. You don’t need to prove you’re badass. I know you can handle yourself. But you’ve gotta let me provide cover for you. You’re not Agent Strauss right now, you’re Jade .”
I inhale a steadying breath, allowing my temper to cool and rationale to take over.
What Ozzie’s saying is correct. In these types of circles, I’m looked at like a commodity more than someone worthy of dignity and respect.
Benz clearly thought he could intimidate Jade Fowley and had called her down to the lobby in order to do so. The question is, what was his goal in letting me know he believed I was the snitch?
“He thinks I’m the informant,” I say. “He called me down to the lobby to let me know.”
Ozzie slides his arm around my shoulders again and we start walking side by side. He juts his chin at a bearded man passing the opposite way on the passageway connecting the two casinos. The man wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, but then I notice the tattoo on his arm.
A howling wolf and motorcycle against the backdrop of the full moon.
It belongs to the motorcycle club the Iron Wolves, believed to have a sizable presence in the states of Nevada and Arizona.
Does Ozzie know this man?
He waits until we’ve entered the neighboring casino—otherwise known as the Silver Spire—and then he tells me exactly what I’ve deduced.
“You see that guy? His name is Judd. He’s a tail gunner in the Iron Wolves. He’ll be playing in the tournament.”
“You know him?”
“Not well. But he recognized me just like I recognized him.”
“Okay, we’re on your playground. So then, tell me what I should do about Benz.”
“You do nothing. You play innocent. He tries to threaten you again, you tell him you’re just trying to do your job and you don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. I’ll handle the rest.”
Putting the fate of my entire investigation on Ozzie and his vague promise to “handle the rest” gives me instant anxiety. My natural urge is to protest, disagree, counter what he says, but I swallow that down and exhale a breath instead.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “We’ll try things your way. But you better hope it doesn’t crash and burn my investigation.”
“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me, babe.”
He shoots me another one of his crooked, cocky grins, adding a wink for extra effect. The combination succeeds in making my stomach flutter.
I’m reminded of how I’d felt all those weeks ago when we kissed—Ozzie had pulled me toward him like I really was his. He’d kissed me so thoroughly that it almost felt real. It was almost like we were a real couple for those few seconds…
Cheeks warm at the memory, I search my mind for a change of subject.
“Just make sure you don’t get too handsy,” I remind him. “The arm over the shoulder is fine… but I’ve noticed how your hand keeps gravitating toward my ass.”
He barks out an unabashed laugh that tells me I’m correct. “It’s not my fault I’m a method actor, babe. You’re gonna have to get used to it.”
At six p.m., I head to the underground casino where the tournament will be held. It’s three floors below the main casino itself. Employee and VIP access only.
The elevator doors part down the middle, and my jaw drops open at the layout in front of me.
The underground casino is possibly more impressive than the one above ground, glittering like a hidden jewel the rest of the city has no clue about. The walls are a deep, velvety sapphire with murals of Aztec symbols and imagery on display. A gigantic golden sun disc makes up the ceiling, casting a soft, gilded haze over the large space.
I step forward, admiring the game tables that take up the center of the casino, presumably where the players will sit through the different rounds of the tournament.
There’s a full-sized bar that’s been designed to match the rest of the casino’s golden Aztec aesthetic, showing off shelves stocked with rare tequilas, smoky mezcals, and crystal decanters filled with other exotic spirits.
Just like with the Déjà Vu club, there’s a dark, moodily lit lounge area where I’m guessing Boone and other high rollers will be able to sit, drink, and smoke cigars to their heart’s content.
“It’s gorg, isn’t it?” asks Sugar suddenly. She’s come down in the elevator after me, stepping off with her mini handbag dangling from her wrist and her heart-shaped sunglasses on her face. She pulls them off as if to admire the underground casino more vividly. “Did you see the stage? All the poles? There’ll be live entertainment in between the rounds. And our costumes! Wait to you see.”
“Costumes?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you!”
She grabs me by the hand and bounces forward like she’s overcome with excitement. She pulls me into the back area of the underground casino, where the high-roller guests, players, and other spectators won’t be able to see.
It’s obvious from the moment we start down a hall lined with doors to a kitchen, a stock room, offices, even some VIP lounges, that Boone and Estrada invested a pretty penny in this facility. Compared to the accommodations at the Déjà Vu club, this is five star deluxe.
Which means they both plan on recouping the costs.
Which means they must have much more planned than just a charitable, albeit illegal, gambling tournament that gives away a cool million dollar cash prize.
I know exactly what some of the other nefarious activities will be—drugs and narcotics, shady business deals, prostitution .
A twinge of heartbreak ebbs inside my chest thinking of all the times he’s gotten away with this.
He’s put on these elaborate tournaments and then sucked everyone involved dry ’til there was nothing left.
“Pretty cool, right?” Sugar says, popping her gum. “I didn’t really wanna come down to Vegas ’cuz you know I’ve got pending charges and I’m not supposed to leave Texas.”
…she does?
“And you know Benz doesn’t even pay too good for it to be worth the trouble. But he promised double for this tournament.”
It’s news to me that Sugar has been in trouble with the law. But she and I haven’t been very close in the short time we’ve worked together at Déjà Vu. The girl always tries to court me into girl chat type exchanges to little success. Nothing against her, I’ve just had more important shit to focus on, like taking down Boone.
She leads me into the dressing room where the rest of the girls are in the middle of prepping for tonight. If there is one thing I do know about the women I work with at the Déjà Vu Gentleman’s Club, it’s that they aren’t at all shy about showing off their bodies.
As we enter the room, Venus is topless at a vanity table penciling her eyebrows. Chyna is sliding out of her jeans to put on the stringy little piece of fabric she’ll be wearing on stage. Versace and Nova are in the middle of a conversation about splitting the clientele for the night. The two are sisters who often perform racy, borderline incestuous dance numbers on stage.
Sugar greets them both and then darts toward the rack of costumes. She plucks the last two hanging on the rack and hands me the one in her left hand marked JADE.
I can’t hide the shock from my face—my eyes go wide and I give a slow, stunned blink.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
Sugar giggles. “This is the whole thing. Benz said Boone requested something more provocative for the tournament.”
I hold out the hanger with the sparkly sapphire and gold bra and hot pants that are so short and small, my whole ass will be out.
“You’ll look great in those,” chimes in Venus with a wink. “Those legs in those booty shorts? Banging.”
It’s not that I don’t think I’ll look good. It’s that I don’t give a fuck about it… or about prancing around half naked in front of men like Boone and his lapdogs.
I’ve never been the woman seeking male validation. Any guy I’ve slept with has had to accept that I’m not the type who does sexy lingerie or seduces him with a dance. I was more a practical straight shooter, looking to get right down to business and then move on.
Ozzie’s earlier words come back to me.
You’re not Agent Strauss right now, you’re Jade.
I sigh and remind myself to play the role. I join the other ladies changing and then let Venus do my makeup.
Tonight I’m wearing the same bright blue wig I’d put on yesterday.
Once I’m ready, I invent an excuse to leave the dressing room and instead seek out the same person who threatened me a few hours ago.
I agreed to do things how Ozzie wanted, but that doesn’t mean I would completely listen to him. My need to know why and how Benz suspects me outweighs any caution. I’ll track him down and apologize for any confusion. He’ll hopefully clue me in as to why he’s convinced I’m the snitch.
Wandering down the hall, it only takes me a minute to stumble upon his office.
I recognize it as Benz’s because of the gaudy, gilded art plastered across the walls and the glass animals he has on display. Only Benz would be so tacky to think this looks good.
The door’s cracked open but no one’s inside. I step into the room cautiously, tugging down my hot pants to no avail. They’re so short, it’s useless.
But it’s not just that they’re criminally tiny and show off my entire thigh and leg—it’s that the cut of the shorts automatically gives a wedgie as soon as you start moving.
The fact that I’ll have to remain like this all night is torture.
I creep deeper into the room and make it to the glass desk, where there are papers strewn across the top. A quick glance at many of the documents reveals they’re nothing incriminating on Boone or Benz. Some mundane things like receipts for furnishings at the underground casino and a roster of the participating players.
It’s not until I shift around some papers that I find something potentially of interest.
A banking statement showing numerous deposits into Benz’s account. The depositor is the same account number each time, one after another.
I frown staring at the statement. Where is this money coming from? Who’s depositing it into Benz’s account and what’s it for?
No more than a minute later, I’m exiting his office as discreetly as I entered. I stride down the corridor, headed back for the dressing room so I can use the girls as my alibi.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
It’s Benz calling out to me.
So much for my alibi.
My stomach flips as I turn to face him, prepared for more accusations like earlier. But he has a vein throbbing in his temple and his face is flushed from more than the heat.
“Benz,” I say in a meek tone befitting of Jade Fowley. “About earlier… I’m sorry for any misunderstand?—”
“Never mind that. You’re needed right now. Starr’s come down with something and we’ve got nobody else to replace her.”
“Wait, Starr’s a dancer.”
“That’s right,” he grunts, grabbing me by the elbow. “You’ll be taking the stage tonight.”