Authors: J. Fields Jr.
“I don’t usually wear clothes when I’m just hanging around.”
He patted her arm.
“Perhaps I’ll show you the locations of the manual switches.”
“Okeedokey.”
Their tour ended when the compact
en suite
elevator deposited them on the second floor.
Antonio excused himself momentarily to check the arrangements in the guest bath.
“This bath is somewhat modest compared to the master bath downstairs,” he called out to her, eyes scanning the iced Cristal ’99 breathing in the champagne stand in a packed mold of shaved ice, the crystal flute and bath salts on the ledge of the Jacuzzi, and the frothing water within.
He dipped a finger into the water, found the temperature suitable and dried his digit with his handkerchief.
“But I think you’ll agree that the view of the
Connecticut
woods is spectacular.”
Smiling, he stepped out of the bathroom and stopped short, averting his eyes to a nearby arrangement of fresh-cut tulips.
“I thought I mentioned that I walk around naked?”
“My apologies.
I assumed you were referring to when you were alone.”
“Well, mostly.
But I’m about to get into the Jacuzzi.
Now you know why I hate paparazzi.”
“I can see where you might value privacy.”
“My mom calls me a free spirit.”
“An adoring quality.”
Antonio stepped closer to the flower arrangement.
He peered at one particular tulip that was slightly wilted.
“When would you like to begin setting the dining room for dinner?”
“Maybe an hour?”
“Very good.
I’ll leave the envelope with your room key right here.
Your luggage will be delivered within the hour.
Is there anything else you require before I go?”
“No thanks,” she said.
The platinum lighter was produced and extended.
Antonio found yet another wilted tulip as the actress exhaled smoke.
“You must have eyes in the back of your head.”
He slid the lighter into his jacket pocket.
“I heard you open the cigarette pack, though I can’t imagine where you might have been holding it.”
She laughed.
“You’re funny.
I like you.
Where are you from, Antonio?”
“I was born in
El Salvador
.”
“Your complexion is very nice.
I’m trying not stare at your skin.”
“The feeling is mutual, Miss Moon.
I’ll phone the room when dinner preparations are underway.”
The sound of her bare feet padding quickly towards the bathroom was followed by, “See you then!”
Before leaving the suite he folded her clothing and sat it on a corner table outside the bathroom, then withdrew the two wilted tulips from the vase.
As soon as he was in the hotel hallway he withdrew his BlackBerry and checked the screen.
One voicemail.
One text.
He dialed voicemail first.
“Antonio?
This is Office Stillson down at loading dock 8.
We have the Brinks truck with its police escort down here, but can’t get by one of your limos.”
Speaking away from the phone the officer asked, “What’s his name again?”
Into the phone he huffed.
“Max Allen.
Says he knows you.”
BlackBerry pressed to ear, Antonio began to jog.
“Says he doesn’t want to move because you said you were coming down here to get him.
Says you might not find him if he moves.
He don’t move, our big armored truck full of money don’t move.
And I don’t move.
So you got a problem.
Call me back at this number.”
Antonio rounded a corner and paced quickly towards the center elevators and accessed his text messages.
It was from Mark Ford:
Max limo blocking Brinks.
State Police pissed.
This weekend sucks already.
Chapter Four
Antonio crossed the Absolute Black marble of the hotel lobby.
Even at this hour he had to maneuver around guests rolling their luggage and gazing wide-eyed across an expansive field of carpet to the hotel registration desk.
The mahogany desk, inlaid with a cut glass
Connecticut
countryside bas-relief, accommodated twelve check-in stations plus concierge.
But behind the desk was what drew the eyes: A ten thousand gallon wall tank holding a four foot short fin Mako.
The short fin Mako, caught by a member of Tribal Council during a shark fishing tournament, had been named
Lizzy
by staff members familiar with the infamously biting personality of the Executive Assistant to the Casino President, Liz Fiore.
Spectators watched the lazy swim of the silvery-blue shark as it circled the tank.
Many guests remarked that the predator seemed oblivious to the hundreds of bright saltwater fish dashing in and out of the coral like swirling confetti.
Antonio always felt that perhaps it was biding its time, but of course he knew Liz Fiore quite well.
“Who’s in that limo?”
Antonio kept pace without turning.
“Good evening Jonathon.
I’m on my way to take care of it.”
Jonathon Michael, hotel manager, slipped sideways through a flock of bingo matrons in red-feathered hats.
“Reason I ask is that the State Police came to the desk and…”
He tripped, sliding away from Antonio’s peripheral vision.
Antonio’s central vision was locked onto the glass doors of the porte-cochere.
The hotel manager stumbled back into step.
“…they wanted to fine the limo driver for not cooperating.
I said no way.
I said wait for you.
Nice roses.”
“Thank you Jonathon.
They’re tulips.”
“Then the State Police said…”
He was stopped by a man holding a suitcase in each hand.
“Where can I check my bags?”
The hotel manager shuffled around the intruder.
“Right over there.
Bell
desk.
See it?”
“There?”
“No – there.”
The man jerked a bag sideways.
“That way?”
“No THAT way.”
“Over there?”
The hotel manager snapped his fingers and shouted, “BELLHOP!
Over here!”
He forged onward.
Antonio was five paces away from the glass doors.
“Then they said to call a locksmith to pop the lock on the limo so they could open it and make the driver get out.
Know what I said?”
“You said to wait for me.”
Antonio pushed on the glass door, allowing a female patron to enter.
He smiled at her, presented her with two slightly wilted tulips and welcomed her to the Native Sun casino.
He turned towards the hotel manager.
“Thank you Jonathon.
I appreciate your diligence.”
“So who’s in the limo?
Is it
Brandon
?”
A new voice joined them.
“It’s Max Allen and he’s mine.”
Antonio did not turn.
He took a calming breath.
“Good Evening, Damien.”
Damien Valentine, casino host, stepped between the hotel manager and Antonio.
At five foot three, he was a plucked and streamlined version of the beefier, hairier stereotypical Italians with which he associated himself.
His pin-striped suit was crisp, silk tie glossy, Rolex polished to match his polished platinum pinky ring.
Antonio knew for a fact that both of these lavish accessories were unauthorized gifts from high rollers in exchange for favors within the casino.
“Executive orders!”
Damien used this pinky to poke Antonio’s lapel.
“You’re under
executive orders
from Player Development to inform me when Max Allen is on property.
You know we’ve been trying to sign him up for the Player’s Club.”
Antonio allotted ten more seconds to try and defuse the casino host.
“He was invited here to compete in the Million Dollar Texas Hold ‘Em Tournament, Mr. Valentine.
If he does not wish to be a member of the Player’s Club, that is his choice.
Since he is not a member, and does not wish to become a member in the foreseeable future, there is no reason for Player Development to be informed of his arrival.”
“You know how I had to find out?
A limo supervisor talking about it in the cafeteria.
Fucking lunchroom gossip, is how I found out.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed.
“I won’t tolerate vulgar language in a public area.”
“Won’t tolerate.”
Damien Valentine swiveled to the hotel manager and cuffed him on the shoulder.
“He won’t tolerate.”
He swiveled back.
“You know what I won’t tolerate?”
Poke.
“You ignoring executive fucking orders and where the
hell
is he going?”
The hotel manager said “Looks like he’s going outside.”
Antonio crossed the porte-cochere for the second time that night.
Valet jockeys jogged to and fro.
Cars shifted into gear.
Moths swarmed the dome lights.
There were no limousines in the VIP lane.
The only vehicle was a twelve-seat party bus.
A group of young ladies clustered nearby.
Each wore a silver miniskirt and a pink shirt printed ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID.
They were playing hot-potato with what appeared to be a rather tumescent sex toy.
To Antonio’s further annoyance the apparatus glowed in the dark.
Vividly.
He whistled a jockey over.
“Lou.
Try to get those ladies into the privacy of their bus.”
“What’s that they’re playing with?”
“That is the part that requires privacy.”
“Is that a dildo?
Look at the size of it!”
“Please remove them with haste.”
“Okay, okay.”
He cupped his hands over his mouth and announced to the bachelorette party.
“I’m coming over there!
Don’t anybody hit me with that thing!”
Antonio scanned the port.
Crossing the furthermost lane was Damien Valentine.
Antonio nearly followed, but caution won out.
He withdrew his BlackBerry.