Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7) (2 page)

"Wait," he said. "I have one more trick. Do you have any handcuffs? Go ahead and slap some bracelets on my wrists." He held out his hands.

She wasn't going to complain about this request. She found a pair of trick handcuffs in her supplies. There was a hidden release, but otherwise, they were as effective as the real thing. The steel was impressively thick and heavy.

She put the cuffs on his wrists and tightened them. "Let's see you get out of those."

"Watch closely." He leaned towards her. "You've never seen this before."

"Go on."

He spat at the cuffs. A gob of sticky, yellow liquid struck the metal and immediately began to bubble. Greasy smoke that smelled like burnt toast stung her eyes. Within seconds, the cuffs broke apart. The pieces of metal fell off his wrists and dropped to the floor.

She picked up one of the fragments and saw the acid still consuming the metal. "You must have some kind of gadget in your mouth," she said softly.

"Take a look." He opened his mouth wide.

She looked inside. He had nice white teeth, but otherwise, there was nothing remarkable about his large mouth.

"Do it again," she said.

He spat at the tile floor. The yellow acid rapidly drilled straight down and vanished from sight. She stared at the hole in disbelief.

"You appear to be impressed by my tricks."

"That was impossible," she said.

"Miraculous is the technically correct term," he said. "Enough showing off. I came here because you need better management."

The sudden change in subject disoriented her. "My agent is fine. He always gets me the best bookings."

"He's been stealing from you for years."

Aaron took a sheaf of papers from an inside coat pocket and handed them over. Sheryl examined the stack and found they were bank statements. Many transactions were highlighted in yellow and annotated. Some of the statements were from her personal accounts.

"Where did you get these?" She shook the papers.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Your agent has been taking considerably more than his normal cut."

As she flipped through the statements, she became very angry. If any of this information was accurate, her agent was a thief.

"Betrayal is a terrible feeling," Aaron said.

Sheryl looked up at his handsome face. "Yes, it is. I guess you want to be my agent instead?"

"Not quite. Boss is a more accurate term. To be honest, I can't promise you any bookings. You'll have very few public appearances when you work for me."

"This is starting to sound like a very bad, very creepy deal." She narrowed her eyes. "The only thing I know about you is that you're handy with a gun and you spit acid. Working for a crooked agent seems like a much safer bet."

"I saved your life," he said.

"For unknown reasons."

"Because you have potential."

"According to a boy," she said. "What exactly are you expecting me to do for you?"

He just stared at her. His intense gaze was intimidating. She shivered despite her best efforts to remain composed.

She looked over at the girlfriend. Her fingernails were black and filed down to sharp points.

"Interesting manicure," Sheryl said.

The girlfriend smiled. "I like sharp things."

With a flash of movement, she produced two knives from somewhere inside her gown. The blades were six inches long and painted black. Leather straps were wrapped around the handles. There was an insane gleam in her eyes.

Sheryl swallowed. "Will you kill me if I refuse to work for you?"

"No," Aaron said. "You can turn me down, but not yet. First, I want you to perform a special show. Tomorrow night. The Grand Ballroom in the Rosemont Tower Hotel near Chicago."

"Impossible. I'm booked here tomorrow night and for two more weeks."

"How much do I have to pay you to make the impossible become possible?"

"You don't understand." She shook her head. "I have my professional reputation to consider. I can't just blow off a gig."

"Call in sick," he said.

"Even if I wanted to do a performance for you, I couldn't. It takes me a week to prepare a stage for my show, and I need a lot of help."

"I understand this is short notice. Do the best you can. Just tell me what it will cost for one night of your time."

It was obvious he wouldn't be denied, so she decided to try a different tactic. "A million dollars," she said. "Not a penny less." She raised her chin defiantly.

He took a gray phone out of his pocket. It was a lot thicker than most phones, and the metal exterior had a rainbow sheen.

He made a call and said, "Give Sheryl a million dollars."

He put the phone away.

She furrowed her brow. "What was that?"

"Check your bank balance."

She grabbed her own phone from her makeup table. It was a lot slimmer and sleeker than his. Using the browser, she logged into her bank. The balance in her savings account had grown by a million dollars. She blinked in disbelief at the number.
A million dollars for one show,
she thought.
Ridiculous.

"This is dirty money," she said finally.

"No." He shook his head. "It's pristine. It was created just a moment ago."

"The IRS will come after me."

"Calm down. I paid your price, so I'll expect to see you tomorrow at eight. Again, it's the Rosemont Tower Hotel. Pack a bag because you'll be spending the night." He leaned forward. "Don't make me hunt you down. Don't call the police, either. They can't protect you from me."

Sheryl nodded timidly. She believed him.

Aaron took a step towards the door, and then stopped. He seemed puzzled.

"What's wrong now?"

"Your audience tonight was thinner than I expected," he said. "If you're so famous, why didn't you sell out?"

The question caught her off guard. "I blame the Super Double Monkey machines."

"The what?"

"It's a new game. It's like a cross between pinball and a slot machine. Everybody wants to play it all the time. There is always a line out the door. The game is taking over the casino like a cancer. Management doesn't give a damn about anything else these days. They even stopped promoting me."

He turned back to her. The strangely dark shadows on his face caught her attention again. She had spent her life creating pretend mysteries, and for the first time, she felt like she was in the presence of the real thing. This guy was different in ways that went beyond his ability to spit acid.

"That's very interesting."

"Why?" she said.

He just winked at her. He and his red-haired girlfriend left the room and closed the door.

Sheryl realized she was shivering. She looked down at her phone. Her bank balance still showed the inexplicable million dollars. She clicked through the website as she tried to discover where it had come from. There was no associated deposit or transfer. The money had simply appeared out of thin air.

She leaned down and examined the hole in the floor. Aaron's acid had drilled through several inches of concrete beneath the tile floor. She looked up at the three perfectly spaced bullet holes in the wall.

She took a deep breath.
What the hell just happened to me?

* * *

Aaron held Marina's hand as they walked through the Huhawira Casino. The noise and flashing lights were like a drill boring into his skull. It seemed every one of the slot machines was ringing at once. Neon lights surrounded him. The exits were concealed and there were no windows, creating the impression he was trapped inside a psychedelic cage. The experience was supposed to be exciting, but he found it grueling. He preferred dark, quiet places.

The gamblers in the casino weren't pleasant viewing, either. Most were old, fat, and badly dressed. They pulled the handles on the slot machines with a robotic cadence. Their glassy eyes stared at the spinning wheels. They were clearly spending money they could ill afford to lose.

"I hate this place," Marina grumbled.

Aaron grunted and nodded.

A large, brightly lit sign on the wall read, "Super Double Monkey! This way!"

A yellow arrow pointed to a door in the back corner of the room, but he didn't need the guidance. A long line of people showed the way as well. Their faces displayed the kind of hopeless desperation he associated with drug addiction. The line wasn't moving at all.

"I don't want to wait for hours," Aaron said. "We still have a long drive back to Chicago."

Marina looked around. "I think that's the back door." She pointed at another opening.

Gamblers were drifting out infrequently, one at a time. They shuffled their feet and had sleepy, vacant expressions. One woman's fingers were twisted as if she had severe arthritis. She was rubbing that hand with the other and wincing in pain.

Two muscular bouncers in tuxedos guarded the doorway.

"Now we just need a distraction," Aaron said. "I have a small breaching charge."

Marina grinned. "I really miss working with you. Life isn't nearly as interesting when you're not around."

"Thanks. I feel the same way. Move into position."

She drifted towards the bouncers.

He went over to a line of slot machines and slipped a small device out of a hidden pocket. It contained a wad of explosive powerful enough to knock the lock out of a steel door or punch a hole in a wall. After checking for witnesses, he placed the charge against the back of a slot machine where it couldn't be seen. He set the timer for two minutes.

He casually walked over to Marina.

The explosion was shockingly loud even in the noisy room. It threw the slot machine forward and made it crash onto the floor. A cloud of smoke rose to the ceiling. Nearby patrons screamed in surprise. The bouncers walked over to investigate the commotion.

Aaron and Marina quickly went through the doorway.

They entered another room containing hundreds of identical machines arranged in long rows. All of them were in use.

He approached the nearest machine. A glass box the size of a fish tank contained a bewilderingly complex mechanism. It included painted wooden balls of different sizes, metal rails, springs, holes, gears, rubber bands, clappers, bells, and whistles. The arrangement reminded him of a three-dimensional maze. Knobs and levers below allowed the player to manipulate the machine in certain ways. It wasn't clear how to win the game or even how to keep score.

The lack of electronic components surprised Aaron. There was a lit panel for accepting money, but otherwise, the machines were entirely mechanical. He couldn't help but admire the masterful craftsmanship in their construction.

He turned his attention to the people playing the games. They were feverishly working the controls as if their lives depended on it. They seemed completely lost in a world of rolling balls and cute sound effects.

"I have a very bad feeling," Marina said.

"Me, too," Aaron said.

He looked around to assess the security. He counted thirty guards placed around the room, and all of them carried pistols. A grid of surveillance cameras watched every machine from multiple angles. There were no windows. Gamblers entered through one door and left through another, and Aaron saw no other exits. Steel screens could swing down from the ceiling and seal the room.

"Let's go," he said. "It won't take long for security to identify me as the bomber on the surveillance video."

Marina nodded. They held hands as they left the room the same way they had entered.

A large group of casino personnel was gathered around the spot where the breaching charge had exploded.

Aaron and Marina headed towards the nearest exit at a swift walk.

They emerged into muggy night air. June had been an unusually warm and wet month throughout the Midwest. Rain showers had occurred almost every day. Mosquitoes had become more than a minor nuisance. In Aaron's opinion, the pests had a particular taste for the blood of commanders in the Gray Spear Society.

The Huhawira Casino was a big, tan building with a boxy architecture. Native American touches added a little style to the otherwise drab exterior. There was a large parking structure in back. A highway overpass was across the street, and the continuous flow of traffic sounded like ocean waves.

A group of waiters and waitresses was standing in a circle under the overpass. They were smoking cigarettes.

"Let's talk to them," Marina said.

She checked for traffic and jogged across the street. Aaron followed close behind.

She smiled gently as she approached the group. She had the ability to appear perfectly sweet and innocent when she wanted. He didn't know of anybody with better acting skills.

"Hi!" she said. "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

One of the waiters responded, "Who are you?" He wore a cheap, black suit and a bowtie.

"We work for another casino." She took a thick cash roll out of her purse. "We're checking out the competition, and we'll pay for information. Who wants some money?" She peeled off a hundred dollar bill and held it up.

"I do," a waitress said quickly. Her silky black dress went down to just the middle of her thighs.

Marina gave her the money. "Tell me about Super Double Monkey. We noticed it's extremely popular."

The casino employees looked at each other nervously.

"Well?" Marina said. "I paid you. Talk."

"The first machine showed up on the floor three years ago," the waitress said quietly. "It was just a prototype, but everybody loved it. Management has been buying more every month since then. Super Double Monkey is the latest version."

Marina held up another hundred dollar bill. "Who's next?"

A waiter snatched the money and said, "I heard most of the casino's revenue comes out of that room now. A million dollars a day, maybe more. It's bad business for us though."

"Why?"

"The players don't eat or drink. They don't take breaks. They won't even use the restroom while they're at the monkey machines. We live on tips, and we're getting a lot less these days."

She raised her eyebrows. "The players won't use the toilet?"