John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

The dealer stacked black and yellow chips in front of Klein.

“Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side,” Klein said.

“Not with cards. Is there a place we can talk in private?”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Klein said, tipping the dealer a pair of black and yellow chips. A man dressed in an official Roundtable jacket and red tie picked up Klein’s winnings, stacked them onto a tray, and walked off.

“Accompany me to the elevator,” Kurt Klein said, standing. Winter stood and walked beside Klein.

Finch led the way, the two arm-breakers trailing behind him.

“ So,” Leigh Said, “if This Specific Individual didn’t have Cynthia, what would you be doing differently?”

“Every case is different,” Alexa said.

Leigh’s voice cracked with emotion as she spoke. “You must think I’m a terrible mother. Sherry just murdered and I let my daughter leave the house alone.”

“Beating yourself up is a normal reaction, but you didn’t know what was going on then,” Alexa told her. “She’s going to be fine.”

“I always let her do what she wants to do. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Is that your personal or professional opinion?”

“Both.”

“I know what you people think. If she’s dead, she’s dead. If she isn’t, she probably won’t be killed.”

“I didn’t say that,” Alexa said.

“Winter believes it. You’re saying you don’t think that’s the case?”

“Winter knows this man who has your daughter as well as anyone does.”

“The man is a professional murderer.”

“Yes, he is. But he doesn’t kill unless it works to his advantage. We should talk about something else.”

Leigh looked at the fire in the hearth. “How in God’s name can I talk about anything else? I can’t think of anything but Cynthia.”

“Please, try.”

“You and Winter both grew up in Cleveland.”

“We met in high school.”

“You were good friends?”

“We were best friends. I’ve never had a friend that came close to him.”

“Not more than friends?”

“Never lovers, if that’s what you mean. I was an outsider-a misfit. My parents were drug addicts. My sister and I were split up in foster care. Winter came along at a crucial time in my life, and he reached out to me. He saved my life. He lost friends over it and didn’t care at all. We had a lot in common. He married my best friend and roommate from college.” Alexa laughed. “I was his best man and her maid of honor.”

“Brad says he is very good at what he does.”

“He’s awesome at what he does. His instincts are truly amazing. He is one of the few people on earth I trust completely.” Leigh nodded, and there was a silence, after which Alexa said, “I understand you and Brad went together.”

Leigh’s eyes lit up. “We were engaged. We almost got married.”

“Tell me about it.”

Fifteen minutes later, as Leigh was smiling at Alexa with tears in her eyes, Brad came into the room.

“We were talking about high school,” Alexa said, grinning at Leigh, who blushed.

“That was a long time ago,” he said. “Winter called. He’s gone to talk to Klein at the casino. He’s taking a copy of the papers Billy filed.”

“Alone?” Alexa said.

“Yeah. He had Billy drop him off at his Jeep.”

Alexa swore under her breath. “Leigh, can I take your truck?”

“Sure. Key’s hanging by the back door.”

Alexa got into Leigh’s truck and struck out for the casino, passing three parked cruisers whose deputies, armed with AR-15s and shotguns, were guarding the road leading into the plantation.

Alexa couldn’t believe Brad had let Winter go out to the casino without backup of any kind. Mulvane could react violently if he thought Winter was going to bring his sinister actions to his boss’s attention. And if Klein was protected by his own security and the U.S. government, he could probably do whatever he pleased without worrying about repercussions or legal accountability. She knew Winter was not intimidated by these facts, at least not the way she would be. But frightened or not, she wasn’t about to let anything happen to Massey if she could help it.

It was dusk when Alexa pulled into a space in front of the Roundtable. Putting the purse’s strap over her shoulder, she strode toward the front doors. Walking purposefully through the casino, she caught sight of Winter, Klein, and three security people heading for the elevators. Moving quickly, she tried to intercept the group so Winter would see her, but they turned the corner before she caught up, and she didn’t think running or waving her arms in the air was a good idea. She saw Winter, under no apparent duress, step into an elevator cab with Klein. Klein dismissed the other two men, allowing only his personal security man to accompany them.

Alexa had some time to kill and remembered something she needed to take care of. She went to the hotel lobby and stopped at the house phones.

“Can you please connect me to Jason Parr’s room?” she asked the operator.

There was a momentary pause as the operator looked up the room number and handed her the receiver. It rang four times, after which the gambling pig farmer answered. “Parr here.”

“This is your old gambling partner.”

“Alexa?” he said, suddenly excited. “That really you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m really glad you came by. After the dust settled I found out I shorted you by about nine grand,” he said. “I didn’t know how I’d ever find you.”

“Can you come down? I really can’t accept it.”

“I can’t at the moment. Could you come up? I’m on the eighth floor in suite eight-twenty-two. Unless you feel weird about coming to a stranger’s room…”

“Of course not. I’ll be right up.”

Cynthia Gardner was dressed in clean clothes, still bound, and lying on a king-sized bed, watching mesmerized as the man who’d kidnapped her peeled away in ragged pieces what she had believed until that instant was the actual skin on his very unattractive face. As he scrubbed the adhesive from his cheeks, he became another person entirely. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t male model material either. And thanks to the tight spandex underwear he had on, she could see that he was built like a gymnast. Sure, he was sort of old, but every muscle was as perfectly defined as anybody her age.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked him.

“In school,” he said, frowning thoughtfully in the mirror at the sight of his irritated skin.

“Makeup one-oh-one?” she asked.

“Are you feeling one hundred percent yet?” he wanted to know.

“Yes. Thanks for the shot.” Asshole. I could have died. I almost did, I bet.

“Now you are completely out of insulin. So the timing was perfect. By the time you need another shot, you’ll be at home, safe and sound. You have some at home?”

“Yes, I do. You know, I really thought you were going to let me die,” she told him.

“Don’t be silly, Cynthia,” He turned to look at her, smiling. “Do I look like a murderer to you?”

“I’m not really sure what a murderer looks like.”

He said, “Let’s hope you don’t ever find that out.”

“So how long till I go home?”

“Tonight. Around nine.”

As Cynthia watched, the man reached into a cardboard box, lifted out a mannequin’s head, and placed it on the dressing table. All she could make out from the backside was a hairpiece. After applying adhesive from a bottle to a section of latex he’d removed from the head, he pasted the section on his own forehead, patting it down in places.