Carol Clark - Hitched

“And he’s been served a few drinks,” Jack remarked. “I could have used some popcorn this afternoon. We watched the security tapes of the bank robbery over and over.”

“Did it help at all?” Regan asked.

“Not yet. I keep thinking that there must be something on all the tapes of those first robberies that date back to January that we’re missing.”

They watched the screen as Alfred finally got up to leave the gambling table. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like a jumble of cash and papers. He wobbled slightly, steadied himself, and handed out his business cards to several of the players, all men.

“There are the business cards he mentioned,” Regan said. “I can just imagine what he’s saying.”

“None of the players look like they can use a wedding dress.”

Alfred waved to the group as if he were their departing leader, bowed, and walked off.

“I already knew Alfred liked to make a grand entrance when he walked into a room,” Regan said. “Now I see he’s into grand exits as well.”

Jack sighed and turned to Regan. “What do you want to do now?”

“I guess we’ll just…wait a minute, Jack…look…”

Another one of the players got up from the table and leaned down, apparently picking something up off the ground, very close to where Alfred had been standing. When the young man straightened up, he walked off quickly without a backward glance.

“The keys,” Regan said. “Could he have just picked up Alfred’s keys?”

Another guy got up from the table and hurried to catch up with the player who had left after Alfred.

“That second man looks like he’s favoring one leg,” Regan said, cautiously optimistic. “Alfred and Charisse said that one of the thieves walked with a limp.”

Jack pressed a button, and they watched that last moment again, slowing the action several times. Then they went even farther back. “Those two guys were already at the table when Alfred sat down,” Jack observed. “They were sitting next to each other. Let’s get Stan back in here and see if he can get close-ups on those two. It would also be nice if the dealer from that night is on duty.”

Twenty minutes later they were showing the images to a man of about forty with gelled brown hair, a deep tan, and perfectly manicured hands. The dealer leaned forward in his chair as he stared at the screen. “Who could forget that guy in the velvet jacket? You say his name is Alfred?”

“Yes,” Regan answered.

“He was lucky. He sat down and started to win right away. As he kept winning, he started to get carried away. Your average gambler at least tries to keep a poker face the whole time they’re playing. Not Alfie. He was gloating. I could tell it was irritating those other two guys. They’d been winning before he came to the table.”

“They’d been winning?” Regan repeated.

The dealer nodded. “They lost everything to him.”

There’s motivation for you, Regan thought.

“That’s why they got up when Alfred left. He’d just relieved them of their last chips. I remember being surprised that Alfred even handed them his business card. I heard them trade barbs about each other’s clothes.”

“Really?” Regan said.

“Your man Alfred was in a green velvet jacket. The other two were wearing old jeans and sweatshirts.” He shrugged. “What can I tell you? They don’t have the same taste.”

“That they don’t,” Regan agreed. “Anything else you can tell us about them?”

“They were young. In their mid- to late twenties. They knew the rules of the game. Especially the dark-haired one.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Probably. If I see them, I’ll let the boss here know.”

Stan nodded. “We’ll keep on top of this.”

Regan handed the dealer her card. “If you remember anything else about those two, anything at all, please let me know.”

He nodded and got up to leave.

Stan shut the door behind him. “Jack, I’ll get the images of those two reproduced to show to our staff so they can be on the lookout. They’re not passport photos, but I think our employees can get a good idea of what these two look like. I’ll have stills made for you as well. I’ll also make you a copy of the tape. It’ll take us a few minutes.”

Regan looked thoughtful.

“What is it, Regan?” Jack asked.

Regan shook her head. “These two could very well be the ones we’re looking for. It’s just what to do next.”

“We’ll keep on it,” Stan assured her. “I’ll have the staff at the front desk look at the images. See if anyone remembers checking them in. There’s a good chance they’ll be back. If they do grace us with their presence again, we’ll find out who they are.”

“Thanks,” Regan said. “We’re heading back to the neighborhood where the robbery took place last night. With a few of these photos, maybe we can jar someone’s memory who was out at three o’clock in the morning. Jack, why don’t we take a stroll around the floor while Stan gets the pictures ready?”

“Sure,” Jack said as he stood. “Maybe our friends will surprise us and be out there attempting to reverse their losses.”

“That’d be a stroke of luck,” Regan commented.

Out in the casino, Regan and Jack did a tour of the whole room. There was no sign of the men who resembled the two they were looking for. They found Kit, who was down to her last few coins at a slot machine.

“I can’t believe it!” she yelped. “I was way ahead about fifteen minutes ago. If I had walked away I could have bought you two your china gravy boat as well as a place setting.”

“These little machines really get you to dream big,” Regan said with a laugh. “That’s why you usually end up losing all your money.”

“What about you?” Kit asked. “Did you find out anything helpful?”

“I certainly hope so,” Regan said as the three of them headed back to Stan’s office.

Jack smiled but was lost in thought. His mind kept returning to the bank’s security tapes. His gut told him that there was more to the case than met the eye, as they say.

He also felt that if they didn’t catch the robber soon, he’d elude them forever.

At the cavernous Club Zee, Brianne and her friends were having a great night-the music was loud and the drinks were flowing. They’d had dinner at Carmine’s on West 44th Street, a family-style Italian restaurant that attracted large parties of rambunctious diners. The portions were enormous, the atmosphere energetic. Brianne had opened her gag gifts, and they’d made jokes about wedding gowns. Before she and her buddies moved on to Club Zee, Brianne was introduced by the bartender as one of the April Brides whose gown was stolen. Brianne stood on a bar stool and took her bows. She was a celebrity for the evening and was loving every minute of it.

Now they had procured a special spot on the Zee balcony overlooking the crowded dance floor. A banquette and several leather chairs surrounded a low glass table. The whole scene was very hip.

You had to scream to be heard.

The crowd Joyce was traveling with gained admittance to the club and joined the group on the balcony. Two squeezed into the banquette and two stole chairs from other tables.

Cindy’s friend Beth made the introductions.

“And the guest of honor is my friend Brianne whose bloody wedding gown is making headlines!” she shouted, barely audible above the deejay.

Brianne beamed as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She was with her best friends. Life was good. She had Pauly and she was going on national television in the morning.

Joyce, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling so great. She’d had a couple of shots of tequila, then wine with dinner. Her head was spinning, and she felt depressed.