Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

Calvin chewed on this information for a moment. “Why are you giving me so many details? You’ve never done that with any jobs before.”

“This is the big one,” Pitt said. “Whatever you have to do to get in to that office, do it. Make sure you’re there by nine thirty. Wait for his return if you have to. If you don’t make this meeting, I don’t know how long it’ll be before he’s ready to try again.” Pitt stared at him. “You want this to be your last job? Then get it done right the first time. Once you get the money, come straight back here. I’ll give you the $30,000 balance on the spot and it’s adios, amigo .”

Calvin gave a nod. Adios, amigo sounded good to him.

He turned his thoughts to Grant. The man was often in the local papers and he knew he’d recognize him anywhere. “Give me the address.”

While driving to Grant’s office, Calvin tried to still the uneasy thoughts that flickered through his mind. He had known Pitt for three years and the man wasn’t acting normal. He was nervous about something. And that didn’t sit well with Calvin.

Something’s up, or maybe it’s the size of the payoff .

Calvin didn’t buy into Pitt’s story about Grant owing him $200,000. Not completely. Most casino owners in Vegas hired men like Pitt to do the dirty work and keep quiet, but Grant hiring Pitt for various illegal jobs was inconsistent with the character and reputation of the casino owner. Through the decades that Grant had run the Greek with his father and in the last fifteen years with his son, he’d had a good reputation as a somewhat honest man. To Calvin, Grant was a man who wouldn’t get near such jobs.

So why does Pitt want me to see Grant?

If there was something going on here—and Calvin was sure there was—he was going to have to improvise and be careful too. His instincts had never failed him before. Calvin wanted to talk to Grant himself and find out what was really going on.

With most jobs, he only knew his target by name. It was easier if he didn’t know the person. This time he had no personal connection, but almost too much information.

He remembered when the rich had welcomed him into their group as a promising, clean-cut athlete bound for glory. Now he was just an outsider looking in. Just another thug.

The upscale building was located in downtown Las Vegas, the city’s central business district. It was originally the town site and gambling district located in the center of Las Vegas Valley, but it had taken a backseat to the Strip, which was located just south.

When he arrived at the expensive office complex, he ignored the valet parking and parked on the street. He put on the hat and sunglasses, stepped from the car and donned the coat.

Surveying the crowded sidewalk, he zigzagged through pedestrians hurrying to work. He strode through the rotating door into a bustling lobby, where men and women in tailored suits hustled to meetings.

It was 9:12 a.m. He was a bit early.

Oh well. Better to be early than late.

He entered the building and approached the counter, where a short, stocky security guard held a clipboard.

“Winston Coburn III to see Douglas Grant.” Calvin handed his business card to the guard.

The guard scanned the clipboard. “Yes, Mr. Coburn. I have you down for a nine-thirty appointment. I’ll notify Mr. Grant that you’re here and see if it’s okay to send you up.”

“No problem.”

The guard called Grant’s office. He listened for a minute, then hung up. “Mr. Grant isn’t in his office. He probably stepped out for a few minutes. You are a bit early. Would you mind waiting until I’m able to reach him?”

Calvin’s smile disappeared. He remembered his boss’s words.

“Listen, uh…” he read the man’s name tag, “Gus. Yes, I mind waiting. Grant knows that I’m flying back to Atlantic City this afternoon, which is why we made an early appointment. I don’t care if he’s there now or not. I’ll wait for him in his office, but absolutely not in this miserable lobby.”

“But Mr. Coburn,” the man stuttered, looking at his partner. “Do you think Mr. Grant would mind?”

The partner shook his head. “Nah, he’s okayed it before, plus he made the appointment so he is expecting him.”

Gus still looked uncertain when Calvin jumped in. “If you don’t get me to an elevator in the next thirty seconds, I’m leaving. And when Grant calls to ask why I missed such an important meeting, I’ll tell him that Gus wouldn’t let me go up.”

“Fred,” Gus called to another guard who’d just joined him. He explained the issue to the man.

“Right this way, Mr. Coburn.”

They took Calvin through the metal detector and used the manual detector to scan his body as fast as they could, without a word. He was probably the only collector in Vegas who had never carried a weapon.

They escorted him to the nearest open elevator.

“Please don’t say anything about the delay to Mr. Grant,” Fred mumbled. “We could lose our jobs.”

“I’ll think about it.” Calvin stepped into the elevator. “Penthouse,” he said to the elevator operator. “Doug Grant’s office.”

He was pleased with how he’d gotten in. He might be only a bill collector, but he knew how to act with the arrogance of the very wealthy.

Ace was parked in a modest rental car. He’d been waiting for half an hour in a distant corner of the parking lot where no one would recognize him, but where he could see everyone leaving or entering the building.

He’d called Pitt twenty minutes before and had confirmed that Watters was on his way and that he’d agreed to wear the hat, sunglasses and coat before he went into the lobby.

Ace had spotted Watters as soon as he walked down the sidewalk to the front entrance and entered the building. He was impossible to miss and would not be forgotten.

Killing Grant in his office or transporting him there after his death would have been too risky and probably impossible with the state of the art security system in the complex. Watters was the perfect fall guy, but Ace had to link Watters and Grant somehow and that was the challenge. A guy like Grant wouldn’t be caught a hundred yards from Watters. This was the only way Ace could see connecting Watters and Grant and it could also potentially implicate Pitt. There was no other way to associate Watters with Grant and still lead the cops to connect the dots.

Earlier, Ace had an informant get him all the information he needed on the LVMPD, because once the Grant homicide investigation began, he’d be following it with interest. He could have dialed the Homicide Division directly, but he wanted to play the concerned, frightened, innocent citizen, one who only knew to call 911 in case of an emergency.

He waited ten minutes after Watters had entered the building before picking up his untraceable cell phone and dialing the three digits.

“Hello, 911 emergency.”

“I need to speak to someone right away,” he said. “A murder is about to occur and the police need to stop it.”

Ace could tell by the sound of the police officer’s voice that the man was concerned, but the officer remained composed. “Would you repeat that, please?”

He did.

“I’m going to transfer you to Homicide. Please hold.”

The call was picked up in ten seconds. “Detective Hartford, Homicide. You’re claiming someone’s about to be murdered. Who? And where?”

Ace grinned. “I have reason to believe that Doug Grant is going to be murdered.”

“Doug Grant, the casino owner? When and by whom?”

Hartford sounded shocked. That was the reaction Ace wanted. It would make the detective more likely to act than stop to think about the credibility of the call.