baggage to have to carry around. I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“I don’t need sympathy, Oliver. I just need a way to take this animal down once and for all, because, to tell the truth, stealing forty million bucks from him didn’t even come close to squaring things with that bastard.”
“Tell me exactly where you are. I can be there tonight.”
“How are you going to get here? Fly?”
“I don’t have the money to fly.”
“I can get you the plane ticket.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any ID, and without that I can’t get on an aircraft.”
“I wish you’d told me, I could get you stuff so good the FBI couldn’t spot it as fake, much less TSA grunts.”
“I may take you up on that one day. For now, I’m driving.”
She told him where she was. “You’re sure about this? You can still walk, no questions asked. I’m used to going it alone.”
“No friend of the Camel Club goes it alone. I’ll see you in Maine, Annabelle.”
CHAPTER 24
M ILTON WAS STANDING behind some players at a blackjack table watching the action, his gaze roving like a laser beam over the cards coming out of the chute.
Reuben appeared beside him. “How’s it going?”
Milton smiled. “This looks like fun.”
“Well, it’s our job to blend in, so play a few hands. Just don’t lose your shirt. We need gas money to get back home.”
Reuben strolled along, his gaze wandering here and there, looking for anything or anyone that might be useful. After being in combat in Vietnam he had toiled for years with the Defense Intelligence Agency, or DIA, the military equivalent of CIA. Though he’d been out of the game for a long time now, it wasn’t hard to remember how to do it well. And for Reuben, that meant heading to a bar for a drink.
He parked his butt on a stool and ordered a gin and tonic, checked his watch and ran his gaze over the bartender, an attractive middle-aged woman but with the pasty, beaten-down look of someone who’d spent too many years on the casino clock and under casino lights.
“So what action looks good these days?” he asked her as he munched on peanuts and idly sipped his cocktail.
She wiped the bar with a rag and said, “Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Something besides slots and dice and other things that cost money.”
“Then you came to the wrong place.”
He laughed. “Story of my life. I’m Roy.” He put out a hand.
She shook it. “Angie. Where you from?”
“Someplace a little south of here. You a native?”
“I started life in Minnesota, if you can believe that. Been here long enough I guess I qualify for native status. Once the casinos moved in how many people can say they’re from Atlantic City? I mean, it’s a place you go to, not come from, at least not anymore.”
Reuben raised his glass. “I toast your eloquence.” He stared around at the expensively decorated interior. “Must be some big-ass corporation that owns this place. It makes the Bellagio or Mandalay Bay look cheap.”
Angie shook her head. “No corporation. One man.”
“Get out of here, Angie. I thought all casinos were run by fat-cat companies.”
“Not this one. It’s owned by Jerry Bagger.”
“Bagger? Name sounds familiar.”
“He’s pretty memorable. You meet him once, you don’t forget it.”
“From the way you say it I take it he’s not your basic, loving humanitarian.”
“You don’t build a place like this being a human anything.” She suddenly eyed Reuben with suspicion. “This isn’t some trick, is it? You don’t work for Mr. Bagger, do you? I’m not saying anything against him. He’s a good boss.”
“Angie, relax. I am what I look like, a poor sucker from out of town who blew his wad early at craps and decided to spend his last evening here having some real fun before hitting the road with my tail tucked between my legs.” He looked behind him. “But thanks for the info. I don’t want to run into this guy and say something I shouldn’t. He
“I don’t need sympathy, Oliver. I just need a way to take this animal down once and for all, because, to tell the truth, stealing forty million bucks from him didn’t even come close to squaring things with that bastard.”
“Tell me exactly where you are. I can be there tonight.”
“How are you going to get here? Fly?”
“I don’t have the money to fly.”
“I can get you the plane ticket.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any ID, and without that I can’t get on an aircraft.”
“I wish you’d told me, I could get you stuff so good the FBI couldn’t spot it as fake, much less TSA grunts.”
“I may take you up on that one day. For now, I’m driving.”
She told him where she was. “You’re sure about this? You can still walk, no questions asked. I’m used to going it alone.”
“No friend of the Camel Club goes it alone. I’ll see you in Maine, Annabelle.”
CHAPTER 24
M ILTON WAS STANDING behind some players at a blackjack table watching the action, his gaze roving like a laser beam over the cards coming out of the chute.
Reuben appeared beside him. “How’s it going?”
Milton smiled. “This looks like fun.”
“Well, it’s our job to blend in, so play a few hands. Just don’t lose your shirt. We need gas money to get back home.”
Reuben strolled along, his gaze wandering here and there, looking for anything or anyone that might be useful. After being in combat in Vietnam he had toiled for years with the Defense Intelligence Agency, or DIA, the military equivalent of CIA. Though he’d been out of the game for a long time now, it wasn’t hard to remember how to do it well. And for Reuben, that meant heading to a bar for a drink.
He parked his butt on a stool and ordered a gin and tonic, checked his watch and ran his gaze over the bartender, an attractive middle-aged woman but with the pasty, beaten-down look of someone who’d spent too many years on the casino clock and under casino lights.
“So what action looks good these days?” he asked her as he munched on peanuts and idly sipped his cocktail.
She wiped the bar with a rag and said, “Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Something besides slots and dice and other things that cost money.”
“Then you came to the wrong place.”
He laughed. “Story of my life. I’m Roy.” He put out a hand.
She shook it. “Angie. Where you from?”
“Someplace a little south of here. You a native?”
“I started life in Minnesota, if you can believe that. Been here long enough I guess I qualify for native status. Once the casinos moved in how many people can say they’re from Atlantic City? I mean, it’s a place you go to, not come from, at least not anymore.”
Reuben raised his glass. “I toast your eloquence.” He stared around at the expensively decorated interior. “Must be some big-ass corporation that owns this place. It makes the Bellagio or Mandalay Bay look cheap.”
Angie shook her head. “No corporation. One man.”
“Get out of here, Angie. I thought all casinos were run by fat-cat companies.”
“Not this one. It’s owned by Jerry Bagger.”
“Bagger? Name sounds familiar.”
“He’s pretty memorable. You meet him once, you don’t forget it.”
“From the way you say it I take it he’s not your basic, loving humanitarian.”
“You don’t build a place like this being a human anything.” She suddenly eyed Reuben with suspicion. “This isn’t some trick, is it? You don’t work for Mr. Bagger, do you? I’m not saying anything against him. He’s a good boss.”
“Angie, relax. I am what I look like, a poor sucker from out of town who blew his wad early at craps and decided to spend his last evening here having some real fun before hitting the road with my tail tucked between my legs.” He looked behind him. “But thanks for the info. I don’t want to run into this guy and say something I shouldn’t. He
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