“So we could get out tonight and be up there in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And I had an idea,” he said. “An idea?”
“About how to handle Moffitt. To make sure you get what you need from him.” “Let’s hear it.”
He told me his plan. I liked it. And I hadn’t thought of anything else.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
He went to the door. “Okay. I’ll get what we need. Why don’t you call me around midnight and tell me what it looks like around here. I can pick you up a couple of blocks away or something. I’ll have a ride by then.”
“Alright.” I hesitated. “Hey. You don’t have to do this. I can do it alone. I don’t know how it’s gonna go and I don’t want—”
He held up a big hand. “Stop right there. Liz and I … we weren’t close. But you and she were. That’s enough for me.” He nodded like he’d said all that mattered. “Call me around midnight.”
SIXTY-THREE
It took two more nights before I could shake free. The police had no luck in finding Keene, even after I shared my belief that he was responsible for the destruction of Carter’s car. He was running free somewhere.
The media had made themselves at home on the boardwalk and in the alley. I tried to get out once to go to the grocery store, but I was immediately swarmed and I retreated inside. The vans were spending the night in the alley—anytime I stepped outside, even in the middle of the night, someone on watch snapped to life.
I was fed up with being trapped in my own house and told Carter I was getting out that night, regardless of who followed me. We made plans to meet five blocks away a little after midnight. The boardwalk was empty, and I walked all the way down to the shoreline and then up the beach before turning back up and getting out onto Mission. My long way around worked, and I arrived out on the street alone.
Carter pulled up in a Ford F-250 pickup, the huge diesel engine idling like a plane’s as I opened the door.
“Yours?” I asked as I stepped up and into the cab.
“Sort of,” he said, shrugging.
I reminded myself not to ask.
We made the drive out to Bareva in under an hour, thanks to the time of night. The casino was lit up like Christmas, and the parking lot was nearly full.
We parked at the far end of the lot, and Carter shut off the engine.
“We just nap now?” Carter asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Nothing to do until morning.” I glanced at him. “You got what you need?”
He pointed his thumb toward the rear window and the bed of the truck. “Back there.”
I twisted around and saw a black tarp with a few shapes barely visible beneath it.
“Wake me when you’re ready,” he said, slouching down and closing his eyes.
SIXTY-FOUR
I figured hanging out in the casino would be a good way to get Benjamin Moffitt’s attention.
I woke Carter at nine and told him I was going in. He shook the sleep out of his eyes and said he’d do his thing. I walked away from the truck, wondering if we could pull it off.
I roamed the gaming floor for an hour, keeping an eye out for anyone and anything that looked familiar. Walking in slow circles, I watched as the hardcore gamblers mixed with the day tourists who made the drive out to Bareva. I couldn’t help but wonder if Simington ever gambled at any of these machines.
After walking around for a little while longer, I took the elevators up to the fourth floor, where Carter and I had gone the first time. The same receptionist greeted me.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Ben Moffitt.”
“I’m sorry sir, but—”
“You told me the same thing a couple of weeks ago,” I said, my voice sounding hollow. “Get on the phone and tell him Braddock isn’t leaving until I talk to him.”
She hesitated.
“Now!” I yelled at her.
She jumped in her seat but picked up the phone. Thirty seconds later, the elevators opened behind me and Gus and Ross emerged. Gus was still sporting a bandage along his left temple. “Let’s go,” Ross said.
“You take me anywhere but to Moffitt and I’ll make hitting him with a pitcher look like fun,” I said, walking toward the elevator.
They stepped into the elevator behind me, and the doors closed. Ross pushed an unnumbered button, and the car began to rise.
