The Collectors (Camel Club 2)

the risk.

Leo kept his eye on a blackjack table and a gent who’d been playing and winning for a nice stretch. Not big enough to arouse suspicion, but cumulatively Leo figured the guy was making a lot more than the minimum wage for sitting on his butt and sipping free drinks. He used his cell phone to call Annabelle.

“You ready to do this?” he asked.

“Looks like my past-posters are just about ready to hit it, so let’s go.”

Annabelle walked over to a thickset man she’d easily sized up as a pit boss and whispered into his ear, inclining her head toward the roulette table where the scam was happening.

“There’s a third-section-straight-up drag going down at table number six. The two women seated on the right side are the check-bettors. The mechanic’s in the chair near the bottom of the table. The claimer’s the skinny guy with glasses hanging back behind the dealer’s left shoulder. Call up to the eye-in-the-sky and tell the layout camera to zoom in on the action and hold until the drag’s executed.”

Roulette tables were so large they were routinely covered by two ceiling cameras, one aimed on the wheel, the other on the table. The problem was the surveillance tech could only look at one camera at a time. The pit boss stared at her for a second, but Annabelle’s authoritative description couldn’t be ignored. He quickly spoke into his headset, relaying this order.

Meanwhile, Leo sidled up to the pit boss in his section and whispered, “At blackjack table number five you got a bad dealer doing the zero-shuffle. The player in seat number three has a card counter analyzer strapped to his right thigh. If you get close enough, you can see the impression through his pant leg. He’s also got an intracranial in his right ear where he receives the call from the computer. The eye-in-the-sky won’t pick up the deck cut because the dealer’s movements obscure the slice, but if you get a handheld down here, you can record it easy enough from floor level.”

As with Annabelle’s warning, the pit boss only took a few seconds to call upstairs, and the handheld came down to take pictures.

Five minutes later the stunned cons were led away and the cops called.

Ten minutes after that, Annabelle and Leo found themselves in a part of the casino where no grandma with a Social Security check to blow would ever be invited.

Jerry Bagger rose from behind the huge desk in his lavish office, his hands in his pockets and several nice pieces of bling around his wrists and his muscular, tanned neck.

“Excuse me for not thanking you for saving me a few lousy grand,” he said in a bark of a voice that revealed his Brooklyn background. “Fact is I’m not used to people doing me favors. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t like the hair on my neck standing up. The only thing I like erect on my body is what’s behind my zipper.”

The six other men in the room, all in high-dollar suits with big shoulders that were not the result of padding, stared at Leo and Annabelle, their hands clasped in front of them.

Annabelle stepped forward. “We didn’t do it as a favor. We did it so we’d end up here to see you.”

Bagger spread his hands. “So you’re here. You’ve seen me. Now what?”

“A proposition.”

Bagger rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go.” He sat down on a leather couch, picked out a walnut from a bowl on the table there and cracked it open using only his right hand. “Is this the part where you say you’re going to make me a ton of money, even though I already got a ton of money?” He ate the bits of nut.

“Yes. And you can serve your country at the same time.”

Bagger snarled, “My country? Is that the same country that keeps looking to lock my ass up for doing something that’s perfectly legal?”

“We can help with that,” Annabelle said.

“Oh, so now you’re feds?” He looked at his men. “Hey, guys, we got feds in the casino. Call the fucking Orkin man.”

The muscle all laughed on cue.

Annabelle sat down on the couch next to Bagger and handed him a card. He looked at it. “Pamela Young, International Management, Inc.,” he read. “Means shit to me.” He tossed it back to her. “My guys tell me you two really know your casino scams. They teaching that in fed school now? Not that I believe you’re feds.”

Leo said in a gruff tone, “You run what in a day, thirty, forty mil? You have to keep a certain level of reserves to comply with state gaming regs, but that leaves a lot of cash to float. So what do you do with the excess? Come on, tell us.”

The casino owner looked at him in amazement. “I wallpaper my fucking house with it, asshole.” He looked at his muscle. “Get this jerk-off outta my face.”

His men moved forward, and two of them actually lifted Leo off the floor before Annabelle said, “What would you say to a ten percent return on that money?”

“I’d say that sucks.” Bagger rose and went toward his desk.

“I meant ten percent every two days.” He stopped, turned and looked at her. “What do you think of that?” she said.

“Too good to be true, so it is.” He took a steel-gray $5,000 casino chip from a desk drawer and tossed it to her. “Go have some fun. No need to thank me. Consider it a gift from God. Don’t let the door hit that nice ass on the way out.” He signaled his men to let Leo go.

She said, “Just think about it, Mr. Bagger. We’ll be back tomorrow to ask again. In accordance with my orders, we’re required to ask twice. If you don’t want in then, Uncle Sam will just go down the Boardwalk and give the deal to one of your competitors.”

“Good luck on that.”

She said confidently, “It worked in Vegas, it’ll work here.”

“Yeah, right. I wish I was smoking whatever it is you are.”

“Gambling revenue topped out five years ago, Mr. Bagger. So how can the Vegas crowd keep putting up billion-dollar properties? It’s like they’re printing money.” She paused. “And they are. And helping their country at the same time.”

He sat down behind his desk and stared at her with, for the first time, just a hint of interest. That was all Annabelle needed at this point.

“And did you ever wonder why none of the Vegas players have been investigated by the feds in the last ten years? I’m not talking Mafia prosecutions, that’s old news. But you and I know what goes on there. And yet like you said, the Justice Department is all over your butt.” She paused. “And I know a man as smart as Jerry Bagger can’t believe in that much luck.” She laid her card down on his desk. “You can call anytime. People in my business don’t keep regular office hours.” She glanced at the big men who still hovered next to Leo. “And we can see ourselves out, fellows, thanks.”

She and Leo left.

When the door closed behind the pair, Bagger snapped, “Tail ’em.”

CHAPTER 19

ANNABELLE AND LEO WERE IN A cab; her gaze had never left the rear window.

“They back there?” Leo asked in a whisper.

“Of course. Where else would they be?”

“For a second there, I thought those damn goons were gonna toss me out the window. How come I always have to play bad cop to your good cop?”

“Because you play bad so incredibly good.”

Leo gave a shiver. “The guy’s the same nightmare I remember him being. You see him crack that nut with one hand?”

“Come on, he’s a walking cliché from a bad mob movie.”

The cab pulled in front of their hotel, and they got out. Annabelle walked down the street and then crossed it. She rapped on the window of the Hummer parked there. The glass slid down, revealing one of Bagger’s burly men.

She said pleasantly, “You can tell Mr. Bagger that I’m staying in room 1412. Oh, here’s another card for you in case he threw the other one away.” She turned and rejoined Leo, and they walked into the hotel together. Her phone buzzed. It was Tony, calling to confirm he was in position. She’d bought him a very expensive pair of surveillance binoculars and had him check into a room of a hotel

right across the street from the Pompeii, which had a fine view of the window line to Bagger’s office suite.

The call to her room she’d been expecting came ten minutes later. She signaled Leo, who was standing by the window. He did a quick text message to Tony on his BlackBerry.

Annabelle poised her hand over the phone and motioned with the other one to Leo. “Come on, come on.” The phone rang five times, six, seven.

On the ninth ring Leo got a confirming reply right back and nodded. Annabelle snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

“How’d you make my guys so fast?” Bagger bellowed.

“When it comes to surveillance, my . . . employer really can’t be beat, Mr. Bagger,” she informed him. “It’s merely a question of thousands of assets on the ground and unlimited money.” The truth was she knew he’d order them to be followed, and kept her gaze out the rear window of the cab. She’d seen on their earlier recon of the casino that Bagger’s personal security all drove yellow Hummers. They weren’t that hard to spot.

“Meaning I’m under surveillance?” he snapped.

“We’re all being watched, Mr. Bagger. You shouldn’t feel singled out.”

“Cut the ‘Mr. Bagger’ shit. How do you know so much about casino scams that you were able to spot two going on in my place? Makes me think you’re way too close to the con world.”

“I didn’t spot them. We had three teams in your casino today who were trolling for something I could use as bait to get to you. The members of those teams are experts in casino cons. They relayed the intel to us, and we told your pit bosses. Simple.”