Perpetual Motion Read Free Page B

with a smile that
was as plastic as her nameplate.
    “Hello sir and welcome to the Bellagio!”
Missy said, exuding pep.
    “Yeah, I have a reservation under Jones.”
    “Sure Mr. Jones!” Missy said, looking him up.
“Is this your first visit to the Bellagio?”
    “You mean you don’t recognize me?” Cynical
asked as he put his computer case on the marble counter and
unzipped it.
    “Um, I’m sorry Mr. Jones,” she said
unsteadily. “How many days will you be staying with us this
time?”
    “Don’t know yet,” he said. “Depends on how
lucky I am.”
    She feigned another smile. “Well, I’ll need
to get a copy of your driver’s license and an imprint of your
credit card.”
    Cynical scooted the required credentials over
the counter. As Missy ran his card, he turned his laptop on.
    “I need to print a photo and get some copies
made,” he said. “Where can I do that?”
    “In our business service center,” she said.
“It will be open tomorrow morning.”
    Missy ran the card, just as a front desk
agent had done for Michael Dexter’s card two nights ago. As the
computer warmed up, Missy swiped a piece of plastic. Placing his
card key in a mini-envelope, she handed it to him, along with his
credit card.
    “You’re in room 143,” she informed him. “Will
you need a bellman?”
    “No thanks,” Cynical said, who was tapping on
his computer. “Have you seen this guy?” He turned the screen toward
Missy. “He checked in a couple of nights ago.”
    Taken back by the question, Missy studied the
face for a whole two seconds. “I don’t think so. Of course, that
doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. We have hundreds of check-ins every
day,” she said proudly.
    Looking up, he noticed the discrete camera
staring at him from the back wall. It would be nice to confirm that
Michael was the one who had actually used the card.
    “Is your manager around?”
    “Is there a problem?” she asked, concern
entering her voice.
    “No problem,” he reassured her.
    Missy picked up her phone and dialed an
extension. While she spoke in hushed tones, Cynical took the
opportunity to put his computer away.
    Looking at her customer with a pouty frown,
she announced, “I’m sorry. He’s on his dinner break. Can I have him
call you in your room?”
    “Nah,” Cynical said. “I’ll talk to someone
tomorrow.” Rechecking the envelope, he confirmed, “143?”
    “143,” she said, back to her happy self.
“Enjoy your stay.”
    “Yeah,” Cynical said, slinging his bag over
his shoulder. But he wasn’t in Vegas to have a good time. He was,
however, there to gamble. He was betting fifty grand he could find
one man in a city of over five hundred thousand. His odds were
better playing the slots, and yet, this was the game he had chosen
to play.
     
     
CHAPTER
5
     
     
    His intention had been to get to his room,
put his bag down, splash some cold water on his face, and head back
out to check the casino floor. Somewhere on his way to the
bathroom, he had decided to lie down for a few minutes. Ten hours
later, he opened his eyes.
    While he gave himself a badly needed shower
and shave, Cynical cursed himself for wasting the valuable
prime-time gambling hours between 10:00 pm and 1:00 am. He was off
to a slow start, but he had to admit, he looked and felt
better.
    First stop was the Bellagio’s business
service center. Using a flash drive, he downloaded Michael’s
picture and typed in his own name and cell phone number at the
bottom of the page. Taking a moment to think about it, he added
“$5,000” in big bold font at the top. In Vegas, dollars speak
louder than words.
    At $3.50 a piece, he ordered 300 copies.
Sure, it was highway robbery, but he didn’t have time to mess
around with nickels and dimes. Time was money, especially when the
trail was warm. Besides, he could always bill it to Abrams,
although he probably wouldn’t. From the business center, he found
the cashier and forked over his credit card for a cash