Fast Crimes Page 3

  Mike led the way to the doorstep of 7 Heavenly Court, the last of the exclusive thirteen-home development to be burgled. Most people would have given their right arm to have Muir Woods as their backyard. But the high-profile thefts ended that dream. The homeowners couldn’t sell and the buyers weren't interested. Jane pressed the doorbell and got out her badge.

  A slender man in his forties answered the door with a scowl. “About time you lot turned up. Your uniformed colleagues have done nothing but sit around and help themselves to coffee.”

  “Mr. Carl Jordan?” Jane asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m Detective Jane Horsley and this is—”

  “I know who you are. I’ve seen enough of your excuses in the newspapers.” Jordan stood back. “Come in.”

  Suitably scolded, Jane and Mike followed Jordan into his kitchen. Jordan didn’t sit, so Jane and Mike didn’t either. He thrust a single sheet torn from a legal pad at Jane.

  She examined the handwritten list. “What’s this?”

  “Everything that was taken.”

  Jane scanned the list. The items listed were small, valuable, easily concealed, and easy to fence. Already, she didn’t fancy her chances at reclaiming any of the stolen belongings.

  “My insurance company told me to make the list and give it to you. I just need a report number to file a claim. I don’t have any faith in you recovering my possessions but at least I can be compensated for my loss.”

  It was a speech Jane had heard many times. Homeowners felt violated after a burglary and if they didn’t see immediate results, they played high and mighty with the cops. In some ways, Jordan’s antagonism was warranted. She and Mike had fallen down on the job twelve times before on Heavenly Court, why should this time be any different? She let Jordan’s scorn wash over her, never letting a drop soak in.

  Jane handed the list to Mike. “I wonder if I can get a few details?”

  “What for?”

  “I believe the burglaries have been perpetrated by the same person and after thirteen burglaries, I wouldn’t be surprised to see cracks in his MO.”

  Jordan snorted. “Practice makes imperfect.”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Yeah, but for whom—you or the thief?”

  ***

  The detectives left Jordan’s house with the slammed door’s echo still ringing in their ears. Jane felt deflated. It was hard not to after Jordan’s farewell tough lashing.

  “That was fun,” Mike said with a frown. “Now what?”

  Jane wasn’t listening. The squirrel distracted her. Patches was still sitting in the same place where she’d first spotted him. He gestured to her with his tail.

  “I think we should go back to the station and… Jane, are you listening to me?”

  “I think he wants to show us something.”

  “Who?”

  “Him.”

  “The squirrel?”

  “C’mon.”

  Making a move towards Patches, the squirrel scampered along the footpath separating 9 and 10 Heavenly Court. Patches was swift and both Jane and Mike struggled to keep up as the creature led them deep into the forest.

  “This is ridiculous,” Mike grumbled between breaths.

  Jane didn’t think so. She was sure she’d finally gotten her break.

  Five minutes into the forest, Patches stopped in front of a tangle of interwoven trees waist deep in dense foliage. But upon closer inspection, they realized the foliage was in fact a tarp camouflaged to look like foliage. The squirrel disappeared inside.

  Jane glanced at Mike. He frowned. She smiled.

  The squirrel emerged with a pair of diamond earrings. The creature brandished the jewelry and chittered impatiently. Jane recognized them from the manifest of items stolen from 3 Heavenly Court. Mike yanked the tarp free, exposing everything stolen from Heavenly Court.

  “I think we’ve got our thief,” Mike announced. “But how do we cuff him?”

  Jane shook her head. “He’s not our perp. He couldn’t have moved that painting. But I have an idea who did.”

  ***

  “Did you catch Jordan?” Jane asked.

  “You were right,” Mike said. “He came back at five this morning to move the stash back to his house.”

  “After systematically ripping off his neighbors, it was obvious he would have to stage his own break-in to allay suspicion.”

  “How’s our furry crime fighter?”

  “A lot better now that Jordan’s stash is off his winter reserves. Just goes to show, don’t ever come between a squirrel and his nuts.”

  A Second To Register

  Roy slid into a seat at the bar. Unlike his fellow drinkers, he was being paid to drink at The Blue Oasis. More importantly, he was being paid to watch the bartender. According to the casino, Jason Price was taking their bar for five hundred dollars a night and they wanted to know how he was doing it.

  The bar was rectangular in shape with some cushy barstools bolted to the ground around the edge. There were a couple of cash registers kitty corner from each other. A single security camera pointed its gaze over one of the registers. It was a shortsighted move on the casino’s part, and they were paying for that oversight now. Roy positioned himself between the registers so he could see where the money went.

  Price represented one of four assignments Roy King and his wife, Gemma, were investigating during their four night stay in Vegas. It was crazy to think he and his wife had become PIs, but they both had Nevada state licenses to prove it. They weren't typical PIs. They’d started off as mystery shoppers, checking out the service at fast food chains and supermarkets. Over the years, they’d moved up to fancy restaurants and hotels, eventually graduating to casinos to catch casino cheats. The notion that the Danny Oceans of the world robbed casinos made for great Hollywood fodder, but they were few and far between. Employees committed virtually all casino crime. Employees like Jason Price.

  Price put a paper napkin in front of Roy. He was in his mid-twenties, skinny, tall, and fairly good-looking if a little gawky. “What can I get you, friend?”

  “I’ll go with a beer for now. Got a Bud?”

  “Sure. Do you want to start a tab?”

  Roy peeled off a twenty and put it on the bar. “No, I’ll be paying cash.”

  Roy was testing Price. If he was skimming, he'd be skimming cash sales, not credit card sales.

  Price popped the top on a bottle of Bud, set it down in front of Roy and picked up the twenty.

  Let the games begin, Roy thought and pressed a button on the gadget in his pocket which recorded the time of the transaction. Time was a key issue. He couldn’t simply point the finger at Price. He had to prove Price’s innocence or guilt, and the devil was in the details. He wouldn’t be simply recording every drink he bought but every drink bought with cash in the bar for the next three hours.

  It could have been worse. This bar could have been one of the hot bars located on the casino floor where it would be packed all the time, but The Blue Oasis was one of the satellite bars away from the casino floor where patrons came to numb their losses or take a break while they gathered a second wind.

  The Blue Oasis was tucked away at the entrance of the kitschy food court. It was the smallest of the satellite bars with seating for just twelve, more if people chose to stand. It’s out of the way location meant it didn’t have a station for the roving cocktail waitresses and because the bar was so small, it operated with a single bartender.

  Price made a circuit of the bar with Roy’s twenty dollar bill in hand, checking on everyone before ringing Roy’s order up at the register. That simple act ruled out one method of skimming. Price wore an apron around his waist and it would be easy for him to make change for the beer out of his own money and pocket the difference, but entering the order into the cash register and bringing back a receipt ruled out that possibility.

  But just because that method
had been ruled out didn’t mean the investigation was over. Roy wished he had a seat directly across from the cash register so he could see exactly how his drink had been rung up. This could be where Price was getting cute. Cash registers were no longer just adding machines with cashboxes attached. They logged what was ordered and time stamped it. A cash register was impossible to cheat, but they could be deceived. Someone buys a beer but it gets rung up as a coke. Someone buys a cocktail, but it gets rung up as a beer. In this scam, the bartender pockets the price difference between the two. This was why Roy was recording every drink bought and when. In theory, when the casino compared the daily receipts to his report, they should match.

  Misrepresenting the drinks ordered was a neat little scam that worked for a while, but where the con fell down was inventory. A discrepancy shows itself when the inventory at the bar doesn’t match the computer estimates. If all the beers are being rung up as cokes, there'll be a stockpile of beers and a shortage of cokes. This is what alerted the casino to Price. Not only were bar takings down when he was on shift, but stocking levels didn’t match up.

  The proof whether Price was doing this would come in the next few seconds. If Price rang his drink up as something else other than a beer, he couldn’t give Roy a receipt, but Price placed Roy’s change with a receipt before him. Roy picked up the receipt. It was for a beer.

  It looked as if Price was up to some other dodge. Or he might not be cheating the register with every cash sale. He could be cherry picking which orders he skimmed for the plumpest and juiciest takes.

  Roy fed a twenty into the video poker machine before him and slow played a few hands of Deuces Wild while he watched how Price handled the other customers. The little things could clue him into Price’s scheme. Price flirted with a couple of Sex in the City wannabes, acted like a jock around the guys watching the game playing on the TV above the bar and struck up conversations with the couples. Like a good bartender, he was all things to all people.

  The way Price acted around the clientele was important, but Roy’s main focus went to what everyone was drinking. He ignored the orders paid for with credit cards. When it came to the cash drinkers, there were the Sex in the City wannabes knocking back cosmos and two forty-something couples on a double-date. They were top shelf people, hitting the single malts and ordering cocktails made with best liquor.

  Roy dutifully recorded the times and committed the drink orders to memory. He'd gotten good at remembering long strings of information. He had to. He wouldn’t last long if he popped out a notebook and scribbled the info down, so he had to memorize everything he saw. He helped himself by making up stories about what he needed to remember. In this case, he made up stories about the drinkers. He chuckled to himself as he came up with the drinkers’ alter egos. Despite the elaboration, it made it easy to remember a whole host of drinks.

  Gemma slipped into the seat next to him. She looked like a million bucks in her cocktail dress. They’d had some fun this weekend and all on someone else’s dime. She leaned in to kiss him. She smelled like a distillery.

  “How'd it go?” Roy asked.

  “She stiffed me,” she answered with a smile. “She gave me eighty for a hundred.”

  A roving change maker over at the Mirage was rumored to be short changing drunks at the slots. Gemma had swilled some whisky and dabbed a bit behind her ears and between her breasts to give off the right aroma before playing a sloppy Susan in front of the change maker. Roy had played the drunk yesterday and had gotten the same discount deal.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  “Everything looks on the up and up so far. Save my spot, I’m going to the restroom.”

  In the restroom, he locked himself into a stall and pulled out his pocket notebook. Restrooms were safe havens. There were no cameras. His work might have been sanctioned by the casino, but only casino management and the highest level of casino security knew he was there. He couldn’t afford to get picked up by the eyes in the sky. He noted down everything he'd witnessed so far. With that information downloaded, he purged it from his memory to make room for what came next.

  The moment Roy rejoined Gemma at the bar, Price came over. Roy took the opportunity to give Price the once over. If he was pocketing five hundred bucks four nights a week, he could afford to be living large. A lot of people got careless in that position and spent big. The money might be going somewhere, but it wasn’t going to fancy jewelry or a flashy watch. It did make Roy wonder about what Price drove.

  “Is this lady with you, sir?” he said putting down a couple of fresh napkins.

  “She sure is.”

  Price snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. “Curses. Why are the cute ones always taken?”

  “Because we’re too good to miss,” Gemma fired back. She’d gotten good at playing the role when they were on a job.

  Price grinned. “What can I get you two?”

  “Vodka and cranberry,” Gemma said.

  “Vodka and cranberry for the lady and what about her knight in shining armor?”

  “Irish coffee.”

  “Jameson?”

  “If you’ve got it.”

  “Sure thing.” He made their drinks in front of them. “How's Vegas been treating you two?”

  “Can’t complain,” Gemma said. “How about you?”

  “Vegas is always good to me.”

  Roy thought that was quite a remark under the circumstances. Gemma gave his hand a squeeze from under the bar to let him know she felt the same way.

  “Seventeen fifty,” Price said, sliding the drinks over to them.

  Roy handed him another twenty. The beer made for a low margin skim, but a couple of mixed drinks would be far more enticing. Price again rang up the drinks properly and handed them the correct change and a printed receipt.

  Roy and Gemma spent the remainder of the three hour assignment watching Price dole out drinks to the thirsty. They divided up the chores. Gemma recorded the series of drinks for the next hour and then Roy took over for the last hour. It made it look less conspicuous when they went to the restroom to record the transactions.

  At the end of their three hour stint, Roy left a tip and he and Gemma walked away. As bartenders went, he liked Price. As for skimming the take, he didn’t see it. Maybe he was playing it square because he knew he was being watched.

  Roy and Gemma walked arm in arm along the strip back to their room at New York, New York. Vegas still bustled with activity, even though it was after two in the morning. People poured in and out of the casinos on the strip.

  “Are you tired?” he asked Gemma with a bounce of his eyebrows.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Write up the report tonight? The casino needs our findings by tomorrow. Do it tonight and we can sleep in.”

  “Wow. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  “One tries.”

  “C’mon, dufus.”

  They worked until five on the report. They accounted for all the drinks bought with cash with the time of purchase. They commented on Price’s appearance and performance. They reported the facts with no conclusions or beliefs. It wasn’t their job to apportion guilt. The casino management would decide that. They double-checked their report and emailed it off to the agency they worked for.

  ***

  Roy’s cell woke them. He groaned when he glanced at the alarm clock. Nine a.m. was an ungodly hour under the circumstances. He could have done with a couple more hours sleep. He crawled from their bed to answer the phone.

  “You took your time answering, didn’t you?”

  “Good morning, Willie,” Roy said.

  William “Call me Willie” Mack owned the detective agency that specialized in this kind of work for the casino and hotel service industries. He was located in San Francisco, but his business covered California and Nevada. Although Roy and Gemma had worked for Willie going on five years, they’d never met
him. Roy had the impression Willie would resemble Yosemite Sam. Something in his voice painted a very vivid picture.

  “What are you two playing at?”

  Gemma rolled over and squinted at Roy. She mouthed Willie’s name and he nodded.

  “What’s wrong, Willie?”

  “Your report. I submitted it to the client because they wanted this Price matter resolved ASAP.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s crap.”

  That woke Roy up. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s bogus. All these drinks you claim were ordered—only three of them appeared on the cash register report.”

  It didn’t make sense. He knew what he'd seen. They hadn’t made any mistakes.

  “You want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you’d better find out and quick. I’m doing a lot of firefighting on your behalf. The casino wants answers, not mysteries, so you’ve got to repeat the job. Price’s back on at ten tonight. Be there and find something.”

  ***

  Roy had the focus of a laser when he and Gemma returned to The Blue Oasis at eleven. It had less to do with dented pride and more to do with wonderment. How the hell had Price managed not to register cash sales when he handed out receipts from the register? He had to be using some pretty fancy electronic chicanery to get away with it. Essentially, Price had created ghosts out of most of the cash transactions. Pretty fancy.

  The place wasn’t as busy as the night before, but that wasn’t surprising seeing as it was Sunday night. All the weekend warriors had long gone. The lack of patrons meant they got the seats directly across from one of the registers. They had a clear view of the display, keypad and the cash drawer.

  Price picked up on his new arrivals and set a couple of napkins down in front of them. “Hey, it’s the lucky couple, back again.”

  Roy didn’t like that Price recognized them. They’d gone to the trouble of dressing differently and Gemma had pinned her hair up. If Price had any idea that the casino was on to him, he'd be on the lookout for familiar faces coming back again and again. It could force him to play tonight straight, killing their investigation stone dead.