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It wasn't until we hit the "holding" room that the guards stopped me, one stepping into my path as the other took Jack inside and closed the door. I didn't try to follow, just snuffled and wiped my arm across my streaming nose.
"You can wait over there, ma'am," the guard said. "He might be awhile."
"I can't believe he did this. He promised! This whole trip was for me, he said. 'Cause I've been so sick with the baby. For me, my ass. How could he--?" I clutched my stomach. "Oh, I don't feel so good."
"There's a bathroom--"
"Uh-uh, if I start puking, I'll never stop. I just need to sit down."
He quickly pointed me to a small room. I spent only a couple of minutes in there, sniffling and moaning, then bolted for the door, hand over my mouth. The hall guard didn't say a word, just got out of my way and waved in the direction of the washroom.
Once in the washroom, I did some retching, and tossed cupfuls of water into the toilet for effect, but I doubted the young guard came close enough to the door to appreciate my efforts. Still moaning and snuffling, I stood on the counter and wriggled the ceiling tile loose. Next I pulled the climbing gloves from my bra, and slid them on. Then I took out my key chain, unhooked my penlight, put it between my teeth and heaved myself up into the ceiling.
"Are you sure it's removable ceiling tiles?" I'd said to Jack. "If they've plastered since you were last there, we're in trouble."
"Gallagher doesn't redecorate. If it works, it stays."
This plan was my idea. Jack had his own--which went something along the lines of "cheat, get caught, get taken into the secured area and demand to see Gallagher." And my role? Just play along in the casino, then enjoy my evening gambling while he risked broken fingers with Gallagher's security team. When I'd suggested this enhancement, I'd expected him to balk, but he'd only thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah, that's better." The balking came later, as we'd prepared our strategy, and he'd realized how much danger I was putting myself in.
"It's no worse than your plan," I'd said. "With yours, you're relying on the guards to deliver your message...and Gallagher to accept it, rather than take advantage of the chance to beat the crap out of you for refusing his jobs. With mine, I do the delivery, and Gallagher has no choice but to accept it. Worst thing that can happen? I can't get to Gallagher, and we'll be back to your idea."
"Or Gallagher gets you. Holds you hostage."
"He has to catch me first."
When Jack didn't smile, I'd said, "You seriously think he can take me that easily? I'm careful, Jack. One wrong look from the guy, and I'm back up in that ceiling. See if he can follow me there."
"Wouldn't fit."
As I squeezed into the gap between the beams and the floor above, I saw Jack's point. Tight quarters up here. Not bad, though. I'd been in worse.
Still, Jack hadn't seemed satisfied, kept poking and prodding, making sure I was prepared.
"I can do this," I'd said finally, exasperated. "If you didn't think I could, why let us get this far with the plan?"
Silence. After a moment, he'd said only, "Be careful."
"I always am."
Something had passed though his gaze, but he'd dropped it before I could get a good look.
I checked my compass. North-northwest was that way. Down on all fours again, flashlight between my teeth, and I was on the move. Dust swirled up with every step. Despite the contacts, my eyes watered, and more than once I had to stop and chomp down on the flashlight to swallow a sneeze.
"Take this," Jack had said, thrusting the map at me. "Keep it handy."
"I won't need it," I'd said.
"Humor me."
I had, but I didn't take the map out now. I didn't need to. In high school, I'd spent a summer working as a guide in Algonquin Park, and the first thing I'd learned was not how to repel black bears and blackflies, but how to memorize maps. Nothing destroys tourists' confidence--and a guide's chance at a tip--so much as having her stop in the middle of an endless expanse of forest to pore over a map.
From below came muted whispers of conversation against the backdrop of the constant whirs and dings of distant slot machines. As I crossed one room, the sound changed to a steady clinking, a river of chips going through a mechanical counter--the sound of broken marriages, busted kneecaps and shattered lives. Never saw the appeal of gambling. Not with money, anyway. The risk of parachuting or white-water rafting is one thing--you know the odds are in your favor. But casino gambling? Just take a look at the owners, and how they live,
and tell me where you think all that money is going.
I supposed it was all about the threat of risk and the possibility of reward. But the risk of financial ruin was, for someone who'd been there, not enough to get my heart pumping. Not like this--the thrill of true danger, crawling into the unknown.
Regular spelunking is risky enough. But there, in a cave, you have partners who can go for help and, most times, the biggest danger you face is broken bones. Here, if I fell, I'd be exposed as a thief or, worse, an assassin. Men like Gallagher didn't handle either by simply breaking bones.
