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“Exactly. An ex-cop who fell from grace who’s just trying to make a living and keep his head above water by taking whatever gig he can get. To a man like that, a security job at the hottest and most exclusive club in Vegas is the holy grail.”
“You sure you're not just setting me up for a new life in Vegas to get rid of me?” I say with a wry smirk.
Harry grins, relief evident in his features. “Why would I do that? You’re stuck with me. If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t send you there.”
“Good. I’m not looking to move again any time soon.”
“I guess this is where I tell you that your flight is already booked for Monday, and I’ve got all the details so you can hit the ground running when you get there,” he says.
I chuckle with a shake of my head. “Doesn’t seem like I ever had a choice in this. Am I that much of a sure thing?”
Harry shrugs before leaning toward me. From his stance alone, I know he's about to level with me in a way I might not like. The thing with Harry is that whatever he says, it's always what he thinks I need to hear. Most of the time, he’s not wrong.
“You've come a long way, Aiden, and you'd continue to get back to the man you were before Vegas with or without this case. But take it from me, a man running from his past is not running toward a future he deserves. You’ve been going in circles and it’s high time you quit running. Maybe when you do, you'll find a new path that leads you in the right direction.”
“That's a lot of sage advice, boss.”
“Yeah. Too much. So how about we get on to closing this theft case and then you can get yourself in the right headspace to get on that plane in a few days? Because Aiden, chances like this don't come along very often.”
“To bring down a bad guy? Had a few of those in my time, Harry.” I smirk, but Harry doesn’t return the grin, he meets my eyes and I know he means business.
“No. A chance at redemption. Something tells me this might be yours.”
Chapter 2
Aiden
Stepping out of the airport and into the hot Nevada air, it’s like a whole other world away from the light drizzle I left in Seattle.
The sticky-fingered employee fell for our ruse hook, line, and sinker, and Harry and I were able to close the case yesterday with the help of the Seattle PD. Which means there are no loose ends back home to worry about, and no time limit in which to get this Vegas case done.
In fact, the only thing Harry said to me before kicking me out of his car at SeaTac was to take my time acclimatizing and preparing for my job interview on Thursday. Which in Harry-speak means do the research and don't rush it.
My cover is simple. I'm playing myself; a disgraced cop who needs a job to keep a roof over his head and the debt collectors at bay. If everything goes to plan, I'll be on the job come the end of the week. Until then and to pass the time, I play the role of tourist. The apartment the client rented for me is nothing special, but it’s enough to back up the story that I’m trying to stay afloat and need the security job at Marquis in order to keep doing that.
I’ve got a new phone for the duration of the case, it’s cleaner and safer. Then again, it’s not like there’s any risk to my cover. I’m still myself. And of the three people from my past that still live in Vegas, two are undoubtedly living their happily ever after and I’d be the absolute last person they’d ever want to see.
The other person is Marlee and she has stayed true to her last words to me, disappearing from my life completely. She said she'd do it, but part of me never truly believed she'd stay away. More the fool me, I guess.
It’s still strange to be back here, but I can’t dwell on that now because today it's D-Day—the day of my interview at Marquis.
Harry's client delivered a packet of information to my door that contained anything and everything I’d ever need to know about the most exclusive place-to-be-and-be-seen venue on the strip. The club is part of the new Globe entertainment precinct that was still being built when I left last year. The venue's flagship nightclub is touted as one of the best in Vegas and has a VIP waiting list stretching past a year. The general consensus is, if you're seen at Marquis, you've made it. I imagine working there is a coup in itself.
I arrive a little early, wanting to get a feel for the place before my interview. The building itself is modern and slick, bright lights lighting up the night sky and pulsing in time to the music pumping through the speakers outside as well as vibrating the walls from inside. Money drips from every surface and every detail, the whole venue breathing luxury, decadence, hedonism with a promise of sin and debauchery. It teases and tantalizes and whoever is in charge of marketing deserves a raise because one look at the people desperately queuing in line tells me they’ll wait all night if they have to, just for the chance to get inside.
It's clear that there's still far more to the place than what I can see. It makes sense why Harry couldn't tell me how long I'd need to be here. The only plan I have so far is to get the job, earn the trust of those in power, and bide my time until I get the chance to investigate the financials.
I’ve tried scouring the internet for information on the club and its ownership. All I could find was that it’s owned by two shell companies, who in turn are owned by many more, but I’ve come up empty when I try to find who I might be working for and who I’m meant to be investigating. I could press Harry to tell me, but I figure being in the dark could work in my favor.
Despite questions over the money trail, there's no mistake which owner is the face of it--Decker James. From his many adoring admirers giving up their weekly wage for the door charge alone just to catch a glimpse of the man, to his very close, tight-lipped inner circle of friends, one thing is clear. If this man is dirty, he’s Teflon. He’s so clean and there’s so little information about the guy, it’s a giant red flag in itself.
On the surface, he has money—a lot of it—yet despite living in a digital age where everything is online, outside of news stories, there’s nothing to be found about the man. It’s a little suspicious. My years of investigating have me trained to think the worst and hope for the best, and Decker James has a public mask that’s likely hiding some not-so-clean things. My gut instinct is underworld, illegal things.
But knowing not to make assumptions, I used an old contact at the FBI to help me dive a little deeper. What he found confirmed my suspicions. There’s a lot more to Decker James than just being a club owner and ‘man of the people,’ most of it rumor and conjecture but where there’s smoke there is almost always fire.
Before Marquis opened, Decker worked as a fixer for hire for anyone with deep enough pockets to hide their dirty secrets. He was the one person people would pay top dollar to for his services. The agency hasn’t been able to get anything concrete on him and that alone is enough to put the man in my crosshairs.
First I have to get in the door, then it’s just a case of keeping my head down and my eyes and ears open.
