“I didn’t know you were a hacker.”
“An expert hacker,” Gabe corrected her.
“That, either,” she said.
Knowing how to hack gambling industry sites was integral to casino cheating. Before the play was attempted, the cheater’s identity needed to be established with the casino. There was no better way to accomplish this than to hack a database like Central Credit and create a false identity. Using a knowledge of HTML coding and JavaScript, nearly any password-protected website could be compromised, as Billy had learned.
“How much is William Cummins worth?” Misty asked.
“A little over a billion dollars,” Billy said.
“Marry me.”
“Me, too,” Pepper said.
“Keep it down. Our VIP host just walked in.”
A raven-haired woman approached the table with the purpose of a cruise-guided missile. The VIP host’s job was to cater to his or her clients’ every whim and desire, no matter how outlandish or illegal it might be. She stopped at the table, breathing hard.
“Mr. C., there you are. My name’s Kenna Davies, and I’m going to be taking care of you during your stay at the Rio,” their VIP host said.
“Hello, Kenna. Is our suite ready?” Billy asked.
“Yes it is. And your luggage has already been delivered. Shall I take you upstairs?”
“Let us finish our meals.”
“Of course.” Kenna walked to the other side of the restaurant where she stopped to check her cell phone for messages.
“What’s with the Mr. C. crap?” Misty asked.
“The VIP hosts are trained to call their customers by the first letter of their last name,” Billy explained. “To call them by their full name might compromise their privacy.”
“What should we call you?” Misty asked.
“Billy. Same as always.”
They finished their meals and rose from their chairs. Kenna pocketed her cell phone and made a beeline for the table.
“Ready to go upstairs?” their VIP host asked.
“I believe we are,” Billy said.
Their waitress appeared and, clearly not aware that Billy was a whale, slapped down a check. Kenna shot the waitress a look that would have turned most people to stone. Stricken, the waitress removed the offensive piece of paper from the table.
“I think I’m going to like this,” Misty said under her breath.
Six
Las Vegas had more hotel rooms than any other city in the world, and those rooms ran the gamut: some deserved the wrecking ball, while others were among the most luxurious accommodations ever created. The Rio Presidential Suite was at the high end of the spectrum, with three thousand square feet of decadent living space that included a sparkling baby grand piano, twenty-four-hour butler service, and a kidney-shaped pool on a private balcony with a panoramic view of the Strip.
“Oh, look, our very own swimming pool,” Misty said.
“Hey Billy, can we go skinny-dipping?” Pepper asked.
“Only if I can watch,” Billy replied.
Going onto the balcony, Misty and Pepper proceeded to peel off their clothes. They sunbathed in the nude daily and did not sport a single tan line. They dove headfirst into the pool even though a sign warned not to, and splashed water around while screaming in high-pitched voices.
“Your friends aren’t the bashful type, are they?” Kenna said.
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Billy replied.
Kenna gave him a tour of the suite. The rooms went on forever, and Billy tried not to act impressed. He’d grown up in a tract house that wasn’t a third the size of the suite. Those memories were always in the back of his mind, reminding him of what happened to people who didn’t take chances. Stealing was wrong, but it was a hell of a lot better than being poor.
The tour ended where it had started. On the bar was a gift basket filled with fresh fruit and goodies. Kenna removed two envelopes from the basket and presented them to him.
“For the ladies. Our compliments,” the VIP host said.
“Much appreciated,” Billy said.
“What time should we expect you in the casino?”
“I’ll be down later this afternoon.”
“Will you be playing blackjack? I can hold a table for your party, if you like.”
“Sounds good.”
“Wonderful. Let me give you my card. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m here to make your stay as enjoyable as possible.”
Billy walked Kenna to the door. In return for the comped suite and goodies, he was expected to play a certain number of hours of blackjack with minimum bets of $5,000 per hand. His expected loss would be between 1 and 2 percent, more than enough to cover all the free crap and leave a tidy profit for the house. There was no such thing as a free ride in Las Vegas. The corporations that ran the joints made sure of it.
It hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, casinos had suffered losing nights and even losing weeks. It was the risk you took running a casino. Then the corporations took over and the landscape changed. Corporations didn’t believe in risk, so they’d rigged the games by shaving the odds. A player might win over the short run, but over the long run a player couldn’t win and would eventually get busted. It was a form of cheating, no different than dealing off the bottom of the deck.
Misty and Pepper came inside wearing pink bathrobes they’d found by the pool. Billy presented them with the envelopes. “These are for the shops downstairs. Have fun.”
They tore the envelopes open and squealed with delight.
“Ten grand in free stuff?” Misty said. “I could learn to like this.”
“Spend it while you can,” he said.
“We’d better get moving, then. Where’s our luggage?” Misty asked.
“In your room.”
“Where’s that?”
Billy led them to their room, which had a pair of queen beds and an oversized bathroom. During the tour, Kenna had described the suite’s accommodations as if reading off a script, and it had made Billy wonder if the suite was bugged, and that Kenna was fearful that a slip of the tongue might affect her job. He decided he’d better find out, and he shut the door behind him. Thinking he had something else in mind, Misty and Pepper undid their robes and let them fall to the floor.
“I’ve always wanted to sleep with a billionaire,” Pepper said.
“To hell with sleeping. Let’s screw,” Misty said.
Billy shushed them with a finger to the lips.
“Something wrong?” Pepper whispered.
“Maybe. Where’s your cell phone?” he whispered back.
“In my purse on the bar.”
“Go get it.”
Pepper slipped on her bathrobe and left. She returned holding her iPhone. Billy called her on his Droid.
“Answer it,” he whispered.
“But you’re standing right here,” she whispered back.
“Do it anyway.”
Pepper answered the call. Billy pressed the volume button on his Droid to its highest setting, then walked around the bedroom waving it at the wall hangings and light fixtures as if it were a magic wand. Twice he heard distinctive clicks, which indicated his cell phone had detected an electromagnetic field in the room.
“Not good,” he whispered. “Follow me.”
They followed him into the bathroom. Billy shut the door and repeated the test with his Droid. There were no clicks this time. In the belief that he could never be too careful, he turned the spigots in the sink to their highest volume.
“Your bedroom’s bugged,” he said. “You need to watch everything you say. One crack out of turn, and this whole thing will blow up in our faces. Got it?”