Royal Flush Read Online Free Page A
Author: Stephanie Caffrey
a fraction of that. I figured Mike was so used to doing everything on the cheap that he had a hard time getting his mind around the fact that some people wanted the works.
"And if he's not legit," I added, "she'd probably want to know what kind of trouble he's in that he's trying to scam her out of money. That's the kind of thing we can find out."
He turned to face me. "A fair point. So what do you suggest?"
I considered it for a minute. "Let's do a dossier on this guy. This Henry John Kent of ours."
"A dossier ? Where'd you get that?"
"It just sprang into my head. Remember when I worked with Philippe LaGarde? He showed me some impressive dossiers they had done on people. High roller types who lost lots of money. Whales, he called them. It was all very professional-looking."
Mike smiled. "Not a bad idea, actually. You're going to chew up that ten grand just following the guy around, though."
I batted my eyes coquettishly. "I could always outsource the legwork. I know a guy who will work for cheap."
Mike looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be exasperated. Or maybe he wasn't pretending. The last time he'd helped with one of my cases, he ended up getting shot.
"We'll work it out," he said simply. "So, what are you thinking? Surveillance, of course. Anything electronic? Wiretaps?"
My eyebrows shot up. "Um, my office chair is held together with duct tape. I don't exactly have access to a lot of high-end technology."
Mike smiled. "Okay, we can do it the old-fashioned way. Just gotta figure out what makes this guy tick, right? A little surveillance, maybe a little smash and grab."
I nodded. "He goes to school right here, but I can't think of any way to find him. I have no idea what he looks like. His address is the only thing I've got."
"No biggie," Mike said. "Here at school, he'd probably be on his best behavior. If we want to find out what he's really up to, it'll require watching his extracurricular activities. And by the way, why is he going to school in Vegas? Why not Oxford or something like that?"
"I don't think the hotel management program there is up to his standards," I said.
"Got it. So he's royalty, but he's studying to manage a Marriott?"
I smiled. "That's what I wondered, but my client says he's got designs on creating an upscale resort out of his family estate. Assuming he wins his lawsuit, of course."
"I guess it all adds up," Mike said, with eminent skepticism.
I stood up and closed the book. Mike went and made a few copies of the Kent section of the book insert, so at least I'd have something to show Melanie for our efforts. I had nothing else on my calendar for the day, and it wasn't even lunchtime, so I told Mike I'd handle the surveillance on Henry John Kent. At least, until I got bored.
CHAPTER FOUR
Henry John Kent lived just off of Tropicana Avenue, near the UNLV campus, in a rented space that was nominally a motel but looked more like a flophouse. The sign at the All-Star Motel said rooms were available weekly or monthly, and instructed passers-by to ask about long-term leases. It was a gray, two-story structure built out of thinly disguised concrete blocks, with row after row of decrepit balconies populated by rusting lawn furniture and bikes, a few satellite dishes, and a couple of well-worn gas grills. I double-checked the address Melanie had given me, because it certainly didn't look like royal digs. Hell, I doubted the place even met the standards of today's college students, who (despite being broke) had become used to housing that would have been considered luxury accommodations in my day.
I lucked out and found the last spot in the parking lot, then made a casual stroll around the place. The inn had about a hundred units, and Kent's was number seventy-nine, on the second floor. The only thing his place had going for it was an absence of junk on the balcony. Circling back to my car, I immediately regretted not having Mike do the surveillance. I'd brought a magazine with
"And if he's not legit," I added, "she'd probably want to know what kind of trouble he's in that he's trying to scam her out of money. That's the kind of thing we can find out."
He turned to face me. "A fair point. So what do you suggest?"
I considered it for a minute. "Let's do a dossier on this guy. This Henry John Kent of ours."
"A dossier ? Where'd you get that?"
"It just sprang into my head. Remember when I worked with Philippe LaGarde? He showed me some impressive dossiers they had done on people. High roller types who lost lots of money. Whales, he called them. It was all very professional-looking."
Mike smiled. "Not a bad idea, actually. You're going to chew up that ten grand just following the guy around, though."
I batted my eyes coquettishly. "I could always outsource the legwork. I know a guy who will work for cheap."
Mike looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be exasperated. Or maybe he wasn't pretending. The last time he'd helped with one of my cases, he ended up getting shot.
"We'll work it out," he said simply. "So, what are you thinking? Surveillance, of course. Anything electronic? Wiretaps?"
My eyebrows shot up. "Um, my office chair is held together with duct tape. I don't exactly have access to a lot of high-end technology."
Mike smiled. "Okay, we can do it the old-fashioned way. Just gotta figure out what makes this guy tick, right? A little surveillance, maybe a little smash and grab."
I nodded. "He goes to school right here, but I can't think of any way to find him. I have no idea what he looks like. His address is the only thing I've got."
"No biggie," Mike said. "Here at school, he'd probably be on his best behavior. If we want to find out what he's really up to, it'll require watching his extracurricular activities. And by the way, why is he going to school in Vegas? Why not Oxford or something like that?"
"I don't think the hotel management program there is up to his standards," I said.
"Got it. So he's royalty, but he's studying to manage a Marriott?"
I smiled. "That's what I wondered, but my client says he's got designs on creating an upscale resort out of his family estate. Assuming he wins his lawsuit, of course."
"I guess it all adds up," Mike said, with eminent skepticism.
I stood up and closed the book. Mike went and made a few copies of the Kent section of the book insert, so at least I'd have something to show Melanie for our efforts. I had nothing else on my calendar for the day, and it wasn't even lunchtime, so I told Mike I'd handle the surveillance on Henry John Kent. At least, until I got bored.
CHAPTER FOUR
Henry John Kent lived just off of Tropicana Avenue, near the UNLV campus, in a rented space that was nominally a motel but looked more like a flophouse. The sign at the All-Star Motel said rooms were available weekly or monthly, and instructed passers-by to ask about long-term leases. It was a gray, two-story structure built out of thinly disguised concrete blocks, with row after row of decrepit balconies populated by rusting lawn furniture and bikes, a few satellite dishes, and a couple of well-worn gas grills. I double-checked the address Melanie had given me, because it certainly didn't look like royal digs. Hell, I doubted the place even met the standards of today's college students, who (despite being broke) had become used to housing that would have been considered luxury accommodations in my day.
I lucked out and found the last spot in the parking lot, then made a casual stroll around the place. The inn had about a hundred units, and Kent's was number seventy-nine, on the second floor. The only thing his place had going for it was an absence of junk on the balcony. Circling back to my car, I immediately regretted not having Mike do the surveillance. I'd brought a magazine with
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