“That’s a good question, isn’t it?”
It was going to be a long, long climb.
* * *
Grant led, and Julie was happy to let him do so. At every exit door, he stopped, held before it a device that looked like an old-fashioned pocket watch, with a brass casing and a lumpy knob and ring protruding. After regarding the watch a moment, he’d stuff it back in his trouser pocket and continue on.
She guessed he was in his thirties, but now she wasn’t sure—he seemed both young and old. He moved with energy, striding up the stairs without pause, without a hitch in his breath. But he also moved with consideration, with purpose, without a wasted motion. She’d never seen his show and thought now that she might. He’d do all the old magic tricks, the cards and rings and disappearing-box trick, maybe even pull a rabbit from a hat, and his every motion would be precise and enthralling. And it would all be tricks, she reminded herself.
After three flights, she hauled herself up by the railing, huffing for air. If Grant was frustrated at the pauses she made on each landing, he didn’t let on. He just studied his watch a little longer.
Finally, on about the fifth or sixth floor, he consulted his watch and lifted an eyebrow. Then he opened the door. Julie braced for danger—after the empty elevator shaft, anything could happen: explosions blasting in their faces, ax-wielding murderer waiting for them, Mafioso gunfight—but nothing happened.
“Shall we?” Grant said, gesturing through the doorway as if they were entering a fancy restaurant.
She wasn’t sure she really wanted to go, but she did. Leaning in, she looked both ways, up and down the hallway, then stepped gingerly on the carpet, thinking it might turn to quicksand and swallow her. It didn’t. Grant slipped in behind her and closed the door.
This wing of the hotel had been refurbished in the last few years and still looked newish. The carpet was thick, the soft recessed lighting on the russet walls was luxurious and inviting. In a few more years, the décor would start to look worn, and the earth tones and geometric patterns would look dated. Vegas wore out things the way it wore out people. For now, though, it was all very impressive.
They lingered by the emergency door; Grant seemed to expect something to happen. Consulting his watch again, he turned it to the left and right, considering. She craned her neck, trying to get a better look at it. It didn’t seem to have numbers on its face.
“What’s that thing do?” she asked.
“It points,” he said.
Of course it did.
He moved down the hallway to the right, glancing at the watch, then at doorways. At the end of the hall, he stopped and nodded, then made a motion with his hands.
“More magic?” she said, moving beside him.
“No. Lockpick.” He held up a flat plastic key card. “Universal code.”
“Oh my God, if the resort knew you were doing this—and I’m right here with you. I could lose my job—”
“They’ll never find out.”
She glanced to the end of the hallway, to the glass bubble in the ceiling where the security camera was planted.
“Are you sure about that? Am I supposed to just trust you
?”
His lips turned a wry smile. “I did warn you that you probably ought to stay out of this. It’s not too late.”
“What, and take the elevator back down? I don’t think so.”
“There you go—you trust me more than the elevator.”
She crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m not sure I agree with that logic.”
“It isn’t logic,” he said. “It’s instinct. Yours are good, you should listen to them.”
She considered—any other dealer, any sane dealer, would have left the whole problem to Ryan and security. Catching cheaters once they left the table was above her pay grade, as they said. But she wanted to know. The same prickling at her neck that told her something was wrong with yesterday’s businessman and today’s housewife also told her that Odysseus Grant had answers.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Keep a lookout.”