The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 45
Curt thought for a moment. "Yeah, I know a bellman that works there. Had a fling with him last summer. I'll give him a ring."
"I owe you one."
"How about you let me buy you dinner?"
Chris shook his head. "I won't be here very much longer."
"Oh, are you and Jason...?"
"No, nothing like that. I'm a client. That's all."
Curt smiled. "I'll make that call. What's your friend's name?"
"Michael. Michael Blake. But"---Chris held up a hand to stop Curt, who was already walking away---"he might just be a guest of someone else. I don't know for sure."
"What does he look like? Maybe a description will help."
"Five eleven, about one eighty. Dark-brown hair, usually well dressed. He has a scar on his chin from a motorcycle accident. It's very distinctive. It looks like a lightning bolt."
Curt smiled and winked. "Got it." He walked over to the desk and placed a call. Within minutes, he was back with a slip of paper. "Room 3615. It's a suite. Apparently he's registered with someone going by the name John Smith. We get a lot of those here in Vegas. Jake, the bellman, remembered the guy though, so we got lucky. According to Jake, your Michael is hotness, but a total dick. He stiffed him a tip and treated him like garbage."
Chris took the slip of paper and pocketed it. "That sounds like Michael." Chris forced another smile. "Thank you again. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help."
Curt gave him a hopeful smile. "You're sure about that dinner?"
"I plan to be on a plane back to Seattle by the end of the day."
"What about Jason? Is he leaving too?"
"I don't know. If you see him, I'd appreciate you keeping this between us, though."
"There is something going on with you two."
Chris shook his head and patted his pocket. "Not a thing. I promise." He shook Curt's hand and headed for the door.
He was going to finish this once and for all.
Even though it was early morning, when Chris exited the hotel, he felt like he was walking into a blast furnace. Steeling himself against the heat, he turned and stormed toward the Bellagio with righteous wrath fueling his steps.
THE MAN wearing an eye patch flicked his Camel cigarette into the gutter as he watched Chris James depart the Venetian. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Watson here," he said once the call was answered. "Your little game is coming apart, Brunner. The birdie just flew out of the Venetian. Looks like he's pissed off. He's probably on his way to pay you a visit."
"Damn it," Brunner swore. "How could this have happened?"
"You were warned."
Chapter 12
THE BELLAGIO was every bit as extravagant and overdone as the Venetian, so Chris experienced a sense of déjà vu as he strolled into the lobby. Under other circumstances, he might have liked to linger on the overwhelming detail, but he was positively driven by adrenaline and fierce anger.
He bypassed the casino and followed the signs to the elevators that would take him to the guest rooms. Noticing the security guard posted on duty outside the hallway, he paused to consider. How was he going to get past him?
The trick, he thought, would be to act casually and walk right on through as if he knew what he was doing.
As he approached, the security guard looked in his direction.
"Room key?"
Chris flashed the back side of his Venetian keycard and kept on walking. The ploy obviously worked, since the security guard made no move to detain him.
He pressed the call button and, once the elevator arrived, he stepped inside.
As the car ascended to the thirty-sixth floor, he felt a momentary sense of unreality. What the hell was he doing?
He remembered Jason's scornful tone when he'd called him a coward, and his faltering resolve was renewed.
"I'll show you coward, you conceited son of a bitch," he said aloud.
The elevator doors parted, and he stepped into the hallway on the thirty-sixth floor. Looking right and left, he located the numbered placards on the wall and determined that he needed to head left.
He counted off the rooms, and when he found the one he was looking for, he gave no thought to his actions. He raised his fist and pounded on the door.
He stepped out of view of the peephole, his stomach churning in fear. Don't think. He took a deep breath. Just do. He didn't want Brunner and Michael to know who was crashing their party.
There was a muffled noise from inside the room, and a groggy voice he recognized all too well issued forth. "Can't you see the 'do not disturb' sign? Go away."
Hearing Michael's voice intensified his anger. Forgotten was his fear. Resentment and outrage consumed him, detonating in his chest like a thermonuclear blast. He pounded on the door again, this time much harder, and shouted, "Open this fucking door or I'll break it down."
There was a rattling of a chain, and the knob turned. The door opened a crack, and Chris launched himself into it, flinging Michael backward and sending him sprawling onto the floor.
Blazing hatred took complete control as he laid eyes on Michael Blake for the first time in nearly a year. This was the man who had taken his daughter away. This was the man who had put him through ten months of unrelenting hell. He could see his own murderous intent reflected in the terror on Michael's face. His hands clenched into fists as he stomped toward the prostrate and wasted form of his former partner.
"You weren't dead before, Michael, but you can bet your ass when I'm through with you, you'll wish you had been."
Michael scampered backward as Chris came on, teeth bared like a predatory animal. He was blinded by wrath as he advanced.
"Chris?" Michael's eyes were glazed and wild with fear.