Read Online Double Whammy (A Davis Way Crime Caper) by Gretchen Archer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gretchen Archer
Ads: Link
didn’t know.)
It took every dime I had to divorce that rat-bastard Eddie Crawford, immediately followed by extreme unemployment. My finances had gone from sad to tragic until I began squirreling away Bellissimo paychecks. Things were looking up in my financial department; Visa and I were both very happy about it. My ninety-day commitment was nearing the four-week mark, but they were paying me so much I caught myself thinking if I could stick it out six months, I could be debt free both inside and outside of my family. If I could hold out an additional six months, I’d have the makings of a savings account.
I looked at myself in the reflection of the elevator doors on my way to the print shop, and gave myself this advice: “Make this work, Davis.”
* * *
I was certain the same Casino Marketing person booked the four guest-victims, but ten minutes after I settled in to solve this caper, I hit a wall. Four different casino hosts were assigned to the four injured parties.
If it wasn’t a casino-host culprit, who was it?
I had no choice but to hack into the mainframe, which, let me assure you, raises your blood pressure through the roof. Years ago, out of boredom, I wrote a program that would shut a system completely down the millisecond it was compromised. The only reason I hadn’t tried to sell it to Microsoft or the iPod people was because I hadn’t had time to develop Part Two, a sprinkler-system device in the monitor that blasted the hacker with tear gas. Hack that , buddy. (The real reason I hadn’t pursued it was is because if it did fly, my hacking hobby would be over.)
Boom. Gotcha. I was in.
I examined the four guest portfolios from their inceptions. After three hours and a headache, I found nothing but typos. No one had altered anything.
It had been a long, long day. I’d been traumatized, terrified, told off, and I’d struck out. Tears were in order.
George waited patiently until I stopped leaking. “What were you looking for?”
We were stuck at a railroad crossing while an endless succession of gang-graffitied railcars rolled by, so I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. “I’m looking into this casino host business, how it works.”
“Nothing to it.”
“How’s that, George?” My head snapped up. “What? Are you a casino expert now? I haven’t seen you in there yucking it up with the casino hosts.”
“Don’t mean I don’t know about it.” He turned and made the rare eye contact again, but I didn’t cry this time.
“I’m listening.” I crossed my arms.
“It’s a sweet gig.”
“In what way?”
“It’s the easiest job in the building.”
“That couldn’t be true,” I said. “It looks to me like they take care of the whims and fancies of a thousand people each.” Clicking on the client-list link of a casino host’s profile, a Rhode Island roster ensues. Page after page, thousands of guests, are assigned to each of the fourteen hosts.
“They have people to do all of their grunt work,” he said. “They spend their time in the restaurants and out on the golf course.”
Thirty minutes later, ignoring my next-door neighbors’ headboard trying to beat its way into my room again, nose to computer screen, I had my mark: Miss Heidi Dupree, Executive Assistant to the casino hosts. She was one of eight executive assistants, but hers were the only administrative initials on the portfolios, a zillion computer screens back, for the four rooms that had been pilfered. I recognized her from her employee profile, too; I’d seen her stepping into a guest room carrying a bucket of flowers.
* * *
The next day, I cleaned seventeen guest rooms. Three were barely touched, only one corner of the bed turned back, and a single pillow had a head dent. I’d learned quickly that not all the guests were there for the glorious guest rooms, extra glorious to me now that I knew EconoLodge squalor. A good portion of Bellissimo guests
It took every dime I had to divorce that rat-bastard Eddie Crawford, immediately followed by extreme unemployment. My finances had gone from sad to tragic until I began squirreling away Bellissimo paychecks. Things were looking up in my financial department; Visa and I were both very happy about it. My ninety-day commitment was nearing the four-week mark, but they were paying me so much I caught myself thinking if I could stick it out six months, I could be debt free both inside and outside of my family. If I could hold out an additional six months, I’d have the makings of a savings account.
I looked at myself in the reflection of the elevator doors on my way to the print shop, and gave myself this advice: “Make this work, Davis.”
* * *
I was certain the same Casino Marketing person booked the four guest-victims, but ten minutes after I settled in to solve this caper, I hit a wall. Four different casino hosts were assigned to the four injured parties.
If it wasn’t a casino-host culprit, who was it?
I had no choice but to hack into the mainframe, which, let me assure you, raises your blood pressure through the roof. Years ago, out of boredom, I wrote a program that would shut a system completely down the millisecond it was compromised. The only reason I hadn’t tried to sell it to Microsoft or the iPod people was because I hadn’t had time to develop Part Two, a sprinkler-system device in the monitor that blasted the hacker with tear gas. Hack that , buddy. (The real reason I hadn’t pursued it was is because if it did fly, my hacking hobby would be over.)
Boom. Gotcha. I was in.
I examined the four guest portfolios from their inceptions. After three hours and a headache, I found nothing but typos. No one had altered anything.
It had been a long, long day. I’d been traumatized, terrified, told off, and I’d struck out. Tears were in order.
George waited patiently until I stopped leaking. “What were you looking for?”
We were stuck at a railroad crossing while an endless succession of gang-graffitied railcars rolled by, so I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. “I’m looking into this casino host business, how it works.”
“Nothing to it.”
“How’s that, George?” My head snapped up. “What? Are you a casino expert now? I haven’t seen you in there yucking it up with the casino hosts.”
“Don’t mean I don’t know about it.” He turned and made the rare eye contact again, but I didn’t cry this time.
“I’m listening.” I crossed my arms.
“It’s a sweet gig.”
“In what way?”
“It’s the easiest job in the building.”
“That couldn’t be true,” I said. “It looks to me like they take care of the whims and fancies of a thousand people each.” Clicking on the client-list link of a casino host’s profile, a Rhode Island roster ensues. Page after page, thousands of guests, are assigned to each of the fourteen hosts.
“They have people to do all of their grunt work,” he said. “They spend their time in the restaurants and out on the golf course.”
Thirty minutes later, ignoring my next-door neighbors’ headboard trying to beat its way into my room again, nose to computer screen, I had my mark: Miss Heidi Dupree, Executive Assistant to the casino hosts. She was one of eight executive assistants, but hers were the only administrative initials on the portfolios, a zillion computer screens back, for the four rooms that had been pilfered. I recognized her from her employee profile, too; I’d seen her stepping into a guest room carrying a bucket of flowers.
* * *
The next day, I cleaned seventeen guest rooms. Three were barely touched, only one corner of the bed turned back, and a single pillow had a head dent. I’d learned quickly that not all the guests were there for the glorious guest rooms, extra glorious to me now that I knew EconoLodge squalor. A good portion of Bellissimo guests
Similar Books
