JANET

James Lakewood stepped out of the black Cadillac sedan in front of the Bellagio. He cleared his throat as he smoothed out his suit jacket and did up the top button. It was a little tight around the middle. Tighter than he remembered. He chuckled to himself at the thought of his protruding belly as he walked into the cool shade of the hotel entrance.

The huge pillars, glass-domed ceiling, and lion statues guarding the front door were familiar, pleasing sights, but it was the man in the gray suit and gold tie that caught his attention. “Georgio,” said Lakewood, holding his arms out in welcome.

“Mr. Lakewood!” said Georgio Fontana. “Welcome, my friend. Welcome back!” Georgio grasped his hand and shook hard, beaming. “Please,” said the hotel manager, releasing him and making a sweeping gesture towards the hotel.

“Thank you, Georgio,” said Lakewood. The two men walked side by side toward the entrance. Georgio snapped his fingers, and a bellhop immediately went to retrieve Lakewood’s belongings from the car behind them.

“We have your room ready, Mr. Lakewood. Would you like to head up now?” said Georgio, holding the gold-plated door open for him as they reached the front.

“No, thank you. I haven’t got much time, so I’d rather head straight to the casino floor if you don’t mind. My wife will be here shortly, and she will want to freshen up in the room,” said Lakewood.

“Of course, of course,” said Georgio, smoothing out his tie as they entered the sparkling lobby.

Lakewood glanced up at the colorful Fiori di Como as they walked beneath it but then turned his attention to the dark casino ahead of them. The jangling sound of the slot machines and the sound of chattering voices was already filling his ears.

“Director Howard Kepler and his team have taken over the presidential suite,” said Georgio.

“Did they now?” said Lakewood. He was dimly interested and wasn’t displeased when the hotel manager continued.

“They’ve had large meetings going on since yesterday evening,” said Georgio, as they crossed from the high-ceilinged, white marble lobby into the dimly lit main floor of the casino.

“Ah,” said Lakewood. “I suppose there is no way of knowing what was going on in that meeting, is there?”

“Mr. Lakewood, I know everything that is going on in my hotel. They were discussing the investigation around a lost aircraft over the Pacific Ocean.”

“Indeed. Them and the rest of the country. Did they make any progress?”

“Hardly,” said Georgio. “I was informed that it was mostly dead ends. Seems Director Kepler is looking for as much information as he can get on the incident. They were making calls all through the night to Point Loma and Miramar in hopes of getting in contact with someone on the recovery site.”

“They turn up anything good?” said Lakewood.

“Nothing. Kepler sent out a few teams to do their own investigations, but I doubt he’ll find much.”

“He won’t,” said Lakewood through a stifled yawn. “I admire his enthusiasm though. I’m sure it will do him a lot of good before he inevitably screws it all up. He steps on too many toes.”

“If I may,” said Georgio, as they reached the table section of the casino floor. “Why does he search so hard for information on the aircraft? Surely the director of the FBI knows what happened if the government was involved?”

“It’s precisely the opposite. He looks so hard because he knows nothing. But he suspects. Knowing Kepler, he’s imagining that when he turns up with some meaningful intelligence on the matter, he’ll have access to the real investigation. He would just love to get his grimy fingers all over Jacobs’ projects, and he thinks this might be his only shot.”

“Are the rumors of foul play true?” said Georgio. The pair of them stopped a few yards away from a green baccarat table with a few gentlemen in dark suits sitting around.

Lakewood chuckled. “My friend, we’re talking about the United States Military, so there are only two possibilities as to the cause of yesterday’s fiasco; foul play or sheer incompetence. I give each a 50/50 of being true.”

“Indeed,” said Georgio, grinning. He gestured to an open seat at the end of the baccarat table before them.

As Lakewood approached the table, a gentleman in a uniform vest appeared and pulled the chair out for him. As he sat down and pulled up to the table, a second uniformed man appeared at his side, setting down a few piles of colorful chips in a variety of sizes.

“You remember Catherine?” said Georgio, standing beside him.

“Of course,” said Lakewood, sitting back in his chair and undoing the top button of his coat. “How are you this evening, Catherine?”

“Excellent, Mr. Lakewood,” said the dealer, Catherine. “Welcome back.” She was a beautiful blond with a pearly white smile and tight-fitting vest.

Another uniformed man appeared, holding a silver tray with a fresh, cold beer balanced on top. Georgio lifted the drink carefully and dismissed the waiter with a wave. Setting it down in front of Lakewood, he said, “I leave you, my good friend, in capable hands. Good luck. If you need anything.” He let the words dangle in the air, bowed his head, and started walking away.

“One more thing,” said Lakewood. Georgio inclined his head. “If you see a beautiful blonde that might enjoy a few rounds of Baccarat, send her my way. I could use the company.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” said Georgio. As he disappeared into the depths of the dim casino, the dealer, Catherine, smiled and said, “Ready, Mr. Lakewood?”

“Please, call me Jim,” he said, placing his first bet.