The lights of the city, bright against the blackness of night, came into
view as Ezra watched out the window of the airplane. Las Vegas. It was
a gaudy place, rife with lust, greed, envy, and a whole host of other sins.
There was no place like it in the world. Ezra smiled. It was just his
kind of place. It wasn't the party atmosphere that drew him, or the
money that flowed like water through the casinos, or even the luxury of
the many fine hotels. For him, it was the ability to gamble and be somewhat
anonymous in the process. Gamblers were a dime a dozen in this place and
Ezra liked that he could indulge one of his vices without guilt or recrimination.
When the Assistant Director, Orrin Travis, had insisted that the members
of his most successful - and most trouble-prone - ATF team all
take vacations separately, Ezra had immediately thought of Las Vegas. It
had been a number of years since he had been there and he decided it was
just the place for him to enjoy his week off. He chuckled to himself, remembering
Travis's grumbled comments about how he and his teammates "had
better not get into any trouble this time." That wouldn't be
a problem for him in this place. In this capital of gambling and greed,
Ezra Standish was in his element.
The airport shuttle pulled up at the entrance of the Luxor Hotel and Ezra
stepped out into the pleasant evening air. It felt good, compared to the
stale, air-conditioned stuff he had been breathing for the last few hours,
and he almost sighed in disappointment when he had to go inside once again,
tossing a last glance at the replica of the Sphinx before he disappeared
through the doors. Finally, though, he was checked in and relaxing in his
well-appointed room.
Ezra peered out the angled glass of his room in the giant obsidian pyramid.
He had timed his arrival so that he could enjoy the city at night, when
it was at its tawdry best. With its endless neon wonders, each flamboyantly
trying to outdo the others, there was no denying the sheer decadence of
the place. A few new hotels had cropped up since his last visit, vying
for attention on the increasingly crowded strip, and he decided that exploring
them would be an excellent way to start his trip. Smiling in anticipation,
Ezra headed for the shower.
Despite their outward differences, there were certain traits that all the
casinos shared. Ezra smiled at the sound of slot machines spinning and
the joyful tinkling of coins when a jackpot was being delivered. Each casino
sported unique features, designed to differentiate it from its competitors,
and Ezra had to shake his head at the lengths the designers would go to
entice customers through their portals. Wandering through the Venetian
Hotel, Ezra found himself surprisingly impressed with the reproduction of
the canals - complete with gondolas - and marketplaces of Venice.
The faux sky overhead had given him pause when he entered the area, looking
so realistic that it nearly fooled the eye into thinking it was outside
in the midday sun.
He had thrown the obligatory few coins into the slot machines as he meandered
through the casinos, but was saving his real gambling for the next day.
There were some openings in a few high stakes poker games in the late afternoon
at the Bellagio and Ezra couldn't help but grin at the thought of exercising
his skills against other expert players. It had been some time since he
had enjoyed the opportunity, but he was confident his skills had not deteriorated.
The grin was still on his face when he exited back into the street, which
was bustling with late-night revelers. Ezra took his time as he walked
along the street, taking in the sights and watching the enthusiastic tourists
ogle the flashing lights. He paused for a while to enjoy the musical lighted
fountain in front of the Bellagio, then joined the gathering crowd in front
of Treasure Island.
The cannons boomed and the pirates battled on the smoke-enshrouded ship.
Ezra chuckled as he watched the spectacle, thinking that Buck and JD would
have gotten quite a kick out of the display. Not for the first time, he
wondered where each of his compatriots had chosen to take their own vacations.
Chris had been adamant that they keep their destinations secret from one
another, to prevent any of them from getting together, as Travis had insisted.
Buck had been the most affected by that decision, eaten up with curiosity
over where everyone else was going. For all his wheedling and begging,
though, none of them had cracked.
Ezra had been secretly pleased at the proclamation. While he enjoyed the
company of his associates, he did like to have some quality time to himself
- something that had been absent on his last two vacations. It had
come as almost a relief to know that he wouldn't be dragged on yet
another camping or fishing trip with his teammates. His choice of destination
was also not one of which his comrades would approve and he had no desire
to listen to any vilification of his character while he was trying to relax.
Gambling was not illegal in this place and he was determined to participate
in as many poker games as possible during his stay.
The pirate battle ended and Ezra made his way slowly back to his hotel,
marveling at the light that shone straight up from the apex of the giant
pyramid. It certainly made it easy to find the place, not that anyone could
miss such an unusual building. The night was still fairly young, but Ezra
wanted to be well-rested for the poker game the next evening, so he decided
to retire to his room. He did, after all, have an entire week to enjoy
this ‘city of sin.'
The air seemed charged with anticipation as Ezra strolled confidently through
the casino. He was feeling calm and relaxed despite the promise of an exciting
and highly competitive evening of poker. That morning, he had indulged
himself and slept in, staying in bed until ten o'clock. After a leisurely
brunch, he had visited the spa, treating himself to a massage, which had
worked out every bit of lingering tension in his muscles. He was as relaxed
as he was going to get.
Brushing the cuff of his silk suit jacket, Ezra strode toward the private
poker rooms. He had dressed carefully, since appearances were important
in a game like poker and he wanted to give the correct impression. Grinning,
he approached the desk, nearly colliding with another man.
"After you, sir," Ezra said, gesturing toward the waiting staff
member.
"Thank you." The man started to speak to the waiting employee,
then stopped and turned toward Ezra. "You!"
"Pardon?" Ezra gave the man a puzzled look.
"You don't remember me, do you?" the man said, a dark look
on his face.
Ezra studied the heavyset man, trying to place the features that appeared
somewhat familiar. There was something about the thick, dark hair and the
heavy sideburns that tickled Ezra's memory, but it was the sneer that
twisted the man's lips that brought the memory to bear.
"Mr. Dutton?" Ezra said hesitantly.
"That's right, Stanton," Dutton said. "Guess you do
remember."
Ezra pasted a false smile on his face. "How could I forget?"
How he wished he could forget. Though it had been many years since
he had seen the man, Ezra could hardly forget the circumstances of their
meeting.
It had been one of his early cases with the FBI. He had been sent in undercover
as a high-end drug dealer in order to get close to Dutton's boss, a
mid-level criminal named Samuel Zielinski, otherwise known as "Sammy
Z." Zielinski, based in Savannah, had designs on the Atlanta area
and beyond, determined to increase his power base by adding to the territory
he controlled. His ambitions had started a near war on the streets as others
in the criminal underworld jockeyed for power and protected their own interests.
Everything had gone to plan during his assignment, until the day of the
bust. The FBI team in charge of the operation had misjudged the number
of men that Zielinski would have at the meeting, despite Ezra's warnings
that their estimates were too low. One agent had panicked and opened fire
early, turning the situation into a chaotic bloodbath. Ezra had not escaped
the melee unscathed, sustaining a gunshot wound to his shoulder. Zielinski
had been less fortunate, receiving a fatal bullet to the head. Dutton had
been unharmed, but had been arrested with the rest of Zielinski's surviving
men. Judging by his presence in the casino, he must have been released
from prison.
Ezra would never forget that case, since it was the first time aspersions
had been cast upon his character while at the FBI. The agent in charge
of the investigation had disliked Ezra from the start, fighting him at every
turn, ignoring his recommendations, and arguing with his strategies for
apprehending Zielinski. After the bust fell apart, blame had found its
way onto his shoulders and he had been unable to completely shake the rumors
of his complicity with Zielinski and his cronies. It was the beginning
of the end of his FBI career and it still gave Ezra a sick feeling to think
about it.
"You pulled a real fast one on us," Dutton snarled. "Got
Mr. Z killed and disappeared. We all figured you for a snitch or a cop."
"I assure you, Mr. Dutton," Ezra said placatingly. "I am
neither. I was injured in that fiasco and spent quite a lot of time in
the hospital."
"You get busted?"
"No, I was fortunate enough to escape in the confusion," Ezra
said.
Dutton snorted in disbelief, but said nothing further as he signed in for
the poker game. Ezra followed suit, registering as Elliot Stanton after
discovering he would be in the same game as Dutton, who threw a dirty look
over his shoulder as he followed him into the room. There were two men
and a woman already seated at the table.
"Frank," one of the seated men greeted Dutton.
"Bill." Dutton nodded toward the man.
Looking at Ezra, the man Dutton had called ‘Bill' tilted his
head in puzzlement. "Who is this? I thought Roger was playing today?"
"He had to go to New York on business," Dutton replied. "Mr.
Kane couldn't spare both of us." He jerked a thumb toward Ezra.
"This here's Elliot Stanton."
Ezra nodded toward the man.
"Well, it's nice to have a new face at one of these games for
a change," the woman interjected. "And a very nice face at that."
Ezra arched an eyebrow in her direction, taking in the orange-red hair
that obviously came from a bottle, blood- red lipstick, blue eye shadow,
and heavy makeup that could not disguise her age. While this woman was
probably close to his mother's age, Maude wore it much better.
Giving the woman a polite smile, he said, "It's a pleasure, Ms....?"
"Edwards," she said with a bright smile. "Antoinette Edwards.
But you can call me Toni."
Nodding, Ezra took his seat and looked to the last man, who eyed him suspiciously.
"Don't like unknowns," the man said abruptly.
"Chill out, Kenny," Bill said, rolling his eyes. He turned to
Ezra. "Ken's paranoid - sees cops around every corner.
As long as you aren't the law, we'll get along just fine."
Ezra chuckled. "Hardly, sir. Mr. Dutton can vouch for my, er, less
than lawful pedigree."
Dutton glared at him, but Bill laughed, then stretched out his hand. "In
that case, welcome. I'm Bill Richards."
Ezra shook his hand, then leaned back in his seat, a feeling of apprehension
stirring in his stomach. Something told him that the people at this table
would not be pleased to learn that he was an ATF agent, and while the thought
of relieving criminals of their funds was rather appealing, it could also
cause him a lot of trouble. Being seen in the company of such people would
also not help his already-shaky reputation. It was just his rotten luck
to run into an old ‘acquaintance' like Dutton while on vacation.
Ezra sighed inwardly, wishing he had gone elsewhere to find a game.
During the course of the game, Ezra had noted a certain strained politeness
between the other male participants. Richards was the most easygoing, but
there was still an underlying tension between him and the other two men.
The hostility between the paranoid Kenny and Dutton was almost palpable.
Toni exacerbated the situation, making cutting remarks and insulting everyone
at the table except him. It was almost embarrassing how brazenly she flirted
with him. Ezra did his best to keep himself in the good graces of the other
players, but there was so much ill will flowing through the room that some
of it inevitably rubbed off on him.
"You have an awful lot of luck," Kenny snarled as Ezra raked
in his fourth pot in a row.
"Yeah," Dutton agreed.
"It isn't luck," Ezra said flatly. "I have been playing
the game since I was four years old."
"You must admit," Richards said congenially, but with a hint
of accusation, "that the table has been a bit lopsided this evening."
It was true that Ezra had won more games than all of the others, but he
refused to play poorly simply to placate sore losers. "Are you suggesting
that I have not played fairly?"
"Yeah," Dutton said, a challenge clearly in his eyes.
"And how am I doing it?" Ezra rolled up his sleeves. "As
you can see, there is nothing up my sleeves. The cards were provided by
the casino and are not marked. I have nothing with me that would act as
a shiner - unlike you and Mr. Richards." He pointed to Dutton's
shiny gold cigarette lighter and Richards' brass-trimmed cigar case.
Such reflective surfaces were often used to cheat by providing a glimpse
of the cards that passed over them during the deal.
"He's got a point, boys," Toni said with a grin. "Sounds
like sour grapes to me."
The conversation degenerated into a shouting match and Ezra decided it
would be best if he left.
"Gentlemen... and lady," he began. "It's been a pleasure,
but I fear I've had my fill of poker this evening. I'll bid you
good night now."
"Don't go yet, darlin'," Toni purred. "The night's
still young."
"I'm sorry, but I must go." Ezra quickly gathered up his
chips and left the room, breathing a sigh of relief when the door closed
on the arguing voices behind him. He was definitely going to go elsewhere
for his next poker game.
After cashing in his chips - and feeling quite pleased with his winnings
of thirty-seven thousand dollars - Ezra headed back to his hotel to
have some dinner. At eight-thirty, it was still too early to call it a
night, so he decided that a nice dinner and a couple of hours at the blackjack
tables would be just the thing to restore his equilibrium.
Stretching his stiff muscles, Ezra stepped out of the rental car and walked
tiredly into the stairway that led from the parking garage down to the hotel
entrance. He was seriously contemplating another session at the spa. He
had awakened at seven o'clock that morning, having retired well before
midnight the night before, and had found himself unable to go back to sleep.
Having no set plans, he had decided to take an excursion to the Grand Canyon,
which he had never had the opportunity to visit on any of his previous trips
to the area.
Despite what his teammates believed, Ezra did enjoy hiking and he had taken
advantage of the beautiful day to hike one of the narrow paths to the bottom
of the canyon. Patting his digital camera, he chuckled at what his associates
would say when they saw photographic evidence of his outdoor activities.
It had been an enjoyable, but tiring day, and the only thing he wanted now
was a nice hot shower and a good meal.
Pushing through the doors into the massive lobby area, Ezra headed for
the elevators that would take him to his room. A large group of people,
many wearing nametags, were already waiting for the elevators. At the edge
of the crowd stood two police officers, also apparently waiting for the
elevators to arrive. There were too many people to fit in the first elevator,
so Ezra decided to wait for the next one, watching as the police officers
pushed their way onto the crowded car.
Another elevator finally arrived and Ezra shuffled on board along with
the rest of the waiting hotel patrons. Weaving his way through the mass
of bodies, Ezra finally exited onto his floor, rummaging in his pocket for
his keycard as he strolled down the corridor. The police officers he had
seen earlier, along with a third man in a suit, were heading toward him,
in the direction of the elevators, so he stood aside and let them pass before
continuing toward his room.
Stifling a yawn, Ezra slid his keycard into the lock, then nearly jumped
out of his skin when a hand suddenly dropped onto his shoulder.
Ezra whirled around, dropping into a defensive stance, until he realized
he was facing the two policemen and a balding man in a suit - who was
now flashing a gold badge in his face. The policemen had their hands hovering
near their weapons and Ezra slowly relaxed, displaying his own hands in
front of him.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," Ezra said, smiling sheepishly.
"Mr. Standish?" the man in the suite queried.
"Yes?"
"Sir, could you come with us please?"
Ezra's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head sideways. "Is something
amiss?"
"You could say that," the suited man replied.
Ezra sighed. "May I change my clothes first? I've been out
in the dust and sun all day and I'd like to freshen up a bit."
"Sir...." the detective began.
"You're welcome to wait inside," Ezra offered, interrupting
the man's protest.
The detective sighed, clearly unhappy, but then nodded reluctantly. "All
right, but make it quick."
"Certainly." Ezra opened the door, gesturing for the police
officers to precede him. Inside, he grabbed a change of clothes from one
of the drawers, moving slowly so as not to provoke the armed men.
"My weapon is in the safe," he told the detective, handing him
the keycard before turning toward the bathroom. "The pass code is
1-0-2-6." He smirked, wondering what Chris would say if he knew that
Ezra had used his birthday for a password. In the bathroom, he washed his
face and hurriedly dressed, his mind whirling with the various reasons for
the presence of local law enforcement in his room.
"Now that I feel a bit more human," Ezra said as he stepped out
of the bathroom. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"We'd like you to come down to the station," the detective
stated. "We have a few questions for you."
Ezra pondered this, wondering what they might want with him. After all,
he had only been in town for two days. He noticed that his gun and the
money he had stashed in the safe, as well as his camera, were now in plastic
bags being carried by one of the officers. That told him that a crime had
been committed, probably with a gun, else they would not have treated his
weapon like potential evidence. The detective was not likely to be forthcoming
with any explanations, so Ezra decided his best option was to go along with
them until he knew what was going on.
"We'd like to take your clothes," the detective said, gesturing
to the dirty clothes he had left in the bathroom.
"Be my guest," Ezra said with a shrug. He had nothing to hide.
After a short ride, thankfully without being handcuffed, Ezra was escorted
to an interrogation room in the police station. After a twenty-minute wait,
the detective returned with another man. Ezra smiled at the delay, a technique
used to make the suspect nervous... and thus, more likely to talk.
"Mr. Stern," the detective said.
Ezra's eyebrows lifted at being called by that particular alias, since
it was the one he had used on his last case. It had likely not been removed
from the system yet.
"Or is it Mr. Stanton?" The detective eyed him sharply.
Ezra grinned. "Both, actually."
"The hotel had you registered as Ezra Standish," the other man
stated. "But neither that name nor Elliot Stanton showed up in our
database."
"No, they wouldn't," Ezra agreed. The Stanton identity
had long been deleted, and his real one was kept only on the internal ATF
and FBI systems, in order to prevent miscreants from finding out who he
really was while he was undercover.
His two interrogators eyed each other for a moment, clearly perplexed by
his response to their questioning.
"Why don't you enlighten me as to what this is about and perhaps
I will elucidate on my multiplicity of identities," Ezra said, folding
his hands across his chest and leaning back in his chair.
The two men silently conferred, then the detective pulled a picture out
of an envelope and slid it in front of him. "Do you know this man?"
Ezra leaned forward and studied the picture, recognizing the man immediately.
Frank Dutton's lifeless face stared back at him from the photo and
all the pieces clicked into place.
"Frank Dutton," Ezra said with a sigh. "I assume by this
photo that someone has terminated his miserable existence?"
The detective ignored his question, asking instead, "Where were you
at ten o'clock this morning?"
Ezra grinned, then started to laugh. It just wasn't fair. For once,
he had done nothing to cause trouble, yet it had managed to find him anyway.
Tears started rolling down his cheeks, as his mirth increased. The two
men in the room looked at him as if they were contemplating calling out
the men in white coats to come and take him away.
"Please," he gasped, "excuse me." Still unable to
stop laughing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his ID, tossing it
onto the table in front of him. "Perhaps... this will... explain a
few... things." Ezra wrapped his hands around his ribs as the laughter
continued. One thing was certain: Larabee was going to kill him... if
Travis didn't do it first.
The End
