Mitnick and the Frenchman said a jocular goodbye, making gestures and laughing, the elderly statesman taking his escort and leaving by the balcony’s left path. Brick pointed me to the right one, keeping the three of us from sharing an awkward space as we passed one another. Mitnick smiled at me as I approached, flashing his big white teeth through the thick beard, genuinely appearing happy to see me. To my surprise, I discovered a rising desire to believe him. It made me distrust him more than ever.
He put a hand on my shoulder and used the other one to shake mine. “Are you having a good time?”
I shot a glance at Brick who was still at the room’s other end, blocking the entrance. “I just got here.”
His smile brightened, its increased luminance successfully conveying that was what he had wanted. “Good, we can speak while you are still clear-headed.”
I nodded to give me a moment to think about what that might mean, then moved closer to the balcony’s edge, considering the differences between this place and the last one we had met. The room below us was properly appointed, a set of furniture arranged around a gas fireplace that burned low, a perfect place to greet guests before taking them deeper inside or to gather with the family before going out. There were even fresh cut flowers, although I was surprised they didn’t wilt in the thick, alcoholic tang of the air. The crowd below us might not have had a pool to splash around in, but it didn’t keep them from behaving badly, most spilling drinks and laughing, a few sharing lines of coke, a couple in the corner with the man’s hand half-way up his partner’s shirt. It was crowded and braying, like some kind of contained, zoological study on deviant behavior in dominant species.
I took a guess about what this meant and asked, “Where are the wife and kids?”
Mitnick’s smile dimmed a bit, but became shrewder, expressing a sideways approval at my deduction. “Catalonia. My wife has family there.”
“Must be nice.”
“Catalonia? Yes it is lovely.”
“I meant having family.”
Mitnick’s smile became wistful, a strange expression to appear on his face, if nothing else because it appeared so honest. “A man is not complete without a family. But they are both a responsibility and an anchor. Even in their absence I think of them and it informs my behavior.” His smile brightened again and he wagged a finger at me, “You, though, are free to do here what you wish.”
I nodded, pretending to understand. As if anxious to get back to the party I asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
Mitnick pursed his lips, shaking his head minutely, “Only to welcome you.” He turned me back to the balcony gesturing out to both floors of the room, “To show you the house, to wish you a good time. Go, join the others. Use my name and you will be treated as if this were your house. Make friends and enjoy.”
I grinned a bit, nodded with increasing rhythm, letting a bit of enthusiasm shine through a stoic exterior. “I can do that.” Mitnick laughed, slapping me on the shoulder.
I let my features return to their natural state, the momentary Falstaffian joy disappearing into the need for a serious message. “There’s something you might want to know, though.”
These words weren’t something Mitnick expected and his expression became guarded around his host’s warmth, but tinged with curiosity. “What’s that?”
“Some of the local cops hang out at the casino. Mostly higher-ups who get comped some chips. Nothing spectacular, but enough they can have a good time.” That wasn’t a lie. Management, from Sarti on down, always had a desire to be on the laws good side, even if what they were doing wasn’t strictly illegal. The truth of this statement made for a good backdrop for the rest, which became increasingly my own invention. “After your run-in with Sarti the other night I heard some of them talking. They’re’s an investigation into you.”
“Oh?” Mitnick raised his eyebrows, conveying a light level of interest, but not much concern and very little surprise. He probably spent most of his time under investigation.
I nodded. “The head investigator is a man named Rotella.” Mitnick nodded, still unsurprised, but perhaps impressed that I had gathered something for him so quickly. I decided to shake the tree with, “He’s looking into a missing person – a man named Sergei Molotov?” I said the last part as if I were uncertain of the name, watching Mitnick carefully. At its mentioned he barely reacted. The only change in his facade was a momentary freeze, like a pause between seconds on an analog watch. I jumped in between those moments by adding, “There might be two missing – something about a girl.”
The pause in between seconds burned away in Mitnick’s eyes. A barely concealed anger raged there, like I had threatened his family or to burn his house down, a man ready to kill. As he stared out into the empty space of the room’s middle I was grateful I was getting a chance to see this. If things continued in the direction they were going I’d probably see Mitnick very angry, so it was good to get a dose of it. But I still wondered if I had overplayed my hand.
Read the next chapter here.
Read the previous chapter here.
See the author’s published work here.
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