The Scam (11 page)

“And that he looks great in a tuxedo,” Kate added.

“That's the part that takes true finesse. Here's how the game works. To start, you and the dealer are each dealt two cards, facedown.” He dealt out the cards to Kate and himself. “An ace counts as one, the ten and face cards count as zero. You subtract ten from any combination of cards that adds up to more than nine. For example, an eight and a three would add up to one. Two tens would equal zero. The player looks at her cards first.”

Kate turned over her cards. She had a nine and a three. “So am I stuck with this lousy two?”

“Nope. If the player draws two cards that total zero to five, she automatically gets a third card. You never get more than three cards.”

He dealt her a four, giving her a total of six.

“That's better,” she said. “How does it work for the dealer?”

“That's more complicated.” Nick turned over his cards, revealing a queen and a three. “The dealer isn't allowed another card unless the player has drawn three cards, and it depends on what that third card was. The rules vary from casino to casino, but usually the dealer must stand if he has a seven, eight, or nine and must draw a card if he has a zero, one, or two. If the dealer has a three, like I do, he'll draw if the player's third card is any number but eight.”

“Why eight?”

“I have absolutely no idea. But none of it really matters since you're already finished with your part of the game. You just have to go along with it, knowing that the rules are designed to give the house a statistical advantage.” Nick drew a card, a five, giving him a total of eight to win the game.

Kate tossed her cards back to Nick. “I'll bet with the house every time.”

“If you do that, the house takes a five percent commission on each bet you win.”

They played for a couple hours, and Kate eventually started to lose more often than she won. She was down to her last $200,000 in blue and brown M&M's, when she scooped them up and ate them.

“I guess this means we're done,” Nick said.

“I'd rather watch grass grow.”

“It was kind of sexy the way you ate all those M&M's. I like an aggressive, take-charge woman.”

“You should see me in combat gear.”

I
n the late 1990s, the few farmers that occupied the small, hilly islands of Chek Lap Kok and Lam Chau, twenty-one miles southwest of Hong Kong, were told to pack up and move. Their tiny villages were razed, the hillsides were shaved off, and everything was dumped into the water between the two islands to create one completely flat piece of land for a new international airport. From the sky, the unnaturally level and squared-off island that was Hong Kong International Airport looked to Kate like a gray rug floating on the sea.

Nick and Kate landed in the late afternoon. They were fast-tracked through customs and walked a short distance to the heliport, where a white Peninsula Hotel helicopter was waiting for them. A young Chinese valet in an all-white mandarin-collared uniform, pillbox hat, and gloves cheerfully relieved them of their suitcases and escorted them to the chopper. They climbed in, the valet stowed their bags and secured their door, and they were off, soaring over the hills, the ports, and the bridges toward the city center.

Within moments, Hong Kong Island loomed up in front of them with its spectacular skyline of densely packed skyscrapers. The island consisted of a narrow strip of land between Victoria Peak and a harbor that was a freeway filled with ferries, jetfoils, yachts, ocean liners, and Chinese junks. The Kowloon Peninsula was just across the harbor. Here the skyscrapers had more shoulder room, but still rose up from a closely packed warren of buildings on overcrowded streets.

The Peninsula Hotel, built in 1928, was on the Kowloon waterfront, facing the harbor. The helicopter landed on top of the hotel's thirty-story tower, a relatively recent addition to the original building, which was an elegant and fiercely beloved relic of Hong Kong's British colonial era. The flight from the airport had taken only seven minutes.

Nick and Kate exited the helicopter and walked into the China Clipper lounge on the thirtieth floor. A crisply dressed female clerk greeted them and presented Nick and Kate with their key cards. She assured them that their bags would be delivered to their rooms while they dined. Nick thanked her, and he and Kate took the elevator two floors down to Felix, the hotel's renowned restaurant and bar.

They emerged from the elevator into a wildly overdesigned restaurant that looked like a SPECTRE villain's secret lair from a 1960s-era Bond movie. It was a big, bold, two-story-tall space, gleaming with bronze, zinc, and undulating aluminum sheathing. There were dramatically lit walls, pillars, and two oval structures that, if this
were
SPECTRE headquarters, would have been stylized silos for nuclear missiles instead of fancy bars. The real grabber in the room was the commanding view of the Hong Kong skyline from the wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling windows that would have pleased any supervillain bent on world domination. But instead of finding Dr. Evil sitting in the center of it all, stroking his hairless cat, Kate spotted Boyd Capwell at a table, twirling his handlebar mustache.

Boyd's hair was colored jet black to match his well-oiled mustache. He'd mimicked Tony Soprano's fashion sense, wearing a navy blue short-sleeved bowling shirt, with cream panels and two embroidered martini glasses on the left chest, a pair of khaki slacks, and leather loafers with no socks.

“Welcome to Hong Kong,” Boyd said, gesturing to three empty chairs with seatbacks decorated with black-and-white drawings of longtime, and mostly deceased, Peninsula employees. “Have a seat.”

“You look like you're on Snidely Whiplash's bowling team,” Kate said.

“Thank you,” Boyd said. “Now Snidely is flesh and blood and embodied in Shane Blackmore, a man to be feared. But because I'm dressed in a relaxed, lighthearted manner, I'll catch people completely off guard with my seething menace.” Boyd sat back, smiled, and twirled one end of his mustache.

Kate could feel an eye twitch coming on. “The mustache-twirling bad guy was already a cliché when they were doing silent movies.”

“In other words, it's a powerful symbol embedded deep in our collective psyche. By twirling my mustache, I'll provoke primal fear in my adversaries,” Boyd said. “That's why this mustache is perfect. Nick gave me the idea.”

Kate turned to Nick. “You didn't.”

“I did. I may grow one myself. It would hint at
my
inner menace,” Nick said.

“I had a goatee once,” Billy Dee Snipes said, walking up behind Nick and Kate. “But it was like drawing a circle with a Sharpie around my mouth and saying ‘Look at my crooked, yellow teeth.' So I shaved it off.”

Billy Dee wore another silk tracksuit similar to the one he'd had on in Las Vegas. The only change he'd made to his wardrobe was the addition of a
koofiyad,
a Somali skullcap embroidered with an elaborate design of interlocking triangles.

“Have you seen the bathrooms in here?” Billy Dee asked Nick. “You pee facing a wall of glass that looks out over Kowloon.”

“It's a display of aggression, dominance, profanity, freedom, and exhibitionism all rolled into one,” Boyd said. “Urination as performance art and political statement.”

“I think it's just a great place to pee. It's the first time I've ever enjoyed having prostate trouble,” Billy Dee said. “I've gone twice already and I'm looking forward to going again in ten minutes.”

The waiter appeared at the table and passed out iPad menus. Kate scrolled through the selections and examined pictures of dishes such as soy-marinated pigeon and French duck liver with caramelized strawberries. What she really craved was an In-N-Out burger or a bucket of KFC. What she ordered instead was a Kobe steak and fries, and a double-chocolate brownie with espresso ice cream and custard sauce for dessert.

“Your job tomorrow is easy, gentlemen,” Nick said over dessert. “Gamble six million dollars each and have a fabulous time.”

“I can do that,” Billy Dee said.

Boyd added cream to his coffee. “That's easy for you to say. You have the benefit of actually being a Somali pirate, while I must draw on a lifetime of acting experience to deliver a rich and nuanced performance as a Canadian mobster.”

“It's okay to win,” Nick continued. “But if you're losing, pace yourself. Try to walk away with at least five million if you can. You're here to launder your money, so up to a ten percent loss is acceptable as a washing fee, and I suppose that another five percent loss could be written off to having too much fun.”

“I'm going to play baccarat like it's nickel slots,” Billy Dee said.

“I've seen you play the slots,” Kate said. “You never stop hitting the spin button.”

“Come to think of it,” Nick said, “if we lose it all, it's only going to make Trace more eager for us to come back, so don't sweat the money.”

Kate looked at Nick. “You have a lot to learn about encouraging fiscal restraint.”

“Because I don't have any,” he said.

“I've noticed,” she said.

Nick received a text message just as everyone was finishing dessert.

“Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, as usual,” Nick said. “A small business matter that Kate and I need to attend to has come up. Feel free to continue enjoying yourselves, but remember, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Kate left the dining room with Nick and paused at the elevator. “What's up?”

“There's someone in Kowloon that I want you to meet,” Nick said. “Sorry about it being so last-minute, but we don't get to Hong Kong very often and we're only here for the night.”

They took the elevator to the lobby, and Kate thought the hotel's entryway, filled with neoclassical columns, gilded ceilings, and a string quartet, was reminiscent of an elegant bygone era. That feeling passed the moment she stepped outside and saw the scores of tourists posing along the Victoria Harbor waterfront with their smart phones attached to telescoping selfie sticks, trying to get the perfect shot of themselves against the Hong Kong skyline.

The sidewalks were teeming with people, more than she'd ever seen before on any city street. The roads were clogged with European luxury cars, tour buses, and countless identical red-and-white Toyota taxis.

They stepped into the flow of people and let it carry them up Canton Road, which was lined with flagship stores for such luxury brands as Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Prada, Harry Winston, and Gucci. The stores were packed with customers, desperate for their chance to spend top dollar on the priciest Western goods. Outside the high-end store doors, and at every street corner, there were relentless hucksters whispering offers of “cheap Gucci, cheap Rolex,” and handing out cards with directions to back-alley shops that sold bootlegs of everything.

“Who are we meeting?” Kate asked.

“My tech wizard, Lucie,” Nick said.

Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him. “When you made your deal with the FBI, you said you would never do anything that could potentially expose the people you've worked with before.”

“You're right, I did. And I won't share her with the FBI. But you're more than the FBI to me. If the day should come where a con goes wrong, you might need Lucie's help to disappear. I would rather see you retire to a beach in Thailand than waste away in some federal prison.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it took me by surprise, too,” Nick said.

“Probably we don't want to talk about it.”

“For sure. Absolutely. Still, if you're really grateful…”

“I don't think so.”

A little old man and a young woman bumped into them and said something in rushed Chinese. Nick bowed, gave his apologies to the man, and tugged Kate forward onto a side street, where the sidewalks weren't quite as mobbed. Garish neon signs for restaurants, shops, and massage parlors hung out over the road, cluttering the air above her head and clamoring for her attention in blazing yellow, orange, and red Chinese letters. The signs cast enough light for the tourists to easily read their pocket maps and for some locals to look natural wearing sunglasses at night. Music blared out of electronics stores. Frustrated drivers leaned on their car horns. The humid air was thick, almost chewable, with the smell of cooking oil, fish, perfume, and bus exhaust. The atmosphere was electric, chaotic, and overwhelming.

Nick stopped in front of a glass door set in an elegant, marbled façade that looked out of place amid the garishness of the street. Kate looked up and saw that it was the ground floor entrance to a glass-and-marble-sheathed tower that was about as wide as three parking spaces and rose thirty stories into the night sky. Nick punched a code into the security keypad and the door unlocked.

They rode an elevator up to the twentieth floor. When the door opened, Kate saw two apartment doors that were about a foot apart from each other, and maybe four feet in front of them.

“This is the smallest apartment corridor I've ever seen,” she said.

“Real estate is tight in Hong Kong.”

“Literally,” Kate said.

Nick knocked on the door on the left. It was immediately opened by a young, very thin Chinese woman in her early twenties. She was dressed in a sharp black business suit and white blouse and smiled when she saw Nick. She said something to him affectionately in Chinese, Nick replied back to her in Chinese, and then the young woman turned to Kate.

“It's so nice to finally meet you.” She spoke perfect English with a slight British accent. “I'm Lucie Wan. Please come in.”

Lucie stepped aside and they walked into a small living area with an amazing view. To their left was a large picture window with a cushioned sill that looked out at the towers along Victoria Harbor. To their right was a single bed, the covers neatly tucked into tight military corners. Directly across from them, not even ten feet away, were two pocket doors, one partially open to reveal a two-burner stove, a mini-refrigerator, and a small sink. Kate assumed that behind the other door was a bathroom, probably about the same size of an airplane lavatory.