Bulletproof Bodyguard

Marcus didn’t trust the answer but knew it was all he would get tonight. He pushed the bottle away. “All right. See you later.”

MARCUS SHIVERED. The water was turning cold. He stepped out of the shower, wincing when he grabbed too quickly for the thick white towel on the counter.

He looked down at the ugly red scar that ran along his collarbone. It’d been three months since he’d finished rehab, and the pain could still take his breath away. He’d better take a handful of ibuprofen before he went to bed, or it would hurt like hell tomorrow.

He wiped down the foggy mirror; chocolate-brown eyes stared back at him. Dark circles accented the lines underneath them. His wet black hair needed a trim. He had more gray there than he remembered.

His nose canted slightly to the left—the result of a bar fight when he was twenty. He certainly wasn’t twenty anymore. Tonight he looked every one of his thirty-nine years, or as Manny would say, “worse ‘n usual.”

Marcus dug around in his Dopp kit for the medicine, thinking about the Tonk’s owner and his daughter. Apparently, Manny had never delved too deeply into Earleen’s “walk on the wild side,” he was so glad to have his daughter home.

She’d recognized Marcus as soon as he’d walked into the Tonk—several weeks ago. By her account, she’d never told Manny how she got home from Jackson, or that Marcus was really a cop.

Marcus wasn’t sure if that was true, but she had been his best informant since he’d been in McCay County, and Manny hadn’t kicked him out of the bar yet. So that was probably a fair sign.

While Manny himself didn’t deal, drugs were sold in his place with surprising regularity. The Tonk was a hot spot for all kinds of sin in South Mississippi. Every undesirable, hood and petty crook within a three-hundred-mile radius eventually made their way through his bar.

Earleen had introduced Marcus to lots of people there, including Frank Boggs. Frank dated Carlotta, a friend of Earleen’s. That’s how this investigation had all started: one interesting conversation at the Tonk with Marcus doing what he did best—listening, blending in, talking when necessary.

When Boggs found out Marcus was a bodyguard at the Paddlewheel, he was anxious to talk about McCay County’s sole casino and what it was like to work there. The hell of it was Marcus had been at the Tonk that night strictly to hang before he went to work.

He’d needed to see for himself that Earleen was okay. That she was happy. Every once in a while he needed to see that he’d done something right when the cover was starting to get to him, even if he had to stay under to do it. So technically he wasn’t even “working” the job when the initial contact happened.

He ignored the fact that it said something dark about where he chose to spend his time these days. Even working undercover, he recognized he was not in a good place. But then he’d met Boggs and it only reinforced Marcus’s self-destructive behavior.

Stupid blind luck.

“So you like working at the casino?” Boggs leaned over the table with his pool cue to take his shot.

“Yeah. Just wish I could make more money at it.”

“Don’t we all. Lots of money there at the ‘Wheel.” Boggs sunk a ball in the right corner pocket.

“At the Paddlewheel?” Carlotta plopped down on the round serving table directly across from Frank, seemingly too drunk to care that others could see straight up her micro mini to a Brazilian wax.

Marcus nodded. “Most casinos make ten to twelve percent. The ‘Wheel makes about thirty.”

“Good God, what does that much money look like?” Boggs stood up straight, the pool game and Carlotta’s peep show forgotten.

“Oh, it’s quite a sight. There’s a special counting room, of course. A few times there’s been so much money they haven’t been able to count it fast enough.”

“So what did they do?”

“Put the money in plastic garbage bags until they get it counted.”

“You’re kidding me. Garbage sacks full of money?”

Marcus nodded. “Hell, an armored truck got stuck clear up to the axles once.”

“I don’t get it,” said Boggs.

“The weight. It wasn’t a muddy road. It just sank into the gravel because of the weight of the coins. They had to get a damn crane to haul it out of there.”

Boggs listened with rapt attention.

“Those two armored security guys were sweating bullets,” continued Marcus.

“How come? They got guns, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but most of the casino guys don’t,” said Marcus.

Earleen brought him his extremely watered-down drink, their little secret, and raised an eyebrow when he asked her to keep ‘em coming. She handed Carlotta a beer and whispered something to her, but Carlotta didn’t respond.

“All that money and no guns,” mused Boggs. “Sounds like they’re just asking for it.”

“The casino is too afraid of bad publicity, like if there was to be an incident, shooting a patron or something. The money’s insured against theft once it leaves the casino in the armored trucks.”

“Still…seems nuts to me,” said Boggs.

“Yeah, but you gotta understand. The Paddlewheel isn’t run by the ‘casino people’ from Biloxi, Tunica or Vegas. It’s been an experiment with unbelievable timing. Goes back to the storm. Some good old boys made an investment, along comes Katrina, and suddenly the Paddlewheel’s the only casino still online and their little gamble’s paying off an incredible return. They had no idea they’d ever be able to compete with the coast or Tunica—they weren’t even going to try. They just wanted to cash in on some of the local gambling dollars that were going out of town.”

Marcus leaned on his pool cue as he explained. Boggs hung on every word.

“Katrina took those big casinos out just as the Paddlewheel was getting started and people had nowhere else to go to gamble. The ‘Wheel earned itself a nice little reputation in the process. A boutique casino if you will. Some folks don’t like all the glitz and glam of the big casinos along the coast so they come up here, particularly some of the bigger spenders who like their privacy.”

“An awful lot of money to have so little security,” Boggs sat directly in front of Carlotta and took her beer. Marcus carefully chose his seat on her other side, to avoid getting an eyeful of her “attributes.”

“Oh, they have security. Metal detectors before you go inside and some of the finest manpower available.” Marcus thumped his own chest and grinned. “It just doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of the big boys’ systems.”

Marcus hadn’t told him anything that wasn’t common knowledge. Even the part about garbage sacks of money was already the stuff of urban legend.

Everyone knew the guards didn’t carry guns. It’s why the casino had to have those private bodyguards, especially on the big weekends. That was the casino’s legal loophole on who could have weapons on the job.

Frank continued to quiz him about his work, specifically security. Marcus answered carefully as the questions became rather pointed.

“You sound like you’re planning a robbery,” said Marcus.

Boggs laughed and shrugged. “Oh, you never know. I might have some ideas.”

Since then, there had been several meetings like the one tonight. He’d met Gregor soon afterward. Asa had been with him for that, but he’d been called back to Jackson last week. The aftermath of that damned Simmons case was still burning them both. Marcus felt it every time he thought of Tessa, while Asa was being put through the wringer by IA about money that had supposedly gone missing from the scene. Marcus wasn’t implicated directly—he’d been too busy bleeding out to lift evidence, but the higher-ups were definitely angling to make him guilty by association.

Marcus didn’t plan on testifying against his partner, no matter what they threatened. Asa had saved his ass more times than Marcus could count. But they had some issues to deal with when this was all over, starting with Marcus’s own confession about Tessa.

He was wiped—mentally and physically. And it was more than just the rigors of the past few weeks. He rummaged in his Dopp kit for a toothbrush as he stubbornly refused to face the obvious. He was on the edge of a burn-out. Maybe things would look better tomorrow.

“Me and Scarlett,” he murmured.

His shoulder ached like a bitch. The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. He wanted a Scotch, but knew he wouldn’t want to stop with just one.