He fast-forwarded the tape.

"And then we don't see her again until four. She comes back down, and take a look at what she's carrying. She went up originally with two bags and she comes back down with two. But something's different."

The woman appeared again on the casino floor, moving quickly through the thin crowd of die-hard gamblers. Right away Karch saw that the tech was right. Things were different. She had the backpack strap over one shoulder but the gym bag was gone. Instead she carried a large black canvas bag with two hand straps. The tech hit a key and froze the image. The second bag contained an object that was rectangular, its dimensions clearly showing through the canvas. It was the mark's briefcase.

"That little bitch," Grimaldi said calmly. "She's got my money."

"You follow her out?" Karch asked.

The tech hit a key starting the video again and simply pointed at the screen. The cameras tracked the woman as she made her way completely across the huge casino floor to the VIP desk. From the canvas bag she removed an envelope and left it on the counter without speaking to anyone. She then proceeded to the south exit. It was not the main casino entry and exit point. Karch also knew that it did not lead to a parking lot or drive-up circle. Rather, it led to the sidewalk which took pedestrians to Las Vegas Boulevard.

"She didn't go out the front door, Vincent," he said.

There was enough urgency in his tone to draw Grimaldi's eyes away from the video console. The older man raised his eyebrows, picking up on the tone but not knowing the significance of it.

"She didn't park here because she didn't want the cameras to see her vehicle," Karch said. "So she parked somewhere else and walked in."

Karch pointed at the screen even though it was now blank.

"The south exit," he said. "She was heading to the Flamingo."

Impressed, Grimaldi nodded.

"Ace of hearts. You have someone there?"

Karch nodded.

"No problem."

"Then go."

"Wait a minute, Vincent. What about Martin? We should start with him."

"I'll take him. You follow the money, Jack. The money's the priority and we're on a fucking clock."

Karch nodded. He guessed Grimaldi was probably correct in his thinking. He thought about the ace of hearts he'd found upstairs. Follow the money. Follow the money card.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

Karch broke away from his thoughts and looked at Grimaldi.

"I'm on it."

He glanced once out the door to the crow's nest and then headed toward the office exit. He stopped at the door.

"Vincent, you might want to send somebody back up to the second room up there to check the AC vents."

"What for?"

"She went up with two bags, a backpack and a gym bag. She came back down with the backpack and the briefcase inside a black canvas bag. Where's the gym bag?"

Grimaldi paused for a moment while he thought about this. He smiled, impressed that Karch had picked up on the missing bag.

"I'll have it checked. You stay in touch. And remember, Jack of Spades, the clock is ticking."

Karch shot him with a finger and went out the door.

KARCH followed the same route out of the Cleopatra that he had watched the woman take on the video screen a few minutes before. As he wound his way around the tables and circumnavigated the idiots who lazily walked into his path, his mind became preoccupied by thoughts of the woman on the video. She had come close to pulling off a perfect caper. One glance too many and too long at the mark while at the baccarat railing. Her only mistake. Otherwise they'd probably still be scratching their heads. Still, he had to admire her. He was looking forward to the moment he would meet her. And he had no doubt that moment would come. She was good but he was better. Their time would certainly come.

He gruffly pushed by a man in shorts who had slowly shuffled into Karch's path while absentmindedly looking up through the glass panels of the atrium.

"Well, pardon you," he protested as Karch went by.

Karch looked back at him without slowing his stride.

"Fuck you, dipshit. Go back to losing your money."

"Hey!" the man called after him.

Karch stopped and turned back toward the man. The man quickly realized he had overstepped and started shuffling away in the opposite direction. Karch watched him go until the man glanced back and their eyes locked. Karch was smiling, letting the man know he had made him run away like a boy.

Karch followed the River of Nile hallway to the exit the woman had used and soon was on the Strip walking toward the Flamingo, a block away. He realized as he got to the venerable and many times expanded and renovated casino that he needed some cash. He silently chastised himself for not asking Grimaldi for expense funds and thought about going back but knew the delay would probably set Grimaldi off. Instead he looked around inside the Flamingo until he found a cash machine and then withdrew the three-hundred-dollar maximum his account would allow. Usually, Don Cannon charged him five hundred for a trail but the three would have to do. He didn't think Cannon would be a problem. The money came out in hundreds, unlike any machine found outside of a casino. While still standing at the machine, Karch folded the three bills twice so that they could easily be palmed. He creased the bills and put them in the palm of his right hand. He closed it slightly and let it hang naturally at his side. He thought about Michelangelo's hands. The master. He envisioned David's right hand hanging loosely at his side. Or the casual repose of the hands of the figure portraying Dusk at the tomb of Lorenzo de' Medici. Karch's father had gone as a young man to Italy to study the hands of the master. The son didn't have to bother. There was a full-scale replica of Michelangelo's David in the shopping rotunda at Caesar's Palace.

Karch went to the telephone alcove off the lobby area and picked up a house phone. He asked for Don Cannon in security and the call was transferred to an intermediate, who asked who was calling. Karch was then put on hold once more and this time waited more than a minute. He used the time to think about what he would say. Cannon was a shift supervisor in the tube room. Karch had met him on a missing-person case five years earlier and he had been cooperative – for a price – ever since. In a dozen years working the Strip Karch had made connections like Cannon in almost all of the casinos. They were all legitimate except for his relationship with Vincent Grimaldi. But now, one way or the other, he was seeing a way out of Grimaldi's grasp.

A voice barked on the other end of the line.

"Jack Karch!"

"Don? Howzitgoing?"

"Keepin' my powder dry. What can I do you for?"

"I'm working a case and could use a little help from your cameras."

"You want a little electronic magic, huh? What's the case?"

"Pretty basic. Guy at the DI got ripped off by a hooker. He calls me because he's trying to keep it low profile, if you know what I mean. No coppers, no official record. But the broad took some jewelry – a watch and a ring – that've got sentimental value. You know, inscriptions and bullshit like that. He can't replace them on short notice and if he goes back to Memphis tomorrow without this stuff, he's going to have a hard time explainin' it to the wife."

"I get the picture. What's it got to do with the Flamingo?"

"I think she parked in your garage – the one fronting Koval. My guy met her at the bar in Bugsy's last night, then they cabbed it to the DI. She ripped him after he passed out. I trailed her through the Desert Inn Casino to the sidewalk and I think she was heading here. This was about four in the A.M. today."