Page 64 of Double or Nothing
“If you win, you have to split the money with me or buy me a stuffed penguin at the gift shop,” Natasha declares, her voice taking on an alcohol-induced slur. “While you play, I’ll order us both another drink. Where is a waitress when you need one?” She grimaces at her empty glass. “My damn glass has run dry.”
“I doubt they sell stuffed penguins here,” I tell her. “This isn’t Seaworld.”
“What the fuck is a Seaworld?” she replies, winking at me.
Her eyes dart around as she holds her glass high in the air, scanning for a waitress. Beneath the act of impatience, I recognize the sharp gaze of a huntress. She’s hunting, but not for a drink. She’s after something far more elusive; the plainclothes security agents lurking within the crowd.
Leroy gave us photos of the security teams in every casino. We’ve drilled their faces into our memories.
Settling down on the stool, I make a big show of my cluelessness, feigning uncertainty about even the most basic operations.
“Put the money in here,” Natasha says in mock exasperation, snatching the bill from me and sliding it into the slot.
The Peggy Penguin machine hums and sparkles to life. I smile when the familiar catchy music plays. They’re all the same, but to see it in action in the casino surprises me.
I know this machine like the back of my hand.
“Showtime,” she murmurs into my ear. “Time to play, smart girl.” Her words, despite their light-hearted tone, carry a weight of gravity.
The moment we’ve prepared for is finally here.
As I feed the sparkling beast with a trickle of dollar bills, Natasha launches into a chatty, nonsensical monologue. We’re not here to hit the jackpot, not yet. Tonight, we’re merely testing the waters. Our primary goal is to confirm the video recording from the camera I’m wearing is functioning as planned.
Casino walls are unusually dense, their thickness and solidity designed to keep the outside world at bay. These thick walls can interfere with cellphone signals, hindering them from penetrating the building’s walls. If the signal falters, then the video won’t transmit quickly enough to my laptop nestled safely back at Platinum.
I keep spinning, entranced by the machine’s symbols. We need at least twenty spins to pinpoint the code, but forty would be better.
“I’m feeling lucky tonight,” I announce to Natasha after a few minutes of steady play. “Do you have any more cash?”
This is our agreed upon signal. At my cue, Natasha reaches into her dainty purse, her fingers brushing past her cell phone. It’s a discreet, yet crucial, check to make sure the video is smoothly uploading to my laptop. A swift glance down at her phone confirms the thumbs up from Eva, who is monitoring the laptop.
“Sure,” she replies, a bill crinkling between her fingers as she hands it over. “Will another twenty dollars do the trick?”
“Twenty is more than enough,” I assure her, a hint of a triumphant grin sneaking onto my face.
The program is running perfectly. Our extensive preparation is paying off. The thrill of the perfect plan unfolding sets my heart pounding. The success is as intoxicating as the most expensive French champagne. The pulsing rush of adrenaline floods my veins, fueling my enthusiasm and keeping my fingers dancing over the machine’s controls.
With renewed energy, I keep hitting the spin button.
With each press, we inch closer to our goal. We’ve hit thirty spins, just ten more to go. My laptop is programmed to send a discreet buzz to the phone nestled in my purse, telling me the perfect moment to strike for the win.
Initially, I was naïve enough to believe someone would need to memorize the sequence of twenty characters on each spin. The idea seems ludicrous now. Once I cracked the machine’s source code open, all we needed was a hidden camera, a cell phone, and my laptop, all synchronized, to make the plan come to life.
Eva’s role is crucial, to ensure the video recording is uploading seamlessly, free of any glitches or delays. I’ve programmed everything to run remotely, so Eva doesn’t need to do anything technical except make sure the video recording is uploading without interference.
As the machine hums and whirrs, I discreetly unzip my sequined purse, letting my hand nestle casually within. The moment my cellphone buzzes with the signal, I have only a fraction of a second to hit the spin button, and we strike gold.
My hand hovers over the spin button, muscles taut, every nerve tingling with anticipation. Any moment now, the signal will buzz in my left palm.
“Oh, God no!” Natasha suddenly exclaims.
28
JADE
“What’s wrong?” I swivel around, following the trajectory of her pointing finger.
“Igor is here, and he’s heading this way,” she breathes, a sliver of genuine fear worming its way into her voice.
