Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

variety of grunts and grumbles answered her. The men sure as hell knew that they weren’t doing any recording of their own. None of them had liked being searched by Carl, but they had held still for it. No one wanted to be featured in a headline that shouted vegas biggies caught on tape conspiring against prince midas.
    Especially since a federal task force had been all over the big casinos like a rash, looking for dirty money from the Red Phoenix triad. The group had a lot of cash to launder. Rich—and, he hoped, Gail—was ready to help, but neither one of them wanted to get caught by the feds.
    That was why Rich had organized this meeting.
    “Anyone care to search me just to be sure?” Gail asked, holding her arms over her head. With the grace of the dancer she once had been, she turned slowly, insolently, in front of the seated men.
    Rich looked at the tight dress and abundant curves and was tempted to put his hands on her just for the hell of it. So were the other men. But no one got up.
    “You have more to lose in this than we do,” Rich said. “You’re making more than most of us.”
    “And a lot less than Tannahill,” she retorted. Tossing aside her mask, she leaned her glittering backside against the crescent-shaped black steel desk. She gave Rich a level look from eyes that had seen it all and done it twice. “This meeting was your idea. Deal the cards.”
    “I have a plan for breaking Shane Tannahill.”
    “So do I,” Firenze muttered. “One bone at a time.”
    Henkle rolled his eyes. “Jesus, not another chorus of the good old days. They’re gone, John. Shit, you’re too young to even remember when the Mob ruled Vegas. Only Rich is old enough, and he wasn’t even—”
    “Shut up, French,” Mickey Pinsky cut in mildly. “Let’s hear what Rich has to say.”
    Henkle smiled and mimicked putting tape across his mouth.
    “Every man has a weakness,” Rich said. “Tannahill’s is gold artifacts. He’s all wrapped up in this new show he’s going to open New Year’s Eve to take the steam out of the Wildest Dream’s Fabergé show.”
    “So?” Firenze challenged.
    “It’s not going well for Golden Boy,” Rich said. “He’s still looking to buy stuff. Gail has been getting in his way a lot, beating him to some really good pieces, buying before he even knows anything is on the market.”
    Gail’s expression didn’t change, but she wondered how Rich knew so much about what she had thought was her private competition with Shane. “What does that get us?” she asked.
    “While he’s chasing gold, he’s not watching business as close as he usually does. With a little nudge from us, he might get careless.”
    “How careless?”
    “Careless enough to be set up for the feds on a one-two punch. First we see that he gets caught with hot gold artifacts.”
    “How do we do that?” Pinsky asked, smiling, liking what he was hearing.
    “Gail should have a few ideas,” Rich said blandly. “Some of the places she bought gold objects weren’t exactly legal. They should know how to get more.”
    Her eyes narrowed at the extent of Rich’s knowledge, but she nodded agreement. “I’ve thought of sticking Shane with some hot stuff, but his curator is a lot more rigid than his reputation suggests. Everyone talks about how Shane buys shady goods, but no one can nail him at it and no one will as long as she has the inside track.”
    It was Rich’s turn to be surprised. “What’s her name?”
    “Risa Sheridan.”
    “I’ll look into her. When we get a twist on her, we have leverage on him.”
    “Fine,” Gail said impatiently, “but even if Shane is caught with burn marks from hot goods, he’ll never get arrested, much less go to jail. He’s had his hands smacked before. He just returns the goods, takes the loss, and keeps on hammering our casinos into the ground.”
    “Why wouldn’t he be arrested?” Henkle asked.
    She gave him a pitying glance. “You do remember what Shane’s real last name is, don’t you?”
    Henkle blinked. “Uh, no.”
    “Chrissake, French, don’t you ever tune in to anything but the porn channels?” Pinsky muttered.
    “What does that have to do with—” Henkle began.
    “Merit is Shane’s last name,” Gail interrupted curtly. “Tannahill is his mother’s maiden name.”
    Henkle looked blank, then pained. “Yeah, now I remember. He’s related to the Merit, as in Sebastian Merit.”
    “Jackpot,” she said with a slicing smile. “Shane is