Chapter 4
Eliot and Shawn were testing out the vans they were planning to buy (more like playing with them) while Derek talked to the dealer.
"Well I am sorry, but $18, 500 a piece is the best offer I can make," said the dealer.
"Well, I understand," Derek replied. "There are some great looking vans."
"Yes, sir, top of the line."
"Okay, thank you for your time, Mr…?"
"Denham. Billy Tim Denham." They shook hands but Derek didn't let go.
"Denham like a jean."
"That's it. Just like the jean."
"Wow, you have some lovely hands here. Do you moisturize?" Derek was about to try a different tactic that required a little bit of force.
"I'm sorry?"
"I've tried lots of lotions. I even went fragrance free for a year. Now my sister, she uses Aloe Vera with a little sunscreen in it. And ideally, I think we all should wear gloves to bed but I found interference with my social agenda, if you know what I mean. Plus, I react to the camphor, gives me a rash. So, I'm not into the traditional remedies."
"Let me tell you something. If you could pay cash, I might drop that down to seven…" Derek squeezed his hand a little tighter. "Sixteen each."
"No?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'd do that?"
"Yes, sir."
"That'd be lovely. They told me to come see you."
"Well, I'm glad they did. Well let me go get the paperwork. You just wait here at the table." Derek smirked as the man left.
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Gideon was trying on new suits in Rossi's home to fit his role.
"This is very nice material."
"It's imported silk, Gideon." Spencer replied.
"It's very nice."
"Gentlemen, would you excuse us for a second? Thanks." The fitters left the room leaving Spencer, Gideon and Rossi. Spencer got up and started to walk over to Gideon.
"Jason, are you sure you're ready to do this?" He looked at Gideon who was definitely pissed off.
"If you ever ask me that question again, Spencer Reid, you won't wake up the following morning!"
Spencer turned to his godfather. "He's ready," he whispered to him as Rossi smirked at him."
"My name is Saul…Kowalski. My name is Saul Kowalski. My name is Saul Kowalski."
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Gideon was walking into the Bellagio with Eliot and Shawn as his bodyguards. They then walked by Gatsby and Ashley who were sitting on a bench.
"Okay," Gatsby said to Ashley, "tell me about Doyle."
"That guy's a machine," Ashley said unbelievably. "He arrives at the Bellagio every day at 2 p.m. He remembers every valets' name. Not bad for a guy worth three-quarters of a billion. Offices are upstairs; he works hard, hits the lobby floor at 7 on the dot. He spends three minutes talking with his casino manger."
"About what?"
"All business; Doyle likes to know what's going on, he likes to be in control. There's rarely an incident that he doesn't know about or handles personally. He spends a few minutes glad-handling the high rollers. He's fluent in Spanish, German, Italian, French and he's taking Japanese. Getting pretty good at it too. He's out by 7:30 and is handed a black portfolio. Contents: the days take and new security codes. He then heads to the restaurant."
Ian Doyle walked past them as Gatsby was eating a shrimp cocktail. She had to keep her figure somehow.
"Like I said, a machine." Ashley concluded.
"And that portfolio contains codes to all the cage doors?" Gatsby asked just to clarify.
"Yep. And two minutes after they're changed, he's got them in his hand." She sighed. "You guys sure know how to pick them. This guy's as smart as he is ruthless. The last guy he caught cheating, he not only sent him up for ten years but he had the bank seize his house and bankrupted his…"
"Brother-in-law's dealership; I heard."
"He not only takes out your knees but he ruins your life and anybody you know."
"You scared, Ashley?"
"You suicidal, Gatsby?" Ashley asked heatedly.
"Only in the morning, honey," Gatsby smirked. "Now what?"
"Now here comes the girl. She comes down after him if they're in a snit."
"Where she comes from?" Gatsby asked.
"The museum, there. She's the curator. Now, I'm no Lesbian, but this woman is very beautiful."
"You're sure you're not bi?" Gatsby smirked.
"Shut up." Ashley looked towards the stairs. "There she is; this is just the best part of my day."
Gatsby looked up to see who could possibly get Ian and Ashley's attention before she quickly turned back around. The woman had long black hair and beautiful green eyes. She was also wearing a forest green suit.
"I'm not sure if we can use her yet," Ashley said. "I haven't even caught her name actually."
"Emily," Gatsby said as she sighed.
"What?" Ashley was knocked out of her daydream.
"Her name is Emily." Ashley looked more confused than ever.
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The replica vault was almost finished and Spencer was watching as everyone continue to build. Gatsby quickly walked up to him.
"We have to talk," she whispered.
"Okay." Spencer said nonchalantly.
"Now!"
"Okay," Spencer looked at his friend as they went out of the warehouse.
"Tell me this isn't about her or I'm walking. I'm walking from this job, right now!"
"Who?" Spencer asked confusedly.
"Emily. Ian Doyle. Tell me this isn't about screwing the guy who's screwing your wife."
"Ex-wife," Spencer corrected.
"Tell me!" Gatsby persisted.
"It's not about that." He paused. "It's not entirely about that. Do you remember when we first got into this business? We'd say we'd play like we had nothing…"
"Nothing to lose. What's your point?"
"My point is, I lost something. I lost someone. That's why I'm here."
Gatsby sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "Look, here's the problem. Now we're stealing two things. And if push comes to shove and you can't have both, which do you chose?" Gatsby cut Spencer off as she pointed to the rest of the gang. "And remember, Emily does not spilt eleven ways."
"If everything goes to plan, I won't be the one to make that decision. How'd she look?"
"She looked good."
"Thanks." That word had a lot of implied meaning in it. They were friends since high school and they stick by each other.
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Emily was in the museum looking at the latest painting that she acquired as Ian walked in.
"You like it?" She asked him.
"I like that you like it," Doyle replied with a smile. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Okay," she replied. She leaned in for a kiss but he reeled his body back and she looked at the camera behind her.
"In my hotel, there's always somebody watching," he said. "I'll see you tonight." He turned around and walked away. Emily wondered how she came to be with a man like him. She admitted that everyone liked their privacy, but they still made it clear whether or not they had someone.
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Gideon, posing as Saul Kowalski, was sitting at the high rollers table playing poker and eating chocolate.
"How are you, Teddy?" asked Ian as he walked up to the high rollers manager.
"Fine, sir."
"Anything for me?"
"A Mr. Saul Kowalski in the third position. He wants to speak to you privately."
"Who is he?"
"Business man of some kind from D.C.; very vague. I asked around. Word is, he deals mostly in guns; one of the biggest.
"Kowalski?" Doyle clarified.
"Yes, sir.
"Never heard of him."
"That's why I don't doubt it."
"He's staying here?"
"He's in the Mirador suite. Checked in two nights ago."
"How's he doing?"
"Up, almost 200."
"Good for him," said Ian as he started to walk toward Gideon.
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Emily was sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, waiting for Doyle to show up. It was routine for him to be late; she always came second to his clients. It was getting a bit tiring, maybe she didn't love him. She was wearing a black dress with a diamond necklace and earrings that set off her green eyes nicely. She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and smiled.
"You're 30 seconds late. I was about to send out a search…" she stopped as she looked at the hand's owner.
"Hello, Emily." Spencer said as he looked down at her. She definitely didn't expect him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm out."
"You're out?"
"Of prison. You remember, I went out to get you that pack of cigarettes and never came back."
"You know I don't smoke. Don't sit." He sat anyway. She didn't know if she would be able to see him again; alone.
"Now, they tell me that I'd paid my debt to society."
"Funny, I never got the check." Spencer smirked as he ordered a whiskey.
"You're not wearing you're wedding ring."
"I sold it. I don't have a husband, or didn't you get the papers?"
"My last day in the joint."
"I'd told you I'd write." He nodded. "Spencer, go now before…"
"What, Doyle?" She looked at him surprised.
"Spencer…"
"Emily, you're doing a great job at the museum. The Vermeer is very good. It's simple, vibrant, although his work fell off in later years."
"Remind you of anyone?" He ignored her jab at him.
"Now I always confuse Monet and Manet. Which one married his mistress?"
"Monet."
"Right, and Manet had syphilis." She narrowed her eyes at him.
"They also painted occasionally." Spencer smiled; she could still hold her own with him.
"Alright, I'll make this quick. I came here for you. I want to get on with my life and I want you with me."
"You're a thief and a liar."
"I only lied about being a thief. I don't do that anymore.
"Steal?" Emily asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Lie," Spencer quickly countered.
"I'm with someone who doesn't have to make that kind of distinction."
"No, he's very clear on both."
"You know what you're problem is?"
"That I only have one?" The battle of wits was still on.
"You've met too many people like you. I'm with Ian now."
"Does he make you laugh?" Spencer asked soberly.
"He doesn't make me cry." Emily said.
Spencer sighed and knew that he'd never be able to take her pain away.
A/N: Reid and Review. Please tell me what you think!