Sly's new job came with a number of perks. For one thing, he got his own living quarters. These consisted of a tiny two-room suite, one room just big enough for a bed and the other just big enough for a toilet and a wash basin. Presently, Sly was unpacking his little suitcase while talking to Bentley on a small communication device hidden in his left ear.
"OK, Bentley, I'll take some time to get settled in and make a good impression. Then I should easily be able to get away with setting you guys up with a suite. You won't have to sleep in the van any more than just this one night."
"That's good to know, Sly." said Bentley. There was genuine relief in his voice. "Anyway, are you done unpacking yet?"
"Just got started." said Sly, placing a neatly folded shirt on the bed. In the suitcase, on top of the next shirt, was an oblong piece of dark wood. "Here's a little desk plaque that says 'Concierge'. Anything special about it?"
"Yeah," said Bentley, "you'll want to place that on the check-in counter. The grand opening isn't actually until next week, but a select number of VIPs should be arriving today to prepare for the celebratory high-stakes poker tournament. And that plaque has a hidden, wireless camera. If I can capture mugshots of the guests today, I should be able to dig up some intel on them."
"Good thinking, buddy." said Sly, placing the plaque on the nightstand.
"Oh, and Sly, I just remembered one more thing. Down at the bottom of your suitcase, you'll find a copy of the Titanic Casino employee's handbook! That's bound to come in handy."
Sly picked up the next shirt. Under it was a cheap-looking but pristine sheaf of paper with the Titanic Casino logo and the words 'Employee's Handbook' printed on the first leaf.
"Yeah, Bentley, I see it. It was almost on top."
"That's weird." said Bentley. "I'm sure it was the first thing I put in there."
Sly picked up the handbook. It turned out to be massively thick, like two phone books glued together. It had filled up almost the entire suitcase, and there was indeed nothing more beneath it.
"Anyway, Sly, you'd better take a look at it. As an employee, you'll be expected to know it all by heart. Oh, that reminds me - did you get a chance to meet Rip yet?"
Sly was puzzled. "Who's Rip?"
As if on cue, the door behind Sly was brutally flung open. Sly spun around to face a ratty, striped sailor's shirt that was stretched almost to bursting point over an enormous mass of muscles. Looking up, his gaze was met by two gleaming rows of yellowed but otherwise well-kept fangs, topped with a pair of furious, bloodshot eyes. No doubt about it, this was the biggest, scariest wolf Sly had ever seen.
"Good morning, sir. You must be Rip!" said Sly, in a pitch-perfect imitation of genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm. The wolf's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, and you must be the elusive Mr. Tonnelier. How nice of you to finally show up." said Rip. His voice was a guttural rumble, like a volcano at the brink of an earth-shattering eruption.
"I agreed to report for work a week before the grand opening." said Sly. "And here I am!"
Rip glared at him for a second. A long second. "We've been trying to get in touch with you for a month. Did you at least take the time out of your busy schedule to read through the handbook we sent you?"
"Of course I did!" said Sly. "Why do you think I slipped beneath the radar? I have devoted myself, sir, every waking moment since I landed the job, to reading that handbook over and over again and committing to memory its every last word - like the true concierge that I am!"
A split-second later, both he and Rip realized that Sly was in fact holding said handbook. And that it looked perfectly pristine.
Rip pointed a yellowed claw at the book. "It doesn't look like you've read it. It doesn't look like you've even touched it." Rip's eyes narrowed just a tiny bit more. "It looks like you just picked it up for the very first time right before I came in here."
Sly's blood ran cold and his knees weakened. Fast as lightning, he slightly broadened his grin and reworked his body language into a convincing display of absolute confidence.
"What were you expecting?" he said. "I'm a concierge! My touch is undetectable!"
Rip's expression did not change at all. "All right, hot shot, what does page 622 have to say about the jackstaff?"
Before Sly could break out in a sweat, Bentley chimed in: "The company standard is to be flown at all times except on special occasions such as visits from state leaders, in which case the flag of the appropriate nation or province should take its place for the duration of said visit."
Sly had no idea what any of that meant, but was able to parrot the whole mess word by word as Bentley spoke it.
"I read the online version." the turtle added.
Rip's glare didn't quite let up. "I don't trust you, Tonnelier." he growled. "Not a bit. You accepted the job and then vanished off the face of the Earth. We tried to find you. Ask some follow-up questions. That sort of thing. It was like you didn't even exist. You know, I could have hired someone else. Should have hired someone else. I actually tried. But the Captain's not an easy man to please, and you possess a certain... rare and unusual quality that he's very keen about. That's your one saving grace, Tonnelier, and don't you forget it."
Sly was curious. "All right. Just so we're on the same page here, Rip - what quality would that be, exactly?"
Rip snorted. "You think I'd tell you? If that became known, candidates could just pretend to fulfill the requirement. It's no ship of fools we're running, Tonnelier. You'd do well to remember that!"
And with that, Rip turned around and was gone. Sly stood there projecting a servile smile at the lacquered hardwood door for a few seconds before he allowed himself to relax enough for a shiver to run down his spine.
"You there, Bentley? There's something I'd like to ask you." he said, trying and failing not to sound mildly annoyed.
"That's what I'm here for, Sly. Ask away!" said Bentley, completely unfazed.
Sly tossed the employee's handbook onto the bed. A million questions were buzzing around in his head, and he had no idea which one he'd ended up picking until he actually heard himself say,
"Just what the heck is a jackstaff, anyway?"
"The jackstaff is the detachable flagpole at the bow of the ship." Bentley explained as Sly bit his lip and stifled a groan. "On an actual seagoing ship, the jackstaff would generally be kept in storage except-"
"Forget it, Bentley." Sly interrupted, slumping onto the bed with an exasperated sigh. "I should get ready for work. I really don't want to disappoint Rip. He kind of strikes me as the delicate, sensitive type."
"You'll definitely want to get yourself into Rip's good books, all right." said Bentley. "He's not only the de facto daily manager of the Titanic - his last known job was as head of security on the Galveston Belle!"
Sly sat up, eyes wide. "Looks like there's a lot you haven't told me about this plan of yours, buddy. What's up with that?"
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Sly! I've been too busy just getting everything together! Besides... I wasn't entirely sure if this was a valid lead on the Chip or not, and I didn't want to make a big stir for no reason."
Sly picked up the 'Concierge' - plaque. "You created a fake identity for me and got it a prestigious job!"
"That would have been easily dismissed, just some deadbeat who fails to show up and is quickly replaced - and just as quickly forgotten! It happens all the time! Look... I'm sorry I didn't bother with the follow-up stuff, but I had actually given up on the project by then! I was just looking for ways to erase whatever tracks I might have left behind... and there it was. Right out of nowhere, I stumbled across Rip's prior work history. And that's how I knew it - I was sitting on a half-decent lead on the Titanic Chip itself! At that point, there was no time to explain, or ask you and Murray for permission, or do anything at all but pack up and leave for Vegas! Besides, you guys wouldn't have come along if you didn't know for sure that I've always got your backs, right?"
Sly mellowed. He knew it, all right. "Yeah. Of course, buddy. I shouldn't be giving you a hard time. I tend to work better on the fly anyway."
"That's the spirit, Sly! Oh, and one last thing: Word online is, Inspector Fox got taken off the Cooper case, so that's one less concern for us!"
"Aww." Sly sounded genuinely disappointed. "I was actually waiting for her to show up! You know it's not gonna be the same without her."
This prompted a few moments of silence from Bentley. "Sometimes I worry about you, Sly." he eventually managed.
Across the boulevard, directly opposite the Titanic, stood BK's Casino. All glass and gold-colored metal, gleaming like a gemstone in the fierce desert sun, the building consisted of a tall central tower with two low-slung wings which curved forwards, partially framing the front courtyard with its enormous sculpture in the shape of the letters 'BK', illuminated by floodlights even in the middle of the day.
"I still don't see why we couldn't stay at the Titanic." said Neyla as Carmelita pulled into the enormous circular driveway. "How are we supposed to identify the owner of the Titanic Casino if we can't even get inside the actual building?"
"A criminal investigation is not a trip to the shopping mall, Constable!" said Carmelita, a little more harshly than intended. "The sooner we show ourselves at the Titanic, the more suspicious we'll look."
Neyla instantly perked up. "Ah! But if we immerse ourselves in the Las Vegas party scene and then hit the Titanic, they'll just think we're ordinary guests!"
"Exactly, Constable. There is also the fact that the Titanic doesn't open to the public until next week." Carmelita pointed out.
"You know, Inspector, I'm still pretty sure I could get us invited to that poker tournament."
"Please don't, Constable. On a case like this one, it always pays to keep the lowest possible profile. And I very much hope Chief Barkley told you that when he put you in charge of making our reservations!"
Neyla's ears drooped slightly.
"Speaking of which," Carmelita continued, "I just remembered - he had you set up false identities for us, didn't he?"
Carmelita had been on numerous undercover missions where she'd easily gotten away with just making up a random name for herself on the spot, but the Chief had insisted that this job needed a little more finesse. And Neyla had eagerly backed him up. The tigress reached inside her cocktail dress and produced two thick folders.
"It's all in here!" she said enthusiastically. "I've created detailed backstories for us both, with full documentation and-"
"Just tell me what my name is, Constable." Carmelita interrupted.
"Here you go." Neyla fished out a fake driver's license from one of the folders and handed it over. Carmelita took it, and gave it a quick look. Then, with a sigh, she turned towards Neyla.
"You've got to be kidding me." she said, in a voice devoid of any kind of emotion.
True to the original, the main entrance to the Titanic Casino was a great hatch set in the side of the hull. Unlike the original, the hatch was usually left open. Presently, a strong breeze blew through the lobby, sweeping along the entire length of the check-in counter, rattling the room keys in their little alcoves and depositing the guest list - a single sheet of paper - among the leaves of an enormous potted plant over by the magnificent staircase at the rear end of the room. That hatch must have been a lot easier to open and close on the horizontal Titanic, Sly thought as he leaped across the counter in pursuit of the important document.
When he headed back towards the counter, Rip was leaning against it as if he had always been there.
"Do you understand your duties, Tonnelier?" Rip's voice had a way of filling up the entire room, even when he was speaking normally.
"I certainly do!" said Sly as he flipped up the carefully hidden hinged section at one end of the counter, making his way back to his post. "The VIPs will be arriving today in order to prepare for the poker tournament. We're only expecting a limited number of guests today, so I'll be running the check-in alone."
"Right." said Rip, easing up. "Only thing is, these kinds of bigshots rarely show up anywhere alone. There'll be servants, lackeys and bodyguards galore."
Sly subtly brandished the guest list. "That's why everybody gets an entire floor to themselves."
"Exactly. Anyone that's clearly part of someone's personal lickspittle squad gets in. Any gatecrashers, on the other hand..." Rip pointed at a big, chunky pager on his belt. "...well, I'm always needed everywhere at once, but this thing's hooked up to a little button under that counter. Press that at the first sign of trouble, and I'll be right here."
Sly was about to make some chipper, confident reply when the cargo elevator arrived, its clanking, rattling drone making conversation impossible. As Sly's place behind the counter only provided a sideways view of the entrance, he could only see the operator - a weary-looking rat in an ornate uniform much too big for him. He was practically buried in braided golden cords and shiny brass buttons, and had to stand on a wooden crate to reach the elevator's control lever. Presently, he stopped the elevator perfectly level with the entrance hatch (an impressive feat with manual controls) and extended one arm towards the lobby, ushering the unseen guests inside.
First through the hatch were two mountain gorillas in black suits and sunglasses. They took up positions on either side of the entrance. Sly's first thought was that they might be FBI agents, but their garish, neon-pink ties with the initials 'BK' in golden print clashed with that theory – and everything else in the room. Once they were in place, a third gorilla came in. This one was something else entirely. He was considerably larger than the first two, his fur a vibrant, bright pink. He seemed to coordinate his movements with some inaudible rhythm, posing and mugging for an audience that wasn't there. He swaggered a few paces ahead, then stopped and looked around. On a thick chain around his neck hung a golden medallion the size of a manhole lid, with a fortune in diamonds forming the initials 'BK'. At the sight of Sly, the gorilla planted his knuckles on the floor and grasped the massive medallion with his prehensile feet, holding it out like a form of ID.
"Roll out the welcome wagon, all, sound the trumpets and hide the women, 'cause you got Bling Kong in the house, yo!"
Sly almost had to rub his eyes. That was Bling Kong, all right, the hip hop sensation who created the rampantly popular 'BK Rap'. And recently built a casino. Sly was about to give him the company mandated 'Welcome to the Titanic' - routine, but Rip spoke first.
"We all know who you are, you gold-plated goon, you've been coming over here to brag about your eyesore of a casino every other day since we bought this lot. What are you after this time?"
Bling Kong stood up and flashed a smug grin, revealing several gold teeth. "Why, I've come to repeat my offer of buying your lot from you! Spare your business from the pain and humiliation of goin' bankrupt on day one! Which is what it gonna do, from bein' overshadowed by the one and only... Bling Kong." He exhaled his name like smoke from a cigarette.
"Listen, Blinky," Rip growled, "my boss says we ain't selling, his partner says we ain't selling, and my mouth says we ain't selling. Wanna ask my knuckles?"
Rip was barely half the size of Bling Kong, but the gorilla still shrunk back a little.
"Look, I hear you, my man, I hear you, but one way or another, this joint ain't gonna be known as the Big Boat that Sank. I had my eye on this lot since day one. This gonna be known as Bling Kong's other casino! Mirror image of the first! I got all my gold on display at BK's 'cross the street, gonna put all my diamonds here!" He leaned closer to Rip.
"Gonna call it-" His gold teeth caught the light, visibly brightening up the lobby as his lips stretched into a nearly impossibly wide grin. "-the Iceberg!"
Rip pointed at the exit. "Out. Now."
Bling Kong moonwalked towards the elevator, at least a little slower than necessary.
"All right, Smiles, have it your way, but this joint? Goin' down, you hear me? Down!" He jabbed both thumbs at the floor, then stopped. "And I'll tell you why! 'Cause I got rock stars, baby! Stayin' at BK's! Two of the hottest rock stars since the King!" He swayed his hips dramatically. "People comin' to Vegas, they wanna stay where the rock stars hang out. And where the rock stars hangin'? They hangin' at BK's!"
Rip took a step forward. Bling Kong took a step back. This placed him back on the elevator.
"Rock stars at BK's!" he repeated, just to ram the point home.
"You're going down!" said one of the bodyguards, following Bling Kong on to the platform.
"Down!" the other repeated, following his colleague.
"Down." said Rip to the operator, who dutifully obliged.
Carmelita unlocked the door, and the two women entered a plush-carpeted, elegantly lit suite. One entire wall was a single enormous panorama window, providing a stunning view of the Las Vegas strip. In the middle of the main room stood an unassuming, dark brown leather suitcase and an oversized, tiger-patterned steamer trunk. (Neyla had insisted on sending their luggage ahead – "you know, like real bigshots do! We're going to Vegas, Inspector! Vegas!").
"Rock stars." said Carmelita in a deadpan voice, calmly staring straight ahead.
"Great idea, huh?" said Neyla, beaming with pride.
"Rock stars." Carmelita repeated.
"Always at the center of the action!" Neyla shut the door behind them.
"Rock stars." Carmelita put the key card on a small, conveniently placed table.
"And why? 'Cause we are the action!" Neyla pushed past Carmelita and triumphantly indicated herself.
"Rock stars." Carmelita closed the door behind them, and made sure it was locked.
"All of Vegas at our beck and call!" Neyla gestured wildly at the magnificent view, then spun elegantly around, arms in the air.
"ROCK STARS!" Carmelita grabbed Neyla by the shoulders and shook her vigorously. "What on Earth were you thinking, Constable? This is supposed to be an undercover mission!"
"Yeah," said the Constable, slightly shocked. "And... we're going undercover as rock stars! What's wrong with that?"
"Wh- what's- Grrh!" Carmelita angrily shook her head. "What's wrong? You're asking me what's wrong with a plan that involves posing as world-famous celebrities... that nobody's ever heard of?!"
Neyla gave a confident laugh. "Come on, Inspector - I've been fooling people since before I could walk! What do people do when they meet celebrities they've never heard of? They pretend to be diehard fans in order to appear cool and knowledgeable!"
Carmelita said nothing, but was clearly unimpressed.
"Give me some credit." Neyla continued, in a more serious tone. "I know what I'm doing."