Free Liquid Smoke by Jeff Shelby Page A

glasses of water later, the door to the conference room opened. A guy a couple inches taller than me with a neck the size of a barrel led the way. His brown hair was buzzed short, and the skin on his face seemed stretched too tight, as if there weren’t enough skin to cover his skull. Acne dotted his forehead. He scowled at us. He wore khaki pants and a black dress shirt with a butterfly collar that was open at his huge neck. Sweat stains darkened the shirt near his armpits. Lots of muscles in just about every place.
    He was followed in by a man considerably shorter and less muscular. The second man was around five-ten with the build of a cross-country runner and shaggy black hair that hung to just above sleepy hazel eyes. He appeared to be trying to grow a goatee, but it didn’t seem to want to come in. He wore white jeans and a bright purple polo shirt.
    “Hi, fellas,” he said. His voice was high-pitched and squeaky. “What are you here for?”
    “Is either of you Benjamin Moffitt?” I asked.
    “No. I’m Ross.” He pointed at the gorilla, who had moved next to me. “That’s Gus.”
    “We’re here for Moffitt.”
    Gus’s right hand shot out and drilled into the side of my head. My head snapped to the side and a rainbow of colors flashed in front of my eyes. Gus was strong.
    “Easy, big guy,” Ross said.
    I shook my head, clearing the colors from my vision, and realized he was talking to Carter, who was halfway out of his seat. I held up a hand, and Carter sat back down.
    Ross smiled in my direction. “Wanna try again?”
    “We’re here for Moffitt,” I said. “Dickhead.”
    I felt Gus move again, but this time I was ready. I swept the pitcher off the table, swiveled in the chair, and smashed the pitcher into Gus’s head. It disintegrated into a fine mist of water and glass when it hit his temple. His teeth snapped together like a bear trap, and he fell to the ground.
    I looked at Ross, who was no longer smiling.
    “Is Moffitt coming or do we need to go find him?” I asked.
    Ross glanced at his partner. Gus was clutching the side of his head as blood percolated out of his mouth, his eyes shut tight in pain.
    “I’ll go get Mr. Moffitt,” Ross said. Carter stood. “We’ll go with you.”
    “No need,” Ross said, a little too quickly. “If you’ll just wait here—”
    “You can ceme back with who knows what,” Carter said. He walked over and took Ross by the elbow. “Show us the way, buddy.”
    I stepped over Gus to follow them. The side of my head was still throbbing.
    “Hang on,” I said to Carter.
    I turned around and drove my foot in Gus’s solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him like a slashed tire, his eyes bulged, and his mouth opened into a silent, painful oval.
    I pulled my foot off of him and faced an amused Carter and a worried Gus.
    “Now let’s go,” I said.

TWENTY-THREE
     
    Ross took us down a long hallway to a corner office. He knocked, timid, on the partially open door. A polite voice invited us in.
    The room was huge and crescent-shaped, backed by a window that opened up to the expansive valley beyond the casino. Several leather chairs and a matching sofa sat around a glass coffee table in one corner. A magnificent mahogany desk was fronted with two more leather chairs. Our feet sunk into the plush carpeting.
    Ben Moffitt leaned back in his chair behind the desk and smiled. “Hello, Ross. What’s going on?”
    Moffitt appeared to be in his early fifties. Dark hair that looked like it might have had some help in holding off the gray. Tan face. Bright, hazel eyes. A small pointed nose that fit perfectly over his small tight mouth. An expensive blue dress shirt opened at the neck. A gleaming watch on his left wrist.
    Ross shifted his weight nervously. “Uh … ah … Mr. Moffitt … these guys … ah … wanted to see you.”
    Moffitt nodded as if he’d been expecting us. “Fine. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
    “To start, you might want to call a doctor