Target America

35

Arabic music played on the stereo while Conman Tuckerman sat on the sofa in Faisal’s suite with a gorgeous, dark, and leggy twenty-three-year-old black girl on his lap. She sipped from a glass of Armand de Brignac “Ace of Spades” Rosé champagne — the second most expensive champagne in the world. Her name was Missy, and she smelled like heaven, with big brown eyes and short, curly black hair, and Tuckerman could tell she was enjoying his company; he’d been with enough Vegas call girls to know when they were just going through the motions. Within moments of his entering the suite, she’d gravitated toward him.

Tuckerman knew that Faisal was scheming to keep him in the casino until the next night so he could win back his two hundred thousand dollars. It was a common gambit in the casino world, but it didn’t matter. By sunrise, Faisal would be either dead or wishing for it. What made Tuckerman worried was the presence of Missy and the other girls. He hadn’t expected there to be seven of them in the room. He hadn’t anticipated any girls, in fact, though he probably should have. This was Vegas, after all, and Faisal was a known “matador.”

“Join me in the other room?” he whispered into Missy’s ear.

She looked at him and smiled. “Sure.” She set down the glass and stood up from his lap, taking his hand.

“Muhammad, do you mind if we uh…”

“Not at all,” Faisal said, looking up from the opposite sofa, his hand up a young blonde’s skirt. “Enjoy yourself my friend.”

Tuckerman led Missy into the far room and closed the door.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, peeling out of her black body dress. “Those other guys give me the creeps.” She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him affectionately.

He drank her in as long as he dared before holding her out at arm’s length. “Look, you’re not going to believe this, but I need you to put that dress back on.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong? You’re not a cop, are you?”

“No.” He took his wallet from his jacket and pulled out three thousand dollars’ worth of crisp hundred-dollar bills, all of his CIA flash-around money. He picked her purse up and stuffed the money into it.

“What’s going on?” she asked, more intrigued than alarmed.

He took his cellular from inside his jacket. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said, typing out the text message: “Seven hookers in the room!” He sent the message and put away the phone. “I’m with the CIA.”

She laughed. “Baby, I already like you, and I’m a sure thing.”

He snatched her dress off the floor and held it out to her. “Listen! I want you to put this back on and get the fuck out, because in about five minutes, federal agents are coming through that fucking door, and you don’t want to be here.”

She saw that he was serious and took the dress. “Is this guy a terrorist or something?”

“Yes,” he said, fully aware that he was breaking every fucking rule in the Black Ops handbook.

The phone vibrated in his pocket, and he read the message. “See?” He held the phone out for her to read: “Keep your head in the game! Six minutes and counting!”

She stepped quickly into the dress, pulling the straps up over her shoulders and slipping into her heels. “Am I gonna be in trouble?”

He gave her a quick kiss. “Whatever you do, don’t ever tell anyone you were here tonight.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding her head in earnest. “I promise.”

“Look embarrassed when we go back out there.” He reached for the doorknob. “I’m gonna tell them you started your period and walk you straight to the door.”

“Okay.”

He took her by the hand and led her from the room.

“Wow, so fast!” Faisal exclaimed, looking up from the blonde’s exposed breasts. “Are you ready for another, my friend?”

A few of the other girls laughed, and so did a couple of Faisal’s people.

Ma’mun just stared. The only man in the room not paired off, he sat glumly on a stool over by the bar.

Tuckerman kept Missy moving toward the door. “This broad’s on her period and didn’t even fucking tell me.”

“Okay,” Faisal said. “There are plenty to go around.” He didn’t personally see the big deal about a girl on her period, but he took being a host seriously, and if the girl had displeased his guest in some way, then it was time for her to leave.

Tuckerman opened the door and stepped out into the hall with Missy. “Take the stairs.” He stepped back into the room and closed the door.

“You don’t think you were kind of rude?” asked the girl on Faisal’s lap.

Tuckerman frowned at her. “Champagne and blood do not mix.”

The mood in the room changed from one of lustful camaraderie to one of collective embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Faisal said solemnly. “It is my fault.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tuckerman said, waving him off. “I don’t think the girl even knew, to be honest.” He shrugged and sat back on the love seat. “Maybe I overreacted. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“I’m sure she didn’t know,” the blonde said. “We live together, so our cycles are the same, and she’s a whole week early.”

“Hey!” Faisal said. “Enough now! No more talk about bloody vaginas — please!”

Everyone laughed, including Faisal’s security men, and the mood improved over the next couple of minutes, but Tuckerman was worried. He’d seen women shot and killed many times before, and it didn’t sit well with him. He checked his watch again… ninety seconds left.