The Thousand - Kevin Guilfoile [40]
Rhodes nodded at Wayne and gripped him firmly on the biceps, then stepped on the elevator without a word. Before Wayne had returned downstairs for what he assumed would be handshakes and promises to be in touch, Rhodes had called from the rooftop to say “Hire that kid.”
Wayne liked to believe that he and the boss had had so few conversations since because he had earned his confidence. Rhodes trusted Wayne to take care of his assignment and took him at his word that he would remain invisible, so invisible that Rhodes never even needed to call his name.
But he was calling it tonight.
Wayne followed Rhodes and the Sheik through a metal door guarded by a man not under Wayne’s supervision. A burly ex-cop with a real gun, a heavy black thing at his belt that made Wayne self-conscious about the closest thing he had to a weapon—the long folding knife in his pocket. They walked down a long corridor lit like an airport, around a corner and past another set of guards, and then into the vault. Casinos required a lot of cash—more cash than most banks. It was in shiny metal drawers and loaded up on wheeled carts, either coming or going from the cages. Cash never stayed out on the floor very long. Cash on the floor could go missing.
Wayne had been in this room only three times in seven years.
Rhodes said to Wayne, “I wanted to show our guest something, and I thought you might be interested in it as well, seeing as you’re local law enforcement.” The Sheik didn’t react, and Wayne guessed he didn’t speak much English. Maybe Rhodes had brought Wayne back here just so he’d have a person to talk to.
Someone had placed a small wooden box, about the size of an oversize Bible, on a cart in the center of the room. The box was in the exact center of the top tray. The preciseness of it all led Wayne to believe it had been placed here specifically at Rhodes’s instruction. Everyone carried out his direct requests that much more carefully.
Rhodes slid the top off the box and swept aside some brown packing material that looked like straw. He tilted the box so Wayne could see what was inside.
A gun. Wayne didn’t know much about guns except what he’d picked up in a few hours training at a range, but he knew from the cylinder at its center that it was a revolver. It looked like it had some age on it, but it wasn’t antique.
Wayne tilted his head at Rhodes.
“My newest acquisition,” Rhodes said. “This gun was used in the kidnapping of Patty Hearst.”
The Sheik must have understood that part, because he nodded, impressed. Rhodes presented it to him, but the Sheik shook his head and waved his hands. Rhodes turned to Wayne. “Go ahead. Feel it.”
Wayne wasn’t as interested in the gun as he was in keeping Rhodes happy. He lifted it into his hand. It wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected. “It’s not loaded, is it?” Wayne asked. Rhodes shook his head. Wayne turned it over, not really sure what he was supposed to be looking for. It was cold and a little bit oily. At the bottom of the stock were three engraved letters: EKG.
“What’s that? Like a cardiac thing? A heart attack?” Wayne said.
“Those Symbionese were fucked up, huh?” Rhodes laughed, and the Concrete Sheik laughed, too. “I don’t know what it means yet, but it’s a personal touch that makes this particular gun ten grand more expensive than the other one I was looking at.”
Wayne smiled and