of the cashier’s cage on the side of the room.
A dozen Christmas trees dressed identically in white ribbons and gold glitter stood in the lobby, narrowing the room. The ceiling still soared several stories above them, a riot of caramel marble, polished wood, and gilded scrollwork.
Casimir van Amsberg strode through the room and grinned at the two dealers who were standing at a poker table, one of whom bent to rest his head on his arms.
Arthur’s footsteps stomped softly on the thick carpeting half a step behind him. Casimir caught a glimpse of Arthur’s dark sleeve swinging in his peripheral vision.
Casimir called out to the dealers. “Hey! Can I have a word with you?”
The slumped guy lifted his head, clearly exhausted, and blinked at Casimir. He was an Asian guy, probably Chinese from his features, and a lipstick mark stained his collar. His straight, black hair fell in his eyes, and he brushed it away.
“I don’t want to play blackjack, I promise,” Casimir said as he approached. The official operating hours of the Monte Carlo casino are from two o’clock “until the last table closes,” which can be anytime from midnight (rarely) until dawn.
That day, it was nearly dawn.
Casimir asked, “Um, what language? English, Français, Nederlands, Español?”
The other casino staff member standing at the table, a tall and thin Black guy with the generous features of West Africa, was wearing a small insignia pin on his tux jacket that meant he was a pit boss. “English or French. Okay with that, Lee?”
The other dealer nodded, and his head drooped lower.
“I am looking for a friend,” Casimir said, sticking to English.
The pit boss straightened. “I’m sorry, sir. If that wasn’t your friend,” he pointed to the couple staggering out the door, “then I don’t think we can help you. Hundreds of people come through the casino every night. I’m not terribly good with faces. Lee?”
Lee struggled to lift himself and braced his arms on the table. He gestured toward a couple of closed-circuit cameras on a pole beside his table. One was directed downward to focus on the cards. One was pointed at the chairs where patrons would sit. “You can ask the police to review the security footage. They’ll need a warrant. The courthouse is up in Monaco-Ville, behind the palace. It doesn’t open until nine o’clock.”
“I’ll look into that. I think my friend was here earlier, and he may have come back. Are they still recording?”
Lee flipped his fingers at the darkened light on the top of the camera. “We turn off the table cams when we declare the casino is closed, but the house cameras are still on.”
Casimir regarded the obsidian half-globes embedded in the ceiling, as they are in every casino around the world. “Could we look around the casino? Maybe he’s sitting at a slot machine or having a drink somewhere.”
They pointed toward a hallway in the back of the room and gesticulated while explaining the rather complicated route to walk the entire casino complex, which also included a theater that housed the Opéra de Monte-Carlo and the office of Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo.
Casimir feigned having trouble with the directions, so they walked him over to the hallway, still pointing, both of them telling him the directions again, first in English and then in French because, evidently, the English wasn’t cutting it.
Still, Casimir discussed the directions with them, and then he asked whether the security cameras covered every room and which parts of the casino were less surveilled. Perhaps his friend was still there. Were any tables still open? Or slot machines?
The discussion grew longer, with more pointing and multiple languages, and they paced into another room as the guys woke up a little more.
Things became more complicated. There was indeed a bank of slot machines with little camera coverage, and a white-haired East Asian lady had fallen asleep back there, her golden tokens spilling off her red silk dress and onto the blue carpet on the floor.
The three men carefully woke her and made sure she was all right, just napping, and helped her into a taxi back to her hotel before they once again turned to the question of whether Casimir’s friend has also escaped notice.
By the time the dealer and the pit boss had chaperoned Casimir around the casino and discussed these very important matters with several security personnel who were still on the casino floor, he was sure they had forgotten Arthur had been with him at all.
Chapter Six
The Cage
Arthur
Lord Arthur Finch-Hatten,