The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(6)
She sounds reckless. I, on the other hand, am most decidedly not reckless. I use my strange ability to make money in the financial industry, which is much safer than what Mira does. Not to mention, the kind of money I bring in through legitimate channels makes the risks of cheating in casinos far outweigh the benefits—especially given what I’m learning today. Apparently casinos don’t sit idly by while you take their money. They start files on you if they think you’re likely to cheat them, and they blacklist you if you get too lucky. Seems unfair, but I guess it makes business sense.
Returning my attention to the file, I find little personal information beyond her name and address—just other casinos, games, and the amounts she’s won under different aliases, plus pictures. She’s good at changing her appearance; all the pictures feature women who look very different from one another. Impressive.
Having memorized as much of Mira’s file as I can, I walk over to Nick and take my own file from his hands.
I’m relieved to find that there’s not much to this folder. They have my name and address, which they must’ve gotten from the credit card I used to pay for drinks. They know that I work at a hedge fund and that I’ve never had problems with the law—all stuff easily found on the web. Same goes for Harvard and my other achievements. They probably just did a Google search on me once they knew my name.
Reading the file makes me feel better. They’re not on to me or anything like that. They probably just saw me winning too much and decided to nip the situation in the bud. The best thing to do at this point is to placate them, so I can go home and digest all this. No need to search the hotel anymore. I have more than enough information about Mira now, and my friend Bert can help me fill in the rest of the puzzle.
Thus resolved, I walk back to myself. My frozen self’s face looks scared, but I don’t feel scared anymore because I now have a plan.
Taking a deep breath, I touch my frozen forehead again and phase out.
Nick is still yelling at me, so I tell him politely, “Sir, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what or whom you’re talking about. I was lucky, yes, but I didn’t cheat.” My voice quavers on that last bit. I might be overacting now, but I want to be convincing as a scared young man. “I’ll be happy to leave the money and never come back to this casino again.”
“You are going to leave the money, and you won’t ever come back to this city again,” corrects Buff.
“Fine, I won’t. I was just here to have fun,” I say in a steadier but still deferential voice, like I’m totally in awe of their authority. “I just turned twenty-one and it’s Labor Day weekend, so I went gambling for the first time,” I add. This should add an air of sincerity, because it’s the truth. “I work at a hedge fund. I don’t need to cheat for money.”
Nick snorts. “Please. Guys like you cheat because you like the rush of being so much smarter than everyone else.”
Despite his obvious contempt for me, I don’t reply. Every remark I form in my head sounds snide. Instead I just continue groveling, saying that I know nothing, gradually becoming more and more polite. They keep asking me about Mira and about how I cheat, and I keep denying it. The conversation goes in circles for a while. I can tell they’re getting as tired of it as I am—maybe more so.
Seeing an opening, I go in for the kill. “I need to know how much longer I’ll be detained, sir,” I tell Nick, “so that I can notify my family.”
The implication is that people will wonder where I am if I don’t show up soon. Also, my subtle use of the word ‘detained’ reminds them of the legality of their position—or more likely, the lack thereof.
Frowning, but apparently unwilling to give in, Nick says stubbornly, “You can leave as soon as you tell us something useful.” There isn’t much conviction in his voice, though, and I can tell that my question hit the mark. He’s just saving face at this point.
Doggedly continuing the interrogation, he asks me the same questions again, to which I respond with the same answers. After a couple of minutes, Buff touches his shoulder. They exchange a look.
“Wait here,” Buff says. They leave, presumably to have a quick discussion out of my earshot.
I wish I could listen in, but sadly it’s not possible with the Quiet. Well, that’s not entirely true. If I learned to read lips and phased in and out very quickly, I could probably piece together some of the conversation by looking at their frozen faces, over and over again. But that would be a long, tedious process. Plus, I don’t need to do that. I can use logic to figure out the gist of what they’re saying. I’m guessing it goes something like this: “The kid’s too smart for us; we should let him go, get doughnuts, and swing by a strip club.”
They return after a few minutes, and Buff tells me, “We’re going to let you go, but we don’t want to see you—or your girlfriend—here ever again.” I can tell Nick isn’t happy about having to abandon his questioning without getting the answers he wanted, but he doesn’t voice any objections.
I suppress a relieved sigh. I half-thought they’d rough me up or something. It would’ve sucked, but it wouldn’t have been unexpected—or perhaps even undeserved, given that I did cheat. But then again, they have no proof that I cheated. And they probably think I’m clever enough to cause legal problems—particularly given my law degree.