Casino Dangereux

CHAPTER ONE
The Dead Man’s Hand

As the rose-red fingers of dawn began to brighten the sky, the lights in Casino Dangereux were scattered and dim; the ornately furnished gaming room was all but deserted. The first cleaners of the day were quietly beginning the long process of restoring the large Victorian room to its customary grandeur and pristine elegance. Upon the darkened stage, the five members of the Swallow Girls, an all-girl rock band, were slowly packing up their instruments. And in one distant corner, upon an antique baize-topped table, one last poker game was still being dealt.

Masuimi Max glanced at her hand and said, “No cards. I’ll play these.”

She patted her cards into a neat package, set them gently down upon the table, and gazed at her opponent. She saw a large man of perhaps forty-five years, still handsome but beginning to show signs of wear at waist and jaw and hairline. He pulled in his cards with a casual, practiced grace and scarcely looked at them before tossing his discards aside.

“Two cards,” he said, as he took a quick puff of a pungent Cuban cigar. “I’ll open for eight thousand.” He tossed eight chips casually into the table’s center as the dealer slid two cards across the table to him. He inspected the newcomers with an absolute lack of expression on his chiseled face and tossed more chips into the pot.

“And another twelve,” he said. “That’s twenty to you, Miss Max,” he unnecessarily told the young woman facing him.

Masuimi Max smiled sweetly at her opponent as she slid a stack of chips slowly toward the growing pot.

“That’s twenty,” she said, and sent another stack out to join the first, “and I’ll raise you twenty.” She hesitated briefly, shrugged, and then sent a third stack of chips out to the table’s center. “And another twenty thousand dollars, just because it’s a beautiful morning. That’s forty to you, Dr. Hazzard.”

Masuimi Max picked up her cards, aligned their edges precisely, and slid the veriest edge of her cards into the ruffled top of her bra. The cards stayed in place, held firmly against her full breast. Masuimi heard Dr. Hazzard’s breath catch in his throat. She folded her hands beneath her chin, leaned forward, intentionally giving Dr. Hazzard an even better view of her lovely breasts, and smiled coquettishly up at him.

“Do you want to see them, Dr. Hazzard? You’ll have to pay for the privilege.”

Dr. Hazzard slid a large finger inside the suddenly tight collar of his formal dress shirt. He counted his remaining chips and studied his opponent. He saw an exceptionally beautiful woman in her early twenties, whose long black hair hung in bangs over her forehead and which also draped seductively over her bare shoulders. As she lounged confidently in her leather armchair, Dr. Hazzard could see the tight black corset she wore about her tiny waist, the ruffled black and white bra she wore about her firm breasts. And he knew that beneath the antique card table she wore possibly the shortest skirt and definitely the highest heels he had ever seen. He gazed at her elegantly arched eyebrows, her sinfully full red lips, and her dark, dark eyes. He felt his gambling fever rise; he felt his sexual desire grow. His blood raced; he threw caution to the wind; he wanted to beat this woman, he wanted to possess her, and he wanted to take her now.

“Pay for it? Never. I call. And I raise you another nine thousand, two hundred.”

Masuimi smiled again and matched his bet.

“Then I’ll see you, Dr. Hazzard. What’ve you got?”

He grinned.

“Two pair, Miss Max. Aces and eights, all black.”

Masumi looked pained.

“And all I have are deuces and treys.”

She grinned triumphantly.

“Full house, Doctor.”

Dr. Hazzard bit his cigar in two and clawed the stub from his mouth as Masuimi Max pulled in her winnings. She looked regretfully at Dr. Hazzard’s side of the table, now wholly barren of chips, and shook her head sadly.

“The game is mine, Dr. Hazzard.” She pulled a business card from her bra and handed it to the dealer.

“Please transfer my winnings to this account.” She stood up and stretched her slim, lithe body. “Well, Doctor, I do hate to win and run, but…”

Dr. Hazzard stood up abruptly, his face suddenly like iron.

“The game’s not over, Miss Max. Do be seated.”

Masuimi Max smiled sweetly up at the tall man and gestured toward the table in front of him, utterly empty of chips.

“But, Doctor, you’ve nothing left to bet.”

Doctor Hazzard pointed a thumb behind him at his bodyguards, a matched pair of very tall, very muscular men dressed in expertly tailored evening suits. Both men were of a type, having a look of lean muscularity, and wearing matching blonde crew cuts, though one man was pale as snow and the other black as midnight. The men stood about ten feet behind Dr. Hazzard and about ten feet from each other; each bodyguard stood alertly beside a solid-looking black valise.

“I can send Mr. Ragtag or Mr. Bobtail up to my penthouse to get as much cash as I need. Won’t take a minute.”

Masuimi Max shook her head with mock regret.

“Table stakes, Dr. Hazzard. Your idea, not mine. You can only bet what you bring to the table.”

Dr. Hazzard’s hands clenched into fists; he was unaccustomed to being instructed on the rules of poker in his own casino. He forced himself to think calmly, then reached into his dinner jacket and produced a gleaming cigarette case.

“This,” he said quietly, “is a solid gold cigarette case made by Cartier for Czar Nicholas, the last imperial ruler of Russia. It was commissioned by his wife, Alexandra, and given to Nicholas less than a year before the Revolution and their subsequent executions. It is made of solid gold encrusted with diamonds and other precious stones, was exquisitely crafted, and bears an engraving of the imperial seal on its cover. It was taken off the Czar’s dead body by the commander of his execution squad. It is one of my most prized possessions; it is truly beyond value.”

He handed the case to Masuimi Max, who examined it minutely.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, “magnificent.”

She tossed it back to Dr. Hazzard, who caught it, shocked and scandalized. He stared at her, aghast.

“I don’t smoke,” she said. Then, feeling that she should explain further, she continued, “I don’t like smoking. It’s probably because I’m afraid of fire. It’s a genuine phobia; even the hint of fire near me and I freak out totally.”

Dr. Hazzard’s eyes were suddenly compassionate.

“I know how that can be,” he said, “I’m the same way about heights.”

Masuimi looked puzzled.

“But you live in a twenty-fifth story penthouse?”

He grinned, a hard mirthless grin.

“I don’t surrender to my weaknesses – or to anything, or to anyone. Not even to you, Miss Max.”

He tossed the cigarette case onto the table.

“All right, Miss Max. What will it take to keep this game going?”

Masuimi Max sat back down, lounged down deep in the leather armchair, and considered Dr. Hazzard and his two bodyguards, all three men attired in impeccable evening wear.

“I have always desired,” Masuimi Max said, “to own three sets of men’s formalwear.”

Dr. Hazzard grinned in anticipation.

“You’ll cover the bet with…?”

“Everything I’m wearing, of course,” said Masuimi Max. “Deal.”

The ever-silent dealer dealt the cards. Dr. Hazzard’s visible cards were a queen plus a pair of nines, with two cards still face-down. He turned his cards over to reveal a king and second queen, once more giving him two pair.

Masuimi Max was showing a king, an ace, and a ten. She took a careful look at her hole cards, sighed heavily, shuffled her cards together and handed them back to the dealer face-down, preventing both him and Dr. Hazzard from seeing that she had concealed two more tens – a winning hand.

“Looks like you win, Doc,” Masuimi Max said dryly, “my clothes are yours. Ummm…could I pay up somewhere else? I’ve never taken my clothes off in public; I can be a bit bashful at times.”

Dr. Hazzard was magnanimous in his conquest.

“Certainly, my dear Miss Max, certainly. Perhaps we might repair to my penthouse suite? It’s very private, very secure, almost a fortress. No one can enter or leave without my permission. We shall have all the privacy you desire; we shall not be disturbed.”

He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. Masuimi Max arose and they headed toward the exit door near the stage, accompanied by the two bodyguards, one fore and one aft.

Masuimi Max walked close beside Dr. Hazzard, allowing her hand to brush against his. She smiled flirtatiously up at the big man.

“The clothes on my back are your property, Dr. Hazzard. I wonder what else of mine will be yours before this night ends?”

He smiled down at her, a wolfish, predatory smile.

“We shall see, Miss Max, we shall indeed see.”

Just as they walked past the stage, a large luggage cart filled with the Swallow Girls’ instrument cases fell off the stage and onto the casino floor with a tremendous crash, scattering instruments and electronics everywhere, and burying Mr. Hazzard’s lead bodyguard under a pile of equipment cases. The musicians jumped off the stage, apologizing to everyone, inspecting their equipment, and helping Mr. Ragtag back to his feet.

All five women in the rock band took their time assisting Mr. Ragtag, brushing him off, straightening his clothes, handing him back his heavy valise, and in general petting and admiring him. All of which attention from five beautiful young women pleased him greatly, while bringing him a look of venomous jealousy from his fellow bodyguard, Mr. Bobtail, which he pretended not to see.

Eventually, however, all was sorted out, and Masuimi Max and Dr. Hazzard continued on their way to the doctor’s private elevator. Just as they left the casino, Masuimi looked back at the band just in time to see the lead musician, a lovely blonde with a spectacular figure, blow her a kiss. Masuimi winked back at her, wriggled closer to Dr. Hazzard, and allowed him to continue to trick her into going precisely where she most desired to go.

CHAPTER TWO
The Nurse in Rubber

The elevator doors opened to reveal a beautiful redheaded woman dressed in a white & green rubber nurse’s uniform which fit her like a fresh coat of liquid latex. She looked Masuimi Max up and down with a look of both desire and jealousy, and made a gesture of welcome to all.

“You must be Miss Max,” she said, “I am Nurse Harridan. How lovely you are, Miss Max. I adore your clothes; you must tell me who your designer is.”

Dr. Hazzard said, “Actually, Nurse Harridan, those are my clothes, now. Kindly separate Miss Max from them and then bring her to me in the Overlook.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” said Nurse Harridan. “Do you wish her naked or clothed?”

The doctor considered.

“Whatever amuses you, Nurse Harridan. Mr. Ragtag, Mr. Bobtail, with me. Come!”

He walked away, followed by the two bodyguards. Nurse Harridan took Masuimi Max by her hand and said, “Come with me, my dear, we’ll get you settled.”

Nurse Harridan led Masuimi Max through a nearby doorway and closed the heavy mahogany door behind them. Masuimi looked about, saw that she was in a small wood-paneled room which contained only a low bench and a large armoire, both made of a dark, lustrous wood.

“This is our changing room,” said Nurse Harridan. “Please remove your clothing, Miss Max, and I’ll find something appropriate for you to wear to the Overlook.”
Masuimi looked about the room as she removed her bra and undid her corset. She quickly spotted the pinhole cameras in the light fixture and observed that they followed every motion both of her and of Nurse Harridan. Automated cameras, in that case; human operators would most likely only track the stranger, and not the trusted lieutenant.

Masuimi slipped out of her short skirt and stood motionless for a moment, enjoying the feel of the room’s soft air conditioning upon her nude body. Then, she stepped out from her shoes, gathered up the clothing she had lost to the doctor, and bundled it up. She stepped over to the open armoire and placed the clothing upon an empty shelf. Lastly, she removed the wig of full, black hair from her head and ran her fingers through her short blonde mohawk. Masuimi loved her wigs, but it always felt so good when it was time to take one off! She turned to Nurse Harridan and gently caressed the taller woman’s shapely butt, enjoying the feel of her firm body through the slick rubber uniform.

“I always enjoy the feel of rubber, Nurse Harridan,” she cooed, “don’t you?”

Masuimi took a long look at the other woman. She was taller than Masuimi, and quite beautiful, with the face of a 1940’s pinup model. Her hair was a vivid red, and was precisely matched by the lipstick worn upon her full lips. Her body inside the green and white rubber nurse’s uniform was firm and round and intensely feminine. She wore a small rubber nurse’s cap upon her head; Masuimi found her utterly entrancing. She ran a finger along Nurse Harridan’s spine and felt a shiver run through the woman’s body.

“Hmmmm,” said Masuimi, “you like the feel of things other than rubber, too, don’t you, Nurse?”

Nurse Harridan drew Masuimi to her and ran her fingers about Masumi’s nude body. Her breathing grew faster and shallower as she gazed deeply into Masuimi’s dark, dark eyes. Masuimi felt her own heart begin to beat faster as she felt Nurse Harridan’s firm fingers upon her breasts. She lifted her lips to Nurse Harridan’s mouth and…and Nurse Harridan drew back.

“You are a delicious little treat, Miss Max,” said Nurse Harridan, “but you’re Dr. Hazzard’s dessert, not mine.”

Masuimi kept caressing Nurse Harridan’s body, thrusting her own nude body against the nurse’s rubber clad hips.

“Isn’t that for you and me to decide?”

The nurse, still breathing heavily, her eyes still clouded with passion, shook her head.

“Not when you work for Dr. Hazzard, not when you work for OBSCURA,” she said.

“OBSCURA?” asked Masuimi, “what’s that? A credit union or another new airline?”

Nurse Harridan’s beautiful face was suddenly filled with fear.

“What? Oh…it’s nothing, nothing at all. Just a little joke we make around here. I shouldn’t have said anything; it’s nothing at all, really. But…please don’t mention it to the doctor. He…he doesn’t like us to make jokes.”

Nurse Harridan turned to the armoire and grabbed blindly, pulled out a dark green rubber minidress with orange trim. She handed the dress to Masuimi Max.

“Here, put this on. Green is Dr. Hazzard’s favorite color. He likes rubber, too. We don’t want to keep the doctor waiting! Put on any of those shoes on the bottom shelf. Just step out into the hall when you’re dressed; I’ll be waiting for you.”

With that, Nurse Harridan stepped out of the room, leaving Masuimi Max alone to dress…and to ponder. As she squirmed into the tight rubber dress, she marveled to herself that coming in here unarmed had been her own idea – and it had seemed such a good idea at the time, too! She shook her head, zipped up the dress, stepped into a pair of high heeled shoes and checked herself out in the armoire’s mirror. Hmmmm…hot stuff! She left the room and allowed Nurse Harridan to escort her to the Overlook.

CHAPTER THREE
Overlook

After Nurse Harridan brought Masuimi into the large room and then departed, Dr. Hazzard looked up from his laptop computer and cried, “Welcome to Overlook, Miss Max!”

Masuimi decided that whoever had named this room Overlook had been a genius. Twenty-five stories above the streets of the ancient French city, the ceiling was at least fifteen feet high, and all the walls, floor to ceiling, were entirely made of glass. Masuimi walked up to one wall, pressed her nose against the glass, and looked out. The view was magnificent, obscured by only one defect: a narrow ledge running entirely around the building. She shook her head sadly at the architectural blunder.

“Don’t you like the view, Miss Max?”

She turned and faced Dr. Hazzard.

“Yes, very much, Doctor. I just don’t understand why the architect didn’t extend the wall all the way to the end of the flooring. That ledge out there mars the architectural purity of the building.”

Dr. Hazzard shook his head.

“That ledge was built to my specifications. I take a walk around that ledge four times a day, rain or shine, every day of the year.”

Masuimi gawked at him, then at the ledge.

“Doctor, that ledge is two feet wide; it has no railing; it’s twenty-five stories up, and you’re afraid of heights!”

Dr. Hazzard smiled with proud satisfaction.

“Right on all counts, except that it’s only eighteen inches wide. As I told you, Miss Max, I won’t let my fears defeat me. I face my fears, and I defeat them. As I defeat everything in life…including you.”

Masuimi Max smiled coquettishly, suddenly aware that Mr. Ragtag and Mr. Bobtail had moved in behind her and were standing uncomfortably close. She remained in character, caressed Dr. Hazzard gently upon his arm.

“Like my new dress, Doctor?”

He shook his head.

“It won’t work, Miss Max. We’ve been onto you since the moment you stepped inside the Casino. OBSCURA has exceptionally good records; I have a complete dossier on you right here on my laptop.” He gestured at the laptop computer sitting upon a low table. “Every dealing of the OBSCURA organization which goes through me is right there in that computer, Miss Max. But then, you know that, since you were sent here to steal it. You have failed, Miss Max. And now, you must pay the penalty for failure. Mr. Ragtag?”

The bodyguard stooped and picked up his heavy black valise, set it upon a nearby desk. He then stood at attention, awaiting orders. Dr. Hazzard resumed speaking.

“Two bodyguards may seem redundant to some, Miss Max, but for me, they are quite essential. Both these men are experienced and expert veterans of armed and unarmed combat, and have areas of expertise I cannot do without. Mr. Bobtail is my heavy weapons and explosives expert. Inside his carrying case are a variety of explosives, incendiaries, and other means of killing large numbers of people in a short time.

“Mr. Ragtag, on the other hand, performs a more personal function. His job is to deal with individuals. And so, in his valise, is an assortment of every single type of torture device he may find useful to destroy an individual human being, to reduce him…or her…to their component parts.”

He gestured toward the hulking bodyguard.

“Mr. Ragtag, why don’t you open your case and show Miss Max precisely what I have in mind?”

Masuimi Max drew several short, quick breaths and said a brief mantra of relaxation, forcing her muscles to relax, to go limp, to seek serenity. She looked away from the bodyguard’s ominous black case, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth slightly.

Mr. Ragtag opened his valise; Masuimi Max dropped to the floor.

And with a thunderous crash, a burst of smoke and light came from the inside of the case, tossing Mr. Ragtag over and beyond a leather sofa, knocking Dr. Hazzard and Mr. Bobtail down.

Masuimi Max shook her aching head, sprang to her feet, and grabbed the case. She brushed smoke from its interior and quickly found a small shiny disk in the case’s top. She took the disk and slapped it onto the case of Dr. Hazzard’s prized laptop. A red light on the disk shone brightly as it began to automatically download the entire contents of the computer’s hard drive.

Masuimi looked at the agents of OBSCURA, still dazed by the stun grenade which had detonated when the case had been opened. She said a brief prayer of thanks that her fellow agents downstairs, posing as the rock band Swallow Girls, had been able to switch Mr. Ragtag’s valise during the “accident” near the stage. She prowled in the case again, pulled out a small backpack, which she hurriedly donned. Then, she reached into the case once more and pulled out its final prize: her precious fifty-caliber Desert Eagle semi-automatic. Finally, she felt dressed again!

None too soon, as a bullet struck the corner of the case and ricocheted away. Masuimi Max dove over an overstuffed armchair, firing behind her as she fell. She heard a man’s voice curse, then a flurry of bullets ripped through the chair, scant inches above Masuimi’s prone body, and shattered the window glass behind her.

Masuimi fired through and around the chair until the clip was nearly empty, reached into her backpack with her free hand, and found a small cylindrical object. She thumbed off the top and tossed the small grenade over the chair and toward the large sofa. As soon as it exploded, she was moving, scurrying across the floor, firing her last two rounds as she did so.

Once in cover behind a heavy desk, Masuimi grabbed and tossed another small grenade, this one a smoke bomb, and also produced a fresh ammo clip for her Desert Eagle. She slammed it into place, fired two shots blindly toward where she suspected Dr. Hazzard might be, and waited silently, listening.

Bullets started hitting the desk, coming in from several directions, riddling it. Masuimi returned fire, emptying another clip, and tossed her last four grenades in various directions. A man started screaming. The room began to fill with smoke and flame. More bullets began hitting the desk, their impact pushing the desk against Masuimi’s back. She moved once more.

Scrabbling along the floor, Masuimi fired several shots into the smoke and flame, trying to circle about and return to the laptop and the all-important downloader, the object of her mission. The smoke was getting thicker and it was getting more difficult to see and to breathe.

Still keeping low, Masuimi’s head bumped into a hard object. She groaned and looked up, saw Mr. Ragtag’s face, equally low to the floor, looming at her out of the smoke. She saw him begin to raise the barrel of a heavy revolver, aim it in her direction.

Masuimi spun to her right, rolling along the floor, and fired three times at Mr. Ragtag. He groaned loudly, dropped his pistol, and fell heavily to the floor. Masuimi scrabbled for his pistol, got it, and firing left-handed, emptied the revolver into the confusion of the burning room. She then tossed the gun high into the air as she moved toward the laptop, and had the satisfaction of hearing a man’s voice yell, “Ouch!”

She found a man’s body sprawled over the laptop. She pushed him aside; he was no one she knew. There must have been more OBSCURA agents in the room than she’d realized. A green light was glowing on the downloader; all the laptop’s files were now copied. Masuimi slipped the prize inside her backpack, then recoiled as the laptop computer disintegrated beneath her in a hail of bullets. Figures started coming at Masuimi from the smoke, guns in their hands.

Masuimi looked behind her, saw only a wall of flame. Springing to her feet, she ran directly at the fire and leapt through, firing wildly behind her as she did so. She rolled to her feet on the other side of the flames and beat out a small fire in her blonde hair, as she listened to gunfire and cursing from the other side of the flames. She emptied her Desert Eagle at the sound of gunshots and slammed her last clip in place.

The room was growing unbearably warm, flames were everywhere. Breathing was next to impossible. Masuimi felt a sudden pain in her left arm, looked down, and saw her arm begin to bleed from a bullet graze. She fired back, dropped to the floor, and felt a breeze coming from one of the shattered windows. She fired twice more, blindly, and moved toward the breeze.

In seconds, Masumi had scurried over the broken glass and found herself outside the Overlook, on the narrow ledge surrounding the room. She looked down and saw, far beneath her, the narrow streets of the city’s oldest quarter. She looked to her right and saw the Overlook, now entirely aflame, occasional flashes from gun muzzles outshining even the flames.

Masuimi heard a voice shout, “There she is!” and she fired her last rounds instinctively in that direction. Then, she rolled left and fell into the early morning light, toward the cobblestone street twenty-five stories below.

Gripping her Desert Eagle tightly, Masuimi Max reached behind her, pulled a lanyard, felt nothing, and then felt a giant’s hand suddenly grip her tightly as the BASE jump chute opened. She looked down, the cobblestone street was close, and coming fast.

Masuimi landed with a thump, rolled, and lay upon the cool cobblestones for a moment, dazed. The fresh, cool morning air filled her lungs, and within seconds, she felt her strength returning. She made her way to her feet, disentangled herself from her BASE chute shrouds, and leaned heavily upon a lamp post. She reached one last time into her backpack, made certain that the hard disk downloader was still there. She looked up at the Overlook, far above. It was a mass of flames; it was doubtful that anyone had escaped that inferno alive.

Masuimi gripped her now-empty Desert Eagle tightly in her hand and began walking down the street. A taxi pulled up beside her and a voice with a strong Brooklyn accent asked, “Taxi, lady?”

Masumi looked up, startled, and grinned at the man. She climbed wearily into the taxi’s back seat.

“Hello, Moe. Whaddaya know?”

“I just got back from a vaudeville show!”

They both laughed.

“Airport, Masuimi?”

“As fast as you can, Moe. The Swallow Girls should be on the jet, waiting for us. And OBSCURA is probably waiting for us, too.”

Moe looked up at the flames topping Casino Dangereux.

“Well, not all of them, I’ll bet.”

Masuimi Max grinned wryly.

“No, not all of them. We may have dented them a little tonight.”

Masuimi Max yawned widely.

“God, I’m tired, Moe. I’m gonna grab a nap here. Wake me up if somebody starts shooting at me, okay?”

“Okay, chief.”

The old taxi sped through the quiet cobblestone streets as Masuimi Max curled up on the ancient leather seat and drifted off to sleep.

THE END

©2003 David Gustafson