Mason gunned the motor and guided the Ferrari skilfully through the evening traffic. That advanced driving course had certainly paid off. He saw the lights of his destination, the Grand Hotel in the distance, then cursed as he saw the long line of cars at the entrance, disgorging their occupants. He drove as close as he could, but there was no way he’d get upstairs in time. He spotted a flunky dressed in smart blue blazer and black pants standing near the entrance.
He pulled up behind a Lexus, hopped out and with an imperious wave, summoned the flunky. He seemed in no hurry, ambling over with an enquiring look.
Mason said, “I need to be up in the penthouse in five minutes. Park this in my usual spot. I’ll come down when I’m ready.”
He gave him a ferocious look.
“And be damned sure there’s not a scratch on it or it will be much more than your job’s worth. Got it?”
“Yessir!” the man replied, then slid into the driver’s seat.
Mason raced into the hotel lobby, then headed for the lift. It only went as far as the thirtieth floor. He had to get out and take another lift to the penthouse where the game was being held. The two security guards knew him well and let him in without hesitation. He’d made it, they hadn’t started. He slipped into his usual chair, exchanging greetings with everyone he knew. It was high stakes, fifty thousand a hand. And also quite illegal. That was part of the attraction. But in the time that he had been playing, he had pretty much summed up the opposition. He reckoned he was a pretty good judge of character. He knew their weaknesses, picked out when individuals were holding good or bad hands. He had a damned good chance of walking away with a very handy sum of money. The game started, the first hand was dealt.
It was three hours later. Mason realised he’d been suckered. It took a while, he’d won a few hands, small pots just to draw him in. Then it started. Now he was left owing five hundred thousand dollars. Of course, his credit was good, but he knew without a doubt what would happen if he didn’t cough up.
He left, conscious of sly conspiratorial glances as he exited the room. Down in the lobby, he wandered disconsolately over to the concierge and asked for his car to brought round.
The man looked at him in puzzlement.
“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t have your car.”
Mason spluttered, “But I gave it to one of your people to park when I arrived!”
Once again, the man repeated,”I’m sorry sir, but there’s no record of your car in the carpark.”
Realisation dawned. He had given his precious expensive Ferrari to a complete stranger, someone who wasn’t even an employee of the hotel. His father was going to kill him.
Several hundred kilometres away, the sleek red Ferrari was being loaded into the back of a specially fitted out truck. It was lead lined to block out emissions of the tracking device that was bound to have been built into the car. No longer dressed in the hotel uniform, the opportunistic thief climbed into the passenger side of the truck. He gave his mate the thumbs up, who put it into gear and moved off.
“Man, that was a great ride. Would love to own one of them,” the thief said.
His mate shrugged.
“I wouldn’t. You never know when some bugger like you might come along and flog it!”
They both laughed uproariously, as the truck trundled off into the night.
©️Cesmo.