Chapter 2
Luck of the Draw

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7:35 a.m.

Las Vegas Crime Lab

Las Vegas, Nevada

–

Yugi rubbed his eyes tiredly. Neither he nor his grandfather had gotten a good night's rest last night – and how could they be expected to, with the knowledge that someone had died in Joey's room? It didn't help that they'd immediately brought him in for questioning.

It was only through Yami's intervention that either of them was able to get any sleep at all. Yugi cupped the Millennium Puzzle in one hand, a sign of affection; if anyone could help them to calm down, if only slightly, it was Yami. Strange that a being such as him, from such a distant past, knew how to help allay the fears of modern men.

Being modern probably isn't even a factor, Yugi thought. He was a Pharaoh. He had to know how to sympathize with those who sought his audience... it's the only way he would've been able to guide them.

Indeed, you are correct, aibou. The spirit of the Pharaoh took metaphysical form next to him and Solomon. Only those who believed he existed would see or hear him.

Yugi blushed. I'm sorry, Yami. I shouldn't be doubting you.

No offense was meant. None is taken.

"Where do you suppose Joey is?" Solomon wondered aloud. "Did they keep him here overnight, or give him another room at the hotel?"

"If it were the latter," Yami dryly noted, "he would have contacted us immediately. Both to assure us he was alright, and to assure himself that we are alright."

"Maybe they gave him a couch somewhere in the building," Yugi suggested. "I can't imagine they'd put him in jail. To do that, they have to charge him with killing that man... and Joey would never do that."

"I know, Yugi, I know," Solomon said, sounding as tired as the boy felt. "But he's a roughneck, and they're probably going to ruffle his feathers first to gauge his character."

Yami blinked, confused. "Joey doesn't have feathers..."

For the first time since last night, Solomon and Yugi shared a smile.

–

Grissom entered the cold room, consulting a portfolio of paperwork Warrick, Nick, and Sara had compiled over the course of the previous night. So far, they had shoeprints, fingerprints, some hair samples, a few fibers, and a lamp. I wonder what's for dessert.

Dr. Al Robbins looked up from his work, his eyes like a hawk's gaze as he watched Grissom approach. Grissom had always liked the Doc – the man missed even less than Grissom, and as a result, was one of the most steely-eyed people in the building. Possibly in all of Las Vegas.

Grissom glanced down at the body on the table, then back up at the Doc. "I trust you've been keeping our guest comfortable."

"You know me, I'm a sucker for celebrities," Robbins deadpanned. "But it's probably a bit cold in here for him."

"How's that?"

"Mr. Henstridge here suffered from alopecia – an autoimmune disease that attacks the follicles and manifests usually during childhood. There are two types of alopecia: totalis, which affects hair of the scalp, and universalis..."

"Which affects all hair."

"Yes, and your victim had the latter."

Grissom shrugged. "Well, then, that should make things easier. Whoever left hair at the scene is our guy. Cause of death?"

"Drowning, as you probably already guessed," Robbins answered, "not that he didn't try to avoid it. There's considerable bruising on the back of his neck. Also, his left forearm has a spiral fracture."

"Someone twisted his arm behind him and then held him under the water," Grissom interpreted.

"Correct, but I don't think it started with his arm. He's got a small fracture on the back of his skull, and the wound is comparatively more bruised than his arm. He was struck by some sort of sharp, heavy object at a downward angle. I think someone walloped him with something from behind, and probably forced him over to the jacuzzi, then twisted his arm to hold him down."

"David estimated time of death to be somewhere around 7:30."

"It's hard to tell by body temperature. He was half-submerged in hot water. But most of his liver was intact, soI'd say that's accurate. Any luck with the room's guest?"

"Brass pulled an entertaining tale out of him, but it's not going to help him any. I'm on my way to go talk to some of his friends. Get anything else you can get out of the vic."

"Almost done with him. Oh, by the way, have you heard from Catherine?"

Grissom shook his head. "Not since last Friday. She took her daughter on vacation to visit the Grand Canyon for a few days."

Robbins raised an eyebrow. "I hope Lindsey brought her Game Boy."

The slightest trace of a smile worked its way across Grissom's weathered features before he left the morgue. His next stop was the lab, where Nick was working diligently. The samples picked up by the team had been split up amongst the specialists, but Nick had picked up the possible assault weapon – the bedside lamp.

Nick glanced up. "Hey, boss."

Grissom didn't waste any time. "What've you got for me?"

The younger man gestured at the lamp. "Looks like this was what your guy used. Alternate light scan showed blood on the bottom edge. My guess is he held the lamp upside-down like a club and took a big crack at the vic's head. No prints, though – which means we're still wide open for suspects. It could have been almost anyone."

"Not anyone," Grissom corrected. "The Motous, for instance, are about 5' tall each. Henstridge is 5'9". The angle's all wrong."

"Great. Now we just have to eliminate about forty-four hundred other guests of the Luxor."

–

Yugi rubbed his eyes again. He couldn't help it. He desperately wanted to get some sleep, but at the same time, he didn't want a single wink until he found out Joey's fate.

Keeping yourself awake won't help Joey, Yami gently admonished. You must get more sleep.

I know, Yugi sighed. It's not my mind that wants me to stay awake... it's my heart.

Calm yourself, Yugi. These people are professionals – they know better than anyone that the evidence never lies. And there can be no evidence against Joey because he did not commit the crime.

The door opened, and through it walked a taller man with a brown beard and curly graying hair. At first glance, he almost reminded Yugi of his grandfather, except with glasses. Although the man offered the Motous a smile, Yugi could tell that his countenance was perpetually grim – likely a sign of his years of experience.

"Solomon and Yugi Motou?" he said. "My name is Gil Grissom, I oversee the team that's working the case for Joey."

"Is Joey okay?" Yugi blurted out. He mentally kicked himself for the outburst.

"Joey's fine, we gave him a cot and had him stay overnight here," Grissom assured him. "He didn't exactly take kindly to us, but..."

"Please forgive him," Solomon implored. "He doesn't like authority figures."

"So I've heard. Don't worry about it, we've seen worse." Grissom sat down opposite the Motous. His eyes flashed across the Puzzle. "Nice necklace."

"Oh. Thanks." Yugi cupped his hand to the Puzzle again, more protectively this time.

"Mr. Grissom, is there any way my grandson might speak to Joey? They're best friends and do worry about each other," Solomon said.

"Of course. I need to ask you both some questions first." Grissom tapped the portfolio he carried. "Joey's records show he's had his share of trouble. Gang violence, bullying..."

"Nobody knows the bullying better than Yugi," said Solomon, "and Tristan can confirm the gang violence. But Joey has never killed anyone, nor has he ever been the type to even consider it."

"Few people don't consider murder at some point or another, Mr. Motou," Grissom commented wryly.

"Nevertheless, Joey is not a killer, and were I in your position, I would believe him when he tells me he is innocent."

"No one's accused him of any wrongdoing."

"He's still your prime suspect. You wouldn't have kept him here otherwise."

Grissom pursed his lips. He's got me there. "Joey's alibi can't be confirmed. Unless you'd like to tell me that he was with you, or in some area where video surveillance might have caught him at the time of the murder."

"I'm sorry, I have no idea where he was," Solomon responded. He turned to Yugi. "Do you?"

"Well... his breath smelled of chili when he came to our room just before he found the body," Yugi said. "He might have gone to get food. Maybe he was in a food court?"

"He did say he got a chili dog earlier last night," Grissom acknowledged. "But right now, we haven't found any conclusive evidence to indicate anyone was in the room except Joey and the victim."

"Who was the victim, anyway?" Yugi inquired suddenly.

"Oh. I thought somebody might have told you. The victim was Gordon Henstridge, the owner of the Luxor." Both Motous showed recognition of the name – their expressions became much more wary. Grissom tried to choose his next words with care. "Joey mentioned... an incident of some sort occurring Monday afternoon involving Henstridge's son."

Both Motous scoffed, but Solomon was the first to speak. "'Incident' hardly describes it, Mr. Grissom. Would it help the investigation if we told you about it?"

"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "Right now I'm grasping at straws."

Yugi's expression displayed unexpected amusement at that statement. Grissom chose not to question it, but instead kept his gaze level on the businessman.

"In that case, settle in," Solomon replied, "because for a complete account, you'll need both of us – this story may take a while."

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Two Days Earlier

Ground Level Casino, Luxor Hotel

–

"You sure you're gonna be fine, Mr. Motou?"

Yugi's grandfather chuckled. "Trust me, Téa, I'll be perfectly fine. I need to earn back all that money, remember? Besides, it's not the first time I've gone into this casino."

"No, but it's the first time we'll be leaving you in it for hours on end."

Yugi's face contorted – as much as he wanted to go have fun with his friends, he didn't want to leave his grandpa by himself in the casino. It's a perfect place for him to suddenly develop epilepsy...

Solomon saw the worry in his grandson's gaze and laid a hand on Yugi's shoulder. "Yugi, my boy, you have the heart of a saint. Trust me. I will be just fine, and if I'm not fine, I'm going to make sure someone comes along and lets you know. Is that fair?"

Yugi nodded, then glanced around at the slot machines and card tables. He smiled half-heartedly at his grandfather. "Guess you'd better get to it, then."

Solomon smiled. "Go on, get out of here and have some fun. That's why you're here."

Yugi nodded again, then grinned at the others. "C'mon, let's go visit the arcade."

"Awesome!" Tristan enthused. "They've got a Time Crisis game there."

"I saw a DDR machine," Téa added.

"I think I saw a Duel Monsters simulator in there, too," Joey noted. He scratched his head. "Then again... I dunno if I want to go in one of those..."

Solomon's smile widened as he turned and headed for one of the blackjack tables. Ahh, to be young again...

Fifteen minutes at the blackjack table made him $1500 U.S. richer than when he'd first set foot in this place, and he was already enjoying himself immensely. It's both a card game and a puzzle... you just have to decide which parts are going to fit at which time. Joey would be proud. He put $500 into play and smiled easily at the dealer – an attractive young thing who could hardly be much older than Téa. She dealt him two cards: a 2, and a Queen. And then she dealt herself a King.

"Excuse me... sir?"

And here we go, Solomon thought grumpily. He'd heard about the people who would come along and distract players from the game, to try and get them to lose money to the house just as quickly as they'd won it. He ignored the voice. "Hit."

"Sir? I'm sorry to interrupt your game, but are you Solomon Motou?"

The old man raised an eyebrow as the girl placed another card next to the Queen – a 4. He turned to meet the face of the man who'd spoken his name. The bald gentleman was wearing a smile and a suit that had to be worth twice as much as Solomon had already won.

The elder Motou nodded his head once. "Yes, I am. And you are...?"

"Simon Henstridge," the man answered, extending a hand. "I help manage the Luxor's various establishments."

Solomon warily shook Henstridge's hand, noting that it wore a glove. "Well, Mr. Henstridge, I believe you have a fine business going on here, in just about every aspect of this hotel. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, I think you've already done me a great service by providing feedback on our services. We always like to know how our customers are doing."

"Sir? Hit or stay?"

Solomon turned back to the game, inspected the table – Queen, 2, and 4. Sixteen total. Rulebook says to stick with it at fifteen or higher. He smirked. But then, Joey's not the only one who can play the odds. "Hit."

He could feel Henstridge raising an eyebrow at the back of his head. "You're sure about that, Mr. Motou?"

"Positive," Solomon answered, not turning around. "Hit."

She put an Ace in front of him.

Seventeen... He considered a moment further, then said, "Stay with that."

"Dealer gets..." She drew and placed the card next to her King. "A six..." She drew another card and laid it down alongside the others. "Another King. Dealer busts."

As Solomon was awarded $500 for his efforts, he turned and looked Henstridge in the eye. "If I had stayed with my sixteen, the dealer would have drawn a 20 and I would have lost five hundred dollars. Now, if you have something of some importance you'd like to say to me, I would suggest – politely, of course – that you do so and then move on."

Henstridge didn't flinch, which came as no surprise to Solomon; he was quite certain the man had heard the same thing from countless other customers. "Actually, there is something I'd like to talk with you about. You see, I'm a Duel Monsters fanatic, and I consider your grandson–"

Solomon held up his hand. "You can stop right there, Mr. Henstridge. Firstly, I will not grant you permission to shamelessly gawk at my grandson as though he is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Not now, not ever."

"With all due respect, Mr. Motou, I think you're downplaying–"

"I'm not finished speaking," Solomon snapped. "I said 'firstly', meaning I have more than one point to make, and you, sir, have nothing so important to say as to warrant interruption. Secondly, my grandson is here to enjoy himself... not to bask in the adulation of adoring fans mistaking him for this year's Japanese Idol. The undying attention he's been receiving back home is exactly one of the reasons he was so eager to come here – that attention is not wanted. It's not wanted at home, and it certainly isn't wanted here."

"Mr. Motou, I only–"

"I am still not finished. Thirdly, I am deeply offended on Yugi's behalf that you would even consider trying to use our relationship to get to him. You'll curry no favor with either him or me for that kind of behavior, Mr. Henstridge, none at all. Yugi and I are nothing more than guests who wish to entertain ourselves during our stay. Now, either leave me alone, or stand aside so I can take my business elsewhere."

The younger man's mouth worked open, closed, open again – Solomon briefly wondered if the man was attempting to imitate a goldfish – then turned around and disappeared in the throngs of people foolishly feeding coins to the slot machines.

Solomon harrumphed and turned back to the table to collect his winnings. He departed the stand and sought out a poker table instead. "Serves him right," he muttered. He had hoped he wouldn't have to make that speech to anyone here, but now he realized that had been too much to ask for.

Yugi was famous. There was no denying that. And at first, Solomon had wanted to share in that fame, show his grandson off to everyone who would come to see him – take pride that his own flesh and blood was so well-known.

Until one morning, he was sweeping in front of his store and saw a cadre of children jeering at and threatening Yugi. Saw the disheartened look on his grandson's face as he trudged to school, people of all ages needling him the entire way up the street. The only thing that had saved him from bodily harm was the timely arrival of Joey and Tristan, who stared down the crowd and sheltered Yugi from their wrath.

It was that morning Solomon realized just how difficult it had all been on his grandson. Yugi was his flesh and blood, yes – and that meant Solomon had an obligation to him. To Yugi. Not to his fame, his prestige. If the boy wanted to be left alone, he should be able to have that wish granted, should he not?

That night, he and Yugi – and Yami – had a long talk. They discussed what he wanted, with regards to his fame. Did he want to just stay home from school for a while? Did he want Grandpa to call the school and discuss the issue with his teachers? Did he want people seeing him? Did he just want to be left alone?

That last one sounded fantastically simple to everyone... and absolutely wonderful to Yugi, who had nearly cracked under the pressure his fans, his enemies, and even his unknowing grandfather had put him under. Simple though it was, easy it was not – but Solomon revived the fighting spirit that had so gifted his legacy, and made things right for the boy.

After all... how could he have done anything else?

Most of the afternoon was spent on thoughts such as these in the back of his mind, though he continued to play the various games of the casino. He even dropped a coin or two into a slot machine – with no success, of course, but he didn't expect any. He just felt like getting rid of loose change. He was quick to note the irony, though, when the person sitting next to him suddenly cheered as the device he had so diligently been feeding started regurgitating coins at an alarming rate into a bucket. He avoided the craps tables; evidently the dice weren't being kind to the players today. He got into a poker game or two, won one game with a fairly decent hand, and then returned to blackjack. It was simpler than most other card games here, and Solomon was all about cards.

Soon enough, he found himself with winnings of $4000 – a sizeable amount, no matter what currency it would eventually be exchanged for. He had lost a few games here and there, but the energy hadn't been right, and the Heart Of The Cards had let him know in time to keep from losing a noteworthy amount.

And things are feeling good again, he thought excitedly. He put $1500 worth of chips into play, and silently rejoiced when he was awarded a 10 and an Ace for his effort. The dealer drew a 4.

"Keep it right there!" he pronounced happily.

The dealer drew: 3, 5, Jack. "Twenty-two, dealer busts."

Solomon laughed aloud – and then abruptly stopped when he saw the shadows spreading across the table. He turned around, looked up... and up.

Two burly men wearing sunglasses towered over him. Neither one looked pleased... and indeed, if Solomon was correct, their job was not liable to make them happy, as they likely endured all manner of insults and curses–

"Sir, please take your money and come with us," the one on the right said.

Solomon had difficulty piecing together what the man had just said because it sounded like he was mumbling with his jaw wired shut. He didn't imagine that was a good sign.

Then the man placed a beefy hand on Solomon's shoulder.

The old man gulped. No, this was definitely not a good sign.

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© Matt Morwell, 2011