[The unnamed one]

Haha nice ....

[RACHEL02189]

Does anyone remember how much the hummer went for auction in real life? Wouldn't be funny if it went for the same price in this story.

[The unnamed one]

A couple weeks ago Criss Angel put some of his most prized vehicles up for action at*Barrett-Jackson car auction. One of the most popular rides was his custom designed 2006 H2 Hummer. The Hummer was sold for $100,000.

Las Vegas magician Criss Angel put seven cars from his personal collection in the auction, including a 2006 Hummer H2 that fetched $100,000. The Hummer was used on the show “Mindfreak” and was on display for a while inside the Luxor. The front of the vehicle spits out playing cards and has a custom lock and chain guard inspired by Harry Houdini.
*
To see the Hummer in action check out “Impenetrable” from season four of MindFreak!

That was written in October of 2011

[Smurf]

Great Chapter Poor Criss , can't wait to read more

[Veritas]

"Sold for eight thousand dollars," they heard the auctioneer call out. "And that's the end of the bidding. Thank you and have a pleasant evening."

A smattering of applause, and the auction was over. The last motorcycle was wheeled off the platform to be transferred to its new owner. The remnants of the audience rose from their seats, stretching their limbs from having sat for so long, and headed for the exit. George and Angela went with them, arm in arm, while Darlene remained behind, hoping to catch one glimpse of Criss Angel before she left. George had said he'd be available after the bidding, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Where is he? she wondered impatiently. He'd promised me he'd be here!

Meanwhile, the kitchen and wait staff were clearing the tables, taking down the buffet, gathering the linens, tossing away the floral centerpieces (the crystal bowls belonged to the florist, so they were set aside to be picked up), and stacking the chairs. In the morning, the maintenance staff would come in and roll away the tables, take down the podium, disconnect the sound system, the plasma TV screens, and the rotating platforms so they would be ready to be returned to the rental agency.

Pastor Bob Beaman strolled over to the donation box to pick up whatever had been dropped inside it. It had been a great evening, he thought, a successful evening. With the proceeds from the auction and in the box, added to Angela's prize money donation, the shelter could operate for years without the spectre of bankruptcy hovering over it. At last, God's mission to aid the poor could finally be fulfilled. Humming an upbeat gospel tune, he slid the bolt back and opened the box.

It was empty.

Puzzled, he felt around inside the box. He touched nothing but plywood on all sides. A sense of disappointment came over him. Didn't anyone care to donate? he wondered. Somebody should have dropped something over the course of the evening. What had happened?

He looked around and spotted one of the security guards who had been on duty that evening. "Uh, excuse me, sir," he called out politely. "Did you happen to see anyone make any donations into the box tonight?"

"No, sir, I didn't," the guard replied. "I was posted by the north entrance. Collins was by the south side; maybe you should go ask him."

"Where's Collins?"

The guard looked around. "Um, oh, hey, there he is, over by the stage. The tall guy with the red hair."

Pastor Bob thanked him and headed towards Collins, who was speaking to Chief of Security Macaffey. "Uh, excuse me gentlemen," he said. "Are you Mr. Collins?"

The red-haired uniformed guard turned to him. "I'm Officer Collins," he said.

"I'm Pastor Bob Beaman. You were by the south side entrance tonight, weren't you?"

"I was posted there, yes," Collins replied.

"Were you watching the donation box at any time?"

Collins shrugged. "On and off. Mostly I was keeping an eye on the people coming in, watching for gatecrashers."

"Did you see anyone drop anything in the donation box?"

Collins tried to recall. "Well, I saw one or two people slip something in there," he replied.

Pastor Bob turned to Macaffey. "Did you?"

"I wasn't on the floor tonight," Macaffey told him. "I was in the office on the monitor." He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering. "Oh, yeah, a couple of giddy girls came in this afternoon to drop something in there, but that was it. Why do you want to know?"

"Because the box is empty."

Macaffey's hackles rose. "Empty?"

"The box is empty," the pastor repeated. "Come take a look for yourselves."

The two guards strode over to the donation box, opened the back door and looked inside. "Nothing," Collins said.

"You sure someone from the shelter didn't come by and pick it up?" Macaffey asked.

"I didn't tell anyone to do that," the pastor answered him. "No one was here from the shelter except me, at least no one I know of."

Macaffey turned to Collins. "You see anyone near this box?"

"No, sir," Collins replied. "I was watching out for gatecrashers, just like you ordered."

Macaffey nodded. He really couldn't fault Collins for the theft, if there was one. He had been ordered to watch out for gatecrashers, and that was what he had been doing; he couldn't watch the doors and the box at the same time. It was the flimsy donation box with the sliding bolt that was at fault; if it had been locked, whatever was in there would still be in there. He turned to Pastor Beaman. "You should have put a lock on that box," he admonished the pastor. "Anyone could come along and help themselves to what's inside."

"We've had that box for years!" Pastor Bob protested. "No one's ever broken into it, no matter where we put it!"

"First time for everything, Pastor," Macaffey said. "First time for everything." He laid a hand on the pastor's shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll find the thief who did it," he said. "Even if we have to shake down everybody in the entire hotel to do it."





Angela, meanwhile, strolled alongside George with a feeling of contentment she had never known before. She was sorry to see the night end. It had been so wonderful, it was almost like a dream. She seemed to float across the floor on a cloud, wrapped in a cozy blanket of bliss. The nightmares of the past had vanished into nothing; ahead was eternal sunshine and happiness. Don't wake me up, she said to herself. I want this to last forever and ever and ever...

"Angela? Is that you?"

She emerged from her blissful state to see Pastor Bob standing by the donation box with two uniformed guards. Still glowing from the evening, she smiled brightly at him, something the pastor had never seen her do. "Oh, hello, Pastor," she greeted him happily. "Good to see you again."

"Yes, good to see you, too," the pastor said, astonished at the stunning transformation of his volunteer tutor in her designer gown and beaded hair. "You look...quite nice this evening."

"Thank you," Angela responded. "You remember George, don't you?"

"Yeah, I remember George," Pastor Bob said hastily. "Uh, say, Angela, you wouldn't happen to have taken the money out of the donation box, would you?"

"Me?" She shook her head. "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

The pastor sighed. "Because it seems somebody's stolen it."

That single statement sent Angela crashing down to earth. The blissful feeling crumbled to dust while her tension mounted. "Stolen it?" she echoed, horrified. "Who could have done such a thing?"

"That's what we're asking you," Macaffey said gruffly. "You know anything about it?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Angela protested. "I was with George the whole evening! Wasn't I, George?"

George nodded in confirmation. "That's right, she was," he said firmly. "Swear to God, she was nowhere near that box!"

Macaffey eyed Angela's evening bag. "Could I see your purse, please?" he requested officiously.

Too intimidated to refuse, Angela reluctantly handed the chief her bag. He opened it up and emptied the contents onto the donation table. He found a lipstick case, a small brush, a cylinder of mascara, a tiny change purse holding three dollars in cash, a ticket stub, and a cell phone--nothing incriminating. "Well, you're clear," Macaffey said. "You know anyone who might have taken it? Another worker at the shelter, perhaps?"

"Officer, I swear to you I don't know anyone who would do such a thing!" Angela insisted. "The only other person who was here tonight was Darlene Milliken, and I know she didn't do it!"

"Where is she?"

Angela pointed over to the stage. "Over there, waiting for Criss Angel to appear."

Macaffey turned to Collins. "You go over and talk to the Milliken girl," he ordered. "I'm going up to video surveillance to see if they picked up anything on tape."

Collins nodded. "Got it."

The two guards separated. Angela leaned against George's chest. "Oh, Lord," she groaned. "Why did this have to happen?"

"Now, now, don't fret Angela," Pastor Bob said soothingly. "We'll solve this mystery in a heartbeat. They got it all on tape, just like the chief said. We'll catch this thief in no time. Don't you worry about a thing."

"He's right, Angie," George said, squeezing her shoulder affectionatly. "I know those guys up in the surveillance room--they don't miss a trick. They got three-sixty degree coverage of every square inch of the hotel. You can't even scratch your (bleeps)--oh, sorry, Pastor--you can't even scratch yourself without them noticing. And besides, what's a few dollars in the box compared to what we pulled in with the auction tonight?"

"It's not the money, George," Angela protested, "it's the principle of the thing. Theft is theft, no matter how much it is! That money was supposed to go to the shelter, and now it's gone."

Pastor Bob laid a hand on Angela's bony shoulder. "You go on home and rest," he told her gently. "With God's help, we'll clear up this mess. Don't you worry about it."

Angela nodded wearily. She bid the pastor good night and walked out of the ballroom with George. "Don't let this ruin your evening, Angie," George said. "This is Vegas. Theft is everywhere. Dealers skim money from bets; players count cards and tamper with the slots; people embezzle money from work. Where there's money, there's crime. That's why we got guys like Macaffey to enforce the rules, and the eye in the sky to watch over everything. It's a fact of life here in Sin City. You just have to deal with it."

"Still," Angela sighed, "I just wish..."

But she never finished that thought. She was too tired and upset to argue. The best night of her life had been ruined by some petty thief. Whoever it was, she vowed never to forgive him for that.




Darlene's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Stolen?" she gasped. "But how?"

"That's what I hope to find out from you, Ms. Milliken," Officer Collins replied. "You know anything about the theft?"

"No way! I was nowhere near that box!"

"You have any idea who would take it?"

"Other than Pastor Bob, I can't think of anyone. Don't you guys have it on tape somewhere?"

"Yes, ma'am, we do, but we need to question any eyewitnesses as well."

"Well, it's not me, I can tell you that!" Darlene retorted. "I have no idea who would do such a thing."

Collins' radio receiver crackled. He pressed the transmitter button and spoke into it. "Collins' here."

"Collins?" It was the unmistakable voice of Chief Macaffey. "Get up here to surveillance. I think we got our thief."

"Ten-four." Collins snapped off the receiver. "We got something on tape," he said. "Thank you for your time, ma'am."

Darlene merely shrugged. "Hey, no problem," she said. "But, hey, if you see Criss Angel, let him know I'm looking for him, okay?"

[Smurf]

Great Chapter can't wait to read more the story is getting exciting

[The unnamed one]

Nice .... Wonder if it was that witch of a sister Bianca

[Veritas]

Macaffey and Connor watched as the grainy black-and-white security videotape played itself out on the twelve-inch monitor. It showed a bird's-eye view of the south entrance with the donation box in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. For the first five minutes everything was normal; except for the occasional envelope dropped into the slot, the box was pretty much ignored by all concerned. The image of Officer Collins patrolling the entrance popped up every now and then, crossing the floor and back, then disappearing from view, and repeating the process over and over again. "Seems pretty routine so far," Macaffey muttered.

Suddenly a couple of elegantly dressed partygoers swept onto the screen, drinks in hand, their faces contorted with laughter. Macaffey could tell they were obviously drunk. "You remember those two?" he asked Collins.

"Yes, sir, I do," Collins replied. "They didn't try to steal anything. They just had a few too many, that's all. I made sure they got home in a cab after the party. They were pretty plastered."

Macaffey nodded approvingly. "Good job."

The drunken couple cavorted before the camera for a couple of minutes, then exited stage right. In that space of time, they had completely blocked the view of the donation box. Then someone else came onto the scene--a woman in a white floor-length gown, with a white turban covering her head and dark glasses over her eyes. The mystery woman appeared to have taken advantage of the drunken couple long enough to slip behind the donation box, pause for a moment, then slip away again, clutching her purse close to her abdomen. The surveillance officer pointed to the screen. "You see that?" he asked. "There's your thief."

"Okay, rewind that!" Macaffey ordered. "See if you can get a close up on our lady in white."

The surveillance officer rewound the tape just long enough to replay the crime. The drunken couple once again frolicked on screen, then the mystery woman appeared. "Okay, freeze!" Macaffey barked.

The surveillance officer hit the pause button. The tape stopped immediatly, creating a bizarre still-life on the screen. "Now, zoom in on her."

The image of the woman in white drew closer to the screen. "Can you run her through the records, see who she is?" Macaffey asked.

The surveillance officer highlighted the woman's features and downloaded them into the criminal records file. Then he ran the program, hoping for a match. After flipping through dozens of mug shots, no match was found. "No good," he said. "The image is too vague. We'd have to digitalize it, and the only guy who can do that is off duty tonight."

"Well, bring him in and tell him he's back on duty!" Macaffey snapped. "I want this (bleep's) ass in custody yesterday!"




Back in the apartment, Angela carefully stored her DeVris gown in it's plastic sheathing and hung it far back into the closet. God only knew when she would wear it again. It was pretty, but it had been way too expensive just to wear to an auction, even one as fancy as the one at the Luxor. It looked more appropriate for a wedding or something.

A wedding. The very word made her smile. That was a pleasant idea. With the proper veil and a bouquet of white roses, her favorite flower, it would make a nice wedding gown at that. She giggled a little, picturing herself in her DeVris gown with a matching veil, carrying her bouquet of white roses, stepping slowly down the aisle of an anonymous church to the music of the church organ, to the altar where George waited for her--

She shook the thought out of her head. Let's get real here! How do I know George wants to marry me? How do I know he wants to marry at all? Besides, I just met the man, for heaven's sake! I know he likes me, but he may not want to marry me, at least not right now.

Angela looked at herself in the mirror over the dresser. She still had her makeup on, and her hair was still braided with its shimmering beads, but deep down she still saw the old-maid schoolteacher she had always been. The old feeling of inadequacy came over her. What if sometime in the future he wants to break up with me? In fact, he might find someone else, someone better than I am, someone prettier like those dancers in those Vegas shows. We're together now, but for how long?

Stop it! she scolded herself. How do you know he doesn't want to marry you? After all you and he went through after Bianca threw you over that balcony! You saw the look in his eyes when he took you home after your first date with him! The two of you were made for each other! If he's stupid enough to break up with you, it's his loss, not yours!

That last thought startled her. Oh, my God! I'm starting to think like Darlene!

[The unnamed one]

Aw...... That was a short post ...... Oh well ...... Good story though.

[RACHEL02189]

George would never break up with her unless she's starts actting like her sister