Charlie Opera by Charlie Stella, Peter Skutches Page B

accountant in the mirror. “You pay those kids you fucked last night?”
    “Of course.”
    Lercasi finished combing his hair. He turned to Fein as he struck a match to light a cigarette.
    “I need a party tonight,” he said, with the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He lit the cigarette, took a long drag, and held the smoke inside his lungs a few seconds before letting it escape. “See what the mayor’s doing,” he added. “Or somebody on the City Council. Make it my party. Something public, where it’ll be picked up on the news.”
    “Are you bringing your wife?” Fein asked. He set the two crystal dice back on the coffee table.
    Lercasi opened his hands. “Am I bringing my wife? What kind of question is that? No, make it public, and I’ll bring Brenda. Of course I’m bringing my wife.”
    “Should I know what it’s about?”
    “Somebody skimmed thirty-two six last month from one of Gilly’s books. The somebody had a private line installed in one of his places a few months back for dime players. The tap come in last week. Thirty-two six in one month. Who knows how much the first five months before somebody figured it out.”
    The accountant swallowed hard. “I see.”
    “That’s already taken care of,” Lercasi said. He sat in a black leather recliner across from Fein. “Is it true you’re getting head in my massage rooms downstairs?”
    “No,” Fein said defensively. “I don’t need to get my head in the massage rooms.”
    “Brenda says you got some private noodle comes in to do you.”
    “Not true. Besides, Brenda hates my guts.”
    “Because I don’t need that kind of shit blowing up in my face over here. Some broad using my place to give head. You should know better than that.”
    “You know what I like, Jerry. I don’t need to get my joint copped in a gymnasium. I like to look, if anything. The worst she does is remove her top. And I don’t know how Brenda would know unless she installed a camera.”
    Lercasi smirked. He liked humiliating his accountant. “Just so long as you know what you’re doing,” he said. “After all, you’re my business manager, no?”
    “Maybe you should tell Brenda about that,” Fein said, acting offended then.
    Lercasi thought about the tuft of tissue between his girlfriend’s legs. “Brenda’s got other things to worry about,” he said. “Go make a party.”
    When Fein left Vive la Body, he ignored the contemptuous stare of Lercasi’s girlfriend at the front desk. He was feeling lucky about having a built-in excuse for being in Laughlin the night before. He had avoided a potentially dangerous question-and-answer period with his boss. Had he not made arrangements to screw a couple of teenagers in the whorehouse in Laughlin, his boss might have looked into Fein’s sudden trip to the mountains.
    Now his boss had other business for Fein to take care of. One of the bookmakers operating under Lercasi’s gambling business had skimmed money. Fein didn’t know whether the cash amount his boss mentioned was real, nor did he care to know. The bottom line was he was expected to arrange an alibi dinner for his boss tonight.
    Which meant the bookmaker who had skimmed the money was going to die. Probably at the same time the party was going on.
    Fein knew some of the names of bookmakers and pornographers in Las Vegas, but he didn’t study them. He figured he’d know within the next couple of days which one had robbed money from his boss. It would be all over the local news.

Chapter 10
    Nicholas Cuccia opened the package that was delivered to his room and held the tooth that was inside up to the light for examination. It was bloodstained above where the root of the tooth was broken. He winced at the thought of the pain a woman might feel from a broken tooth. He touched his jaw with his free hand. There was no way losing her tooth was as painful as his broken jaw.
    He had spent most of his morning annoyed. The six-hour flight from Kennedy with the