investigation that resulted in the shooting in the parking lot. I had also been responsible for the death of her best friend’s fiancé, but I didn’t think she was aware of that fact.
“You’re so beautiful I doubt I could afford you,” I said. It was the same line I used with all prostitutes.
“We take credit cards,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“Mine’s maxed out,” I said, but she put her warm hand in mine and sat next to me on the sofa, then her mouth was next to my ear. “I guarantee you won’t leave disappointed,” she said. The beginning of the full-court press.
“You mind if we talk a little first?” I said, confident she didn’t remember me. Prostitutes who spend any length of time in the trade learn to forget the men they meet very quickly.
“Whatever you want,” she purred.
“Last week a blond dude came through here. About my age, maybe a little shorter. A decent looking fellow, probably drunk or on drugs.”
“Maybe you’re talking about Lotto-boy,” she said with a laugh. “Kind of handsome, ripped half out of his mind, went to the VIP room with three of us.”
“Lotto-boy?”
“Yeah. Guy claimed he won a forty-million-dollar lottery.”
I pulled the picture Sheila Majorie had given me from my front pocket.
“This him?”
She studied the photo briefly. “Yeah, that’s the man. But his hair’s longer now, and he looks older.”
We sat in silence for a moment, while she snuggled her chest into my ribs and ran her fingers down my forearm. I tried my best to ignore my body’s reaction.
“Did he say where he’s staying, by any chance?”
“He talked a lot about all his money.”
“How about where he’s staying?”
“He said he was going to drive his Ferrari down to Vegas.”
“You mean his Lamborghini.”
“Yeah, right. Then he said he was going to build the most bitchin’ mansion money can buy.”
“Did he say where?”
“Nope.”
I was trying to peel her arms off my shoulders when I saw the man at the bar, Sanzini, approach us.
“What’s this about a guy in a Lamborghini?” he said.
“I was having a private conversation with the lady,” I said.
He bent down to her. “Tell me about the guy in the Lamborghini.”
She looked up at his brutish face and crossed her legs. “You’re acting rude,” she said. “I don’t like rude.”
“I asked you a goddamn question,” he said, loud enough to get the attention of the bartender.
I walked around the couch and stood facing Sanzini, our faces no more than a foot apart. I noticed his partner at the bar, sitting quietly.
Sanzini stared at me, his eyes twitching in agitation. “Get out of my face,” he said, stepping back. I moved toward him, and he shoved me in the chest with both hands.
At that moment, a tall, gangly man emerged from a side room. He came at us, carrying a billy club, the kind with a short handle attached at a ninety-degree angle. A difficult weapon to defend against, assuming your adversary knows how to use it. He also wore a snub nose .38 on his hip. I sat on the back of the sofa and folded my hands in front of me.
The bartender pointed at Sanzini and me with two fingers.
“Maybe next time,” I said to the Asian lady, and headed for the door. Sanzini started to say something, but I didn’t wait around to hear it.
Outside it was still and dark in the high desert. I waited in my truck, and a minute later Sanzini stumbled out of the whorehouse, his friend trailing behind him. Sanzini held his thigh and limped. The pair made their way to their motorcycles, and I rolled down my window so I could listen to what appeared to be escalating into a shouting match.
“You are one dumb mother, Sanzini. Jesus Christ, ain’t no one gonna cooperate with you if you’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck you, Rancour! The only dumb thing I did was hook up with you.”
The smaller man whom Sanzini called Rancour climbed onto the chopped Honda and crossed his arms against the
“You’re so beautiful I doubt I could afford you,” I said. It was the same line I used with all prostitutes.
“We take credit cards,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“Mine’s maxed out,” I said, but she put her warm hand in mine and sat next to me on the sofa, then her mouth was next to my ear. “I guarantee you won’t leave disappointed,” she said. The beginning of the full-court press.
“You mind if we talk a little first?” I said, confident she didn’t remember me. Prostitutes who spend any length of time in the trade learn to forget the men they meet very quickly.
“Whatever you want,” she purred.
“Last week a blond dude came through here. About my age, maybe a little shorter. A decent looking fellow, probably drunk or on drugs.”
“Maybe you’re talking about Lotto-boy,” she said with a laugh. “Kind of handsome, ripped half out of his mind, went to the VIP room with three of us.”
“Lotto-boy?”
“Yeah. Guy claimed he won a forty-million-dollar lottery.”
I pulled the picture Sheila Majorie had given me from my front pocket.
“This him?”
She studied the photo briefly. “Yeah, that’s the man. But his hair’s longer now, and he looks older.”
We sat in silence for a moment, while she snuggled her chest into my ribs and ran her fingers down my forearm. I tried my best to ignore my body’s reaction.
“Did he say where he’s staying, by any chance?”
“He talked a lot about all his money.”
“How about where he’s staying?”
“He said he was going to drive his Ferrari down to Vegas.”
“You mean his Lamborghini.”
“Yeah, right. Then he said he was going to build the most bitchin’ mansion money can buy.”
“Did he say where?”
“Nope.”
I was trying to peel her arms off my shoulders when I saw the man at the bar, Sanzini, approach us.
“What’s this about a guy in a Lamborghini?” he said.
“I was having a private conversation with the lady,” I said.
He bent down to her. “Tell me about the guy in the Lamborghini.”
She looked up at his brutish face and crossed her legs. “You’re acting rude,” she said. “I don’t like rude.”
“I asked you a goddamn question,” he said, loud enough to get the attention of the bartender.
I walked around the couch and stood facing Sanzini, our faces no more than a foot apart. I noticed his partner at the bar, sitting quietly.
Sanzini stared at me, his eyes twitching in agitation. “Get out of my face,” he said, stepping back. I moved toward him, and he shoved me in the chest with both hands.
At that moment, a tall, gangly man emerged from a side room. He came at us, carrying a billy club, the kind with a short handle attached at a ninety-degree angle. A difficult weapon to defend against, assuming your adversary knows how to use it. He also wore a snub nose .38 on his hip. I sat on the back of the sofa and folded my hands in front of me.
The bartender pointed at Sanzini and me with two fingers.
“Maybe next time,” I said to the Asian lady, and headed for the door. Sanzini started to say something, but I didn’t wait around to hear it.
Outside it was still and dark in the high desert. I waited in my truck, and a minute later Sanzini stumbled out of the whorehouse, his friend trailing behind him. Sanzini held his thigh and limped. The pair made their way to their motorcycles, and I rolled down my window so I could listen to what appeared to be escalating into a shouting match.
“You are one dumb mother, Sanzini. Jesus Christ, ain’t no one gonna cooperate with you if you’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck you, Rancour! The only dumb thing I did was hook up with you.”
The smaller man whom Sanzini called Rancour climbed onto the chopped Honda and crossed his arms against the
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