Fontaine had chosen theirs, and Sammy wasn't going to sleep soundly until he knew why.
“He's a shark,” Sammy said, “and we'd better find him before he bites us again.”
5
V egas's McCarran International Airport had grown up since Valentine's last visit. Movable sidewalks, celebrity voice-overs on the PA system, upscale boutiques and jewelry stores, splashy promo films for the casinos on digital screens at the baggage claim. It was a regular amusement park, complete with video poker and banks of gleaming one-armed bandits.
“They say the casinos cheat their customers,” a fiftyish woman wearing an I LOVE L EONARDO D I C APRIO T-shirt and support hose remarked as they waited for their bags. “You think that's true?”
“Absolutely not,” Valentine replied, noting the plastic bucket filled with silver dollars clutched to her bosom. No luggage, and she was already betting the rent. “The state of Nevada wouldn't permit it. The casinos are the single biggest source of revenue the state has. They make sure everything's on the square.”
“On the what?”
“On the square. As in legit.”
“Oh. You some big-time gambler or something?”
“I don't play,” he admitted. “It's a poor man's tax.”
A flashing red light on the baggage carousel went off. The woman's eyes brimmed with hatred and Valentine got the feeling he'd ruined her vacation before it had started. Their bags came off the carousel together, dead last.
Valentine lugged his suitcase outside and stepped into an oven. High noon, and the desert was burning up. Standing on line at the taxi stand, he heard a man call his name. Without his glasses, Valentine wasn't very good at recognizing people anymore, and he watched a tall, well-tanned individual approach, his cigar-store-Indian face gradually coming into focus. The off-the-rack suit had
law enforcement
written all over it.
“Bill Higgins. Fancy meeting you here.”
The two men warmly shook hands. It had been years, but Higgins hadn't changed. As head of Nevada's Gaming Control Bureau, he had forged a brave new world by joining forces with the New Jersey Division of Gaming Enforcement in the prosecution of a team of suspected hustlers. The alliance had worked, and the two bodies had been talking ever since.
“How's life treating you?” Higgins asked.
“Can't complain,” Valentine said. “Nobody listens.”
“Let me give you a ride.”
“You don't know where I'm going,” Valentine said as Higgins dragged his suitcase over to the curb. Then added, “Or do you?”
“The Acropolis, right?”
“Yeah,” Valentine said, unable to hide his annoyance. “Who told you?”
A white Volvo was parked in the fire zone, a bored-looking guy with a buzz cut at the wheel. Higgins tossed the suitcase into the trunk. Valentine slid into the backseat and Higgins got in beside him. The car edged into bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“To the Acropolis,” Higgins told the driver.
“The back way?” the driver asked.
“That's probably a good idea.” To Valentine, he said, “Traffic's gotten so bad you have to drive five miles out of your way just to get anywhere.”
“Who told you I was coming to town?” Valentine said.
“One of my sources,” Higgins replied. “It's funny, because I was going to give you a call.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. I need your help.”
The Volvo took the entrance ramp and edged into traffic on the Maryland Parkway. Bill wasn't the type to ask for help unless he was drowning; so much for the fun weekend away from home. Yet at the same time, it felt good to hear someone say he was needed.
“Help
's my middle name,” Valentine said.
“Retirement treating you well?” Higgins asked as the Strip's gaudy casinos came into view.
“Depends on your definition of
well,”
Valentine replied. “Lois died nine months ago, my son and I don't talk, and I seem to be clocking more hours than when I was a cop. Otherwise, it's not so bad.”
“I'm
“He's a shark,” Sammy said, “and we'd better find him before he bites us again.”
5
V egas's McCarran International Airport had grown up since Valentine's last visit. Movable sidewalks, celebrity voice-overs on the PA system, upscale boutiques and jewelry stores, splashy promo films for the casinos on digital screens at the baggage claim. It was a regular amusement park, complete with video poker and banks of gleaming one-armed bandits.
“They say the casinos cheat their customers,” a fiftyish woman wearing an I LOVE L EONARDO D I C APRIO T-shirt and support hose remarked as they waited for their bags. “You think that's true?”
“Absolutely not,” Valentine replied, noting the plastic bucket filled with silver dollars clutched to her bosom. No luggage, and she was already betting the rent. “The state of Nevada wouldn't permit it. The casinos are the single biggest source of revenue the state has. They make sure everything's on the square.”
“On the what?”
“On the square. As in legit.”
“Oh. You some big-time gambler or something?”
“I don't play,” he admitted. “It's a poor man's tax.”
A flashing red light on the baggage carousel went off. The woman's eyes brimmed with hatred and Valentine got the feeling he'd ruined her vacation before it had started. Their bags came off the carousel together, dead last.
Valentine lugged his suitcase outside and stepped into an oven. High noon, and the desert was burning up. Standing on line at the taxi stand, he heard a man call his name. Without his glasses, Valentine wasn't very good at recognizing people anymore, and he watched a tall, well-tanned individual approach, his cigar-store-Indian face gradually coming into focus. The off-the-rack suit had
law enforcement
written all over it.
“Bill Higgins. Fancy meeting you here.”
The two men warmly shook hands. It had been years, but Higgins hadn't changed. As head of Nevada's Gaming Control Bureau, he had forged a brave new world by joining forces with the New Jersey Division of Gaming Enforcement in the prosecution of a team of suspected hustlers. The alliance had worked, and the two bodies had been talking ever since.
“How's life treating you?” Higgins asked.
“Can't complain,” Valentine said. “Nobody listens.”
“Let me give you a ride.”
“You don't know where I'm going,” Valentine said as Higgins dragged his suitcase over to the curb. Then added, “Or do you?”
“The Acropolis, right?”
“Yeah,” Valentine said, unable to hide his annoyance. “Who told you?”
A white Volvo was parked in the fire zone, a bored-looking guy with a buzz cut at the wheel. Higgins tossed the suitcase into the trunk. Valentine slid into the backseat and Higgins got in beside him. The car edged into bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“To the Acropolis,” Higgins told the driver.
“The back way?” the driver asked.
“That's probably a good idea.” To Valentine, he said, “Traffic's gotten so bad you have to drive five miles out of your way just to get anywhere.”
“Who told you I was coming to town?” Valentine said.
“One of my sources,” Higgins replied. “It's funny, because I was going to give you a call.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. I need your help.”
The Volvo took the entrance ramp and edged into traffic on the Maryland Parkway. Bill wasn't the type to ask for help unless he was drowning; so much for the fun weekend away from home. Yet at the same time, it felt good to hear someone say he was needed.
“Help
's my middle name,” Valentine said.
“Retirement treating you well?” Higgins asked as the Strip's gaudy casinos came into view.
“Depends on your definition of
well,”
Valentine replied. “Lois died nine months ago, my son and I don't talk, and I seem to be clocking more hours than when I was a cop. Otherwise, it's not so bad.”
“I'm
Similar Books
