Death On the Flop Page 12

  After dessert of Zabadee el Mishmish, Frank picked up the tab, despite my attempt to grab it from our pharaoh server. “I owe you a thank you for all this time you are spending with my mess.”

  “There’ll be time for that later,” Frank promised.

  Tease. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. I’d never know because I couldn’t get the guts to look at him.

  We strolled back up The Strip. “Las Vegas was literally a natural oasis for thousands of years for the Indians—Ute and Paiute. Its artesian well made it a lush valley in the middle of the desert that wasn’t discovered by modern man until about three hundred years ago. Some Mexican traders happened along and named it ‘Las Vegas’.”

  “Which means fertile lowland in Spanish,” I said, craning my neck to look up one of the towers of the Excalibur.

  Frank nodded, impressed. “It’s ironic that the first settlers were Mormon, who set up a way station for mail and supplies here. But true to Las Vegas’ nature today, greed is what grew the town, when lead was discovered in the nearby hills. The Mormons eventually left and the mining struggled along. Finally the railroad came through, and it was Block 16 that put the stop on the map. There prostitution, gambling and liquor were legal. A defining moment in its history, I’d say. Otherwise the desert oasis might have faded into oblivion along with the mines. It’s had its ups and downs but at each turn, Sin City has been the master of PR, taking advantage of every opportunity—Hoover Dam, the atomic bomb, Hollywood’s fascination with the mob. It is the ultimate American success story. Opportunism at its most exaggerated.”

  His comment couldn’t have been better timed, as we were passing the expansive, overdone fountains of the Bellagio. Of course, our hotel, which was next door, wasn’t any less overwhelming, with its waterfalls, manufactured tropical mountains, smoking Kilauea volcano and sandy beaches that made up the front gardens leading to the hotel and casino.

  “So where do we start?” I asked, turning down a bamboo walkway bordered with orange hibiscus, white plumeria and green ferns. They were so real looking, I decided they had to be fake.

  Frank redirected me to follow him up The Strip. “We start by finding Abel. He’s my contact with the local authorities. He might be able to tell us about Conner. Then, we’ll look up Deidre. She’ll tell us more about Stan.”

  “Who’s Deidre?”

  “One of Stan’s ex-wives.”

  “She lives here?”

  “He lives here.”

  “That seems weird, for some reason. Too obvious, maybe. A professional gambler living in Las Vegas.”

  Frank didn’t comment, just kept walking up The Strip, past Barbary Coast, Flamingo and Harrah’s. I had to double time it to keep up and was grateful I’d put on flat shoes again. “So how many ex-wives has Stan had, anyway?”

  “I guess no one really knows for sure, but him. I know of three.”

  “Wow.” I said, “That amazes me, considering I couldn’t keep even one relationship together tight enough to get to the altar. I wonder how someone does more than I did three times.”

  “Some relationships shouldn’t see the altar,” Frank said, looking straight ahead.

  He could have been talking about his marriage, my engagement or one of Elizabeth Taylor’s many assignations, for that matter, but it was clear by his tone that whatever he meant wasn’t up for discussion. I nodded vaguely and tried to keep up. I was huffing and puffing by now, having decided after this and last night’s stairwell extravaganza that I was going to have to work out at the gym before I ever came to Vegas again. And they say you have to get in shape for a ski vacation. Ha.

  We crossed the street and wound our way around such a labyrinth I was grateful I was with a Vegas veteran. We’d just passed one dark pathway when we heard a low voice. “Yo, Frank.”

  Frank slipped into the shadow, dragging me in with him. I couldn’t see anything but the silhouette of a man on the pathway.

  “How’ve you been?” Frank asked.

  “I’m okay,” the voice said. “But my sister, she had to have a hysterectomy.”

  “Here.” Frank dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulled something out and handed it to the man. “Let me help your family.”

  “I will accept this for my sister.”

  “Thank you,” Frank said.

  “How have you been, Frank?”

  “I’ve been fine. But my friend, here, hasn’t. Her brother went missing while they were visiting on The Strip. We’re not sure, but a county cop named Daniel Conner might have had something to do with his disappearance.”

  “Why do you think that?” Abel turned his attention on me, although I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel his focus.

  When I hesitated, Frank nudged me. I had to trust Frank on this one. I sucked in a breath and told the story of the stairwell and the room behind the front desk. Then, because I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, I mentioned the Iceberg Effusion. I was glad I couldn’t see Frank’s eye roll. I expected Abel to ignore it. Instead it was what he addressed first.

  “We ought to have more women investigators. They always notice things we machos overlook. That, the Iceberg, is important, it is provable evidence—not enough to turn a case, but enough to build the strength of one—but more importantly, a link that Conner wouldn’t think he’s leaving.”

  Wow, who knew.

  “Conner is dangerous; he is smart and careful and rich and political. He works for some big jefe and can pay off those in the right places on the force to keep him operating. I’m sure the jefe pays off plenty too. Conner is on the fast track to high up in the force. I hear he may run for Sheriff. I think he won’t.”

  “If he’s really smart he won’t.” Frank put in.

  “True,” Abel said. “Although that is his punto flaco. He is vain and likes attention.”

  “We’ll remember that. Anything else?”

  “I don’t know who the jefe is, but aside from casinos who employ him to consult on security, he also consults security for Fresh Foods.”

  “What’s Fresh Foods?”

  “A giant produce supplier for the Southwest, based here in Nevada.”

  “What do you hear about it underground?”

  “NAFTA made the company. It is a relatively recent success. They get their product from Mexico.”

  “I hear an ‘and.’ Is there something illegal going on?”

  “And, that’s all I can say ahora.”

  “Thanks, man,” Frank said, reaching across the dark to shake Abel’s hand.

  “De nada.” Abel said softly, “Tienen cuidado, amigo. Su novia es muy hermosa.”

  “Oh, gracias,” I blurted in surprise, “Pero, no soy su novia.”

  Abel drifted away, tsking under his breath. “Es una verdadera lastima.”

  Frank put his hand on my elbow and directed me back onto the neon-lit sidewalk. We turned toward the south end of The Strip. “What was that all about at the end?”

  “He said to be careful,” I said quickly, trying to mask the blush that crept up my neck. “And, your girlfriend is pretty. I told him I wasn’t your girlfriend. He said that was a crying shame. I thought you knew Spanish.”

  “If I knew Spanish that well I’d have talked to him in Spanish. It’s safer. I just might have to keep you around as my translator.”

  I shot him a wry look out of the corner of my eye. “You have a lot of ESL candidates in your security business?”

  “Good try,” Frank snorted as he stepped forward to hail a cab zooming toward us down Las Vegas Boulevard. “I’m not biting.”

  “So how do you know Abel?” I asked. “If he’s a good cop, how come you bribed him?”

  “Good has a different degree of meaning here in Vegas. Plus, I gave the money to his family, not to him.” He ignored my raised eyebrows as he continued. “And, the reason I know people here is a lot of people from L.A. end up in Vegas for some inexplicable reason.”

  “Next closest freak
show,” I said.

  Frank looked at me sharply as a cab screeched to a stop next to the curb.

  “Sorry,” I said, not meaning it. “Guess I just insulted your hometown.”

  Muttering something about nosy women, he opened the door to the cab and pushed me in.

  “Where are we going now?” I asked.

  “The club on the corner of Ivy and Deen,” Frank told the cabbie.

  “What’s it called?” the cabbie demanded.

  Frank scrunched down in his seat an inch or two. “Fresh Fantasy,” he muttered.

  I rolled my eyes. He pretended to ignore me.

  The cabbie floored the accelerator. We careened down the next street and off The Strip. After a few more sharp rights and a sharp left, I couldn’t have found the place again, so I made a mental note not to lose Frank. We skidded to a stop in front of a men’s club with lots of action out front. There were women of various ages in various stages of undress in various poses, trying to get work among the men loitering outside. Some were trying to get the job done right there against the building wall.

  “Ack, I thought Vegas was being touted as the new family vacation spot,” I said, unable to resist the temptation to look.

  “That’s only The Strip. The rest of Vegas is pretty much what Vegas has always been.”

  Again, I wondered if I weren’t in an alternate universe as we walked past the hookers like they were hawking fresh flowers instead of themselves. Frank knocked once, then twice, paused, then three times more on a side door and it opened.

  “Been here before?” I put in snidely. Why I’d feel out of sorts about that I don’t know. It just seemed like Frank had more class than this, but I didn’t know him. Not really.

  Frank didn’t answer and I sulked behind him as he talked in a low tone to a no-neck bouncer. We were shown down a dark hallway that smelled of sweat, sex and strawberries. He used the same knock on a door that had “Deidre” carved into the wood like someone got bored with their pocket knife. Steely Stan’s ex. Wow, guess being married to him was pretty bad, if this was a better alternative.

  The door finally opened and a drop dead gorgeous twentysomething redhead in a rainbow jeweled string bikini that barely covered her triple D nipples and a thong stepped back to let us enter. Frank’s eyes never left her face. I found that incredibly hard to believe, since I couldn’t help looking at her perfect body. Maybe he was gay.

  Of course, maybe he hadn’t gotten there yet. Her cat green eyes, plush lips and porcelain skin took a while to properly appreciate, I’m sure. “Long time no see,” Deidre muttered, kissing Frank on the cheek and returning to the mirror where she picked up a bottle, sprinkled some oil on her thighs and began smoothing it on. Strawberry wafted through the room.

  “Why strawberry?”

  Was that me? I couldn’t believe I asked that out loud. What was coming over me? The alternative universe was making me brave.

  “Aw, my boss thinks it’s the sexiest fruit. Chocolate covered strawberries and all that crap.” Deidre had a voice like a chain saw. It made you cringe. Maybe God was fair after all.

  “Why not chocolate then, a real aphrodisiac?” I offered.

  “Oh, believe me, the asshole tried that, but most of the girls couldn’t handle it. It’s just too damned sweet and heavy. When it mixed with the sweat, it made us sick to our stomachs. At least strawberry keeps us feeling fresh.”

  Whoa. I guess every job has challenges one doesn’t consider.

  Frank looked from me to Deidre and back again. “You done with your oil consultation?”

  We looked at each other and shrugged.

  “I heard you and Stan broke up.”

  “Yeah, right before the bastard starts winning millions playing fricking poker. Wouldn’t you know? Of course I did get to enjoy a little, since he started raking it in before he ever won his first tournament.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Deidre sprinkled oil on her stomach and rubbed. “He was flashing around wads of hundreds like they were singles. It was way more money than he should’ve had then.”

  “Where was he working?”

  “As a dealer at the Galaxy.”

  “Was he working a casino scam?” Frank asked, still not watching her hands as they moved around to her bare rump.

  “I don’t think there. He didn’t really hang out with people who worked there. The people he started running with weren’t low level scam artists. They were slick. Smart and scary. It was something bigger. Maybe he’s out of it now, though, now that he’s so rich and famous on his own.”

  “You’re never too rich,” I murmured one of Toby’s mantras.

  Deidre shrugged. “I was then. I didn’t like those types and I told Stan. He told me that’s where the money was coming from and if I didn’t like it I could leave. It wasn’t until the night I found his truck full of porn that I finally did.”

  It seemed somewhat ironic that a stripper would have qualms about porn.

  “You think he was peddling skin flicks?” Frank asked.

  “Worse than that,” Deidre whispered, her hands stilling and her eyes full of real fear and anger. “Snuff films. From Mexico. They were killing these girls and they were begging for their lives in Spanish. I can still hear them in my nightmares.”

  Twelve

  “Mexico. That is the only common denominator we have found,” Frank mused once we were back in his room at the Lanai.

  “Maybe Conner worked for the Galaxy too, at one point. That would be another connection,” I suggested, sitting down at the table and absently shuffling the cards.

  Frank dialed a number, waited for an answer then pressed in a series of numbers before hanging up. Tension electrified his body as he paced from the window to the bar and back. “Maybe we are digging holes nowhere near where your brother is buried.”

  I gasped. He ran to the table and put his hands on my shoulders. “Cop lingo. I don’t mean really dead and buried, Honey Bee. I mean where he’s being kept in hiding. I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t used to a man saying he was sorry and meaning it. Ben said it and didn’t mean it. Neither Toby nor any man I’d ever dated seriously had ever even said it, referring to himself anyway. Huh. I tried to voice what I was feeling. “I just am trying not to think too hard about Ben. I’m taking it one step at a time in trying to reach him. But every now and then I get an image of him in a room, with a blaring TV, trying to get me a message through Mom, without worrying her, and his kidnapper comes in, finds him on the phone and kills him.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away. “But I can’t think that way, can I? Or I’ll have no motivation to go through with this damned tournament.”

  Frank’s phone rang. He held one finger up to me to hold my thought. He answered and listened, then said, “Don’t you guys have to log in your extra jobs? Can you check if Conner ever did consult work for the Galaxy casino? Sure, I’ve got all night.”

  It would be a break we’d been waiting for. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I started to get light-headed. Finally Frank spoke again, and I blew out my breath. “He didn’t. Thanks anyway. Listen, do you know anything about any snuff film industry south of the border?”

  He stalked across the room as he listened. A minute later, he hung up. “The snuff industry is supposed to be an evil fantasy. Most law enforcement officers don’t believe it exists. But Abel says he’s only heard that the Texas Rangers suspect the unusually high number of girls disappearing in the desert on the other side of the border over the last couple of years might be proof that there is such a thing as a snuff film industry. One that’s run by Americans and starring Mexicans.”

  I shook my head. “It’s tragic but I don’t see what it has to do with Ben or Texas Hold ’Em.”

  “Neither do I,” Frank said, frowning like he’d been expecting something different. Very different.

  “So what’s our next step?”

  Frank, obviously exp
ecting company, went to the door. In drifted two women and six men who all shook Frank’s hand and handed him a twenty dollar bill. I recognized one of the women as Spring from the bar at Caesars, she nodded to me. Frank introduced me. “Thanks for coming to give Bee here a crash course in Hold ’Em tournament play. She knows the basics. Have a seat and don’t treat her any differently than you would a stranger sitting next to you at a table on the floor downstairs. She’s gotta learn the hard way. So go get after it.”

  Everyone introduced themselves. Frank let each pick a seat number out of one of his baseball caps. I got the empty chair next to Spring. “I see Frank is sober,” she said as we peeked at our pocket cards. Ace/clubs, ten/diamonds.

  “I’ve kept him so busy, he hasn’t had time to drink,” I said, not realizing how it sounded, and unable to clarify for fear of giving away more than I should about the investigation.

  Spring winked. “Good for you. He’s a good man and has just been looking for a good reason to quit.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I doubted I was his good reason, just like I doubted he’d quit for good. But after The Flop of Jack/diamonds, four/spades and eight/diamonds, I didn’t have time to doubt anything but my skill, or lack thereof, at Texas Hold ’Em.

  Frank disappeared sometime in the first hour but I didn’t even see or hear him leave. I found that playing with real people instead of empty chairs honed my focus and interest in the cards. Perhaps there was a bit of type A in this type B girl after all.

  I won a hand or two, enough to still be in our single table tournament two hours later. Spring hung in there with me, along with another man who said he’d been playing poker on the Internet for ten years. He was predictable, though, one of those Rocks who’d just happened to get enough good cards to win little bits of money after scaring everyone at the table off the bet from the beginning. I think he’d only stayed in seven hands all night. He was one of those people who wouldn’t be able to hang in with the blinds if he had a bad run of hands.