Gerry got back on the highway and followed the signs to Henderson. Jinky hadn’t been willing to share his egg rolls, yet now was offering them some easy money. It didn’t add up.
“We need to be careful,” Gerry said.
“For Christ’s sake, you think we’re going to get gunned down, going into a bar in broad daylight?” Vinny asked.
Gerry stared at the curving highway. There was a break in the traffic, and he hit the gas, thinking that Vinny didn’t know Las Vegas the way he knew Las Vegas. He’d grown up hearing stories from his father. Las Vegas had more scumbags than any city in America. Anything could happen here, and often did.
“Yes,” Gerry said.
The endless flow of money that was Las Vegas’s lifeblood did not stray far from the casinos, and the Voodoo Lounge looked like a desert outpost, the sandblasted paint job suggesting a long-forgotten Mexican theme. They got out of the rental and went inside.
The lounge was a low-ceilinged fire trap, with posters of bikini-clad women supplied by beer companies covering the walls. There was a pool table with purple felt, some tables, and a silent jukebox. A barrel-chested bartender stood by the cash register, polishing a glass. His only customer, a construction worker at the far end of the bar, was drinking a beer while staring at the hypnotic curls of smoke coming off his cigarette.
Vinny, Frank, and Nunzie took seats at the bar. Gerry looked around before sitting.
“What’s your pleasure?” the bartender asked.
“You have a happy hour?” Nunzie asked.
“We’re always in a good mood,” the bartender said.
“Any house drinks?” Frank asked.
“Ass juice.”
“What’s that?”
“Try one and find out,” the bartender said.
Gerry turned in his seat, and stared at the front door. There was something not right about the place, only he couldn’t put his finger on it. After a few moments of thinking, he realized what it was. No wheelchair access. He nudged Vinny with his elbow.
“This is a setup,” Gerry said.
Vinny stiffened. “Why are you so paranoid?”
“Jinky isn’t coming here.”
“Why not?”
“He can’t get his wheelchair through the fricking door.”
Vinny looked over his shoulder at the front door. “You think it’s an ambush?”
“I sure do,” Gerry said.
Gerry felt the gentle pulsation of his cell phone against his leg. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and stared at the text message: SON. YOUR LIFE IS IN DANGER. BE CAREFUL! POP. He showed the message to Vinny.
“My father feels the same way,” he said.
The most important aspect of a fight was the element of surprise. Whoever got the jump on his opponent usually won. Gerry ordered a draft, and as the bartender poured it, he jumped clean over the bar. At the same time, Vinny leaned over the bar, and grabbed the bartender by the wrists.
The bartender’s .38 Magnum was in a leather holster wedged between two perspiring coolers. Gerry drew the gun, and alternated pointing it at the construction worker and the bartender. Both men stared at him without a trace of fear in their eyes.
“All my money’s lying on the bar,” the construction worker said.
“Mine’s in the till,” the bartender said.
“Lift up your shirts, and show me what you’re carrying,” Gerry said.
Both men complied. The construction worker’s stomach was flat and white, the bartender’s round and hairy. Neither man was carrying any heat. Gerry made them drop their shirts, and pointed at the front door with the Magnum.
“Any idea who’s about to come through that door?”
The bartender had broken out in a wicked sweat. He shook his head.
“The mailman?” the construction worker asked.
Gerry looked at the bartender. “You know.”
“No, I don’t,” the bartender said.
“You’re lying.”
“I swear to God, I’m not.”
The bar’s front door banged open. Sunlight flooded the room, and a hooded man wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a shotgun came in. The hooded man hesitated, letting his eyes adjust. Although Gerry had been a bookie most of his life, he still went to church. He liked to think that God — in His infinite wisdom — watched over him. Like now, for instance. He was holding the most powerful handgun in the world, and had it pointed directly at the door. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger, and he wouldn’t end up playing a harp.
He pumped two bullets into the hooded man’s vest. The man flew backward like he had strings attached to him, the shotgun discharging into the ceiling and making the whole building shake. Gerry kept firing, and sent the man into the parking lot.
A getaway car was parked outside. The hooded man fell backward through the open passenger door, his face exposed to the sun. Gerry stared at his face, and realized it was the guy he’d seen in the hospital stairwell the night of Jack Donovan’s murder. The getaway car sped away before he could squeeze off another round.
A stiff wind shut the front door, and the lounge fell quiet. Vinny, Nunzie, and Frank were frozen to their spots and looked like they’d seen a ghost. Gerry looked at the bartender, who appeared ready to cry.
“You were saying?” Gerry said.
The bartender fell to his knees, sobbing like he expected to die.
“Please don’t kill me,” he said.
“You work for Jinky Harris, don’t you?” Gerry said.
“Never heard of him,” the bartender said.
Gerry glanced down the bar at the construction worker, whose face still didn’t show any emotion. Gerry wanted to believe the construction worker wasn’t part of the plot to kill them, but his gut told him otherwise. The guy had a role. Maybe it was to drag their bodies away or bury them in the desert. Or something else.
Gerry led the construction worker and the bartender to the back room, and locked them in a broom closet. He told them to wait ten minutes before kicking the door down. Then he and Vinny searched the place, while Nunzie and Frank guarded the front door.
Beneath the bar Gerry found a stack of papers with World Poker Showdown printed across the top of each page. He leafed through them, and saw the names of every player in the tournament, along with their odds of winning. Skip DeMarco’s odds were highlighted, and were 40 to 1. It was an angle Gerry hadn’t considered. Anyone who bet on DeMarco to win would make a killing. He stuck the papers under his arm.
“Let’s get out of this toilet,” he said.
They went outside to the parking lot. The wind off the desert had picked up, and invisible particles of sand stung their faces. Vinny stuck his hand out, and asked Gerry for the keys to the rental.
“Let me drive,” Vinny said.
Each time they’d worked together, Gerry had done the driving while Vinny rode in the passenger seat, and called the shots. Now Vinny was acknowledging that a shift had occurred. Gerry hadn’t just saved their lives; he’d also taken charge.
“You sure?” Gerry asked him.
“Positive, man. Hand them over.”
Gerry looked at Nunzie and Frank to make sure they were cool with what was happening. Both men dipped their chins, acknowledging they were okay with the change in leadership. Only then did Gerry take the car keys from his pocket, and drop them in Vinny’s outstretched hand.
21
If there is any electronic device that casinos hate, it is the cell phone. Card counters, shuffle trackers, roulette cheaters, and other sophisticated scammers can use cell phones to transmit information and give themselves an unbeatable edge at different casino games. As a result, their use is banned from every casino in Las Vegas.