“Now I know why you always wore black and white,” she said.
It took Valentine five minutes to flag down their waiter, and convince him to bring their food. He touched their plates as they were served, and was pleased they were hot. He and Gloria had both ordered plank-grilled salmon with garlic mashed potatoes. They seemed to have a lot in common, and dug into their meals.
“My producer loved the piece with Rufus and the fly,” Gloria said. “He’s going to run it tonight after they show the highlights from the tournament. You saved me with that call.”
“Saved you how?” Valentine asked.
“I found out a few hours ago that my producer was going to call me home. It’s the worst thing that can happen to a reporter when they’re out on assignment. After he saw the segment, he told me to stay a few more days, and see what I could dig up.”
“So you still have your job.”
“It sure looks that way.”
“Glad I could help.”
“My producer thinks Rufus’s stunt was a trick, and that he really didn’t hypnotize the fly. I told him if anyone would know the secret, it was you.”
Valentine put a piece of salmon into his mouth and chewed. He’d come to dinner prepared to explain the sugar cube trick to Gloria, but now found himself having second thoughts. He guessed it had something to do with seeing Rufus so down on his luck earlier, and all his clothes piled unceremoniously in the middle of his room. Rufus was slowing down, which was death for any gambler, and the vultures were starting to pick him apart. He had no desire to join the carnage.
“I don’t have a clue,” Valentine said.
25
Gerry watched the construction worker walk toward them, aiming his gun. It was a simple .22, a gun that was relatively quiet compared to most handguns. Gerry had heard that mob guys and hitmen liked .22s because once the bullet entered the body, it tended to ricochet and cause a lot of damage. Vinny and Nunzie dove between a pair of parked cars, and a bullet whistled over their heads.
The construction worker kept coming forward, his weapon now aimed at Gerry. Gerry followed the Fountain brothers’ lead, and ducked behind a car.
“Gimme the keys,” Frank said, standing beside the trunk of the rental.
Crouching, Vinny dug the rental keys from his pocket.
“Here,” he said, throwing them in Frank’s direction.
Frank plucked the keys out of the air and unlocked the rental’s trunk. He was amazingly calm, and it reminded Gerry of his mother’s favorite expression: “Everyone is good for something.” As a boxer, Frank had faced guys who were bigger than he was, and who punched harder than he did, but Frank had beaten them all. He was afraid of nothing. The other thing Frank was good at was seeing into the future. Before they’d left the Voodoo Lounge, he’d gone back inside the bar, and returned carrying the bartender’s .38 Magnum, which he’d placed in the rental’s trunk.
“Never know when you’ll need a gun,” he’d remarked.
Frank now removed the .38 from the trunk as the construction worker took a shot at him. The bullet hit an SUV parked behind Frank, winging it and causing the car’s alarm to go off. Gerry heard the construction worker curse, and knew the guy was making a classic mistake. It was hard enough to shoot someone while standing still, but moving forward made it doubly hard.
Grasping the .38 with both hands, Frank leveled its barrel at the construction worker, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Frank squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. He squeezed again, and heard another click.
“I need backup,” Frank yelled.
Vinny, who was hiding across the aisle, pulled off one of his loafers, and threw it at the construction worker. The man ducked, not knowing what was being thrown at him. Then Nunzie threw one of his shoes, hitting the construction worker in the side. Gerry stared at Frank, who’d opened up the .38’s chamber, and was inspecting the weapon. Satisfied, he snapped the chamber shut, aimed, and fired.
The bullet hit the construction worker in the chest, and he lurched violently to one side, his arms going straight into the air. The .38’s bullet was a different animal than a .22’s. It was meant to penetrate, and left a larger exit hole than most handguns. The construction worker’s legs moved backward, like they’d taken on a life of their own, his fingers still clutching the .22.
Frank shot him again in the chest. The construction worker was dead, but didn’t know it. Frank shot him a third time, and the .22 flew out of the construction worker’s hand and disappeared beneath a parked car. The man continued going backward, only now his feet had stopped working. He hit the pavement and lay motionless on the ground.
Vinny and Nunzie ran out from their hiding places, and retrieved their shoes. They fitted them on while hopping on one leg. The construction worker stared up at the cloudless sky, the look on his face pure disbelief.
Gerry went over to Frank, and put his hand on the bigger man’s shoulder.
“Jesus, Frank, you okay?”
Frank stared at the dead man and shook his head.
“I got lucky,” Frank said.
Most hitmen worked in pairs, with one man doing the shooting, the other doing the driving. Gerry guessed the construction worker’s driver was sitting in a car in the parking lot, waiting for his partner to run over and jump in.
“Time to get out of Dodge,” Gerry said.
The four men climbed into the rental. Vinny made the tires squeal as he drove out Lucky Lou’s back entrance, and onto a side street with little traffic.
“We need to get lost,” Gerry said.
Vinny drove east and got onto the strip. It was dusk, and the city was starting to come alive, the streets and sidewalks teeming with tourists. It was comforting to be around so many people, and Vinny drove for several minutes without anyone in the car saying a word.
“How the hell did that guy find us?” Gerry suddenly asked. “We left the Voodoo Lounge and drove around. Then we went to Lucky Lou’s. How did that guy know where we were?”
Gerry turned around in his seat. Nunzie and Frank gave him blank looks. Neither man was big in the thinking department. He turned back around and looked at Vinny.
“Any ideas?”
Vinny gripped the wheel and stared at the road. Like Gerry, he’d gone to college for a few years, and had also worked in his father’s business. He knew how to connect the dots, and scrunched his face in concentration.
“He didn’t find us,” Vinny finally said. “He was there in the parking lot, waiting for us. He found the car.”
“So what you’re saying is, this car is being traced.”
“Must be,” Vinny said.
Gerry stared straight ahead. A pack of young women were jaywalking in front of the car. One stopped to wink at him. When Gerry ignored her, she stuck her tongue out, then moved on, her friends laughing hysterically.
“Get off at the next intersection and find a gas station,” Gerry said. “We need to fly speck this car.”
Vinny hung a left on Sahara, and drove until he found a gas station. He pulled into the lot and parked beside the station’s convenience store. The four men hopped out, and Frank grabbed a newspaper out of the trash and laid it on the ground, then slid beneath the car, while Vinny popped the hood and examined the engine with Nunzie. Gerry leaned against the car and watched the street, wary of someone pulling into the gas station and blindsiding them. After a minute he heard Frank speak up.
“Underbody’s clean,” Frank said.
“So’s the engine,” Vinny said, slamming the hood.
Frank slid out from beneath the car. Gerry offered his hand, and helped pull Frank to his feet. The four men huddled beside the building.