“You stole something?”
Gerry nodded. “I stole a bag from George Scalzo in the lobby of Celebrity’s hotel this afternoon. I thought it was Jack Donovan’s secret. Turns out it was a bag of insulin.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it back to him, I guess.”
It was the smartest thing his son had said so far.
“Okay,” Valentine said.
His son’s motel was a two-story run-down stucco building that looked like a hooker’s hangout. As Valentine pulled into the parking lot, he spotted three Metro Las Vegas Police Department cruisers and an ambulance in the lot, then a pair of medics wheeling a gurney out of a ground-floor room. Lying on the gurney was a black body bag. His son jumped in his seat like he’d been jolted with a cattle prod.
“Holy shit,” Gerry said.
“Let me guess,” Valentine said. “That’s your room.”
His son nodded vigorously. Instead of pulling in, Valentine spun the wheel, and drove past the motel. At the next intersection was a traffic light, and he hit his brakes while glancing in his mirror. Vinny had pulled up behind him, and was trying to calm Nunzie and Frank down, both of whom looked petrified.
“Nunzie and Frank didn’t graduate high school, huh?” Valentine said.
“No,” Gerry said.
Valentine stared at the road in front of him. His son was right: Nunzie and Frank would crack once a smart detective started to press them. The light changed and he pumped the accelerator. “Time to regroup,” he said.
Once you got away from the glitz and glitter of the strip, Las Vegas was a wasteland. Two blocks later, Valentine pulled into a graffiti-covered grocery with metal bars covering its windows, and parked behind the building. Moments later, Vinny pulled in behind and parked next to him.
Valentine got out, walked around the car to his son’s side, and had Gerry hand him the paper bag with the .38. There was an overflowing Dumpster behind the building, and he opened the lid, untied the drawstring to a bag of rotting food, and tossed the weapon in. When he turned around, Gerry, Vinny, Nunzie, and Frank were standing behind him. They had expectant looks on their faces, and looked ready to play ball.
“Do any of you know what K-I-S-S means?” Valentine said.
The four men shook their heads.
“It means Keep It Simple Stupid,” Valentine said. “You need to remember that when you talk to the police. Keep your story simple, and you shouldn’t have any problems. With me so far?”
They all nodded. The Dumpster was a magnet for flies, and they were starting to buzz around their heads. Valentine kept talking.
“Now, when was the last time you were in your motel room?”
“Late this morning,” Vinny said.
“Good. An autopsy will show that the guy you shot in the parking lot of Lucky Lou’s was killed after that. So, here’s the story I want you to tell the police. Ready?”
The four men moved a little closer. They were more than ready.
“You came to Las Vegas to help me investigate allegations of cheating at the World Poker Showdown,” Valentine said. “You left your motel this morning, and went to Celebrity’s casino to do some scouting around. I saw you there, and so did Bill Higgins, who believes you’re working for me. That establishes your first alibi. With me so far?”
Their heads went up and down.
“Good,” Valentine said. “You left Celebrity in the early afternoon, and decided you needed a break. You drove to Lucky Lou’s casino, and hung around for a while.”
“I talked to a cocktail waitress and a pit boss there,” Gerry said.
“Think either of them will remember you?”
“I gave the waitress a twenty-dollar tip for a bag of ice to keep the insulin cold,” his son said. “I also had a conversation with a pit boss. The guy knew you, and I gave him my business card.”
Valentine saw a funny look cross Vinny, Frank, and Nunzie’s faces, and sensed that something had happened inside Lucky Lou’s casino that wasn’t kosher. He said, “You weren’t scamming Lucky Lou’s, were you?”
The three men all stared at the ground.
“Gerry talked us out of it,” Vinny said quietly.
Valentine looked at his son. “That true?”
“Yeah, Pop.”
“Mind my asking why?”
“I thought it could end up hurting our business.”
It was the second smart thing his son had said.
“Okay,” Valentine said. “That’s your second alibi. After leaving Lucky Lou’s, you drove to a convenience store and got coffee and doughnuts. Did you get a receipt?”
Gerry dug into his pocket and triumphantly pulled out a crumpled receipt.
“Alibi number three,” Valentine said. “After you finished your coffee, you called me. We met up, came back here, and discovered the police at the motel. You don’t know who the dead guy is, or how he got in your room. This all make sense?”
“Yeah, Pop,” his son said.
Valentine looked at the other three. The flies were swarming around them like roadkill. He had always marveled at how guys this dumb could survive in such a hostile world, and had come to the conclusion that God even looked out for scumbags some of the time. The three men slowly lifted their gazes. They had lost their deer-in-the-headlights expressions, and looked relieved. They nodded as well.
“That’s beautiful, Mr. Valentine,” Vinny said quietly.
“Glad you think so,” Valentine told him.
Valentine drove back to the motel with Gerry sitting beside him. The motel was called the Casablanca, although he didn’t think he’d find a guy wearing a white dinner jacket running the place. As he parked, he spotted a guy in a baggy suit standing outside the door to his son’s room. It looked like a thinned-down Pete Longo, chief detective of the Metro Las Vegas Police Department’s Homicide Division, and he muttered under his breath.
“Something wrong?” his son asked.
Valentine did not respond. The last time he’d seen Longo, the detective had been having an affair with a stripper that nearly cost him his career and his marriage. Longo had been out of his mind, and had picked a fight with Valentine. It had been ugly, and Valentine had ended up breaking Longo’s nose.
Valentine had kept tabs on Longo since then. He’d heard that Pete had publicly apologized to his colleagues for what he’d done. He’d also patched up things with his wife and two teenage daughters. He was attempting to redeem himself, and Valentine gave him a lot of credit. Falling on your sword and starting over was never easy.
As Valentine got out of his car, Longo spotted him, and a jolt of recognition spread across the detective’s face. He said something to one of the cops, then hustled over. He’d lost a lot of weight, and his suit swayed from side to side as he walked.
“Tony Valentine, what the hell are you doing here?”
Valentine spread his palms to the sky. “I love the outdoors. How about you?”
“I’m investigating a murder. You here on a job?”
“Bill Higgins hired me to look into some cheating at the World Poker Showdown. My son and his colleagues are helping me.”
Longo glanced at Gerry sitting in the car, then into the second car at Vinny, Frank, and Nunzie. Cops were good at picking out lowlifes, and Longo’s brain was telling him that these boys hadn’t been to choir practice in a long time.
Valentine decided to take the bull by the horns, and pointed at the door to his son’s room. “That’s my son’s room. What’s going on?”
“The hotel manager found a dead body in it,” Longo said. “Your son been with you today?”
“Part of it.”