“What do you think?”
“He looks too pretty,” the man said.
“Then make him look unpretty.”
The man came over and popped Gerry in the face with his good hand. Gerry felt something run out of his left nostril and knew it wasn’t snot. He stared down at the blood sheeting his neck and the front of his shirt, then saw another flash from Jinky’s camera.
“Take a look,” Jinky said.
The man came around Jinky’s wheelchair and appraised his handiwork.
“Much better,” the man said.
40
Valentine hung around the poker room for a few minutes and helped Rufus Steele collect his money. Poker players were a lot of things, but it was rare that one welshed on a bet. By Valentine’s calculations, Rufus was owed five hundred and ninety-four thousand dollars, and that was exactly the amount collected. When Rufus tried to hand him some, Valentine balked.
“Come on, it’s your cut,” Rufus protested.
“I did it as a favor,” Valentine said, refusing to touch the packets of money being shoved his way. It was at least fifty grand, maybe more.
“I’m well aware of that,” Rufus said, “but I’m not a charity case. Take it.”
The tone of his voice hadn’t changed, but there was a bite to his words nonetheless. Gloria was standing nearby with Zack, and they both turned their backs, and pretended to be watching the segment they’d just shot. Valentine didn’t want to make an enemy of Rufus, and stared long and hard at the money.
“I’m here on someone else’s nickel,” he said quietly. “If word got around that I’d gone into business with you, my real business would suffer. So let’s just say you owe me one, okay?”
“No one ever worked with Rufus Steele and didn’t get paid,” the old cowboy said, waving the stacks in Valentine’s face. “This is your money. I’m going to hold it for you until your job is over. Then it’s yours. Understand?”
Rufus wasn’t going to back down, and Valentine guessed there was a worthwhile charity he could donate the money to before he left town.
“I’ll do it, provided one thing.”
Rufus had eyebrows that looked like fluffy sandpaper. They both went up.
“What’s that, pardner?”
“Explain how you pulled that stunt.”
The old cowboy laughed like someone was tickling both his feet.
“Never in a thousand years,” he said.
“What kind of man puts up nearly six hundred thousand dollars to back a crazy bet?” Gloria Curtis asked when Rufus was gone. There was a bemused look in her eyes, and Valentine didn’t know if she thought he was a fool or an idiot or both.
“I think it has something to do with Rufus’s unique powers of persuasion,” he said. “I’d normally never do anything like that.”
“I sensed that,” she said. “You old guys really stick together.”
“Is that what I am? An old guy?”
She put her hand on his wrist and gave it a squeeze. “A good old guy.”
Gloria had innocently touched him several times in the past two days, and he found himself liking it. Each time they had a conversation, he felt the need to continue it, and he said, “Would you like to have lunch with me?”
She smiled at him with her eyes. “Sure. I have to cover the tournament this morning. Is twelve thirty all right?”
“That’s my nap time.”
“Stop that.”
He felt a smile coming on. “Twelve thirty it is. I’ll meet you in the lobby restaurant.”
“See you then.”
She gave his wrist another squeeze and left with her cameraman. When they were gone, Valentine asked himself where this was going. She was part of the case. Even if this relationship went no further than the platonic stages, it was the wrong thing to be doing. Business was business, pleasure was pleasure, and they weren’t supposed to mix.
He felt his cell phone vibrate, and pulled it from his pocket. The Caller ID said BILL HIGGINS. As he flipped the phone open, he realized he didn’t care. Gloria was smart and pretty and he liked talking to her. His partner in Atlantic City had liked to say that it was easy to find a woman to have sex with, but finding one whom you wanted to talk to, that was tough.
“Hey, Bill, what’s up?” he said into his phone.
“I need to talk to you,” his friend said. “It’s urgent.”
“Just say where.”
“Meet me at Gardunos in twenty minutes.”
Gardunos was a local Mexican restaurant they sometimes frequented. It was away from the casinos, and the food was homemade and exceptionally good.
“I’ll see you in twenty,” Valentine said.
Going outside, he handed the valet his stub, then went to the curb and waited for his rental to come up. Celebrity’s valet stand was decorated with African flora and fauna, and had Congo music playing over a loudspeaker. It was like walking onto a movie set, and at any moment he expected to see Tarzan come swinging through the trees.
While he waited, Valentine found himself staring at a man standing at the end of the curb. The man wore tailored slacks and a white dress shirt that clashed with a floppy tennis hat and Ray-Bans. He sensed the guy was trying to keep a low profile, and guessed he was a celebrity visiting the hotel incognito. The man looked impatiently at his watch, and Valentine got a good look at his face. It was Dr. Robinson, the house physician.
A decrepit Toyota Corolla pulled up to the curb. Robinson picked up a gym bag lying at his feet, and went to the car. He gave the valet his stub and climbed in behind the wheel.
Valentine felt his radar go up. Robinson was driving a junker and hadn’t tipped the valet. Valentine had known plenty of house physicians at hotels, and they all made a decent buck. Something wasn’t adding up here. He walked down the curb, and glanced into the Toyota just as Robinson pulled away. A tattered black suitcase occupied one of the backseats. Stenciled across its front were the words RENFO & COMPANY in bold white letters. It looked like something an entertainer might use, and he went to the valet stand, and found the kid who’d brought up the car.
“Let me see that guy’s stub,” Valentine said.
The kid wore his hair in his face and shot him a defiant sneer. “No way. It’s against hotel rules.”
“I’m a dick doing a job for the hotel.”
“You’re a dick?” the kid said, hiding a laugh.
“It’s short for detective. Let me see it.”
The kid stared at his clothes. Sometimes, looking like a cop had its advantages. The kid produced the stub from his pocket, and Valentine read the name printed across the top: Renfo. He stuck ten bucks in the kid’s hand, then returned to the curb and waited for his rental to come up.
He waited until he was on the highway driving toward Garduno’s before pulling out his cell phone and dialing Las Vegas information. A chatty female operator came on, and he asked for any listings in Clark County for Renfo. Within seconds she had found four. Two were businesses, the other two residential.
“The residential, please,” he said.
She gave him the numbers and he memorized them, then called them while driving one-handed. Both were disconnected. He called information again, and this time got the two business listings. The first number led him to a long-haul trucking company and a friendly guy named Jack. The second number was answered by a middle-aged woman with a smoker’s raspy voice. She was not nearly as friendly.
“Good morning, Renfo and Company,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi,” Valentine said. “I met Mr. Renfo this morning, and he gave me his business card. I’d like to talk to him about some work.”