She stood for a moment turned away, taking her time before coming around enough to look back at him.
“What?”
“Do I still get comped for the suite?”
That wasn’t nice. He could have said it in a different way. A simple no-thank-you wouldn’t have been too bad.
Except that he didn’t feel his remark was any more out of line than her offer. There was no way she was going to make him a casino vice-president based on some gift she had of sniffing out latent ability. On the other hand, how could he assume she was after his body, considering all the slick guys with haircuts and shiny suits hanging around? Unless she wanted to make one of her own out of raw material, use him as a stud kit. He might have made a mistake. Not in his refusal, but in assuming what she wanted.
Vincent went down to his suite to change shirts, get out of the white one he’d worn two nights in a row, put on a blue workshirt-yeah, it ought to look nice with his new sportcoat-and pick up his gun. It was 9:30 and Linda was Now Appearing at Bally’s at 10. He paused to look at the urn resting on the dresser, Iris in stainless steel without diamonds or whatever she had come here for…
The phone rang.
It would be an assistant manager with a cool tone telling him his time was up.
But it was Dixie Davies telling him he’d called it right and should be one of the first to know: “Frank Cingoro was shot and killed an hour ago, in an Italian restaurant on Fairmount Avenue. You’d think those guys’d learn to eat some other kind of food. Heavyset guy with dark hair, leather jacket, walked in and walked out. Nobody saw his face good, but who does it sound like? We sent a car to Ricky’s house, he’s not home.”
“He was in Brigantine at the time,” Vincent said. “With about eight witnesses.”
“Where I should be,” Dixie said, “home watching TV. I got this one, I got another one came in I have to see about soon as I finish here. Elderly woman they found underneath the Boardwalk at Kentucky Avenue. Bum went in there, tripped over her body. She’s from Harrisburg, it looks like. So we got to check the tour buses, see if she was with a group, who saw her last, all that.”
Vincent was thinking about Ricky and Frank Cingoro, but he said, “What happened to her?”
“She was beaten to death, robbed, it looks like, and probably raped, her pants pulled off.”
Ricky and the Ching vanished and a name came into Vincent’s mind without thinking, as a free-association reflex, nothing more. But there it was and he said the name to himself and then out loud, “Teddy Magyk.”
POLICE-CAR HEADLIGHTS illuminated the scene, showed the understructure of the Boardwalk, figures standing in the timbered sections at the dead end of Kentucky Avenue. Flashlight beams moved in the dark, deep beneath the structure and at the outer edges of the scene. Close to Vincent waiting sounds popped on and off, radio voices from squad cars and walkies. Then silence and he would listen and hear the ocean, still out there. He waited among the police cars and ran Teddy Magyk facts through his mind, what he could remember, wanting to place him here or close by. It might be a long shot but that didn’t matter, because Teddy’s first conviction had been in New Jersey and his mother had come from New Jersey for his trial in Miami, and Vincent was running on a gut feeling that had him moving, smoking cigarettes. The odds made no difference.
He could see Teddy clearly in San Juan, in the Datsun. Teddy at the beach. Coming in a taxi, then in the rental car. He could see Teddy at his trial almost eight years before, and a stout woman with blond hair in the first row. Vincent did tell himself he was dealing with a remote possibility at best. Because if Teddy’s presence seemed so logical now, why hadn’t he thought of Teddy before this? And his gut feeling would say, Never mind that. He’s here.
Dixie came out of the lights and said, “Only good thing about it, it just happened. Usually it’s days before a body’s found under there. Like when you get a floater, you don’t know where to start.”
“You could close both before morning,” Vincent said, trying to sound calm, offhand. “You could luck out. Pick up Ricky, you know you have Ricky.”
“I know it was Ricky, yeah, but I never heard of this other guy. Teddy?”
“Magyk. He did time in Yardville, for rape.”
“Where’s he live?”
“I don’t know where he lives, but you could call it in, have ’em turn on the computer. Punch five keys and see if it’s your lucky night. The guy’s a known felon. Miami Beach he raped an old woman, almost beat her to death.”
“Where’d he commit the offense he went to Yardville for?”
“I don’t know that either, but he was from Camden originally. Look up his mother. He came down to San Juan-listen, he’s right out of the can he’s got money for a hotel and a car. Maybe his mommy gave it to him.”
Dixie was facing the lights, frowning; he turned his head to look at Vincent. “This is the guy you’re telling me about has the hard-on for you?”
“This might even be the guy tried to pop me the other night. From what I saw of him, it was dark, but it could be the guy I’m talking about. The description of the delivery boy Jimmy Dunne gave you, the cheese steak subs, that could be the same guy.”
“Wait a minute,” Dixie said, “just a minute. I thought we’re talking about this one right here, the woman.”
“We could be, it’s what the guy does,” Vincent said. “Look, you tell me about it on the phone and it’s like you say hot and I say cold. You know what I mean? You say an old lady was raped, beaten to death, and I say Teddy Magyk. The first thing that comes into my mind. But there’s more to it than this one, this case. All this did was make me think of him.”
“More to it like what?”
“He knew Iris. He saw her with me.”
Dixie touched his mustache, began to twist one end, idly. “He did?”
“Teddy left San Juan the same day she did. Check Eastern, see if they were on the same flight. Find out his destination. If you don’t, I will. But you can do it a lot quicker.”
Dixie seemed to agree, nodding, giving it some thought. Then stopped. “How come, you’re so sure it’s this guy…”
“I’m not sure. My gut is, and I listen to it.”
“Okay, how come your gut’s so sure you never mentioned him before this?”
“Because we start out, all we see are heavy hitters, all your suspects. It’s got to be one of them. Teddy, he ever walked in the same room with Ricky, the Colombian, Jackie, any of those guys, you’d never notice him. He looks like a guy rings a little bell and sells ice cream. He walks down the street, you wouldn’t give him a second look. You’d never think to hassle him, you know, like you do with assholes, give ’em a hard time. Never. This guy looks absolutely harmless. And that’s the worst kind.”
It got Dixie nodding again. “All right, we’ll check him out.”
“When?”
“Soon as we can. I’ll give you a call. Where you gonna be, in your suite, taking a bath?”
Vincent hesitated. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
He unlocked the door to the suite thinking about Linda. She was going to kill him for not showing up… Started to push the door open and stopped. Lights were on. His hand went inside his coat to his hip. A voice he recognized, DeLeon’s, said, “It’s cool, come on in. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”
He saw DeLeon in a streamlined gold easy chair with a drink, legs extended, feet resting on the glass cocktail table. He saw LaDonna on the sofa, in front of the window wall reflecting the room in lamplight. LaDonna sat turned, to look at him over the low back of the sofa, her expression-it was hard to tell-solemn? Vacant? She raised her drink in both hands, her eyes not leaving him.
“Yeah, you had the lights off, didn’t you?” DeLeon relaxed, at home. “That’s right, it was dark we came in.”