She had it all figured out. Why she was here, the things she’d done to get here, the risk, the reward-nothing had escaped her.
“No, I don’t have a problem with that,” he said.
A few trailers down a porch light came on, and a geezer in handcuffs came out the front door. He was followed by a pair of gaming agents with badges pinned to their lapels. The geezer’s wife stood in the doorway, bawling her eyes out. On the geezer’s feet was a pair of hideous multistriped socks. Funky Freddie was going down.
Billy started to back away while trying not to smash into anything. One of the gaming agents spotted them.
“Stop right there, and get out of the vehicle,” the gaming agent called out.
“Get your head down,” Billy said.
Ly dropped in her seat. Goosing the accelerator, he flew in reverse down the street.
“Get back here!” the gaming agent shouted.
He flashed his brights, just to get the gaming agent’s goat. The gaming board employed nine hundred field agents, the majority in Sin City. Rookies were relegated to the night shift; if they lasted a year, they got to work days. It was a lot harder than it sounded.
He reached the intersection, performed a backward turn, hit his brakes, and threw the car into drive. As they raced past Ly’s street, the gaming agent appeared with his gun drawn. It was strictly for show. If the gaming agent fired and missed, the bullet might hit a trailer and wound someone. No agent wanted that on their resume, unless they were Dirty Harry.
Billy exited the trailer park without any more problems. A minute later, he and Ly were flying down Boulder Highway with the windows down and their hair blowing in their faces.
“You my hero,” Ly cooed.
The Super 8 Motel on Koval was the best deal in town. On-site dining, a heated swimming pool, four HBO channels, all for forty bucks a night. He paid in advance and walked Ly to a room on the first floor that faced the street. Shoving money into her hands, he told her to lose the dealer’s uniform first thing tomorrow.
She leaned against the doorsill. Her posture said she wanted him to come inside and screw. She was nothing but trouble, and he backed away from the door.
“I thought you like me,” she said.
“I’m doing a job for some guys. I have to go or they’ll get pissed.”
“Make up excuse. You good at that.”
“They’re bad guys. They won’t understand.”
“Why you working for bad guys?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll be by in a couple of days. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
She tried to hug him. Billy knew better. Once their bodies touched, it would be all over. He gently pushed her away. Her eyes laughed at him.
“You going to take me back to LA?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You have someplace to stay?”
“Vicky put me up. I still owe her money for job at nail salon. You pay her for me?”
“How much do you owe her?”
“Two thousand five hundred.”
It was a small price to pay to get Ly out of his hair.
“I’ll pay her the rest,” he said. “Now let me go.”
“You really do that for me?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Remember that time we almost fuck? It was in crummy motel just like this. I never forget that night. I want you so bad inside of me. Just like now. Why don’t you come inside and let me make you happy?”
Her eyes danced with the memory, and it took all his willpower to turn away and trot to his car. Not until he was speeding down Koval did he glance in his mirror. Ly remained in the doorway wearing an all-knowing look. She was the kind of woman that could get you killed, and he sped away thinking there were probably worse ways to check out of this life.
TWENTY-NINE
The hotel lobby was deserted as Billy came through the front doors, and he stuck his head into the casino before heading upstairs. The crowds had thinned, the action less frenetic than earlier. Casino games were designed to grind a player down, one dollar at a time. Over the long run you couldn’t win, but that didn’t stop people from sticking their heads in the buzz saw.
His ears popped on the way up in the elevator. Through the glass windows he beheld the slow-motion riot of people, cars, and blinking neon of the Strip.
His footsteps made scratching sounds on the hall’s carpet. He keyed the door to his suite and entered, expecting to find Ike and T-Bird counting the money they’d taken from his condo. To his surprise, they weren’t there, and he called the front desk at Turnberry.
“Good evening. Can I help you?” answered Jo-Jo, the lethargic night manager.
“This is Billy Cunningham in 28D. I’m looking for a couple friends of mine. Have you seen them around?”
“Hey, Mr. C. If your friends are a couple of mean-looking black dudes, then yeah, I saw them. They came in earlier and introduced themselves. I saw those big Super Bowl rings, and we got to talking. I remember those guys when they played for the Steelers.”
“Were they any good?”
“Naw, they sucked. The tall one nearly cost them the title.”
“Any idea where they are now?”
“They’re still upstairs in your condo.”
“They haven’t left yet?”
“Nope. I would have seen them, and I’ve been at my desk all night.”
An alarm went off in Billy’s head. Emptying his safe shouldn’t have taken Ike and T-Bird very long. What had they done, called some high-priced call girls and thrown a party? He had to assume that they were up to no good. That was a mistake, because he had the capability to screw them in a bad way, right from where he was.
“What’s the name of the security company that installed the hidden camera system in the building last year?” he asked.
“A1 Security and Alarm,” Jo-Jo said.
“Do you have their website?”
“Yeah, it’s taped to my computer: a1security.com, all lowercase. Is something wrong? Are those guys ripping you off?”
“That’s between me and them. Later, Jo-Jo.”
“Have a good night, Mr. C.”
He got on the Internet with his Droid and soon was on the A1 site. A year back, a cleaning woman had gotten caught trying to pawn valuable jewelry she’d stolen from a resident at Turnberry. To prevent further theft, the building’s management had hired A1 to install hidden CCTV cameras in each unit’s ceiling smoke detectors. These cameras were wired to the firm’s main location and could be accessed with a few simple commands.
He’d been happy to have cameras installed in his unit. He wasn’t worried about theft as much as what the gaming board would take if they ever raided his place. Chances were, they’d rip him off, and wouldn’t it be fun to have a tape of it? He went to the log-in page and typed in his password: cheater.
The interior of his condo appeared on the Droid’s screen. The CCTV cameras filmed in four-color, and his condo looked as sharp as the set for a late-night infomercial. He flipped between rooms and stopped at the master bedroom. As he’d expected, the wall safe was open and had been cleaned out, the stacks of money piled on the floor.
But there was more. His clothes had been removed from the closet and laid out across the bedroom. Dozens of silk shirts, designer slacks, cashmere sports jackets, and Italian shoes. Some articles had never been worn and still had price tags. His collection of men’s watches was also on display, along with the fancy cigarette lighters that he used to light beautiful ladies’ cigarettes when he went clubbing. They had decided to take inventory of his stuff.