“Suppose his face was filled out and he weighed about forty pounds more.”
Nick’s head swiveled back to the floor. He exclaimed, “Harry Bloss!” The bewilderment on his face increased. “But how could he lose all that weight in a couple of weeks?”
“You tell him, Fletcher.”
“Me? I never saw him until yesterday.”
“Where was that?”
“Death Valley. I told you...”
Mulligan nodded quickly. “A man can lose fifty pounds in a single day in Death Valley. Dehydration. Didn’t you notice how loose his clothing is?”
“Yes, but he was in pretty bad shape when I first saw him. I took him for a kind of a desert rat... Who was he?”
“A dealer. He dealt blackjack here until about two weeks ago.”
“What was he going wandering around Death Valley?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me that, Fletcher.” Catch ’Em Alive paused, then added gently, “Also why you brought him here...”
“I brought a dead man from Death Valley to Las Vegas?”
“How else would he get here?”
Johnny pointed at Nick. “Nick, my boy, did you or did you not get my bag out of the car when I checked in here this morning?”
“Sure I did, Mr. Fletcher.”
“And where was the bag when you got it out of the car?”
“In the luggage compartment.”
Johnny smiled at Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan. “Nick, tell the gentleman what else where was in the luggage compartment.”
“Why, nothing.”
“No corpses?”
“Of course not.”
Mulligan shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I looked in there myself. But if this is the man you saw in Death Valley...”
“It is.”
“...How did he get here?”
“That’s your problem, Mulligan.”
Mulligan swore without heat. “Why couldn’t he stay in Death Valley? Then it would have been the headache of the California police...”
“Can’t you ship the body back?” Johnny asked. Then, as Mulligan regarded him sourly, “I was only trying to help.”
Mulligan went to the phone. “You can help by clearing out of here for about an hour.” He picked up the phone. “Get me police headquarters.”
Johnny hesitated. “Where do you want me to wait?”
“I’ll find out when I want you.”
“Yes, but I thought I might look around town...”
“Go ahead. No matter where you are, I can locate you inside of five minutes...”
Johnny went out, followed by Nick. “Did he mean that?” Johnny asked the bellboy.
“About finding you inside of five minutes? Yep. Every place in town has a policeman stationed there, you know. And out in the county, there’s a deputy. The place pays half his salary and the county the other half. Las Vegas is a mighty big city...” He looked sidewise at Johnny. “Did I do all right in there, Mr. Fletcher?”
Johnny grinned crookedly. “Fine, Nick. Now, I wonder if you can do something else for me...”
Nick rubbed his hands together joyfully. “Anything, Mr. Fletcher. Just name it.”
“Jane Langford’s husband; think you can locate him for me?”
“He ain’t registered here at the hotel, but he’s got to sleep somewhere — if he’s staying in Las Vegas overnight. I’ll know where in a half hour.” He took the yellow check Johnny handed him. “This is sure a big day for Nick Bleek.”
Johnny clapped him on the shoulder. “Ride with me, Nick. I’ve got a streak and if it lasts, maybe you can retire...”
Chapter Nine
They entered the casino and Johnny worked his way through the crowds to the crap tables. He the crowds to the crap tables. He found Sam and his former dinner companions at the second table. Young Halton had his system in his hand, folded so he could consult it handily. Jane Langford was on his left and Chatsworth on his right. Sam was beyond Chatsworth and on his right was a gorgeous redhead in evening dress over which was draped a long mink scarf. Sam had the dice and was shaking them.
After a few seconds of spectacular shaking he pressed the cubes into the hand of the redhead. “You shake them for luck, Red!”
She did, laughingly, and handed them back to Sam. He threw them out.
“Eight,” droned the voice of the croupier.
“Eighter from Decatur!” Sam exclaimed.
Johnny squeezed in between Chats-worth and Sam. He threw a yellow chip on the eight. “Twenty-five says you make it, Sam.”
“Johnny!” Sam cried. “Where you been?”
“Taking care of a stiff... Doing okay?”
“I lost a hun’erd and a half, but look what I got...” He grabbed the redhead’s arm. “Jane had a friend and this is her. Red, shake hands with my pal, Johnny Fletcher. Johnny, her name’s Red...”
“It’s Molly,” laughed the redhead. “Molly Benson.”
“I’ll say hello later,” Johnny said. “Sam, you’re holding up the game.”
Sam threw out the dice.
“Seven,” said the croupier.
“Too bed.” Johnny picked out two of the several dice that were shoved over to him by the stick man. “Ride with me, Sam.”
“Sure — why not? Maybe my luck’ll turn.” Then he suddenly gasped. “What do you mean — you was taking care of a stiff?”
Halton leaned out over the table, so he could look at Johnny, past Chatsworth and Sam. “Is this your system coming up, Fletcher?”
“Yep.” Johnny put eight chips on the pass line. “Watch how it’s done.” He shook the dice, rolled them out. They came up seven.
The stickman put eight chips alongside of Johnny’s, signaled him to take away one of the piles. Johnny threw the dice out again. He got a ten for a point, took the odds for a hundred that he would make it and made it on the next roll.
“Luck,” said Halton. “Sheer luck.”
“Better ride along.”
Halton shook his head. “I can’t.”
“I can,” exclaimed Jane Langford. She nodded to Mr. Chatsworth. “How about you?”
“Oh, I might venture a dollar,” said Chatsworth.
“Sure you can spare it?” Sam Cragg asked.
Whit Snow came up behind Johnny. He was breathing heavily. Johnny winked at him and threw an eleven, then followed with a seven.
“Could I talk to you a sec?” Snow asked.
“Sure, go ahead.”
Snow cleared his throat. “Over here on the side...”
Fletcher gathered up his chips and followed Snow over to the slot machines. “It’s the boss,” Snow said, “Mr. Honsinger; he was wondering if you wouldn’t just as soon play blackjack?”
“Why?” Johnny was surprised.
Snow grimaced. “Well, the place is pretty full right now, and, uh, well, you know how people are. A man gets a run in a crap game; everybody plays with him. The house takes a beating.”
Johnny whistled softly. “And they can’t ride with you in blackjack.”
“That’s right. Mr. Honsinger don’t mind somebody winning — in fact, it’s good advertising, but you get thirty people riding with you on a crap table and you get a streak, the house can lose forty-fifty grand in a little while; if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, Whit, old boy. But somehow I’m not in a blackjack playing mood tonight. I’ve got a feeling that I’d be luckier with the bones...”
“Then why don’t you run over to To Last Frontier for awhile? Or the El Rancho Vegas. They’re both nice places.”
“No doubt. But they’re not home.”
Snow sighed. “How about a grand not to play any more? Just tonight.”
“I can make more playing.”
“Look, buddy,” Snow said, forgetting his manners, “you’re not going to get tough about this, are you?”