Sinn placed her hand lightly on mine. “I didn’t expect you to trust me without reservation, Mick. So I’ll extend an olive branch as a sign of my goodwill. You had to take down Franklin Newman, robbing you of an information broker. You know my skill-set with information. I can help you in your investigation.”
I tilted my head, studying her carefully. With her raven eyes and angel’s face, it was impossible to get a read on her true intentions. “You saying you’ll be my ace in the hole, that it? Don’t you have to get permission from your superiors, whoever they are?”
“All you need to know is this arrangement will instantly benefit you. Do we have a deal?”
I hesitated. “If you’re so tied into the system, can’t you tell me who killed Scarlett right now? That would be a huge down payment in the trust fund of the Trubble Bank.”
“I would if I knew. Whoever the killer is, he knows how to avoid surveillance like no other. But I’ll be working on it, I promise you.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to get back with you, Ms. Sinn. You’ll have to excuse me if I take the cautious approach to secret organizations with hidden agendas. Don’t exactly have a sterling track record with that sort.”
“Have it your way.” She stood with the sinuous grace of a ballet dancer. “I synched my number to your holoband. Call me when you need me. And you will need me before this is all over, Mick.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself, Ms. Sinn.”
“It’s a mathematical certainty, Mick. I’ve already run the calculations. On your own you have a 4.84 percent chance of surviving the next forty-eight hours. With my aid your chances increase to 57.36 percent. Not the grandest of odds, but much better than the alternative.”
“Never had the egg for math, I’m afraid.”
“Mathematics is the only pure language, Mick.” Her gaze was almost empathetic. “And numbers never lie.”
She left abruptly, her fingers tracing my shoulders as she glided past. The scent of ginger and vanilla lingered after, just like the swell of doubts and unanswered questions she left to simmer in my mind. The jazz played on and the Gaiden filled with patrons going about their evening business, but to me everything was muted and blurred. I stayed in the corner booth for a while longer, nursing my drink and a head full of conflicting thoughts. I knew I couldn’t just cool my heels. I had to make a move, and soon.
Because the clock was ticking.
Chapter 9: The Business
“So what did Ms. Foxy tell you, Mick?”
I hated going back Uptown, but that was where the next fishing hole was located. We were in a building lift, which was more like a rocket-powered glass capsule that shot you up the side of a five hundred-floor building toward the bright lights and flying vehicles of the Uppers. Streaks of light whizzed by from the traffic and beads of rain slid down the transparent alloy as we zipped up the building’s face.
“Her name is Sinn, and she didn’t tell me much at all except she’s possibly on our side and I might possibly call on her in times of need.” I pulled out the Mean Ol’ Broad, removed the moon clip and checked the chambers. No sense of going into a hostile situation unprepared.
Benny sniggered. “Yeah, I’d call on her any day in my time of need.”
“Get your mind outta the gutter and focus, big boy. Remember what I told you?”
“I got the part nailed down, Mick. Fuggetaboutit.” He squinted and squared his shoulders, daring me to question him.
“Good. Just be sure to let me do the talking.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “No problem, Mick. Still not sure what our business is here, though.”
I slipped the Broad back in the holster under my arm. “Business is simple, Ace. Either you do the business or you get the business. And right now, Luther Vitto’s about to get the business.”
When the lift stopped, the inner doors opened to a view of Bugsy’s. The popular casino was owned by the Bandini family, a business rival of Moe Flacco. I’d seen old man Bandini at the funeral earlier. He was a wise codger who knew it was better to deal in than be dealt out, so he worked with Flacco and profited from his cooperation. I wasn’t there to buzz in on the Bandinis, though.
Just one of their clients.
I walked in like I owned the joint. The casino had been around for a while, so it had a bit of character the newfangled joints lacked. None of that multicolored, blinking neon subliminally hypnotic getup. Bugsy’s was a throwback: tacky carpet, polished wood on the tables and booths, green felt on the card tables. I felt right at home, blending in with the crowd of regulars with no problem.
I helped myself to an Old Fashioned from a passing barmaid as I crossed the slot machines floor over to the blackjack tables Vitto was known to frequent. It didn’t take long to spot him. He was a thick-mustached sap of second-rate height and second-rate weight with a second-rate face. The only thing not run-of-the-mill about him was the long-legged blonde draped around his shoulder, but that didn’t mean much. Vitto was ripe with berries, and any gink with green can nab a chippy that skates around.
The hulking bruno guarding Vitto’s back was alert enough to spot us as we approached. He threw up a beefy hand in warning.
“Closed game, chumps. Better rotate your heels and take some air while your brains are still in working order.”
Having just finished my drink, I put the glass to good use by slamming the bottom end in the bruno’s eye. As he howled and tumbled backward I swung around, caught Vitto by the nape of his neck and introduced his mug to the blackjack table. His dame screamed and took off as fast as her stilettos and tight little skirt allowed. Some folks at the nearby tables threw us curious glances, but most kept right on playing. Wasn’t nothing they hadn’t seen before. I figured I had a few seconds before security materialized.
The dealer gave me a casual glance. “You break the table, you pay for it.”
I nodded. “This will only take a second, Mack.” I leaned over and twisted Vitto’s head so he could see me. “Ain’t that right, Luther?”
His face was beet-red. His nose dripped blood, but in his rage he didn’t notice. “You just screwed up big time, pal. I don’t know who the hell you are, but—”
“Wrong answer.” I jerked his arm around so I could snap cuffs on his wrists. Vitto’s bodyguard had recovered some of his equilibrium, but didn’t seem too eager to join the party again. He had a hand clapped over one eye, and the other eye fixed warily on Ben the Bear, who casually shook a warning finger. Somehow he managed to look menacing when doing absolutely nothing. You’d never imagine he’d be such a wuss in reality.
Right on schedule, a trio of black-suited security bulls waltzed up, looking about as cheerful as undertakers. The lead bull was a bulky, bald lug with a face that was more scowl than anything else. He jerked his oversized chin our direction.
“What the hell is going on here?”
I whipped out a badge from my inside pocket real official-like. It was a loaner from Detective Flask, but they didn’t need to know that. “Detective Tribble. My partner is Officer Grizzle. Vitto here has been a very bad boy, and we’re here to sort him out. Didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
The bull scanned the badge with his holoband. When it cleared he frowned even further, which didn’t seem possible. “This is private property, Dick. We have an understanding with you flatties. You’re supposed to alert us if you have business with any of our patrons. Getting gashouse in full view of paying customers is bad for business, see?”
I tucked the badge away with a brisk nod. “My apologies again. Like I said, special circumstances. This punk has a history of sporadic outbursts of sudden violence, which is also bad for business if you catch my drift. Now I know you got a few rooms in the back where you work over rubes that try to grift the system and whatnot. Why don’t we take our business there so we can work this out? It’s mighty important we tighten the screws on this sap right away. Lives in the balance and all.”