The bull only hesitated for a second, taking a look around at the crowded casino before reluctantly nodding. “All right, come on.” He and his partners escorted us through the nearby private doors into a brightly lit hallway. We passed by the highly secure accounting sector, the surveillance and security compound where they spied out the cons and rigged the games before turning the corner to a darker hallway where a few stark rooms were located.
It’s always been the tradition of casinos to handle their own problems. When a scammer is nabbed running some kind of grift on the tables, they’d rather take him to the back and personally work him over before they hand him over to the brass. Makes the con think twice about coming back, and the word spreads that buncoing the system doesn’t pay, unless you look to score in bruises and broken bones.
The bull graciously opened the door for us. “Finish your work and scatter, Dick. Next time follow protocol. Bandini’s gonna hear about this.”
“Give him the regards of Detective Flask in Homicide. He’s my commanding officer, and can explain everything.”
The door slammed in my face. Casino bulls take their gig pretty serious.
I folded my arms as Benny dumped Vitto in the metal chair that centered the concrete-walled room. Vitto had a bit of steel in him, though. Even with his own blood decorating his shirt collar, he didn’t lose his cool. He studied Benny closely, then gave me the once-over. His eyes narrowed.
“You boys ain’t coppers.”
“Real swift, Einstein. So I guess you’ve figured your goose is neck-deep in the stew right about now. Now I know you’re pretty hip on how to manipulate the law and protect your keister, but like you said — we’re not the brass.”
I gave a nod to Benny, who shrugged his jacket off and hung it on a nearby wall hook. Rolling up his sleeves, he sidled over so that he stood directly behind Vitto. Classic tactic employed by interrogation room coppers. Benny was now an unseen threat lurking just outside of Vitto’s line of sight. There was no way to know when a sudden blow would drop, which was the perfect way to rattle a perp.
Vitto squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, I don’t know who you mooks are, but you’re messing with the wrong guy. I know people.”
Right on schedule, Ben the Bear walloped Vitto upside the head. It was an open-handed blow struck not all that hard but right across the ear, meant to cause the head to ring and distort one’s sense of balance. Vitto squawked and nearly fell out his chair.
“What the hell?” He shook his head dizzily. “You bastards can’t do this to me. Do you know who the hell I am?”
“You’re a lowlife shylock with eyes on raising your star by dealing in the dope trade.” I folded my arms with a smirk. “Just got a batch of Ladykillers on the docks last night, am I right?”
His face turned expressionless. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Guess I don’t have to worry about anything, then. Seeing as I’m the one who blew that stash up.” I gave him my best smug grin.
Vitto’s head snapped up. “That was you? You got some balls, fessing up to a hit like that. I got droppers ready to put you on ice. Pipe that? You think you can do this to me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
Another smack from Benny, this time from the opposite side. While Vitto groaned and tried to reacquire his equilibrium, I casually pulled out a gasper and lit it. “The name’s Mick Trubble. You might have heard of me.”
His face paled. “The Troubleshooter. You’re the gumshoe that took Pike down.”
I exhaled a stream of smoke through my nostrils. “That’s the rumor. I can’t deny or confirm, but let’s just say I’ve taken down a lot bigger fish than you, Vitto. So drop the tough guy act and fall in line or things are about to go south real quick.”
He wet his lips, blinking rapidly. “I haven’t done anything to you, Mick. What are you giving me the third for?”
I held up a finger. “One: your drugs were on their way to friends of mine. Friends that don’t take too kindly to their patrons being knocked over.” I held up a second finger. “Two: I don’t like junk-dealing scum, especially when they deal junk that targets the ladies. Got a soft spot for dames. That puts you on my naughty list. So here’s the deaclass="underline" I take what I know and get my friends in the clubhouse to drop a case on you. You might fight it, but you’ll lose — either the case or a wad of dough in our so-called judicial system. Either way you’re tapped out of the comfy life you’re accustomed to.
He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Or…?”
I smiled. “Or you work for me. Specifically putting your ear to the ground and catching the word on the streets. I know you got a network of knuckle-dragging goons like Johnny Knuckles at your disposal. Put ‘em to work. You dig up anything on a murder of a dame named Scarlett, you ring me up right away. Any word on any new movers or shakers, you ring me up right away. I’m not talking about the average palooka knocking over five and dimes. I’m talking about pro triggers, someone savvy enough pull a clean sneak on city surveillance and cold enough to slit a dame’s throat and feed her to the fishes.”
“That’s what you want?” Vitto’s face sagged in relief. “Yeah, sure. I can do that for you. No need to get rough. You could’ve just asked me.”
“You could’ve just stayed on the right track and become a law-abiding citizen. But now look at you. Do the job, Vitto. I’ll be in touch.” I nodded to Benny, who joined me at the door.
“Hey.” Vitto struggled to rise. “Aren’t you gonna take these bracelets off?”
“They’ll unlock automatically in another fifteen minutes. Take a load off and enjoy the view until then.” I closed the door in his stupefied face.
“Nice work.” Benny adjusted the cuffs of his coat after slipping it back on. “What are we going to do next, Mr. Trubble?”
“Head home. Let things stew a bit.” I flicked the gasper butt into a nearby ashtray. “I guarantee by tomorrow the little birdies will be singing.”
Chapter 10: Bitter Pill
We strode into the lobby of the Luzzatti. It was the best part of the joint: gold and sky-blue colors gave the geometric patterns on the wall a touch of class. A terracotta sunburst design jazzed up the service counter, centered by a clockwork piece that displayed perfectly synchronized gears. The floor tiles matched the ceiling, save for a mosaic piece in the center shaped into the spire of a stately skyscraper from another time. The words ‘Empire State’ were embossed at the bottom of the mosaic.
“Good morning, Mr. Trubble.” Whiz stood behind the faux granite counter in the lobby, his metallic skin glimmering in the light from the twin art deco lamps affixed to the wall behind him. He was a service mandroid, and they liked to look the part. His tuxedo was crisp, his manners immaculate. His sleepy-eyed, narrow-faced features were purposely robotic, a facsimile of humanity without the creepy exactness of a synoid.
“It’s morning already?”
“Yes, sir. Four thirty-three to be exact. Is everything well, Mr. Trubble?”
“Right as rain, Ace. How’s my best gal doing?”
“Ms. Luzzatti is safe and sound, Mr. Trubble. Security sensors indicate she had an unusually restless night, however. She is awake now. You can find her in her apartment.”
“Much obliged.” I jerked my thumb at the Bear. “Benny here is a guest. He’ll need a room for the while of his stay.”