Murder in Vegas Read online

  “Um, I thought you were, Artie.”

  “Where did you hear that? Come on, Snake, who the hell told you that? Who’s been runnin’ off their mouth about my business?”

  “No one, Artie. Honest! I just thought—”

  “Yeah? Well, do me a favor, Snake. Don’t think! Okay? Thinkin’ can get a dim bulb like you in a lot of trouble, know what I’m sayin’? A lot of trouble. Trouble like our pal in the trunk’s got trouble. Capisce?!”

  “Yeah, Artie. I understand.”

  “Good. ’Sides, Molly Rios is a nice lady. A beautiful lady. You shouldn’t oughtta talk about a nice lady like that.”

  “A nice lady? Who’re you kidding, Artie? When Mr. Rios met her, she was working the second string clubs at the other end of the Strip. You know what she used to call herself? Molly Tamalé, the Mexicali Gal. That was her stage name, Artie. Molly Tamalé, the Mexicali Gal. She was a stripper.”

  “Okay, okay … .”

  “Yup. Molly Tamalé—”

  “Okay, Snake.”

  “—the Mexicali Gal … .”

  “Snake! Enough, dammit! You want I should make you walk the rest of the way?”

  “Uh, no, Artie.”

  “Then shut up about Mrs. Rios, you hear me?”

  “Yeah. I hear you.”

  “That’s our employer’s wife you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. So. Hey, this could take a while. You wanna stop for coffee ’fore we go out there?”

  “No, Artie. Let’s just get this over with, then we can stop at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way back. We’ve got some digging to do, work up an appetite. Then we can have breakfast.”

  “Hmmm. Okay. I swear, I haven’t slept in two days.”

  “Well, you’ve been busy, right? You were following Mr. Big Spender all over the place.”

  “Yeah. He sure did run up a tab, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Mr. Rios said.”

  “A big tab, that’s what I heard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t ever gamble, Snake.”

  “No, I’m not a gambler, Artie. I never had much luck with the dice.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re the one rolled them snake eyes. That’s where ya got the nickname.”

  “I hate that name. I like Irwin. I wish people would just call me Irwin.”

  “Well, Irwin, I don’t cut the deck or spin the wheel or roll the bones. Uh-uh, not me, nosiree Bob! I stay away from all that. Gamblin’ only leads to one thing—a ride outta town with two characters like us, know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yeah, Artie, I hear you.”

  “Nosiree Bob! None of that for me! I’m too smart for that. I’m on top of things, see?”

  “Um, Artie?”

  “I’m on top of things … .”

  “Um, Artie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You missed the turn.”

  “I what?”

  “You missed the turn, Artie. That was the Sands back there. You missed it.”

  “Oh. Oh, so I did. Okay, hang on.”

  “Yikes! Jeez Louise! Take it easy, Artie! You almost hit that truck!”

  “Relax, Snake. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s drive. Chill out. Here we go, now we’re on the right track. Now we’re cookin’ with gas!”

  “Jeez, Artie, you nearly gave me a heart attack! We almost got a face full of Mack truck!”

  “Well, we didn’t, did we? That’s your trouble, Snake, always worryin’. Don’t be such a momser.”

  “I am not a momser.”

  “Yes, you are!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are so!”

  “Am not!”

  “Momser, momser, momser!”

  “Cut it out, Artie!”

  “Heh-heh.”

  “Jeez … .”

  “Heh-heh.”

  “How far?”

  “Huh?”

  “How far outta town we supposed to take him, Snake? Did Mr. Rios say?”

  “No, Artie. He just said the desert. He said use our judgment, look for a good spot. Then I’m supposed to call him when it’s finished.”

  “Okay. I know a good spot, another twenty, twenty-five miles or so. Big pile of rocks and a clumpa trees near the foothills, ‘bout fifty yards off this little dirt side road. We can pull in there, get the job done. Sound good?”

  “I guess. How do you know about that, Artie? How do you know about that clump of trees off the side road? Have you done this before?”

  “Course not! I only done four jobs for Mr. Rios before. Well, five. Yeah, five—but one didn’t count, ’cause he didn’t stay down.”

  “Oh. When was that?”

  “’Bout two, twoanahalf years ago.”

  “Oh. How long have you been with Mr. Rios?”

  “Three years next June. Yeah, ’fore that I was just a good-for-nothin’ small-timer.”

  “Who did you work for?”

  “No one in particular. Odd jobs. Did one for the Families once, but they like to use their own.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re a close bunch, the Families.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How ’bout you, Snake? Who’d you work for?”

  “Um, nobody, really. I guess I’ve been a free agent, like you.”

  “Ever do a job like this before?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Come on! Tell, tell!”

  “No, I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “You ever been inside?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think I was workin’ with somebody whose bad luck went beyond a bad roll.”

  “No, I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.”

  “’Cept for that snake eyes!”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much you lose on that snake eyes?”

  “Uh, twenty.”

  “Wow! On one lousy roll? Wow!”

  “Yeah, but Mr. Rios bailed me out.”

  “That how you hooked up with him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gee, Snake, I just realized. You and me been workin’ for the same guy—what?—two years now, and this is the first time he’s put us together on a job. I usually work with Face.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever work with Face?”

  “No. He’s—he’s an odd one.”

  “Tell me! Imagine havin’ a face like that.”

  “What was it, a fire?”

  “Acid. His former employers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t do to get on their wrong side.”

  “Uh, no, I guess not. You should, um, you should think about that, Artie.”

  “Think about what? What?! Come on, Snake, what’re you talkin’ about? You know something you ain’t tellin’ me? What?!”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Oh, boy, what the hell is that? Cops! Just what we need, I swear! What the hell’re they doin’? Turn around and look, Snake. What’re they up to?”

  “I don’t know, Artie. Looks like they’re just driving, you know, patrolling, or whatever. Doesn’t look like they’re particularly interested in us.”

  “They’re followin’ us.”

  “No, I don’t think so, Artie. They’re just driving.”

  “They’re up to somethin’. I can feel it! Those guys are always up to somethin’.

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re packin’, right?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Well, get ready. You might need it. They’re gettin’ closer. God, I hate cops, I really do! I’m gonna slow down a little, we’ll see what they—”

  “No, they’re pulling out into the other lane, Artie. They’re not—”

  “Oh, boy! Get your piece out, Snake. Get ready t
o—”

  “They’re passing us, Artie, see? They’re going right past us. They’re not even looking over here. Look!”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. There they go. Whaddaya know? Boy-oh-boy, that was a close one!”

  “Not really, Artie. Close would be if they pulled us over, asked to see your driver’s license and registration. Asked us what’s in the trunk. That would’ve been close. ‘What have you got in the trunk, guys?’ That would have been something to get all worked up about. They didn’t even—”

  “Snake?”

  “Yeah, Artie?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

  “What’s nice, Artie?”

  “That. Look. The desert at five o‘clock in the morning. The sky still dark but just gettin’ light, and the sand and the hills all blue. Deep blue, like the ocean. I knew a girl with eyes that color, once. Asked her to marry me.”

  “Did she marry you?”

  “Nah. I ain’t never been married. No family, no friends, no ties of any kind. That’s the way I like it, Snake. Free as a bird on the ocean. Or the desert. Yeah, it’s practically the same color as the ocean out there … .”

  “No family? What happened to them, Artie?”

  “Never had one. I was ‘found,’ that’s what Sister Mary Margaret always used to say. She ran the place where they found me. On the freakin’ doorstep, in a basket. They said I was just a coupla days old. A note pinned to the blanket. ‘His name is Arturo. Please take care of him becuz I can’t. God bless you.’ Whoever she was, she spelled because wrong. She spelled it B-E-C-U-Z. Ain’t that a bitch?”

  “I guess so.”

  “The freakin’ doorstep!”

  “Yeah.”

  “I kept that note. It’s in my wallet. Kinda like a picture, ’cept I don’t got a picture of her. Whoever she was.”

  “Where was that, Artie?”

  “Where was what?”

  “The orphanage.”

  “New York. The Sisters of Mercy on the Lower East Side. Bowery, just south of Houston. You know New York?”

  “Yeah. I was there for a while, about ten years ago, just after I got out of college.”

  “College? You went to college?”

  “Yeah. Nassau Community on Long Island.”

  “Wow. Me, I never finished high school. I got in some trouble in New York, juvey, never finished high school. So, you’re from Long Island. Your family there?”

  “They were.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “My parents are in Florida, a little retirement community near Fort Lauderdale. My sister is in Philly. She’s got a family. Two boys and a girl.”

  “Wow, Snake, you’re an uncle?!”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Two nephews and a niece. Must be nice.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them. Sally’s husband doesn’t like me coming around.”

  “Oh. Well, at least you know where they are.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, college! What did you major in?”

  “Business management.”

  “So, why ain’t you managin’ a business?”

  “I found other work that paid better.”

  “Yeah, just like me! How long you been in Vegas?”

  “A little over two years. I came out to do some work, and then I got stuck at that table.”

  “Yeah, the snake eyes. Right. So, you plannin’ on stayin’ here?”

  “Probably. A while, anyway.”

  “Yeah. Vegas is where the money is, Snake. That’s why I’m stickin’ around. For a while, anyway. Lots of job opportunities, ya know? Lots of people like Mr. Rios. And lots of idiots like Mr. Big Spender in the trunk! Heh-heh. God, that was dumb! Tryin’ to cheat Mr. Rios like that … .”

  “Yeah. You shouldn’t try to cheat Mr. Rios.”

  “That’s for sure! I hear he’s handled quite a few guys like Mr. Big Spender. Took out a coupla them myself. Face says he thinks it’s more than a dozen now. This desert must be fulla bodies. Yessiree Bob! Here, wanna cigarette?”

  “No, thank you, Artie. I don’t smoke.”

  “Yeah, yeah, bad for your health. Lung cancer, emphysema, second-hand whatever, the ozone layer, higher taxes, the end ‘a the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I love ’em. Mmmm, that’s good. Nothin’ like a Winston. ‘Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.’ Remember that, Snake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mmmm. Let’s see, the turnoff’s up here somewhere. Then it’s a kinda long drive on the dirt road, straight out into the desert. I’ll know the place when I see it. What time is it now, Snake?”

  “Um, let me see … .”

  “Oh, boy, here we go again.”

  “It’s five-ten. Five-eleven. Yeah, five-eleven.”

  “Five-eleven. ’Nother half hour or so, and our business will be over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, here’s the turnoff.”

  “You sure, Artie?”

  “Yeah, this is it for sure. I know where I’m goin’.”

  “Okay … .”

  “What, you don’t trust me?”

  “I trust you, Artie.”

  “Damn right! This is the road, see. Straight out into the desert. I swear, this desert looks just like the ocean this time of the mornin’. You ever seen the ocean, Snake?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah, the Pacific. Nothin’ like it, man. I was in L.A. a coupla times, on work for some people, and I used to see this chick who liked the beach. Her old man had one of them beach houses in Malibu. Her and me used to go swimming a lot when he was outta town, know what I mean? God, I love the ocean.”

  “You shouldn’t do that, Artie.”

  “Do what?”

  “Mess around with married women.”

  “Oh, boy, not that again! Look, Snake, I hope you don’t mind my sayin’ this, but you don’t seem to be too bright. Even if you did go to college. And you’re definitely too uptight. Way too uptight. You could use a woman yourself, ya know? A little action, and you’d probably relax a little. Don’t be so scared of everything. Women like me. I like women. If they want a little action, I always oblige. No big deal. Life’s a gamble, ya know?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Gamble.”

  “Well, not at a casino, Snake. I don’t gamble gamble. But if you think about it, everything’s a gamble. You pays your money and you takes your chances. Women. Adventure. Whatever. I don’t wanna be bored, and I don’t wanna be boring. You’re kinda boring, Snake, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. Face and the others, they say you’re kind of a goof, you know? Klutzy. That’s why everyone calls you Snake. You’re the kinda guy who rolls snake eyes. Me, I’m a different story. I got plans.”

  “And what would they be?”

  “Ha! You’ll see! A few more jobs for Mr. Rios, another coupla years here in Vegas, and then I’m outta here. I’m goin’ to get me a place out on the Coast, near the ocean. Malibu, maybe. I’m gonna retire early, live the easy life. Wine, women, and song. That’ll be me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You should have plans, Snake, like me.”

  “Oh, I’ve got plans, Artie.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “You plannin’ on strikin’ it rich? Winnin’ the lottery? Maybe being named Momser of the Year? Heh-heh.”

  “Stop that! I am not a momser!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are so! Oh, hell, let’s not do that again. See that buncha trees up ahead? Those big boulders near the hills? That’s the place, that’s where we’re headed.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ve only got the one shovel, so I’ll do the diggin’, Snake. I’m in better shape than you. I can get the job done fast. That oka
y with you?”

  “Sure Artie. You dig, and I’ll watch. I’m just a momser, anyway.”

  “Oh, now, don’t pout, Snake. For chrissakes! I’m just pullin’ your leg. Speakin’ of which, we gotta get him outta the trunk.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mr. Big Spender. What’s his real name, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, Artie. I didn’t ask.”

  “I wonder who he is. Was. You suppose he has a family?”

  “How should I know? He’s just a job, Artie.”

  “Yeah. Just a job. Now you’re bein’ smart, Snake. Don’t get involved, don’t ask too many questions. Just do the job you’re paid for and get out. Go on to the next job.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not such a momser, after all.”

  “Thanks, Artie.”

  “Still … .”

  “What, Artie?”

  “I just wonder what his name was … .”

  “Is this it?”

  “Yeah, Snake. This is the place. We just turn off here … yeah, another few yards … okay. Here we are. Pop the trunk, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Let’s get him outta there. Put him down a sec’. Hey, here’s his wallet. A hundred and fifty-seven bucks. You want some of it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, more for me. Ah! Driver’s license. Wallachinsky, Victor. Portland, Oregon. Hmm, Polack. That’s a Polack name, right? Wallachinsky? Must be.”

  “Yes, Artie, he’s probably of Polish descent.”

  “Ha! ‘Polish descent’—I like that. ‘Polish descent.’ Okay, you take his legs. Careful … okay, over here, near the tree. Okay, easy … easy … there. Damn, he’s heavy! How much you suppose he weighs?”

  “A lot.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to dig a deep one for this guy, this gentleman of Polish descent! Hand me the shovel.”

  “Here.”

  “Okay, get in and turn the car this way, so the headlights can show me what I’ m doin’.”

  “It’ll be dawn soon.”

  “Well, dawn ain’t here yet, is it, Snake? Just give me some light, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “There—no, a little more to the left … a little more—there. Stop! Perfect. Now I can see the ground.”

  “Okay.”

  “Here, take my jacket. Careful! That’s a genuine Gucci, cost me six hundred bucks. Better take this holster, too. Damn, that piece is heavy! Ya never notice that till ya take it off. Just put ’em on the front seat. Okay. Now, you just grab a seat there, on the hood, and watch how fast I can do this.”