It's bad enough my people spend their time dealing with crimes the casinos are causing, and not on the street fighting the drug dealers and street gangs that have migrated from L.A. during the past decade. The fact that this case is bullshit doesn't seem to bother you. Well, it bothers me. But, like I said, it's your call, my friend.'
What a nice speech, Valentine thought. Longo had probably been waiting a long time to get on his soapbox and use it. The problem was, he had no right giving lectures. Judging by the size of his enormous gut, the lieutenant wasn't spending any more time chasing drug dealers than he had to.
'I'm glad we agree on something,' Higgins said.
'Your case sucks.' Longo jabbed his thumb at the sobbing lovebirds next door. 'It doesn't add up. She rips off the Acropolis, but does she run? No, she goes home, fixes a sub, and watches the Cartoon Network. Am I the only one seeing an incongruity here?'
The blood had risen behind Higgins's tan, giving his face a dark, menacing quality. This was about to turn into a first-class pissing contest, and Valentine found himself wishing he'd checked into his hotel and turned on a ball game or, better yet, taken a nap. Smothering a yawn, he stared at Nola Briggs, who was still crying her heart out. She was really pretty, the kind of girl that got the little mouse on the treadmill going. He glanced at the clock hanging over them; her boyfriend had come into the room more than ten minutes earlier.
Fishing two shiny pennies from his pocket, Valentine tossed them to the floor. Longo looked at him like he wanted to bite his head off. 'What?' the detective snarled.
'I want to say something.'
'So say it.'
'I just had an epiphany,' Valentine announced.
'A what?' Longo said.
'A vision; a moment of truth.'
'And you just had one,' the lieutenant snarled.
'That's correct.'
'Well, please share your epiphany with us.'
'Nola is guilty as sin,' he said.
Longo threw his arms in the air. 'How can you know that, sitting there?'
Valentine got up and went to the mirror, eyeing Nola through the tinted glass. She was still bawling like a kid who'd lost her lunch money. He pointed at her.
'This isn't how innocent people act,' he explained. 'Look at the predicament she's in. Anyone else would be screaming for a lawyer. Not her. She just sits there, knowing we're watching, proclaiming her innocence. Who cares what we think? Telling the police she's innocent won't change her situation one bit. She's trying to convert us. Innocent people never do that.'
Truth was the great elixir. The anger disappeared from Higgins's and Longo's faces.
'For argument's sake, let's say you're right,' Longo said, the rancor gone from his voice. 'You think the tapes are enough to convict her?'
'Probably not,' Valentine said.
'Then I have to drop charges.'
'Not right away. If I were you, I'd ask a judge to post a reasonable bail. Let her walk and put a tail on her. Fontaine will eventually show his face.'
'You seem pretty certain about this,' Longo said.
'I'd bet my reputation on it,' Valentine replied.
Longo scratched the top of his balding crown. Officers of the law could be led to water but never made to drink. The lieutenant glanced at Higgins and said, 'You agree?'
'If Tony says she's guilty, she's guilty,' Higgins said. 'I think it's a darn good idea.'
Longo snorted contemptuously. 'Two minutes ago, you were telling me to hold her. I hope you know what you're doing.'
Higgins slapped Longo on the arm. The blow did not make a friendly sound. 'I do. I want her watched twenty-four hours a day. Anything suspicious, call me. Think you can handle that between drug busts?'
Longo's face reddened; he knew Higgins was going to make him regret his little speech for a long time.
'Sure thing,' the chubby lieutenant said.
6
The Acropolis was just as Valentine remembered it-an old-fashioned gambling joint with a silly motif that had endeared itself to enough old-timers to keep it afloat. It had nothing to recommend it over the new kids on the block except lots of character, and that didn't count for much these days.
It was after three when he checked in and found two messages awaiting him at the front desk. He read the first while riding the elevator to the fourth floor, his nose twitching at the fifty-year-old bellman's repugnant cologne. It was from Wily, and his chicken scratch had not improved. From what he could make out, the pit boss wanted him to touch base once he'd gotten settled, and he had left his pager number.
The elevator doors parted and he followed the bellman down a twisting hallway with as many turns as a carnival fun house. His room was adjacent to the service elevators, and as the bellman unlocked the door, Valentine peered over his shoulder into a depressingly dark space with as much charm as a cave.
Valentine parted the blinds as the bellman described the amenities. He had a wonderful view of a gray concrete wall.
'Where's the toilet?' he inquired.
'You're in it,' the bellman replied.
'What are you, a comedian?'
'Right,' the bellman said. 'I carry bags for exercise.'
He was funny in a pathetic way, so Valentine tossed him a five-dollar bill. The bellman stuffed it into his vest without a hint of gratitude. After chaining the door, Valentine peeled off his clothes and took a shower.
There was a special ugly to Las Vegas, and his bathroom was a monument to it. Neon blue walls clashed with a urine-colored sink and john, the moldy shower curtain a map of ancient Greece. After a few minutes, the hot water ran out and he found himself dancing under the bone-chilling spray. Getting out, he heard the phone.
He took his time getting dressed. Being retired had its privileges; not hurrying was certainly one of them. When he went into the bedroom, the message light on the phone on the bedside table was blinking like a beacon on a stormy night. He sat down on the rock-hard bed and dialed voice mail. An automated voice greeted him and soon he was listening to his message.
'Hi, Tony. It's Mabel. Glad to see you made it in one piece! I know how you hate flying. Listen-Gerry came by earlier, and he was hopping mad when I told him you'd flown the coop. I guess he had a big weekend planned with his father… Anyway, to make a long story short, I'm going to the ball game with your son this afternoon. He was going to scalp the tickets, and I said hey, I'm great company. So we're going. I hope you don't mind.'
'Jesus H. Christ,' Valentine muttered. Gerry and Mabel on a date. The thought made him shudder.
'I like your son, I really do,' she went on, as if anticipating his reaction. 'I know he's put you through a lot of grief, but I just can't be mean to him. I hope you understand.'
'Not really,' he said.
'Anyway, the real reason I called is, I'm going to scrap the 'die broke' ad. You were right-it doesn't work. I mean, it's clever, but so are most five-year-olds. The good news is, I've come up with something really funny. By the time you get this message, I'll have faxed it to the hotel, so if you don't mind, I'd like you to take a look at it and give me a call. I'll be waiting by the phone. Ta ta.'
Valentine hung up remembering the time he'd tried to take Gerry to see the Yankees in the play-offs only to have his son say no and go off with his dope-smoking friends. It had been some of the bitterest rejection he'd ever tasted. What goes around comes around, he supposed.
He felt the room tremble as the service elevator docked next door. Two Mexican chambermaids got out, chattering loudly as they pushed a squeaky laundry cart down the hall. He could hear every syllable. The phone rang again.
