saying to him, See? Not a bad idea, huh? At least so far. But Harry was still talking.
“It’s what you do, working for the casino. It’s why you’re here tonight.”
“You’re close,” Chili said, “but you’re coming at it wrong. I’m looking for the guy, yeah, but it wasn’t the casino sent me. They asked would I look
“Which I resent,” Harry said, “and believe me Dick Allen’s gonna hear about it.”
“Okay, but getting back,” Chili said, watching the way Harry was staring at him, still interested, “where you think I fit in the picture?”
Karen said, “Harry, for God’s sake,” sounding bored.
They both looked over at her, Harry saying, “What’s the matter?”
“He’s the shylock,” Karen said.
She was staring at him again as Harry said, “Is that right, that’s what you do for a living?”
“What I did up till recently,” Chili said, still looking at Karen. “After I get done here I’ll think about what I’m gonna do next.”
Karen straightened, where she was leaning against the doorjamb. “With your experience,” she said to Chili, “you could always become an agent. Right, Harry?”
“Yeah, that’s what we need,” Harry said, “more agents.”
Still looking at Chili she said, “Well, if I don’t see you again . . .” gave him kind of a shrug and walked away, left them.
“She’s upset,” Harry said.
“You think so?”
She didn’t seem upset to Chili; he thought she had it together, handled it just right.
“You should’ve rung the bell,” Harry said, hunching over the table. “But getting back for a minute—it was the guy’s wife told you where he went, huh?”
“Yeah, Fay. She felt it was her money more’n it was his,” Chili said. “So she offers me half of whatever I bring back, if I find Leo and he has any of it left.”
“You didn’t mention this before.”
“You said keep it simple.”
“But what it does,” Harry said, “it adds a whole new dimension to the story. So you went to Las Vegas but did-n’t find him. The guy stayed a jump ahead of you.”
“No, I found him,” Chili said, and paused.
Harry, waiting, seemed more interested now than he did before.
“You want to hear about what happened in Vegas?”
6 
The next evening after the visit with Fay he was in Las Vegas, checked into the Golden Nugget and on the phone with Benny Wade, the man in charge of collections at Mesas. Chili knew him well enough to call his house, tell him he was in town looking for a Leo Devoe and didn’t have much time, a couple of days . . .
“Never heard of him.”
Chili said to Benny somebody must know of a flashy kind of guy comes to town with three hundred grand. Benny said high rollers left their money at home and played on credit; this guy sounded like a runaway, the kind dreams of making a score and then flying down to Rio by the sea-o.
“Can you check for me? I’ll do you one gratis.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Where are you?”
“The Nugget, downtown.”
“What’s the matter with Mesas? Give you casino rate.”
“The Strip,” Chili said, “you have to get a cab to go anywhere. Here, you walk out the door you’re in Vegas.”
Right there out the window, the Pioneer, Binion’s, Sassy Sally’s, all the grind joints, hot slots, discount prime ribs, keno, bingo, race and sports book . . . cleaning and pressing While-U-Wait . . .
“Downtown, you get it out of your system, why you’re here, in less’n twenty-four hours.”
“Not to mention it’s cheaper,” Benny said. “You could stay in your room, watch TV, you want to save money. Or you could’ve stayed home.”
“I wouldn’t be here,” Chili said, “if I didn’t have to find this guy. He took a walk, so the new management tells me he pays or I do.”
Benny said, “Let me get on it. Leo Devoe?”
“Yeah, but listen, he could be using a different name,” Chili said, looking at While-U-Wait in red neon down on the street. “You don’t score with Devoe, try Paris. It’s the name of his drycleaning place.”
Chili wasn’t going to get dressed up but changed his mind, put on a dark suit and tie, white shirt—so he wouldn’t look like a tourist—a giant neon cowgirl watching him through the window. The suit picked him up, made him feel like going out, find some broad to have dinner with him, nice bottle of wine . . . He was studying himself in the mirror, smoothing his short hair forward to lie flat, wondering why people didn’t like to get dressed up anymore, when Benny Wade called back.
“You ought to put down some bets tonight, you’re lucky. Did you know that?”
“I try to be.”
“There’s a Larry Paris keeps changing hotels, moving up the Strip. Stayed a few nights at the Trop, left and went to the Sands, the Desert Inn, Stupak’s Vegas World. Currently he’s appearing right up the street from you, at the Union Plaza.”
“So is ‘Nudes on Ice,’ ” Chili said, feeling himself getting more into a Vegas mood. “How’s he doing?”
“Nobody knows. He didn’t apply for a credit line anywhere he stayed.”
“Not with a phony name. It must be the guy.”
“I mentioned ‘Larry Paris’ and the night manager at Stupak’s knew right away who I meant. He said Mr. Paris rented a bodyguard to carry his cash. They do that, pay some local stiff ten bucks an hour, try and impress you.”
“That’s Leo,” Chili said. “He must think he died and went to heaven.”
Benny Wade said he sounded like the kind you’d find shooting craps, where you can draw a crowd. Check the dice tables at the Plaza.
It made sense, but didn’t take into account this was Chili’s lucky night. He went downstairs, walked across that flowery Nugget carpeting and there was Leo playing roulette, a lady’s game, Leo betting numbers while his bodyguard, a guy who looked like a young dressed-up weight lifter, held his briefcase.
Chili stood away from the table, behind Leo and a little to one side. Two women in their thirties, wearing party dresses but not too attractive, were across the table from Leo, who was trying to get something going. He’d shake his head at their betting one chip at a time, saying you had to take risks if you wanted to score big. Leo was playing what they called the action numbers, 10 through 15 and 33, the numbers scattered evenly around the wheel. His chips were a shade of green to match his outfit, but there was no way to tell what the chips were worth or how much he was betting. The two women were playing with blue and pink chips. A lot of color at the table, Leo looking like the Easter bunny in a pale green sport coat with gold buttons, an open pink shirt with one of those high Hollywood collars, Leo’s face hunched in there behind sunglasses, hair slicked back. Chili watched the wheel spin and stop. The house won. As the two women walked away Leo told them the dinner offer was still on. They said thanks anyway and turned to each other rolling their eyes. Leo watched them go, the poor little dry-cleaner trying to be a high roller. The bodyguard, a young guy with shoulders that filled his suit, was opening the briefcase now. He brought out a stack of 100’s in a paper strap and handed it to Leo, the dealer waiting. Leo tore the strap, wet his thumb and counted out twenty bills he passed to the dealer, who gave Leo his stack of twenty green chips. So he was betting a hundred a spin on each of the seven action numbers, looking for a hit that would pay him 35 to 1. Chili watched. Leo hit and put three chips on each number, his idea of a system. He hit again, collecting over ten grand, tried three chips again on the seven numbers and lost. Now he went back to betting a hundred on each and was covering the numbers when Chili walked up behind him, said, “Look at me, Leo,” and Leo spilled his chips. The dealer looked over.
Leo, getting himself ready, didn’t turn right away. When he came around he was adjusting his sunglasses over a casual expression that showed just enough surprise—a guy who scams three hundred thousand ready to put on whatever kind of act was needed—though all he managed to say was “Well, well . . .” The bodyguard, with his
