There's the Strip. The Strip! I could get to see the Strip.' Lula stopped and blinked. 'You were gonna take me, right?'
'Ranger wants me to go with Tank.'
'Tank? Are you shittin' me?' Lula pulled back, eyes bugged out with the injustice of it all. 'Hunh. I get to go along on all the chicken-shit stuff. Sit in the car while you go into TriBro. And I'm the one goes to the back door when you go to the front door on a bust. I always get the back door. Do I complain? Hell no. I guess I know where I stand here.'
I narrowed my eyes at her. 'Are you done?'
'No way. I'm not done. And I'm feeling anxious now. I need a burger or something.'
'You just ate three pounds of bacon!'
'Yeah, but the dogs ate one of those strips.'
I drove out of the lot and headed for the office. 'Okay, fine. I'll take you to Vegas if you can clear it with Connie.'
'I knew it,' Lula said. 'I knew you wouldn't go without me. We're a team, right? We're like those two cops in the Lethal Weapon movies. We're like Mel Gibson and Danny Glover.'
More like Thelma and Louise, driving off a cliff.
The office was quiet when we walked in. No Mrs. Apusenja. No Vinnie. Only Connie, sitting at her desk, reading the latest Nora Roberts.
'I found Singh,' I told her. 'He's in Vegas.'
'Vegas! I love Vegas,' Connie said.
'You see? Everybody's been to Vegas but me,' Lula said. 'It's not fair. I lead a deprived life. Bad enough I grew up underprivileged and all and now I'm the only one not been to Vegas.'
'Let me go get my violin,' Connie said.
'What do you want to do about this now that I've found him?' I asked Connie. 'Can we forcibly bring him back? Has he violated his bond agreement?'
'The bond agreement states that he can't leave the tristate area without permission. So the answer is yes, you can forcibly bring him back. I'll page Vinnie to double-check, but I'm sure he'll want Singh brought back here.'
'Ranger can't go to Vegas to make the capture,' I told Connie.
Connie nodded. 'He's got an outstanding weapons violation. Stepped on a few toes last time he was in Nevada. His lawyer's working on it.'
'So that leaves me, I guess,' I said. 'And Lula.'
'I get the picture,' Connie said.
'And Tank,' I added. 'Ranger said I should take Tank.'
'Anyone else?' Connie asked, turning to the computer. 'You want a permit for a parade?'
'Boy, this here's going to be fun,' Lula said. 'And what with this new diet, I'll probably be real thin by the time I get there.'
'It's only a five-hour flight,' I told her.
'Yeah, but this diet works fast.'
'Okay, here we go,' Connie said. 'I've got us on a flight out of Newark at four o'clock. We have a plane change in Chicago and we arrive in Vegas at nine. It's not a direct flight, but it's the best I can do.'
'Us?'
'You don't think I'm going to send you and Lula to Vegas without me, do you? I'm feeling lucky. I'm going straight to the craps table. I'm not going to page Vinnie, either. I'm going to leave him a note.'
We didn't have a lot of time if we were going to catch a four o'clock flight. 'Here's the plan,' I said. 'It doesn't make sense to take more than one car. I'll tell Tank he's driving and he can pick all of us up. Everyone go home and pack and be ready to go in an hour. And remember, there's tight security now. No guns, no knives, no pepper spray, no nail files.'
'What? How am I supposed to travel without a nail file?' Lula wanted to know.
'You have to put it in your suitcase and check your suitcase.'
'What if I break a nail getting onto the plane and I got to file it down?'
'You'll have to gnaw it down with your teeth. I'll get you in an hour.'
Tank was parked in front of the bonds office and he was being surveillant. I went out to him and gave him the game plan. He said his assignment was to stick to me and he didn't need to pack.
'Not even a toothbrush?' I asked. 'Not even an extra pair of tighty whiteys?'
Tank almost smiled.
Okay then. I ran to my car and took off for my apartment. I hit the ground running when I got to my building. I took the stairs two at a time, barefoot with my shoes in my hands. Tank was ahead of me in the hall. He opened my apartment door and stepped inside. Four eight-by-ten glossies were spread across the floor. We bent to look at them without touching anything. They were photos of a man with half his head blown away. Like the first set of photos, they were enlarged to hide the victim's identity. My first thought, of course, was of Carl Rosen.
'Do you recognize him?' Tank asked.
