'They can take care of Marty, can't they?'
'Cops think you killed your wife,' I said.
'And they got no reason to look for Marty. You want to give them a ringy ding?'
'Why do you need me?' Anthony said.
'I'm on a good roll at the blackjack tables. Today I was going to bust 'em. I got no problem with Marty. Bibi can go with you. Hell, she's his wife.'
I hit him again, not too hard. He bumped against the wall but didn't go down.
'That's why,' I said.
'Jesus man, stop it. I'll go. Okay? Fine. No problem.'
He straightened from the wall, rubbing the lump where'd I'd hit him twice.
'Can I have my gun back?'
'No.'
We were silent down the corridor and in the elevator. He could of course make a dash in the casino and probably succeed, but it would bring the cops. And the cops thought he killed his wife.
Outside the bright desert air hinted faintly of carbon monoxide as we walked down the Strip.
'It's fucking hot, man,' Anthony said.
'We gotta walk? How come we can't ride.'
'Shut up,' I explained.
'Where's Hawk? Shouldn't he be with us? You think you can go up against Marty alone?'
'Marty won't be alone,' Bibi said.
'He's never alone. There'll be three, four others with him.'
'Got that covered,' I said.
We got to the defunct Greek restaurant about five to one. There was plywood over the plate glass windows, and on the front door as well. Someone had sprayed Julio Caesar Chavez on the front door plywood in swirling black. We went around behind the building. It was as deserted as it had been when I was there last, looking at Shirley Ventura's dead eyes in the bright sunlight. Beside me Anthony was making little whimpering sounds. Bibi was swallowing audibly. There was the sound of birds though I didn't see any, and the sound of cars going seventy-five on Interstate 15 maybe a hundred yards away, beyond the wire fence that enclosed the empty back lot. The wire was woven with weeds and grass that had formed a nearly solid mat along the fence. There were colonies of the same weeds scattered sparsely over the lot. Our feet crunched loudly on the gravel surface. Fifty feet beyond the restaurant was a corrugated metal utility building. Deep into the back corner of the lot were several cars gutted and partly disassembled, looking like discorporating carcasses.
'Place has Marty written all over it, hasn't it?' I said.
Neither of them answered. So much for small talk.
CHAPTER 51
We waited. The near midday sun baked down on the gravel lot. A big maroon rental car crunched into the gravel area in front of the restaurant. It stopped out of sight. I could hear the doors open and close and then the crunch of footsteps and Marty Anaheim came around the corner of the restaurant wearing a white linen suit over a black tank top. With him was a fat Mexican in a flowered shirt and a funny small hat. Bibi was stone silent beside me. Anthony was moaning softly.
'Marty, you stylish bastard,' I said.
'Love your tank.'
Marty and the Mexican kept walking straight toward us, without saying a word. This was calculated to make me feel faint. It wasn't working with me, but it seemed effective with Anthony. Finally they stopped about two feet away. The Mexican moved a little ways to my right. He had small eyes and they had no expression in them.
'Who's this,' I said and nodded at the Mexican, 'a leaner from the local guys?'
Marty ignored me. He stared straight at Bibi.
'When this is over, little girl, you're coming with me.'
She didn't say anything. Marty looked at Anthony.
'And you're dead,' he said.
Then he turned his attention, almost as if it were an afterthought, to me.
'Okay, asshole,' Marty said.
'Whaddya want?'
'I want to wrap this whole deal up, Marty.'
'What deal?'
'The deal where you steal from Gino and kill Julius's daughter, and get into bed with the Russians in Boston, and have them try to whack me, and… you know, that deal.'
Marty never blinked.
