back for its encroachment and its decades of waste.
One of the streets that angled off Casino Drive to the east was Bruce Woodbury Drive. That was where Co- River Management was located, in a new office park, in a building with three other small businesses. A sign on the front cleared up the minor mystery about its function; it was a property management outfit that handled residential and commercial rentals and leases and new home sales.
As he parked in the facing lot, Fallon debated letting Casey come inside with him. She might be able to get information more easily than he could because of her real estate license: professional reciprocity. But he decided against it. The marks on her face, the scabbing and chapping and peeling sunburn, hadn’t healed enough to be fully concealed by makeup.
He said, “You’d better wait here.” She didn’t argue, so he added, “I can leave the engine running if you want to stay cool.”
“No, I need to get out and walk. I’ve been sitting too long.”
Fallon left her and went inside. Co-River’s anteroom resembled a doctor’s office: half a dozen uncomfortable- looking chairs, tables with magazines and brochures, an L-shaped counter with a couple of desks behind it, a short hallway and a pair of closed doors. The one difference was the wall decorations: a three-by-six-foot architect’s drawing of a housing development called Sunrise Acres, and an aerial photograph of the same development under construction.
Behind the counter were two women, one a youngish redhead, the other middle-aged, both of them working on computers. The middle-aged one pasted on a professional smile as Fallon approached, stood up to ask what she could do for him.
“I’m looking for one of your clients,” he told her. “A man named Courtney, Steven Courtney.”
“Yes?”
“He’s a professional musician. Plays piano.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve heard he’s good and I’d like to talk to him, hear him play, maybe offer him a better deal than he has here. I own a small lounge up in Vegas that’s just been renovated and I need some new talent for the reopening.”
“I see.” Her smile had slipped some; the bright version was reserved for prospective clients. “Why have you come to us?”
“I don’t know where Courtney is working or living in the area,” Fallon said, “but I understand he receives his mail here. So I thought you might tell me how to get in touch with him.”
The rest of the smile disappeared. “We don’t give out personal information about our clients.”
“Not even if it’s to their benefit?”
She shook her head. “If you’d like to leave your name and number, I’ll see that Mr. Courtney gets it.”
“I would, but I’m pressed for time. I need to hire a piano man as soon as possible. Couldn’t you make an exception in this case?”
“No, I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to do that.”
“Who
“Our director, Mr. Sanchez. But he isn’t here. He’s gone to a meeting in Fort Mohave.”
“When will he be back?”
“I don’t know,” she said, tight-lipped now. “Possibly late afternoon, possibly not until tomorrow morning.”
“That might be too late for Courtney and me. Couldn’t you at least tell me where he’s working in Laughlin?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
The young redhead had been listening to the conversation while she tapped away on her computer keyboard. She said, “Oh, Lord, Jeanette, that’s not privileged information. Why don’t you just tell him?”
“Mind your own business, Kristin.”
That came out sharp, and the redhead bristled and glared. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not in charge here.”
“Neither are you.”
Fallon said to the redhead, “Mr. Courtney will thank you for it,” to take advantage of the friction between them. “I really am interested in hiring him.”
Jeanette said, “I’ve already told you-”
Kristin said, “He’s working at the Wagonwheel Casino, in their Sunset Lounge. I just looked up his file.”
The older woman swung around angrily. “Mr. Sanchez will hear about this. Don’t think I won’t tell him, because I will.”
“Go ahead. I’m just helping out a client, that’s all.”
“Now you listen here…”
They weren’t interested in Fallon any longer, and he wasn’t interested in their workplace bickering. He made a quick exit into the morning heat.
“I knew Kevin was here,” Casey said. She’d taken off her sunglasses and her eyes were bright. “I knew it!”
Fallon said, “Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“Bobby J. knows I’ve been asking questions and he’s probably alerted Spicer by now. Spicer doesn’t know who I am, but he can put two and two together and it’s bound to spook him. If he’s spooked enough, he’s liable to start running again.”
“But not this soon. He must believe you’re still in Las Vegas, that you don’t know he’s in Laughlin.”
“Maybe,” Fallon said again.
“Kevin’s here. I
“In any case, it’s time we let the law take over.”
“The police? In a little town like this?”
“Bring in the FBI, then.”
“No,” she said. “No.”
“Why not?”
“They’d take their time before they did anything, that’s why. Agents would have to come down here from Las Vegas to interview us, then they’d check with the management company, the casino, God knows who else to make absolutely sure Steven Courtney and Court Spicer are the same person, and then they’d have to plan and coordinate before they acted. I almost went crazy when Kevin was kidnapped, waiting for somebody to do something. You’re in the security business, you must know that’s the way they work.”
He did know it. The law was methodical; no agency was going to rush out and arrest a man who might or might not be Spicer, and if they found the boy, hand him over immediately to his mother.
“It could take days,” Casey said. “And what if that gave Court enough time to disappear with Kevin again? I’m so afraid for him, Rick.”
Fallon said nothing.
“There’s another thing, too. The authorities don’t know Court like I do. He’s capable of holding Kevin hostage, hurting him or worse. I think I’ve convinced you how dangerous he is, but what if I couldn’t convince them?” “They’re professionals. They won’t put Kevin at risk. If Spicer’s still here, they’d arrest him while he’s at the Sunset Lounge, separated from the boy.”
“We could do the same thing in reverse, and much more quickly-wait until Court’s at the lounge, make sure Kevin’s safe, and then contact the FBI. That makes sense, too, doesn’t it?”
“In theory. It would depend on where Kevin is, whether he’s alone or being guarded, how easily he could be rescued.”
“It won’t take long to find out, now that we know where Court’s working.” She gripped his wrist with fingers like talons. “I’ve waited so long, I can’t wait much longer. I want my son back
“It’s not going to happen immediately, no matter what we do.”
“But soon. Soon. Just you, us, no police or FBI yet. Please?”
It went against his better judgment, but she was so eager, so desperate. There was no good argument against spending one day trying to locate the boy themselves, as long as they were careful. At the very least, they should
