was there for.
“I’m sure Mike Wilkes called you,” Gold said.
Jennifer Gentry didn’t answer.
“I’m not here to threaten you,” Gold said. “Your husband asked to look into who’s having an affair with his wife. He knows about it. You weren’t careful with your diaphragm gel, for one thing.”
Gold waited for a response. When there wasn’t one, he said, “I won’t bullshit you, Jennifer. My concern is for your husband. You know who his father was. I’m advising you to either separate or divorce or get some counseling or whatever. But do something now, before something worse than a divorce happens. I’ve seen it before with cops. It can get ugly.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful about this?” she asked.
“No,” Gold said. “You’re supposed to smarten up.”
It was the kind of thing he hated, getting involved in a marital crisis, but he saw it as the best possible chance to keep the situation from becoming violent.
“I’ll talk to Donald,” Jennifer Gentry said.
Gold nodded and she closed the door on him.
Officer Michael Wilkes told Allen Fein they would have to make different arrangements to meet in the future. They were standing at a pay telephone in a minimall on the Strip. Fein made believe he was talking into the receiver. Wilkes made believe he was waiting for the phone.
“There’s another cop watching me,” Wilkes said. “About a woman I’m seeing. Some other cop’s wife. I have to lay low for a while.”
Fein turned away from Wilkes. He spoke loudly into the receiver. “That’s up to you, Officer,” he said. “Maybe the cop’s wife isn’t worth it. In the meantime, do you have anything on the blotter?”
Wilkes was still thinking about Jennifer Gentry. He was in love with her. He didn’t like it that Fein referred to her in so casual a manner.
“The name you gave me didn’t show,” he told Fein. “Not even at the Hertz in the airport.”
“You checked with the organized crime unit?”
“I’m not in the organized crime unit. I asked a friend with O.C. He said he never heard of this Lano.”
“You sure?”
“I couldn’t go in and ask like it was my business. I asked my friend about the name you gave me. Lano. I told him there was a guy from New York looking to sell something. I said I got it from a kid I picked up driving a stolen car yesterday. My friend never heard of him.”
Fein turned away from Wilkes. “What about that thing at the Palermo? There a police report or not?”
“Nothing.”
“And you’re sure about Lano?”
“The guy’s name hasn’t come up. How many times you want to hear me say it?”
Fein hung up. When he stepped away, Wilkes could see the familiar manila envelope. “That’s yours,” Fein said.
Wilkes looked around as he stepped up to the phone. He cradled the receiver against his neck as he tucked the envelope into his rear pants pocket. He fished change from his front pants pocket and dropped it in the coin slot. He dialed Jennifer Gentry’s home number as he watched Fein drive away in a black BMW convertible.
“Jenn?” he asked when someone picked up. “It’s me.”
Whoever picked up wasn’t answering.
Wilkes quickly hung up. He leaned into the phone until his head was touching the receiver. He closed his eyes tightly and felt a wave of panic rushing through his body.
Chapter 22
It was nearly midnight before Agent Thomas could talk to Cuccia in private. The New York gangsters standing at a roulette table watching the action among a group of Asians playing a fifty-dollar-minimum game. Thomas noticed that Cuccia was shuffling two black chips in his hands.
“Those fakes, or you just afraid to bet them?” Thomas asked.
Cuccia smirked when he saw it was the agent. “I was wondering what happened to you.”
“What’s up?”
“You’d know, you were doing your job,” Cuccia said. He leaned over to watch a middle-aged Asian woman push five green chips onto the number fourteen.
Thomas watched the croupier spin the roulette wheel. “No more bets,” the croupier announced.
“I never understood that,” Thomas said. He pointed at the roulette wheel. “It’s like a bazaar. Everything is a long shot.”
“No guts, no glory,” Cuccia said.
Thomas waited until the ball was bouncing on the wheel before he leaned into Cuccia again. “I found out why you’re here.”
Cuccia ignored the remark.
Thomas spotted drool in the corner of Cuccia’s mouth. He dabbed at it with a napkin. “You’re dribbling.”
The gangster was startled. He stepped away from Thomas. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Who was the short guy with Francone this afternoon?”
“You tell me.”
“An emissary to Jerry Lercasi?”
“Who’s Jerry Lercasi?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Double zero, green,” the croupier announced as he set the marker on the number at the top of the board.
Both men watched the croupier take down the losing bets before paying the winners.
“I spoke to Charlie Pellecchia,” Thomas said.
Cuccia’s face tensed for a moment. “Who’s Charlie Pellecchia?”
“Charlie Opera. The guy broke your face for grabbing his wife’s ass.”
“Charlie who?”
“It’s what the organized crime unit nicknamed him. The guy cracked your jaw. Charlie Opera. O.C. was in the nightclub when you caught that beating.”
Cuccia forced a smirk. “Ever hear of Pearl Harbor? The guy japped me.”
Thomas took another glance around the casino. “I don’t know. I just met the guy. He’s a pretty big boy.”
“You’re needling me. What’s the point?”
“Nothing can happen to Mr. Pellecchia. I want to make that clear.”
“Please,” Cuccia said. “Trust me, I’ve got better things to do.” He pointed to his watch. “In ten minutes I have a date,” he said. “You should give it a try. It’s legal here in Nevada.”
“I’m serious, fuckwad,” Thomas said. “Or your deal gets flushed.”
“Fuckwad?”
“You understand me?”
Cuccia forced himself to chuckle. “Flushed?” he said. “Like down the same shitter where I was born?”
Charlie couldn’t sleep. He slipped on his pants and shirt and found his way back into the kitchen. He thought about calling his wife and her lover to see if the DEA agent had contacted them yet but decided to check for messages first.
When he called his room at Harrah’s, he found he had several messages, all hang-ups. He replayed them and counted fifteen in total.
A few days had passed since the assaults on him and his wife. If the mob re thoughtwanted him, Charlie figured he didn’t stand much of a chance, regardless of any promise the DEA agent had made.
He decided to find Nicholas Cuccia. He used a phone book and started with the most expensive hotels. When the operator at the Bellagio told him to hold for the connection, Charlie hung up.
This time Daria was wearing a white body suit with black high heels. She was racing from a line of cocaine she
