“How much?” the driver repeated.
“Huh?” Cuccia said. He leaned forward, an overanxious, desperate, but grateful tourist. “Anything,” he said. “Can you get me one?”
“Not me, no,” the driver said. “But I have friend can get. For two hundred, maybe three hundred dollar, I think.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I think. Where you are staying? Here, this place?”
They were parked off Boulder Highway, alongside a Super 8 Hotel. Cuccia shook his head. “At the MGM. But I thought it was better if I did this from here.”
The driver shrugged. “Is fine here, too. You want to wait, I come back. Anything you are want? Magnum, automatic?”
“A nine,” Cuccia said. “And an extra clip.”
The driver nodded. “I am right back,” he said. “Half an hour.”
“So much for your friend Lercasi,” Charlie told Iandolli.
They were standing in the motel parking lot. Three police cruisers had pulled in behind the van. The Asian was in handcuffs. The right side of his face was swollen.
“I got a call from him before,” Iandolli said. “About Beau Curitan, I think.”
“That’s pretty funny,” Charlie said. He was still catching his breath from the fight. He cradled his left hand in his right hand. He could barely move his fingers.
“The message said the package was delivered,” Iandolli said. “I asked for proof but he hung up.”
Charlie squinted at Iandolli. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me? Jesus Christ, give it a break.”
Charlie opened the door to his rental.
“Where you going?” Iandolli asked.
“Why?”
“Because Nicholas Cuccia is still out there. He almost killed that DEA agent. Gold just went to look for him.”
“And now you’re gonna follow me?”
Iandolli was adamant. “Where are you going?”
“A pet store, if I can find one is still open.”
“A pet store?”
“I owe a woman an apology.”
Minh Quan snorted two lines of cocaine after receiving the phone call from his man following Charlie Pellecchia. When he arrived at the small motel south of the Strip, Minh was just in time to see one of his men handcuffed and shoved into a police van. Another member of his gang arrived on a motorcycle a few minutes later. Minh instructed him to follow Pellecchia.
When a group of police cruisers pulled into the motel parking lot, Minh decided to get out of the area before he was spotted. He drove out toward the desert, where he would wait until he knew where Pellecchia settled for the night.
Then he would kill him.
The Russian was back in fewer than twenty minutes. He handed Cuccia a Glock handgun with a fully loaded nine-bullet magazine. The Russian produced a second fully loaded magazine and dropped it on the bed.
“Was little expensive,” he said.
Of course it was, Cuccia was thinking. “How much?” he asked.
“Four hundred for gun and single clip. Another fifty for extra magazine.”
“Fifty for the clip?”
“Is very fast business. No time to bargain. I take back you don’t want clip.”
Cuccia liked the feel of the Glock in his right hand. He aimed it at the pillows as he turned the gun sideways in his hand.
“Can you take me back to my hotel?” Cuccia asked.
“Sure. No charge, we have deal.”
“You have your car keys?”
The Russian held them up.
“Thanks,” Cuccia said. He turned the gun on the Russian and squeezed off three rounds.
Chapter 60
Gold was less than a mile from Caesar’s when a dump truck crossing the boulevard slammed into a jitney and blocked the northbound traffic. He was stuck in the middle lane and couldn’t escape. He leaned on his horn a few times until he realized it was pointless.
Gold flashed his badge at the cars on his left and crept across the lane until a UPS truck blocked his path.
When Francone heard the lock in the hotel door open, he sat up on the bed with the hope that it was Anthony Rizzi. Maybe Rizzi had changed his mind. Maybe he was coming back to give Francone some money after all.
Or maybe it was the federal agents Francone had spotted at the hospital. At that point, he no longer cared which law enforcement agency found him. At least he wouldn’t have to go look for them.
Francone looked puzzled when the Hispanic woman in the maid’s uniform stumbled into the room. He leaned forward when he saw Nicholas Cuccia standing in the doorway holding a handgun. Francone drew back on the bed.
Cuccia pushed the maid inside the room. He checked the hallway before letting the door close behind him. He stood to one side of the door as he spotted Francone moving back on the bed.
“Joey-boy!” Cuccia yelled.
The Hispanic woman backstepped toward the window behind her. Her eyes were focused on the gun in Cuccia’s right hand. Her face was full of terror.
“Na-Nick,” Francone stuttered. “What’s up? How, uh, how’d you get out?”
Cuccia was enjoying watching his protege stutter. “Same way as you, I guess. Except I had to kill somebody first.”
The maid gasped.
“Easy does it,
“Rizzi took off on us,” Francone said. “I was downstairs with him a while ago. He gave me this bullshit story about getting some money and split.”
Cuccia smiled.
“I swear it,” Francone said. “I was downstairs with him.”
“I guess I’m too late then.”
“Maybe we can still catch him at the airport. At least there’s two of us can look for him now.”
Cuccia looked from Francone to the maid. “Tie her up,” he said. “Fast. Let’s go.”
“Tropicana Avenue off I-Fifteen,” Walsh told the agent driving the car. “There’s a Super Eight there.”
Walsh set down the radio as the car jerked to the left and sped south on Paradise Road. Walsh called a set of backup agents over his radio. “Las Vegas police have a report of shots fired at a Super Eight Hotel on Boulder Highway. Converge at that location.”
“You want to back off the locals?” the agent driving the car asked.
“What’s the point? Let’s just hope this isn’t some estranged husband taking out his old lady and her boyfriend. This guy Cuccia gets out of Las Vegas it’ll be all our asses.”
“Jurisdiction?”
“That’s the least of it. That DEA agent, Thomas. I never should have let him take Cuccia. This is nothing but a Chinese fire drill right now. That kid dies… I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Hold on,” the agent doing the driving said. He whipped the car around a milk truck making a left turn. A taxi attempting the same left turn from the middle lane blocked them from crossing the intersection. The car screeched to a stop inches from the bumper of the taxi.
