'He asked her fifty questions,' Longo said, flipping through the typed transcript. 'I'll just share the juicy stuff with you gentlemen. Here's one. 'Miss Briggs, before he walked into your casino and sat down at your table, had you ever met a gambler named Frank Fontaine before?' Answer: 'No, it was the first time I ever saw him.''
Longo looked up into their faces. 'The polygraph says she's telling the truth. Here's some more. Question: 'Do you know what it means to flash?' Answer: 'Yes. It means that the dealer is illegally flashing her hole card to a player.' Question: 'Were you flashing your hole card to Frank Fontaine when he was sitting at your table?' Answer: 'No, I did not flash my hole card to Frank Fontaine.' Question: 'Have you ever flashed a hole card to a player?' Answer: 'I'm sure I have, but never intentionally.' Question: 'Was Frank Fontaine sitting in such a manner that he would have been able to glimpse your hole card?' Answer: 'No, he was upright. You have to drop your head on the table to glimpse a dealer's hole card. He wasn't doing that.' Question: 'Did you signal Frank Fontaine in any fashion?' Answer: 'No, I did not.' Question: 'Did Frank Fontaine solicit you in any way before this incident took place?' Answer: 'No, he did not.''
Longo put the transcript down and gazed tiredly at his two guests. 'Her answers are all reading true. I'm sorry to spoil your party, but I've got to let her walk.'
'Maybe she took speed and got her heart racing before she took the test,' Wily suggested, a worried look distorting his blunt features. 'Maybe everything she's saying is actually a lie.'
Longo shook his head wearily. 'The examiner took her pulse before and after the test was administered. Seventy beats a minute before, eighty-two after. That's within the normal range that the heart rate jumps when someone's strapped to a polygraph.'
'You're saying she's telling the truth,' Sammy said, his face deadpan. 'You're saying we're screwed.'
'I don't know if you're screwed or not,' Longo said, glancing impatiently at his watch. 'I do know that the guy who administered this test worked for Metro LVPD for eleven years and is the same guy we use when we want a second opinion. He's the best.'
'Nick's going to kill us,' Sammy said. He glanced sideways at Wily, who was nervously scratching a stain on his necktie. 'He'll fire us for making him look bad. We're fucked.'
'Don't let her go, Pete,' Wily begged, standing up to plead their case before the chubby lieutenant. 'If she walks, we get the blame. We'll never be able to work in Las Vegas again. I got a wife and two kids; Sammy's ready for retirement. You can't make us walk the plank.'
Longo held his palm up like he was directing traffic. 'Guys, stop-you're killing me. Evidence is evidence, and you don't have any. I gotta drop the charges.'
'You can't,' Wily insisted.
'Hey,' Longo said, 'you should be thanking me. And so should Nick.'
'Thanking you for what?'
'If I drop charges and get you guys to say you're sorry, Nola says she won't sue for false arrest and slander. That lets you boys off the hook.'
'She's threatening to sue us?'
'She sure is. Seems she's got a pretty good case. After all, we arrested her on the basis of evidence you gave us, and that makes Nick liable.'
'You're shitting me,' Wily said.
'No, I'm not. If she can prove that Nick had it out for her and you two were following Nick's orders…' Longo shook his head sadly. 'I hate to think of the consequences.'
It was Sammy's turn to stand up. Every time he got together with Longo, the lieutenant made him feel two feet tall. He was always shaking them down for fight tickets and comps and an occasional suite so he could hire a college-age hooker to give him a blow job or entertain his girlfriend of the month. Whoever said gangsters no longer ran in Las Vegas had never been worked over by this lowlife two-bit mutt. It was the experience of a lifetime.
Digging into his pocket, Sammy begrudgingly extracted a Ticket Master envelope. It contained a seat for Tuesday night's Evander Holyfield heavyweight title fight at Caesars, third row center. Scalpers were getting five grand and more for seats this good. He handed it to Longo.
Longo removed the ticket and examined it. 'Only one?' he asked innocently.
Wily shot Sammy a helpless glance.
'For the love of Christ,' Sammy swore under his breath. From his other pocket, he removed a second ticket and handed it over.
'You know, I've always been a big fight fan,' Longo said, slipping the two tickets into his sharkskin wallet.
'Me, too,' Wily said. 'So's Sammy. Aren't you, Sammy?'
Sammy didn't say anything. They were his tickets. Now he'd have to watch the fight at home on Pay-Per-View or go to a bar with a bunch of other clowns who couldn't afford a real seat.
'What are friends for,' he said through clenched teeth. 'So, are you going to help us or not?'
'I can buy you a few days,' Longo said.
Sammy jerked his head around to stare at Longo. 'A few days?'
'I should let her walk right now.'
'A few days?'
'Here's what I'll do,' Longo said. 'I'm going to ask the judge who arraigned Nola to stall Underman until next week. Tomorrow's Sunday and Monday's a state holiday. That gives you three days to come back to me with hard evidence. Bring me something credible, and I'll gladly lock horns with Underman on Tuesday morning.'
Sammy ran his hand through his thinning hair, not believing what he was hearing. He'd known hoods with better manners than this sorry excuse for a law enforcement officer. Biting his tongue, he said, 'We really appreciate it, Pete.'
'You da man,' Wily said apishly.
'It's been a pleasure doing business with you,' Longo said, shaking their hands at the door. 'See you boys at the fight.'
'I wish I was going to the fight,' Wily said, pouting as Sammy paid three bucks to get his car out of the lot. 'How about you?'
'I'll probably go to a bar or watch it on Pay-Per-View,' Sammy admitted. 'I love the fights.'
'Pay-Per-View sucks,' Wily said.
'Well, you can see it on cable. They usually show it a week later.'
'Cable sucks, too. I won't watch cable.'
It was rare for Wily to have an opinion about anything. He was vanilla and proud of it. When they were on the Maryland Parkway, Sammy said, 'You got something against the cable company?'
'How many times you seen the fights on cable?' Wily asked.
'I don't know. Say a thousand.'
'A thousand even?'
'No, a thousand and one. Get to the fucking point.'
'You've seen a thousand and one fights, and how many ring girls have you ever seen? Bet you can't count them on the fingers of one hand. The best-looking broads at a fight are the ring girls, and they never show them on cable.'
'And that's why cable sucks.'
'Sucks the big one,' Wily said.
Reaching beneath his seat, Sammy removed a flask of whiskey and removed the top with his teeth. He took a long pull, licking his lips when he was done.
'Why are you drinking again?' Wily asked.
'Because we're screwed.'
'You think Nick will can us?'
'He should.'
For a while they rode in silence, each man considering what that meant. For Sammy, it meant retiring to someplace cheap like Arizona or Florida where he'd spend his days hustling loose change at cards so he could afford to buy premium cigars. Wily's future was not as bleak; for him, there was always a decent-paying job at an Indian reservation casino or on a cruise ship. He'd survive, but he'd do so knowing his best days were behind him.
'Nola was in on it,' Wily said. 'You agreed with me.'
