'Fifty? That's pretty steep.'
'We're talking about my reputation here, Bill.'
'How many guesses?'
'Just one.'
'Fifty it is.'
'Roxanne,' Valentine said.
At the light, Higgins threw the Volvo into park and dug out his wallet. He extracted one of the new fifties that looked like Monopoly money and handed it over. Valentine stuffed the bill into his pocket, no longer broke.
'Remind me never to gamble with you.'
They drove through a borderline slum on the northern tip of the Strip. Valentine did not think he'd been in a more depressing place on a Sunday morning in a long time. The streets were run-down and littered with trash, the people on them dragging their asses as if strung out, pulses barely registering.
'Why Roxanne?' Valentine wanted to know.
'She's smart and dependable. Her dad was a cop.'
'So she told me.'
'She called me last night after you got the fax from your son. At first I couldn't believe it was Sonny Fontana. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I was always suspicious about his dying in Tahoe. No autopsy. So I decided to do a little snooping. I had my records department pull up Sonny's Social Security number; then I went online to the Social Security Web site. They keep a death index of all deceased Americans, and Sonny wasn't on it. That means his Social Security number is still being used. I contacted the IRS, and guess what? They had a record. Last known address was three months ago. He's been living in Vegas.'
'Scoping out the Acropolis,' Valentine said.
'That would be my guess.'
'Why would he use his old Social Security number?'
'It's his way of having fun.'
They turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard. The Acropolis stuck out like a dwarf standing among giants. Maybe that was it; just like any other bully, Sonny had chosen to rob the littlest kid on the block.
'I heard some disturbing news,' Higgins said as they waited at a light. 'Someone in town put a contract out on your life.'
Valentine turned sideways in his seat.
'No one wanted to take it. Whacking tourists is a no-no. I put the word out on the street that you were an ex-cop, and if anyone even tried, I'd make them pay.'
'Thanks, Bill.'
'So here's my question,' Higgins said. 'Is there someone in town who hates you that much, or is this Sonny's doing?'
'It's Sonny,' Valentine said.
'You guys got something personal going on?'
'Yeah.'
'Mind filling me in?'
'Back in '84, a mob Sonny was running ripped off Resorts International in Atlantic City. There was a detective on duty who got wise and chased them outside. Sonny and his boys beat the detective to death. I got there too late.'
'This detective a friend of yours?' Higgins asked.
'My brother-in-law,' Valentine replied.
The light changed and Higgins drove a hundred yards to the next red light. Throwing the car into park, he said, 'So this is personal.'
'You bet.'
'Mind telling me what you plan to do if you catch Fontana?'
'That all depends.'
'On what?'
'Where and when I catch him.'
'You're saying you'll kill him.'
'It could happen.'
The light turned green, but Higgins wasn't going anywhere. Eyeing Valentine, he said, 'Do that, and I'll arrest you, Tony.'
'I'm sure you will, Bill,' Valentine said.
Nola Briggs's injuries were not as serious as first believed. Her wrist was only sprained and her ribs were badly bruised; she was back in the city jail cooling her heels when Underman finally got to her.
A plate of two-inch Plexiglas separated Underman from his shell-shocked client. It was obvious she'd been through a war, and he found it hard to imagine someone so small and helpless taking down four of Las Vegas's finest. He'd completely underestimated her, which he supposed had been his first mistake.
'I'm afraid I've got some bad news,' Underman said, knowing no other way to put it. 'The police would like to give you their own polygraph test.'
'Can they do that?'
'No. But if you don't, Judge Burke won't release you.'
'What do they want to ask me that I haven't already told them?' she said, massaging her bandaged arm. 'How many times can I say I didn't do anything?'
'Nola, listen to me-'
'No, you listen,' she said, her eyes burning a hole through the protective glass. 'I didn't do anything, and they know it.'
Underman paused as a burly female guard escorted a prisoner into the adjacent booth. When the guard was gone, he brought his face to the plastic and placed his mouth against the oval wire mesh that allowed them to talk.
'Nola, I had a very unpleasant thing happen to me in the courtroom this morning,' he whispered. 'I stepped on a land mine. I discovered I wasn't really representing an innocent blackjack dealer. I was representing an accomplice of Sonny Fontana, probably the single most hated individual in the state of Nevada. No attorney in his right mind would do that, at least not one who had his practice based here. You set me up, you little bitch.'
Nola began to speak, then stopped, her mouth moving silently up and down. 'Sonny Fontana? Why are you bringing him up?'
So she knew him. Underman forged ahead. 'The money you used to pay me. Was it yours?'
'No,' she mumbled.
'Damn you,' he swore angrily. 'That's the Acropolis's money, isn't it? I know how the casinos work. The numbers on those bills are in consecutive order so the GCB can trace whose bank account it ends up in. It's tainted, and you knew it.'
'No,' Nola sputtered, beginning to tear up. 'I swear-'
'I'm going to the judge and tell him I want off this case unless you come clean with me,' Underman said, his eyes spitting venom. 'You understand what I'm saying? I'm going to tell the judge that you paid me with the casino's money, stolen money, and that will be that.'
'You can't do that,' she cried. 'You're my attorney.'
'Not for much longer.'
'Mr. Underman-'
'Come clean, or I'm going to walk. The choice is yours.'
Nola drew closer, the tip of her freckled nose touching the plastic, desperately trying to win him back. 'I didn't do anything. Everything I said to you before was true.'
'That's a clever play on words,' he said. ''Didn't do anything.' That's what the examiner asked when you were polygraphed. 'Did you do anything, Nola?' Well, maybe you didn't do anything, but that still doesn't mean that you didn't participate. Here's a question. Have you ever known a man named Sonny Fontana?'
'What if I have?'
Underman pushed his chair out of the booth and motioned for the guard.
