Valentine sat up on the bed. 'You already faxed it in?'
'This afternoon. They have a twenty-four-hour line.'
'Call them and cancel. Better yet, drive down and cancel it. Mabel, you've got to kill this thing.'
'All right, all right. I'll do it.'
She sounded hurt and defeated. Leave it to Gerry to screw up the one thing that made her happy. How long had it taken him, two whole days? That had to be a record, even for his son.
'I've got some more bad news for you,' Valentine said.
'What?'
'You need to get out of town for a couple of days.'
'Why on earth…?'
'A guy in Vegas is threatening to kill one of my friends.'
'How does he know I'm your friend?'
'He's got my address book.'
'Oh, Tony…'
'I'm sorry, Mabel. Look, there's a Carnival Cruise sailing out of Tampa every day. Go to Mexico for a week. My treat.'
'Sure,' she said, 'if I'm not in jail.'
Valentine felt his neck burn.
'Good-bye, Tony.'
Valentine stared at the dead receiver in his hand. Then he dialed his son's apartment in New York. The answering machine picked up. After the beep, he said, 'Gerry, it's Pop. Listen up. Some thugs got ahold of my address book and may come looking for you. You'd better lay low for a while. I know this is a real pain in the ass, but these guys are serious. I hear Bermuda is nice this time of year. And Gerry, this is on me.'
He started to hang up, then thought better of it and said, 'You take care of yourself, kid.'
The words sounded wooden. He and Gerry had been in so many wars over the years it was hard to be civil. He dropped the receiver into its cradle, wondering who was the bigger jerk, him or his son.
18
Wearing a floppy I LOVE LAS VEGAS hat and a pair of Terminator shades, Felix Underman crawled across the broiling desert in a rented Dodge Intrepid. Doing the speed limit was annoying, especially on a quiet Sunday afternoon, but he didn't want to risk getting pulled over.
Soon he crossed the county line. A garish billboard welcomed him to Armagosa Valley, soon-to-be-home of a U.S. Army MX missile site. Underman smiled at the ingenuity of the local boosters. This was Nye County, birthplace of bordello-style prostitution in Nevada, its founder the legendary Bugsy Siegel. The only business here was whoredom, and building an army base would insure huge profits for years to come.
A green exit sign shimmered in the distance. Seeing empty road in his mirror, Underman flicked on his indicator.
Soon he was on a two-lane service road. Signage was sparse. A man had to know where he was going out here. Turning down a rural road, he glanced in his mirror. If there was anything he had learned over the years, it was that you could never be too careful.
Five minutes later, the Pleasuredome appeared in front of him. The original building had been razed in 1984 during the Nye County brothel wars, and in its place stood a two-story Victorian with sloped roofs and minarets, the windows stained glass. As whorehouses went, it had an ounce of class. He pulled up, popped open his door, and stepped onto the baking macadam. Desert heat was different from city heat, and sweat poured down his face as he hiked the short distance to the entrance.
A sleepy-eyed bouncer held the door for him. The interior was dark and cool, and Underman sat on a red leather couch and looked for a hostess. The parlor had been designed with a Roaring '20s theme and had red carpet, red velvet drapes, and a white baby grand on a raised stage with a sparkling Tiffany chandelier hanging above it. The pianist, a chalky-complexioned woman in her fifties, sang Cole Porter. He didn't look important, so they weren't hurrying. He twiddled his thumbs, waiting.
The truth be known, Underman was against prostitution, especially the way it was practiced in Nevada. Legally, the whole issue was a disaster. There was not a general law specifically allowing prostitution, nor was there one prohibiting it. Since 1949, brothels had existed in nearly all of the state's seventeen counties. Only Clark County, which comprised all of Las Vegas, specifically prohibited it. Everywhere else the law was vague.
But that wasn't the only issue. There was the problem in how the women were treated. Their regimen was extreme: one week off, three weeks on. Being on meant on call twenty-four hours a day, just an intercom away from crawling out of bed and standing in a lineup before a potential customer. Conditions were harsh, alcohol and drug abuse rampant. The women came from all walks of life-rich, poor, middle class, and all ethnic backgrounds-but one thing was always the same. They lasted a year or two, then left damaged beyond repair, their self-esteem destroyed.
A cocktail waitress slipped through the curtains. She wore a tasteful ruffled dress, her face heavily painted.
'Cup of coffee, black,' he ordered.
'We got a special on the pina coladas,' she said meekly.
'No, thanks. I'd like to see someone in charge.'
'Sure. I'll get Charlene.'
The coffee came before Charlene. It was very hot and tasted very good. He guessed it was a Columbian blend. His waitress reappeared with a menu, which she stuck in his hands.
'Charlene's kinda busy,' she explained. 'So she asked me to take care of you. My name's Sassy.'
'I'm looking for someone,' Underman explained.
Sassy sat down on the couch beside him. Beneath the makeup, he saw a young woman from the Midwest, maybe Ohio, who'd come out here chasing a dream and gotten behind on her bills and sucked into this crummy situation. Underman smiled at her pleasantly. To his surprise, she smiled just as pleasantly back.
'Aren't we all,' she said sweetly. Taking the menu from his hands, she read aloud his choices. 'Everything's a la carte. First, there are Warm-ups: sensual massage or a lingerie show, or you can have a party starter. That's where a girl gets you hard with her mouth. Next is Ready, Baby. That's your basic sucking and fucking: missionary, on your back, half and half, reverse it, or on your knees. You with me so far?'
Underman nodded. Her matter-of-fact delivery reminded him of the pizza boy reading the choice of toppings over the phone.
'Next is Keep It Going. Your choices are a Jacuzzi party; Show Time, which is two or more girls having sex with each other; or the Orgy Fantasy, which is just about whatever your little heart could desire. Then we've got One Step Further. That's for guys who like to indulge. There's Dominance, Pajama Party, Bondage, and Fantasy. Then we offer a refreshing massage and shower. Each lady is an independent contractor, and prices vary with different activities. We accept cash, Visa, MasterCard and traveler's checks, with proper ID, of course.'
She stopped and smiled. Before Underman could tell her what he wanted, her hand flew up to her mouth.
'Whoops, I almost forgot. There's something new that isn't on the menu. Titty Fucking. That's where you put your erection between a girl's breasts and you come or she sucks you off. Your choice.'
Underman took a deep breath. Just imagining this creative little endeavor was getting him aroused. He would turn seventy in October, which put any idea of experimentation out of the question. It wouldn't be the actual act that would kill him. The heart attack would come a few days later, just remembering it.
'So,' Sassy said abruptly, 'you ready to see the lineup?'
'I actually had something else in mind,' he confessed.
'What's that, big boy?'
He dropped his voice. 'I'm looking for Al.'
The name didn't register. Sassy said, 'You want a guy? Mister, I think you made a wrong turn. This is a
