Tahoe.'
'You killed someone else,' Underman said.
'Can't be.'
Underman nodded. 'Fontana's alive. Now, how about you and I take a little drive?'
Underman had defended Little Hands four times in jury trials, all of which ended in acquittals. In each trial, the charge had been murder in the first degree, and in each case Underman had swayed the jury to believe his client's side of the story without ever putting his client on the witness stand. To do otherwise would have been suicide.
Underman drove to a spot in the desert directly between the two brothels and pulled off the road. Leaving the engine running, he reached beneath his seat and removed a manila envelope. Little Hands was watching a rattler crawl beneath the car and did not seem to notice when the envelope was dropped into his lap.
'They threw a big party for me at Caesars,' he said, glancing Underman's way. 'There were girls and booze and a band.'
'I heard about it,' Underman said.
'And there was a cake. No one ever threw a party for me for snuffing somebody before. It was special, you know?'
'I'm sure it was,' Underman said.
'And now you're telling me it wasn't Sonny Fontana. Shit. You think they're going to ask for their money back?'
'They might,' Underman said truthfully.
'So what am I gonna do?'
'Find Fontana,' Underman said. 'Do the job right this time.'
Little Hands tore the envelope open. Two black-and-white photographs fell in his lap. He picked up Fontaine's first and examined it.
'This what the greaseball looks like now?'
Underman nodded. 'My sources say he's living near the Strip.'
'Cute bitch,' Little Hands said, examining the second photo.
'Name's Nola Briggs,' Underman said. 'She's a blackjack dealer at the casino. She's holed up with Fontana.'
'So what you're saying is, I find her, he'll be nearby.'
'That's exactly what I'm saying.'
'This might take a while,' Little Hands said.
For an old man, Underman could move like lightning when he had to. Jumping out of the rental, he popped the trunk, retrieved a heavy paper bag, and was back behind the wheel before a drop of sweat could form on his forehead. The paper bag landed with a loud thump! in Little Hands's lap.
Little Hands peered inside the bag. 'Jesus. There must be-'
'Fifty grand,' Underman said. 'Turn the town upside down if you have to. Just find that son of a bitch. You think you can do that?'
Little Hands was all smiles. 'Mr. Underman, with this much money, I could invade a country.'
'It shouldn't be that hard.'
'No, sir.'
On the drive back, Little Hands memorized the photos, shredded them and tossed them out the window. Underman had once visited an apartment where Little Hands had holed up for a while. Every single thing that could be torn into little pieces had been. It was simply the way he was.
'The casino bosses sent you, didn't they?' Little Hands asked as the migrant brothel came into view.
Underman said nothing, letting him believe what he wanted.
'I appreciate it, is what I'm saying. Getting a second chance and all. I won't let them down. That's a promise.'
'I'll pass it along,' Underman said.
'What about the bitch?'
'What about her?'
'I find her… what?'
Underman had wondered about that very thing during the drive up. Having Fontaine killed wasn't going to bother anyone-hell, the casino owners might throw Little Hands another party-but Nola was a different story. She appeared to be an unwilling pawn, and he felt genuinely sorry for her. Still, she had dragged him into this, and he was not prepared to lose his license or go to jail because of her misfortune. The best thing that could happen to her would be if she disappeared as well.
'I'll leave that up to you,' the defense attorney said.
19
Only in Las Vegas did Valentine think he could start his day by having an argument over whether a guy was dead.
He'd been waiting for an elevator to take him downstairs when two medics pushing a corpse on a gurney came out of a room. Ignoring him, one of the medics punched the button for the service elevator, then popped a piece of gum into his mouth.
Valentine tried to act nonchalant. The corpse's feet were visible, and he guessed the deceased to be a middle-aged white male of medium height and above-average weight. Back in Atlantic City, guys fitting this profile had dropped about once a week. Their stories were always the same: In for a convention or trade show, they'd hit the town like a runaway train, gambling and drinking and whoring for a few days without sleep or proper nourishment until the ole ticker finally had enough and quit.
'Service elevator must be out of order,' the gum-chewing medic remarked, the name skull stitched above his breast pocket. 'We're going to have to wheel him through the lobby, Larry.'
'That's just swell,' Larry said. 'Better pull the sheet back.'
A regular elevator came and Valentine held the door. As they descended, he watched Larry draw the sheet back and expose the deceased's head, which bore the bemused expression of someone who'd died doing something he probably shouldn't have been.
'So how long's he been dead?' Valentine asked.
'He's not dead,' Larry said.
'Beg your pardon?'
'You heard me,' Larry said. 'Man's not dead.'
Valentine put his hand on the deceased's neck. The pulse was long gone, the skin ice cold. He guessed six hours.
'You willing to swear to that?' Valentine asked.
'Why?' Larry said. 'You a cop?'
'Ex. And having been around a few corpses, I'd say you'd be doing this gentleman's memory a disservice by claiming he's still alive.'
'Man's not dead,' Larry said, stone-faced.
Valentine became incensed. What kind of fool did this gruesome twosome take him for? Reaching the lobby, he put his hand on the gurney, halting the medics' departure.
'You'll lose your license if I report you,' Valentine said.
'Like hell we will,' Larry said.
'Man's not dead,' Skull said, cracking a loopy smile. When Valentine would not let go, he added, 'It's a game, mister. Make a scene, and you'll get thrown out of the casino.'
'Like hell I will!'
The two medics burst out laughing. They both had a ghoulish sense of humor, which Valentine found distasteful. Respect the dead, and they won't come back to haunt you. Releasing the gurney, he ran to the front
