make up for last night?'
'I need to hang around tonight, in case Fontaine sneaks in.'
'You think he will?'
'It's a distinct possibility,' Valentine said.
'So we have dinner here.'
'What time?'
'My second shift ends at ten.'
Valentine took a deep breath. The fight was scheduled to begin at eight to accommodate everyone back east who'd be watching on Pay-Per-View. Nick would want to get back once it was over, freeing him up. So what if they were light-years apart and probably totally incompatible? She was the real thing, and that didn't come along very often.
Roxanne squeezed his hand. 'Cat got your tongue?'
'Ten it is,' he said.
'You sure you can stay awake that long?' she teased him.
'Only if I nap this afternoon.'
She got up and kissed him on the cheek.
'Sweet dreams,' she said.
There was nothing like a pretty woman's smile to start the day. Braving the heat, he walked to the Desert Inn and paid the valet twenty bucks for Nick's loaner. Las Vegas was not a morning town, and he cruised the Strip in a minimum of traffic.
Brother's Lounge was located on a desolate side street named Audrie. As bars went, it was a rathole, its neighbors a pawnshop and a tanning salon, and his shoes crunched broken glass as he entered the dimly lit establishment.
The bartender had a hockey player's blunt, proudly damaged face. His name was Mike, and he wore a ruffled tuxedo shirt with stained armpits and a yellow collar. 'Can or tap?' he inquired when Valentine ordered a Diet Coke.
'Can's fine,' Valentine said, casing the room. In the back, a guy sat nursing a draft beer; otherwise, the place was empty. He drew a C-note from his wallet and let it float to the laminated counter. 'Can you change that?'
'Sorry,' Mike said. 'It's too early.'
'Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?'
'Depends,' Mike said.
Valentine nudged the C-note toward him. 'There was a guy who used to come in here named Frank Fontaine.'
Mike crossed his arms in front of his chest. 'You a cop?'
Valentine nearly said no, then stopped himself. He would always be a cop, and this joker knew it. 'Retired,' he confessed.
'Private dick?'
'Consultant.'
'That's a new one.'
'Welcome to the nineties.'
In the mirror behind the bar Valentine saw the guy in back kill his beer. He was built like one of those behemoths that carried refrigerators on their backs on ESPN. As he strolled out the front door, Mike pocketed the C-note.
'You know that dude?' Mike asked.
'No-should I?'
'He's looking for Fontaine, too.'
Valentine spun around in his chair, wishing he'd gotten a better look at the guy. 'Did he say why?'
'Said Fontaine owes him money.'
'I wouldn't want to owe money to a guy that big.'
Mike popped a can of Diet Coke and poured it into a plastic mug. He put a big head on it, which Valentine found insulting. He was sure Mike was capable of pouring a soda without making it look like a root beer float.
'Look, I'll tell you exactly what I told the cops,' Mike said. 'Fontaine came in a few times, mostly to use the phone. Never drank anything hard. Always left a fat tip.'
Valentine waited. 'That's it?'
'He liked to play video poker.'
'He win much?'
'Hell, he never lost.'
'Which machine?'
'Get out of here,' Mike said with a laugh. The cordless phone beside the register warbled. Mike took the call in the kitchen.
After five minutes, Valentine realized Mike wasn't coming back. He finished his soda while reflecting on how little a hundred bucks bought these days. Instinct told him that Mike knew more than he was telling; the problem would be getting him to flip. Maybe a subpoena would do the trick, or Longo's doing a number on him. He threw a few pennies on the bar, just to piss Mike off.
On his way to the john, Valentine found the video poker machines. Video poker was a tough game to beat consistently, and he patted both machines down. A dime-size hole had been drilled into each, and he guessed Fontaine had found a way to rig the machines' silicon chips to pull up specific cards. It was one more headache for Bill Higgins to deal with.
The johns were crudely marked POINTERS and SITTERS. Valentine went through the appropriate door and the smell nearly knocked him over. Taking a deep breath, he soldiered up to a urinal.
As he'd aged, taking a piss had started to feel about as good as having sex, and he was lost in the moment when he heard someone barrel into the room. Jerking his head around, he saw the big guy hovering menacingly behind him, his eyes glazed over like he'd just inhaled a popper.
'Yeah?' Valentine said.
He put his hand on Valentine's face and pressed it into the wall. Valentine kissed the condom dispenser above the urinal, his nose pressing the button for a ribbed Black Mambo.
'Let me see your hands,' he said.
'I'm pissing, for Christ's sake.'
'You heard what I said.'
'What are you trying to do,' Valentine said belligerently, 'make me wet my pants?'
Valentine's head banged the condom dispenser. Hugging the urinal, he said, 'Look, pal, I'm sixty-two years old and wearing a pacemaker. Unless you came in here to kill me, how about cutting out the rough stuff?'
'I heard you asking the bartender about Fontaine,' the big guy said. 'Tell me what you know.'
'Sure,' Valentine said. 'But first let me breathe.'
'Stick your hands out.'
Valentine obeyed and the big guy frisked him like he knew what he was doing. Then he reached around and grabbed Valentine's dick, shook it, and shoved it into his trousers and yanked up the zipper. Valentine had never had a guy handle his balls before, and once he got over the initial revulsion, he decided it wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Close, but definitely not the worst.
Valentine felt the guy relax. Dropping his arms, Valentine grabbed his assailant's fingers and pushed the guy's thumb back at an unnatural angle. His attacker corkscrewed to the floor, the pain ripping through him. Valentine stepped away from the urinal.
'What's your name?'
'Al,' his attacker gasped, gnashing his teeth.
'Why are you looking for Frank Fontaine, Al?'
'Because…'
'You want to kill him?'
'Let go of my thumb!'
Valentine did the opposite. The bigger they were, the harder they screamed. Al was no exception.
