Deadman's Bluff

“Come on, Uncle George. Appearances are important.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You look fine.”

“It won’t take two minutes. Is that so much to ask?”

The bathroom door closed before Scalzo could reply. His nephew was letting all the attention go to his head. Scalzo had adopted Skipper twenty years ago, expecting the boy to grow up to be like him. Instead, Skipper had turned into a big peacock.

Scalzo went into the next room, slamming the door behind him. He spied Karl Jasper standing in the center of the living room, talking with Guido. It was the second time in two days that Jasper had come to Scalzo’s suite without being asked.

Guido hurried over to his boss.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Scalzo asked under his breath.

“He demanded that I let him in,” Guido said.

“He demanded?”

“Yeah. I figured it was important. You want, I’ll throw him out.”

Guido’s job didn’t involve making decisions. Going to the boss was the only right decision for Guido to make. Reaching down, Scalzo grabbed his bodyguard by the balls, and gave them a healthy squeeze. Guido’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Don’t ever do something without asking me first,” Scalzo said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Never do something without asking me first,” he said, as if clarification were needed.

“Yes, sir.”

Scalzo released his death grip, and Guido slunk away. Then he walked up to Jasper. Jasper had been watching them, and his face had turned a sickly white.

“What the fuck do you want?” Scalzo said.

“We need to talk,” Jasper said.

“About what?”

“About what happened last night with Valentine.”

Scalzo pointed at the glass slider that led to a narrow balcony with a view of the desert. Only high-roller suites had windows that actually opened in Las Vegas hotels; everyone else was a prisoner of their room.

“Out there,” Scalzo said.

Jasper opened the slider and let Scalzo go first. Showing some respect, Scalzo thought. They both went outside.

“What happened last night?” Jasper asked, closing the slider behind him.

Scalzo grasped the balcony’s metal railing and stared at the mountains. He hated when people questioned him, hated it more when he had to answer. The mountains seemed close, and he tried to guess their distance.

“We had a problem,” he said quietly.

Jasper edged up beside him, bumping shoulders, his voice a whisper. “A problem? You hire two goons to snuff Valentine, and they end up dead in the hotel stairwell. I’d call that a catastrophe.”

Scalzo kept staring ahead. “You want to know what really happened?”

“Of course I want to know. We’re partners, aren’t we?”

“Valentine killed them.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I picked them up, brought them to the hotel, and sent them to Valentine’s room. Twenty minutes later, one of them called my cell, said that Valentine and the cowboy had fought back. I waited by the elevators for them to come down. I heard two shots from the stairwell. I went and opened the door, saw them lying dead on the floor. I heard footsteps and looked up. Valentine was running up the stairs holding a gun.”

Jasper swallowed hard, then opened and shut his eyes several times. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“So what do we? We can’t have Valentine screwing things up for us.”

A hundred miles, Scalzo decided. The mountains were one hundred miles away. He turned from the balcony and leaned against the railing, staring through the slider into the living room of the suite. Skipper hadn’t come out yet. Still preening two inches in front of the vanity, he guessed.

“I already made arrangements for Valentine to be taken care of,” Scalzo said.

“That was fast.”

“I have a flag in every state.”

A flag in every state meant Scalzo knew a mob guy in every state who would do him a favor. In this case, the favor came from a mob guy who had connections with the warden of a local prison. This warden had an inmate doing a life stretch, courtesy of Tony Valentine. By noon, that inmate would be on his way to Las Vegas.

“This man won’t screw up,” Scalzo added.

“How can you be sure?”

“He and Valentine have a history.”

Through the slider Scalzo saw Skipper come in. His nephew had switched into a shiny gold shirt and looked like a fag. This bullshit has to stop, he thought.

“I sure hope you’re right,” Jasper said.

Scalzo shifted his gaze, and stared into Jasper’s face. It was a look meant to inspire fear. He saw Jasper’s lower lip tremble, and knew that it had worked.

“Don’t ever question me again,” Scalzo said. “Now, I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to forget it. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Jasper said.

“If you ever force your way into my suite again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Jasper stepped backward and nearly fell over the railing. He quickly righted himself. “I understand,” he said.

Scalzo opened the slider, and went into the suite.

14

Bill Higgins dropped Valentine at Celebrity at a few minutes before nine. As Valentine walked through the front doors, he remembered his breakfast date with Gloria Curtis, and hurried through the lobby toward the restaurant. A concierge dressed like Jungle Jim hurried toward him.

“Mr. Valentine?”

“What’s up?” he said, not slowing down.

“I have a message from Ms. Gloria Curtis.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s a written message.”

The concierge whipped a small white envelope from his outer breast pocket and presented it to him. Valentine dug for his wallet to tip the guy.

“No need, Mr. Valentine. My compliments.”

The concierge walked away. The help got paid garbage in Las Vegas, and he chased the guy down and stuck a twenty in his hand, then walked to the elevators reading Gloria’s note.

Tony, I heard what happened last night! I’m in my room. Please call me.

He found a house phone, and when an operator came on, asked for Gloria’s room. She picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Tony, is that you?”

“Hello, Miss Curtis,” he said, knowing that hotel operators often listened to calls.

“Where are you?”

“I just walked through the front doors.”

“Zack called me earlier. He said you and Rufus Steele were attacked in your suite last night, and the men