“In binary, one-one is three, so I don’t know.”
“Binary, huh? We could’ve used that in the IRS to keep people off balance. So, Ma, it’s looking like we’re kinda stalemated on that math problem—”
“Je-sus Christ,” Jeri said. She took the phone off speaker and from what Holiday and I got from the one-sided conversation that ensued was that one and one were in fact two, and given roughly ten minutes’ notice, Ma could get us through any gated community in Reno or Sparks.
“I’ll let you know,” Jeri said. She hung up, then gave me a slit-eyed look. “Reinhart’s wife, Mort? What the hell for? We’ve got this Odermann-Bye thing cooking.”
“Call it gumshoe intuition.”
“Right. I’ll do that. In the meantime, I’m gonna go over to the Dancing Hippo and get something to eat. You with me, Sarah?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just don’t get tofu,” I called out as they crossed the street.
When they got back, I was finishing off a slice of pizza.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Jeri asked as she and Holiday got back in the Audi.
“Dominos. They deliver.”
“You had it delivered?”
“Uh-huh. Medium-size meat-lover’s special. I told ’em to hold the tofu.”
“Some guy came by, delivered pizza? No physical address, just a car parked at the curb?”
“It was a girl, actually. Cute, too. But yeah, I gave her a five-dollar tip and she only had to drive half a mile so this was her lucky day.”
“They delivered to a car? Seriously? Economy must really suck right now.”
“Does, yeah. Anyway, since I’m getting bed sores on my butt, I came up with an idea.”
“Do I want to hear it?”
“Probably not, but I want to go back to Gerlach and watch the highway. I can sit outside that motel and see everything that comes by. Only place that SUV has been seen is up north. I phoned, got a reservation. They said they’ll hold the room for an hour, till I phone back.”
“I don’t know, Mort. Maybe. It’s not the worst idea you’ve come up with. Want to take Sarah with you?”
“Well, no. I was thinking I’d catch a little alone time.” I looked at Holiday. “That okay?”
She bit her lower lip. “Sure. Fine.”
Didn’t sound fine, which probably meant I’d just disappointed someone. “I thought you had a report due tomorrow?”
“It’s finished. I know someone who could turn it in for me. But if you don’t want me along, that’s fine.”
Jeri tracked this exchange, didn’t say anything. I was on my own. When I first thought about being a PI, I’d thought about dark alleys and bullets whizzing past my ears. This was worse.
“A little down time won’t hurt any of us,” I said. “So, yeah, I’ll go up there, ask around, keep an eye out, be back tomorrow. That okay, honey bun?” I said to Jeri.
“If you want. We’re kinda spinning our wheels here.” She gave me a questioning look and flicked her eyes toward Holiday, but I gave her a little head shake that said no. I got a minute eyebrow lift in return that said it might be nice if I reconsidered. But she’d said she didn’t own me, so I was taking her at her word. I was free to do what I wanted.
I got out of the car then bent down and looked in. My Toyota was parked at Jeri’s place. “I’ll walk. It’s less than a mile. I’ll be in Gerlach by four, four thirty. I might even see that SUV on the drive up, you never know.”
“Call me,” Jeri said.
“If you find out anything about Allie,” Holiday said, “let me know right away. I’m really worried.”
“Will do. See you two later.” I gave them both one last look then took off, west on California, north on Arlington, walking fast to work off the pizza, eager to get on the road, be alone for a while. I hadn’t known I needed it, but the idea of heading out on my own felt good. I wanted some quiet time to think without having to talk. It’s not that easy to do around an estrogen mist. Thinking, that is.
I called Corti’s Motel from Jeri’s place, told ’em I’d keep that reservation, then I got on the freeway, headed east.
North of Nixon the road was devoid of traffic. I scattered a few crows picking at roadkill on the way up, got to Empire at four p.m., reached the Texaco station in Gerlach seven minutes later. I pulled in and filled the tank, gave Hank Waldo forty bucks and got change.
“You see that Mercedes SUV again, Hank?” I asked.
“Nope.” He spat on the ground.
Good enough. Sometimes gumshoe work is quick and easy. I parked in front of the motel and walked over to the casino. Cheryl was tending bar and handling motel registration. She was still hefty, still pretty, still mid-thirties, still smelling of cigarettes.
“Sarsaparilla?” she said as I sat at the bar.
“What a memory. I’ll take the sarsaparilla, and you’re holding a room for me.”
She got the ’rilla first, pointed out the chandelier in case I’d forgotten, then pushed a motel registration form toward me. “Got you in fourteen,” she said. “I’ll be over later, about ten.”
My jaw dropped.
“Kidding,” she said. “I’m married. To Dave, who you might’ve met. The other bartender? He’ll be in in a couple of hours.”
“Yep. We’ve bumped knuckles.”
“Then you two’ve bumped more than he an’ I have this week.”
Jesus. I would have to quit talking to women.
I walked over to the motel with a room key and my drink, went inside, hauled a chair outside and sat, tilted back against the wall, and started to watch the highway.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HUNGER DROVE ME over to the restaurant at eight forty-five. The sun had been down for an hour and the night was quiet.
No green SUV. In fact, maybe one vehicle had gone by every ten or fifteen minutes, so it wasn’t like a Macy’s Parade. I hadn’t gotten anywhere, but I’d made an effort, I had
