Freddie dodged a housekeeping cart as the detective’s voice rose a full octave.
“Well, it feels like it has been ignored.”
Up ahead, he could see the imposing figure of Walter Hudsucker standing in the hall. In the background was the sound of something smashing, which he was going to be billed for.
“I have to go, Detective. I expect an update.”
Freddie hung up before there could be any more pleading. It was probably the best perk of the job – suddenly, law enforcement worked for him. He wasn’t technically an employee of Clown Town, but the manager, Arnie Buckler, had listed him as a “security consultant”. It was all part of their “arrangement”.
Arnie was a genuinely terrible human being, with a couple of sexual harassment lawsuits pending, not to mention a cruelty to animals charge coming from the hotel’s ill-judged attempt to use sea lions in a live show. Freddie had made Arnie a “shareholder” in the Celestial Church of New Hope in exchange for a frankly scandalous deal for holding the church’s conferences there. The whole place was due to be bulldozed four years ago, but it had got held up in a bitter legal dispute, which was why nobody was paying much attention to Arnie and he was making hay while the sun still shone, taking kickbacks any way he could. Freddie liked morally bankrupt people – you always knew where you stood with them.
Clown Town was a weird holdover from the period when Vegas somehow had the mistaken idea that it was going to be “fun for all the family”. Somebody, somewhere commissioned a poll back in the nineties, which asked the wrong questions and came back with really dumb answers. In response to it, some of the biggest entertainment companies in the world spent a fortune refocusing their products to make Vegas a “family resort”. Credit where credit was due, it hadn’t taken the casinos long to realise that, regardless of what the polling data showed, people didn’t want to bring their kids here. In fact, quite the opposite. Disneyland existed for a reason. Vegas wasn’t a place you brought your offspring; it was the place you accidentally conceived them.
Freddie could see the expression on Walter Hudsucker’s face as he closed in on the suite’s doors. The man was next to tears. It was embarrassing. He was a former offensive lineman in the Big Ten, the size of a mid-sized family car, and he had the emotional strength of a wet, brown paper bag. He was Martha’s personal bodyguard because, well, she liked ’em big, and Freddie liked anything that kept the woman distracted. Walter was also the church’s head of security because, well, he must’ve done something that Martha had particularly liked the day she suddenly demanded it. Freddie had gone with it because, well, who cared? It wasn’t like the church needed much security. At least, they hadn’t at the time.
“She’s gone crazy, Freddie. Totally crazy.”
Freddie stopped and placed a hand up on Walter’s shoulder. It was quite a reach. “OK. What set her off this time?”
“I don’t know, man. She said some really hurtful things.”
“Oh Walter. Walter, Walter, Walter. I say this as a friend – but for Christ’s sake, grow a pair.”
“Hey. You can’t talk to me like that.”
Freddie slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Sure I can. I just did. You know Rhonda the five-foot-nothing lady who handles the merch stall?”
“Yeah.”
“Last night, some drunk dude on a bachelor party grabbed one of those stupid ten-buck hats we sell, and ran off without paying. The crazy bitch chased him down and tackled him across a blackjack table. I’ve seen the video. She made a three-hundred-pound insurance salesman from Des Moines her bitch. We’re getting sued, but damn, you’ve got to love the effort. My point is, we put that woman in your body and she’s dominating the NFL for a decade. Superbowls – the whole nine yards. Instead, you’re standing outside this room like a pussy, and I have to go in there and fix your damn problems. Again.”
Walter’s lower lip wobbled. “That isn’t fair.”
“Sure it is, princess.”
Inside the room, there was another expensive-sounding crash against the wall, and Freddie heard the woman he was billing as a modern-day John the Baptist screaming profanities at soft furnishings.
“Like I haven’t got enough problems to deal with. Speaking of which – double our security.”
“How am I supposed to—”
“Ask Arnie – he’ll have a number. In fact, just tell him to do it.”
“Why do—”
“We’re at war with the Girl Scouts of the USA.”
“Really?” said Walter.
“No, not really. Some women are going to try to infiltrate the group – you don’t need to know why. Get me a list of every female attendee at the conference, starting with the most recent sign-ups and working backwards. We’re going to check them all and see who doesn’t fit.”
Walter managed to make himself look somehow dumber. “OK, how do I—”
“Oh, fuck it. You know what, I’ll get Rhonda from merch to do it. She’s criminally underused in her current role. You can just piss off to the gym and lift something, or do whatever it is you do when the Messiah isn’t using you for stress relief.”
“You don’t need to be so mean.”
“Really?” said Freddie. “True or false. Walter, are you any more useful to me than a vibrator that can say ‘I don’t know’ a lot?”
Walter’s mouth flapped open and closed.
“While you’re thinking about that, I’m going to go in there and sort out your woman because you can’t. Now, be a good boy and go be elsewhere.”
Walter looked as if he were working on a comeback, but Freddie didn’t have that kind of time. He knocked quickly on the suite door, then entered low and fast. He wasn’t the kind of man to have
