“Fixed how?”
“That’s what we want to discuss. Your ass is in a sling, Jimmy. Shit flows downward, and you’re going to be on the receiving end of some serious shit. Now, get over here.”
Jumping John had picked the wrong person to threaten. Slyde drew a Ruger SP101 from his pants pocket and spun the chamber to make sure it was fully loaded. Then he pressed the button on the front of the grip and a red laser beam appeared on the wall above the kitchen sink.
“Champagne’s Café. That’s the place with velvet walls,” Slyde said.
“That’s it,” Jumping John said.
“I’m leaving now.”
Champagne’s Café was on Maryland Parkway and never closed. Slyde had tried to have a meeting there once and had nearly suffocated from the cigarette smoke. The parking spaces in front were taken, so Slyde pulled around and parked in the space next to the back entrance. He was three steps from going inside when the barrel of a gun was pressed against his spine.
“Don’t move,” a voice said.
“That you, Jumpster?” Slyde asked.
“Yup. Put your hands against the wall.”
Jumping John patted Slyde down and removed the Ruger from his pocket. The concierge pushed Slyde toward a black stretch limo parked in the rear of the property.
“We going for a ride?” Slyde asked.
“Nope. It’s just a precaution. Now, get in,” Jumping John said.
Slyde straightened the knot in his tie before climbing into the limo. Three other concierges who Slyde did business with sat on the opposing leather seat. There was Lee Grant, the concierge at Circus Circus, Dave Allmand, the concierge at the Aladdin, and Mike Roche, the concierge at the Palms. Each man was dressed identically: tailored silk suit, dark vest, and silk necktie. Each also had a stiff drink in his hand. Jumping John followed Slyde into the limo and shut the door behind him.
“He was carrying this.” Jumping John displayed the Ruger.
“You expecting a gunfight?” Grant asked.
“I always carry a gun. You can never be too careful these days,” Slyde said.
The limo fell silent. Slyde had a history with the four concierges that preceded Maggie Flynn. With Grant, it was concealing a high-resolution camera inside an AC vent so they could cheat the owner of a baseball team in a high-stakes poker game; with Allmand, Roche, and Jumping John, the scam had been using taped delays of horse races to fleece their high-rolling customers at the casino’s sports books. The four concierges were in deep with Slyde, a decision they now regretted.
“Do you want a drink?” Jumping John asked.
“Beer’s good,” Slyde said.
Jumping John served him a can of Sin City IPA. Slyde popped the top and drank. Had the beer come in a bottle, Slyde would have broken it and used the edge to slice their throats.
“We have a problem, Jimmy,” Jumping John said. “Dolan told the police the poker game at the Riviera was rigged. Dolan implicated you, Maggie Flynn, and me. I’ve already spoken to the police and told them I had nothing to do with it. We know you won’t squeal, which leaves Maggie.”
“I’m taking Mags to LA. She’s going to disappear,” Slyde said.
“For how long?” Jumping John asked. “The gaming board banned her from setting foot in a casino, yet she still came back. The woman has a problem.”
Slyde wasn’t going to argue with Jumping John there, and he sipped his beer.
“The police told me Maggie’s facing multiple charges for breaking Dolan’s neck and for cheating him at cards,” Jumping John said. “She’s going down hard. We’re afraid she might cut a deal with the DA and implicate us.”
“Mags isn’t a rat. She won’t talk,” Slyde said.
“Of course she’ll talk,” Grant said. “She’s a criminal, and will do whatever it takes to save her own skin.”
“She’s a cheat, and cheats have a code. She won’t talk,” Slyde said.
Grant looked at Slyde like the black hustler had lost his mind. The other concierges were giving him similar looks. In their world, there was no code that people lived by, just a loose set of rules that got bent and twisted to suit the individual’s needs.
“Do you know what the courts will do to us if Mags talks?” Roche asked.
Slyde wanted to tell Roche that getting screwed was the price you sometimes paid for breaking the law, but he didn’t think Roche or the others would appreciate the sermon.
“Not only will we go to prison, but the state will take away our houses, our cars, and drain every last cent from our bank accounts,” Roche said. “They’ll destroy us and our families. We’ll be ruined.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Allmand said.
“No, we can’t,” Grant agreed.
“Are you getting the picture, Jimmy?” Jumping John said. “Mags is a liability. She needs to disappear.”
“Permanently,” Grant added.
Allmand and Roche nodded agreement. The decision had been made; now a sap needed to be recruited to carry out the dirty deed. Slyde crushed the empty beer can between his palms. “You want me to ice her?”
The four concierges nodded. That was exactly what they wanted.
“What happens then?”
“The investigation will stall, and the Riviera’s insurance company will cut Dolan a check for his medical expenses,” Jumping John said.
“You’re saying that with Mags out of the picture, the dust will settle, and everything goes back to normal.”
“That’s right,” Grant said. “We want you to make the crazy bitch disappear. It’s the only solution.”
Slyde blew out his lungs. He had no qualms about killing, and in fact had killed in the past. But killing Mags was different. She’d made him a lot of money and still had a few good scores left in her. Slyde wanted to ask them what would happen if he said no, but he thought he already knew. They’d put their hands on him and squeeze the life out of his body, and then they’d track down Mags and do the same to her. That was why they’d all had a stiff drink before Slyde arrived. To work up the courage. Seen in that light, Slyde didn’t have any other choice.
“I’ll take care of it,” Slyde said.
Their business was done. Jumping John opened the door and Slyde climbed out of the limo. Slyde straightened his jacket and walked to where his car was parked. He had a thought and went back to the limo. The tinted back window came down.
“Forget something?” Jumping John asked.
“My gun,” Slyde said.
“I’ll mail it to you,” the concierge said.
Forty
The clunker in Gabe’s driveway didn’t look familiar. It was an American model manufactured by Chrysler that hadn’t caught on. Gabe parked behind it and got out. Through the driver’s window he spied fast-food wrappers and beer cans lying on the floor of the backseat.
“There you are. I was beginning to worry about you.”
Gabe looked up to see his neighbor Elsie coming down the front path.
“Whose car is this?” he asked.
“It’s your friends’ car,” his neighbor replied. “I hope you don’t mind, but I let them in with the spare key you gave me. I went out for my afternoon walk and saw them sitting in your driveway in the broiling hot sun. I thought it was the neighborly thing to do.”
“What friends are you talking about?” Gabe asked.
“The ones from last night who I thought were burglars. You said they were your friends, remember? Please don’t tell me I’m imagining this.”
Gabe processed what Elsie was saying. The front door of his house opened and Junior Haney stepped out. The younger Haney waved to him like an old buddy.
“You let them in,” Gabe said under his breath.
“Is that okay? I’m happy to ask them to leave.”
Gabe didn’t think Elsie asking the Haneys to leave was going to work. This was his problem to deal with. “It’s fine. I’m sure they were very appreciative.”