“Your detective friend Jimmy Burns told me you were here, if that’s what you’re wondering. I went and saw him this morning. I figured you’d probably seen him, and he’d know what you were up to.
“I asked Jimmy if he knew why you had the affair. I figure Jimmy’s been a cop a long time, he probably understands these things. Jimmy said, ‘Yeah, I know why,’ and he showed me your girlfriend’s picture.”
Longo couldn’t deal with this, and stared at the floor.
“Look at me, Pete.”
He lifted his eyes and stared at his wife. She looked no different than when they’d met in college twenty-odd years ago. He’d loved her a lot back then. So what had changed? Him? Her? Or was it just the world?
“She was beautiful,” Cindi said.
Longo felt like he’d been kicked. Why was she doing this to him?
“Don’t,” he said.
Cindi edged closer. She offered a faint smile. I won’t hurt you, her face said. She put her arms out and encircled his waist. “I looked at that picture, and said to myself, Looks like Pete found his cabana boy. Or should I say girl.”
Longo saw a twinkle in her eye. He’d once brought home a bottle of rum called Cabana Boy. On the bottle’s label was a picture of a handsome, well-proportioned guy in a bathing suit. Cindi had swooned over the bottle all night.
“You’re not mad?” he said.
“Of course I’m mad, you dickhead. What I’m trying to say is, I understand. Hell, if I was a guy, I’d probably screw her, too.”
Longo couldn’t help it, and started grinning. The first time they’d met, she’d cracked him up with the things she’d said. He felt her squeeze his waist.
“Jimmy told me this woman was using you,” Cindi said. “She was laundering stolen casino chips, and you were her protection.”
“Jimmy said that?”
“Yes. He said she was caught doing it up in Lake Tahoe and got two years’ probation. She was a bad person, Pete.”
Cindi was really holding him. They were the odd couple — him six-one, her nearly a foot shorter — and he rested his chin on her head, and felt her heart beating against his ribs. “I couldn’t... help myself,” he whispered.
“I’m willing to give our marriage another shot,” she said after a moment. “Go see a counselor, and get some stuff off our chests. I won’t hold this against you.”
“You won’t?”
“No. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“Whatever you want.”
“You’ll never do this to me, or the girls, again.”
He kissed the top of his wife’s blond head. He used to love Cindi so goddamn much that he’d never thought he could love anybody else. Loved her with all his heart, and all his soul. And now she was giving him a chance to do it all over again.
“Never, ever,” he said.
“Say it, and not have your fingers crossed,” Cindi said.
Longo grinned so hard, it made his face hurt. Putting his lips to her ear, he said, “On my mother’s grave, I’ll never be unfaithful to you, or my family, ever again.”
Cindi looked into his eyes. Searching for something, and finally finding it.
“Let’s get out of this toilet,” she said.
43
Gerry sat upright in the backseat of the rental, still hog-tied. He’d convinced Amin that he wasn’t going to scream, and Amin had removed the gag.
They had left Bart Calhoun’s house an hour ago. Amin had driven around Las Vegas, then gotten onto I-15 and headed west toward the California state line. A mile before the line, he’d pulled into the parking lot of an old-time casino called Whiskey Pete’s. He parked at the back of the lot, a hundred yards from the other cars. He’d not spoken a word since coming out of Bart Calhoun’s house. Gerry watched him get out of the car, and walk to the casino. It’s now or never, he thought.
“Know what they call this place?”
“What,” Pash said, watching the casino.
“A sawdust joint.”
Pash adjusted the mirror so he could watch Gerry and Whiskey Pete’s entrance, at the same time. “Why’s that?”
“Back in the forties, every casino had sawdust on the floor, so they called them sawdust joints. Then a gangster named Bugsy Siegel came to town.”
Pash’s face came alive. “Didn’t Warren Beatty make a movie about him?”
“Yeah. Bugsy Siegal was also the Moe Green character in The Godfather.”
“Moe Green. The mobster who got shot in the eye?”
Gerry nodded. It was working; Pash was acting human again. “Bugsy Siegel bought the Flamingo, and turned it into a swanky club. It was the first casino in town not to have sawdust on the floors, so they called it a carpet joint.”
Posh smiled. “A carpet joint. Very good.”
“Look. You like the movies. Ever watch any Westerns?”
“Oh, yes. John Wayne is my favorite.”
“In the Westerns, they always give a dying man a last request. How about giving me one, and tell me what the hell is going on.”
Pash’s lips snapped shut. Gerry leaned forward, and thrust his head between the front seats. “Look, Pash. I don’t want to die not knowing the score. Understand?”
Pash exhaled deeply, his eyes glued on Whiskey Pete’s entrance. “The score?”
“The truth, the skinny, the facts. Come on. You owe me.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah.”
Pash spent a moment gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was without emotion. “All right, my friend. Here is the score. You know of the events of 9/11.”
Gerry blinked. “Sure.”
“Well, there was a second group of terrorists, who were dedicated to destroying important buildings and structures throughout the United States. My brother was the leader of that group.”
Gerry felt like he’d been hit in the head with a brick. He fell back in his seat.
“It is true,” Pash said. “My brother and I are Pakistani. My brother was recruited in college, and trained at Osama bin Laden’s camp in southern Afghanistan. At night, bin Laden liked to show movies. Do you know what his favorite was?”
Gerry shook his head.
“Independence Day. When the alien spaceship blew up the White House, everyone in the camp would stand up and cheer.”
“Fuckers,” Gerry swore under his breath.
Pash took a bottled water off the seat, had a sip, and offered him the bottle. When it was declined, he screwed the top back on. “Amin came here in nineteen ninety-nine under a student visa and spent two years buying plastic explosives. Even though he was a foreigner, he found people willing to sell them to him. Ex-CIA, drug dealers, white supremacists. He amassed enough to fill a small van.
“He also helped the men in his group obtain explosives through the money he made card-counting in casinos. Those men were in Atlanta, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia.
“The morning of 9/11, my brother drove into Washington, DC. He was in contact with his group through his cell phone.” Pash paused to stare at him. “Do you know anything about plastic explosives?”
Gerry felt himself shudder. “No.”
“They have to be detonated by another bomb. My brother had three hand grenades tied to his waist. He planned to drive down Pennsylvania Avenue, knock down the fence, and drive across the lawn to the White House. He had enough explosives to level the building and everything around it.”
Gerry thought back to that day. He remembered nothing about a truck in the capital, and said, “What stopped him?”