“I agree. But now we’ve got a problem.”
“How to dispose of his body?”
“That, and the fact this room is in my name.”
“Shit, you’re right.”
“Any ideas?” I say.
“We could call Joe Penny and have him bring us a bomb.”
“A bomb.”
“That’s right. Nothing destroys a crime scene better than a bomb!”
“You’d kill all the innocent people in the rooms around us?”
“Of course not, though I doubt they’re all innocent. Joe sets the bomb, and we set off the fire alarm. When the building’s completely empty, Joe blows the room to hell, and no one’s the wiser about Sam.”
“Or we could just remove his body and clean up the blood.”
“But the room’s in your name,” Callie says.
“Right, and I checked into a second room a few minutes ago. Miranda can stay in that one tonight, I’ll stay here, clean this one, and keep the housekeepers out.
“But the actual body?”
“Darwin’s retired, but he still has a contact list.”
“You’re a hundred percent positive Dr. P. is Darwin?”
“I am. Believe it.”
She chuckles.
“What?”
“Yesterday you were going to kill him. Now you’re going into business with him?”
“I know. Funny, right?”
“You’re keeping him alive for the boob jobs.”
“What?”
“You hope to meet show girls.”
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t protest too loudly. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”
“Okay.”
We stand there a while, looking at what’s become of Sam Case.
“He was the most brilliant man I ever met,” I say.
Callie says, “Can I order room service now?”
38
CALLIE ORDERS ROOM service, and I call Dr. P.
“See what I mean?” he says. “You can never get out of this business.”
“It’s just one last body,” I say.
“Someone you know?”
“Sam Case.”
He pauses. Then says, “You’re certain?”
“Quite. No one shits rubber tubing like Sam.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Dr. P. says, “but if he found a way out of Area B without me knowing it, he’s managed to defeat my surveillance.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I say. “He’s dead and you’re out of the business.”
“Which is why I can’t personally call the cleaner.”
“Good point. Give me the contact info, and I’ll deal with him personally.”
“Her.”
“What?”
“My Las Vegas cleaner’s a woman.”
“You’re kidding!”
“She’s a former crime scene investigator, fallen on hard times.”
“But trustworthy?”
“Completely.”
He gives me her name and number.
Nelia Mitchell thanks me profusely for calling.
“When I heard Darwin passed, I thought I’d never work again!” she says. “Thank God you got my number! You think you can keep me busy for the next few years?”
I like her attitude.
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
“God bless you, Mr. Creed.”
I do meet some strange people in this business.
“I’ll need specifics,” she says.
“Like what?”
She chuckles. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
“The cleaning up part? Yes, ma’am. What do you need?”
“Is the victim a man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Height?”
“Six feet, more or less.”
“Exact is better.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to wheel him out of there in a suitcase. Be a shame if his head is sticking out.”
“Say six feet, then.”
“Weight?”
“One eighty-five.”
“How much blood?”
“Confined to the bathroom floor, the tub, and splash tiles. There’s probably some on the shower floor and in the drains.”
“We’ll take care of the drains.”
“We?”
“I’m an old lady. I can’t do all this by myself.”
“Let’s be clear. I deal with you, you deal with the crew.”
“No one sees you but me,” she says.
“When can you be here?”
“Vega Rouge? Give me two hours.”
“Thanks, Nelia.”
“Don’t thank me, pay me.”
“How much?”
“For this job? Eight grand.”
“That sounds high.”
“How much would you pay a lawyer to keep you out of jail?”
“Good point.”
“Cash, honey.”
“Yes, of course.”
“In advance.”
“Yes ma’am.”
39
MY NEXT CALL is to my daughter, Kimberly.
“Maybe Taylor,” she says.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I’m in a hotel room with a dead guy.”
“That’s got to be more fun than you’re making it sound.”
I try to keep the smile out of my voice as I ask, “Where are you?”
“Out drinking. But don’t worry, I’m not driving. I’ve got a hotel room upstairs.”
“Not the room where I’m standing, I hope.”
“Nope. I’m down the street.”
“You’re drinking you say?”
“Uh huh.”
“Got troubles?”
“I broke up with my boyfriend tonight.”
“Yeah. That’s sort of why I called.”
“I know.”
“You want some company?”
“Tomorrow? Sure. But not tonight.”
“But you’ll be okay?”
“I will.”
“Because?”
“I’ve got a great job, working with my dad.”
“Your dad sounds very handsome.”
She giggles. “He is.”
We’re quiet a while.
Then I ask, “Anything you want to say to me?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t tell Mom what I did, okay?”
“Okay.”
40
ME, TALKING TO Callie: “Room service was a great idea.”
“I agree,” she says, “I’m totally starving.”
“You know how I knew that? The four pounds of food you ordered.”
She flips me the finger.
Undeterred, I say, “Sam’s tucked away in the bathroom.”
“So?”
“The room service guy saw us here together, cool, calm, collected. We let him take his time setting the table and so forth.”
She cuts into her tenderloin and says, “You mean it establishes we didn’t kill a man, hack his vocal chords out of his neck with a pocket knife, or stick a tube up his ass.”
“Exactly.”
When Callie takes a bite of her steak I’m reminded how much I love watching her eat. She’s truly stunning. Crazy as it sounds, the way she moves her mouth when eating is something I’d pay money to see. Of course, I’d pay more to see what’s going on under those jeans. My mind suddenly shifts to Callie in the cubby with the ice machine, pulling her pants down enough to pee.
“Will I get to meet Miranda this trip?” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“Miranda. Do you have plans to introduce us?”
“You want me to?”
“Sure.”
“Then I will.”
I think about it a minute, then say, “What made you ask that?”
“About Miranda? You were staring at me.”
“I was?”
“At my lap, if we’re being precise.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“It’s a chick thing. We know when you glance, we know when you stare. You weren’t glancing.”
She takes a bite and adds, “You stared at my face, then my boobs, then my crotch. With extreme lust.”