Dixie took his time; he nodded.
“But you don’t do narcotics or racketeering, that’s somebody else’s area. You’re homicide, so keep it simple as long as you can. Right?”
Dixie nodded again.
“Okay. Somebody stayed with Iris all the next day or somebody went back that night, slipped in and Jimmy Dunne missed him. I think we can take Jimmy’s word he didn’t see anybody,” Vincent said. “So here we are. You can ask Ricky if he knows who was with Iris, or I can. And right now I’m lucky, I’m on a roll. But in order for me to talk to Ricky I’m gonna need your help.”
Dixie raised his head a little higher.
“I don’t want to go to his house. I’d rather catch him he’s out somewhere, on the street. So you’d have to put him under surveillance and let me know where he is. I call in from time to time, you tell me he’s in a bar on Pacific, such and such a place, that’s all you do. Your guy clears out, ’cause you don’t want to know anything about it till I make my report. How’s that sound? Also—I almost forgot. You know that coat you found in the closet, the black one? You don’t need it and I know somebody’d really appreciate having a warm coat, this weather. Boy, it’s cold, isn’t it?”
Dixie said, “The roommate. Jesus Christ.”
Vincent said, “I promise you, anything she knows is hearsay and anything I find out I’ll tell you, so . . .”
Dixie said, “What about?” and hesitated. “I don’t know if I should ask . . .”
“When in doubt,” Vincent said, “don’t.”
“If you brought your gun.”
“Yeah, you can ask me that.”
“I better not,” Dixie said.
13
* * *
JACKIE SPREAD HIS ARMS OUT in welcome. He said, hey, this was a special occasion. Not only the boss, the boss’s wife coming into his humble office. This was the first time, wasn’t it, the two of them? And they’d been open almost a year?
“First timers,” Jackie said, “I make ’em a bet. Name a major star, I mean a top attraction that’s ever appeared in Vegas, Tahoe or Atlantic City. You don’t see that star’s photograph on the wall here, personally inscribed, I’ll give you a hundred-dollar bill. Standing bet.”
Nancy said, “Sit down, Jackie. Please.”
Coming on like the lady of the manor, low-key, Jackie didn’t like the feel of this one bit. He glanced at Tommy. What’s going on? And the boob gave him a shrug, innocent, then straightened as his wife looked over at him, Nancy not missing a fucking trick. Jackie tried another approach, see if he could loosen things up, clapped his hands and said, “How ’bout a drink? Who’s ready? Honor of the occasion.” Tommy lit up but kept his voice in control, said hey, why not? Tommy had never turned down a drink in his fucking life. Jackie handed him a glass from the mirrored wetbar behind his desk, got a beer and the ever-ready pitcher of martinis out of the fridge . . . “Nancy?” No, she was fine, thank you. Cunt. Sitting with her knees locked together, manila envelope on her lap— something in there she was going to spring she cut out of the Wall Street Journal or one of those. Tommy left the glass on the edge of the desk to drink out of the can. They were a pair. Jackie took a nice big bite of the ice-cold extra-dry martini, sat back in his leather chair and felt soothed. Fuck her. What could she do to him?
Nancy said, “Is that a martini?”
A couple of answers came to mind immediately, but Jackie said, “My tastes are simple. Sure you won’t have one?”
He watched her shake her head, slowly, giving him the stare. It was a shame, good-looking stylish broad—he’d lay five to one she was frigid, have to pry her legs apart to get at it. She said, “No, but go ahead, if it relaxes you . . .” She said, “You’re not afraid of it becoming a problem?” With that innocent look.
Jackie said, “That’s what I am, as a matter of fact, a problem drinker. Take a drink when I have a problem and it goes away.”
It seemed to lighten her up, but not much. She said, “My first husband drank martinis.”
And Tommy said, “Kip Burkette. You know, Burkette Investments in Philly? Used to be very big, go back a hundred years. Nancy married Kip and joined the Main Line, high society, man.
Jackie grinned, pretty sure Tommy’d already had a few this morning. He was safe now, it was past noon.
“Actually I moved up the Main Line,” Nancy said, “from Narberth to Bryn Mawr. Not to school, I went away for that, Emerson in Boston. I thought I wanted to be an actress, but found out I wasn’t very good.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Jackie said.
Nancy shrugged. “Getting back to Kip, he was a sweet guy. Loved ducks.”
“Is that right?”
“All his neckties had little ducks on them. He was quite a nice-looking man.” Nancy paused. “But not very bright.”
“He didn’t have to be,” Tommy said. “Burkette Investment Bankers, that time they were worth a couple hundred mil, easy.”
“Kip liked dogs too,” Nancy said. “He had one, a golden retriever named Lance. Every morning at breakfast Kip used to read market reports out loud, the closing prices of stocks he was watching. He’d pause after each quotation and look at Lance. If Lance snarled it meant sell. If he woofed and wagged his tail, obviously it meant buy. Kip swore by Lance, even when he began to lose customers.”
Jackie held his grin for several moments, waiting. He said, “You’re putting me on.”
“Kip was at the Merion Cricket Club one afternoon,” Nancy said, “at the bar, of course, with his Beefeater martini. He was telling someone he’d just met about Lance. The man’s reaction was much the same as yours. Was Kip serious? Kip said to him, ‘I kid you not.’ One of his favorite expressions. And fell over dead.”
Jackie said, “Jesus.”
“Acute alcoholism, but they called it something else. Lance died not long after. He was hit by a car.”
Jackie said, “Ouuuuu.”
“But not before I’d unloaded all my Burkette Investments stock,” Nancy said. “Got out before it bottomed.”
“You were lucky.”
“Is that what you think?”
Jackie said, “You mean you saw it coming.” She nodded and now he wondered if she meant watching Kip drinking himself to death or the dog getting hit by the car. What was she trying to tell him? Now Tommy was getting into it.
Tommy saying, “Right after that was when Nance went to work at Bally’s, learn the business where it’s the state of the art. Have some fun, too. But this little girl’s a fast study, man. She’s told me a few things about the floor I never even knew.”
Mistake. Jackie knew it immediately; he saw Nancy’s expression tighten just a little, a hairline crack in the facade.
She said, “I wonder if I’m attracted to alcoholics,” and Jackie wanted to get out of here, right now. “I don’t know if I’m fascinated because I don’t understand them, or it’s a negative attraction, I’m looking for trouble.”
Here we go, Jackie thought. He watched Tommy shift around in a deliberate, half-assed dramatic way to give his wife the look. Called, Not Taking Any Shit from the Little Woman.
“I know what attracted you to Kip,” Tommy said. “Money money money. You couldn’t make it as an actress—hey, but don’t give me that shit you never act.” He said to Jackie, “She plays the superior rich broad you’re suppose to believe never takes a crap like everybody else.”
Nancy said, “What attracted me to you, Tommy, your wit?”
Jackie felt he should move in. “Come on—you two’re the perfect combination I ever saw one. The lady and the tiger. Nifty Nancy and Tom Terrific.” Not bad.
Except Tommy wasn’t listening. He was staring hard at his wife, trying to back her down with a look. Which Jackie could see wasn’t working worth shit. Dumb schmuck. He should never’ve called her “this little girl,” talked down to her like that. Now he was giving her another tune.
“While you were on the Main Line there, love, hanging aroun
d the old Cricket Club, waiting to get the poor guy’s dough, I wasn’t exactly working as a shoe clerk. I had a hotel-casino operation before you ever went in one.”
“I know that,” Nancy said. “You’ve worked hard.”
“Bet your ass.”
“And you’re smart enough to hire good key people.”
Jackie waited for her to look at him but she didn’t. Tommy was saying, “Well, gee, thanks a bunch. I thought maybe I was a total fuckup.”
“Not yet, but you’re close,” Nancy said. “I’m not sure if it’s your drinking—I know you’re not paying attention—or you’re in over your head and you really don’t know what’s going on.”
Tommy said, “Je-sus Christ,” shaking his head at Jackie. “She dealt blackjack, worked the floor . . . Anything you want to know about a casino, Jackie, ask her.”
All Jackie wanted to do was get out. He had a button under the desk that buzzed in the Moose’s cubbyhole and would bring him running, but then what? He said, “Listen, you two want a argue, whyn’t you wait till you get home? Okay? I got work to do.”
Nancy said, “This concerns you, Jackie. Since you’re close to losing your license.”
He did tighten up, surprised, but didn’t say a word because she was too cool; this wasn’t an emotional thing with her, looking at Tommy now, opening the envelope, saying, “You’re on the edge too, whether you know it or not.” She took out a Polaroid print and handed it to him.
Tommy squinted, holding it up. “Who is it?”
“You comped him to everything but the ice-cream parlor,” Nancy said. “Are you telling me you don’t know him?”
Jackie didn’t think he wanted to see that picture. But Tommy said, yeah, he’d met the guy once, and tossed the print on the desk and now Jackie was looking at the Colombian, Benavides, standing at a blackjack table. It was Jackie’s turn to squint, try to look bewildered. “Yeah, that’s . . . I can’t think of his name. Frances shot that? What for?”
“I asked her to,” Nancy said.
“Yeah, we comp him,” Jackie said. “Has a very impressive line of credit. The hell’s his name? He comes in, stays a few days.”
“He was here a week,” Nancy said. “Deposited a million nine, in cash.”
Tommy held up hands, open, innocent. “What’s the problem? There’s no law a player has to tell us where he got his money.”
“Not yet,” Nancy said, “but it’s going to happen, soon, and you’d better be ready.”
“Sweetheart,” Tommy stirred in his chair, filling it with his size, getting comfortable, “there’s a little more to the casino business than the play at the tables. First and foremost, we have to be objective. By that I mean this business is about money, and all money looks alike. Am I correct?”
Jackie didn’t want to listen.
“A player brings in a lot of cash, hon, we have to look at it impartially, only as money, nothing else. In other words we have to keep our eye on the player’s line of credit. Guy bets heavy, offers us a shot at him, we have to concentrate on taking about twenty percent of his dough if we expect to make a profit.” Tommy frowned. “I explained all this once before, didn’t I?”
Wrong wrong wrong. Jackie held onto the arms of his chair. She was going to kill him.
“Mr. Osvaldo Benavides, from Bogotá,” Nancy said, “deposited a million nine, in cash, and left with our check for almost a million eight.”
Jackie watched Tommy twist in the chair again, the schmuck finally realizing what was happening to him. He took a moment and said, “That’s not twenty percent but, see, it averages out.”
“Once a month,” Nancy said, “you fly Mr. Benavides here in the company plane—”
“Just from Miami,” Tommy said.
Jackie closed his eyes.
“He draws markers for up to two million in cash, loses five to ten percent, never more than that in the last seven months,” Nancy said, “and goes home with a clean check for the balance. Mr. Benavides is laundering his money in our casino. Since you’re aware of it, both of you, I have to believe you approve.”
Tommy said, “Honey, Jesus Christ . . .”
Nancy waited. “Yes?”
“Hon, this’s a tricky, complicated business.”
Nancy waited again, Jackie watching her. Broad was a fucking shark. Gets her teeth in you and never lets go—and thought, Wait a minute. She’s in the boat too, isn’t she?
Jackie said, “What he means, Nancy, we got ourselves a little problem with Mr. Benavides. I say we ’cause you’re on the board, you got a key license and you could lose it like anybody else can lose a license for associating with the wrong people, undesirables, the wise guys, if you understand what I mean, people known to be in organized crime.” He was beginning to roll and felt good. Tommy had his mouth open, the schmuck, like he couldn’t believe it, telling her all this. But look, she was paying attention, because she was a smart woman, calm, reasonable, even as she watched her tits getting pulled into the wringer.
She said, “Tell me about it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jackie said. He stood up and felt an added advantage, able to move, use his body. “The problem with Mr. Benavides, he’s got friends here who do business with him.”
“Who buy his dope,” Nancy said.
“Prob’ly. I never asked,” Jackie said, “it’s none of my business. The problem is, they also do business with us, indirectly. By that I mean by controlling some of our suppliers. I don’t have to mention any names, I think you know what I’m talking about. Basic materials and services you need to run a hotel. Not to mention they’re into a couple of unions.”
“Go on,” Nancy said.
“Anyway, these people who do business with Mr. Benavides would like us to extend him every courtesy.”
“And launder his money,” Nancy said.
Jackie held up his hand. “That’s a word. We don’t treat him right we got trouble with some of our key suppliers. That’s a fact.”
Nancy kept staring at him.
“Was Iris a comp for Mr. Benavides?”
Coming at him from another direction now.
“All I know,” Jackie said, “she was on her own time. Broad like that—really, what can I tell you?” His gaze moved past Tommy—no help—to the depressing wet sky in the window, lingered as he again considered buzzing the Moose, dropped the idea and came back to Nancy, Jesus, still right there, staring at him. “Honest to God, I don’t know any more what happened to Iris’n you do.”
What was she going to prove staring like that? It was the truth.
After a moment Nancy said, “No more Mr. Benavides. We’re through with him.”
Jackie cocked his head at her. “Well, that’s easy to say. You don’t know these guys.”
“Work it out,” Nancy said, “or look for a job.”
Tommy raised up. “You’re talking to the key man in our operation—twenty-five years’ experience.”
“He’s on his own,” Nancy said. “If I ever see Benavides in the hotel again I’ll report him to Gaming Enforcement, with a list of his deposits. And if I find out either of you knew Iris was in that apartment I’ll tell the police about it.”
Tommy said, “I’m your husband, for Christ sake!”
Jackie kept still. He knew she meant it. Telling Tommy she wasn’t going to lose her license over a technicality, because they happened to be married. Her hand going into that envelope again. Tommy got up to use his size, look down at her. He said, “We’ll handle this, okay? You mind? Don’t get so hot and bothered, for Christ sake.” Big dumb schmuck—she wasn’t the least bit hot and bothered. Look at her. Cool broad sitting on an iceberg—no emotions whatsoever Jackie could see. She dropped another Polaroid shot on the desk. Tommy’s boozy face squinted in a frown.
“Who’s this?”
Jackie made note of the pause, the playful look in Nancy’s eyes.
“Iris’s boyfriend.”
Jackie looked at the photo
—bearded guy in a raincoat—continued to look at it, waiting for the sharklady to strike again. He heard Tommy ask, “What’s he got to do with us?” and Nancy say, “He’s here.” Tommy said he could see that. So what? Jackie thinking, She had his picture taken, she knows him. And heard Nancy say, “I’m sure he’ll be coming to see you.” Tommy said, for what? He didn’t have anything to say to the guy. “I hope not,” Nancy said. “But he’ll get to see you, one way or another.” How? Jackie thought. “And if I were you I’d be ready,” Nancy said. She knows the guy, Jackie thought. “That means cold sober,” Nancy said. Listen to her . . .
With the straight face, the tough-shit tone talking to her own husband. She knew the guy and the guy was more than just Iris’s boyfriend. The guy was a threat, but not so much of a threat it worried her, involved her. The guy looked like a narc, yes, he did, a movie-actor narc. Jackie wondered if he should take a shot, thought about it a few moments . . . Why not? He looked up from the photo to the sharklady.
“He’s a cop. Right?”
It zinged her, caught her by surprise and she raised her eyebrows, stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
Even a little impressed.