Sin City Homicide

18

Alma Parr stood on Las Vegas Boulevard in a sports coat and jeans. Wide black sunglasses covered his eyes, and sweat slicked the back of his thick neck. He leaned against a pole, watching people-mostly illegal Hispanics who found it difficult to find other work-hand out flyers for hookers and pornography. Even a few women were doing it. It was part of the cityscape, like the buildings, casinos, and restaurants. He wouldn’t have noticed if not for the child standing nearby.

The child, a boy of no more than twelve or thirteen, finished the hot dog he was eating, rose, and said something to a man who was handing out flyers. The man took off the vest he was wearing, which contained all the material, and put it around the boy, who began to hand out flyers as the man walked away.

Parr looked down both sides of the street then crossed it. A large black SUV blared its horn, and Parr stood in the middle of the street, staring through the windshield, waiting for the driver to lean out the window and say something. Instead, the man rolled up his window. Parr continued across the street.

“Hola,” he said.

“Hola.”

“Habla ingles?”

“No.”

“Yes you do. I’ve seen you here before. I’ve seen you talk to some of the customers.”

The boy looked down at his feet.

“What’s your name?” Parr asked.

“Carlito.”

“Carlito. I like that name. Like Carlito’s Way. You seen that movie?”

The boy’s face lit up. “Si. I see on TV and watch many times. Al Pacino is best actor.”

“He’s my favorite, too. You look up to Carlito in that movie, don’t you?”

“Si.”

“Let me ask you, would Carlito be on this corner, handing out pictures of asses to old ladies walking by?”

The boy thought a moment. “No.”

“No. Then why are you?”

“I have to make money. My mom no work.”

“There are other ways to make money.” Parr glanced around. Usually, the younger kids doing this had handlers close by who checked up on them every hour or so. “How much money do you make doing this?”

“One dollar an hour.”

“How many hours do you work?”

“Four hours.”

“Every day?”

“Si.”

“So that’s twenty-eight dollars in one week?”

“Si.”

Parr took out his wallet. “Carlito, I have two hundred and sixteen dollars in my wallet. That’s all the cash I have. That’s almost eight weeks of work for you.”

“Si.”

“Okay, well, I want you to take this money, but I’m not giving it to you. Do you understand? I’m buying something with this money. This gives you two months that you don’t have to work. In that time, the four hours you spend every day here, I want you to take just two of those hours and look for a good job. A job you can be proud of. Sabes lo que estoy hablando?”

“Si, I understand.”

“Okay, here’s the money. Do you promise that you’ll hold up your end of the deal?”

“Si, gracias.”

“Eres bienvenido.”

Parr watched the boy run off, a large smile on the boy’s face. The boy tucked the cash quickly into his pocket, making sure no one around him saw it. Parr heard a car horn across the street. There was a van parked where he had been standing. He turned and dashed across the street before the next wave of cars came, then he hopped into the passenger side of the van.

“What’s up, brother?” the driver said.

“Shit, Manny, you still got that nasty beard?”

“Spend two months, twelve hours a day in this van, listening to the cocksuckers I listen to, and then lecture me about my appearance.”

“Fucking smells in here.”

“Again, please refer to the previous comment. You look fuckin’ huge. You on the juice?”

“No man, I told you, I play it clean. That stuff’ll make your dick fall off.”

He chuckled. “Heard you gettin’ promoted soon?”

“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

“Told you, all I do in here is listen.”

“What they got you doing anyway? I can’t imagine Homeland Security’s very busy in the casinos.”

“You’d be surprised how many extremists come through this city. See, they’re all hypocrites. They proclaim their love of Allah, wanting to destroy us, but they stop here and order a blow job and some coke at the hotel. Vegas is the first stop on the way to hell.”

“Nice. Didn’t know you were a poet.”

“Among other things. So, what’d you need?”

“What makes you think I need anything?”

“Don’t call me in three months, and then out of the blue, you need to meet me right away? Unless you’ve become gay and want a date, you need something from me. So, let’s have it.”

“Keep your panties on, princess. It’s just a small favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“There’s somebody I need surveillance on.”

“You got a team.”

“I know, but those two dipshits couldn’t tail a blind man. I need somebody good for this. The mark’s smart. He’s also experienced and well trained.”

“Cop, huh?”

“It is what it is.”

“What’d he do?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I need you.”

“Well, at least tell me what I’m looking for.”

“He was implicated in a homicide-that body in the burned car that we can’t identify.”

“Holy shit? That case? I saw that on the news. They pulled out the fucker’s teeth so you couldn’t identify him after he was fried. That was awesome.”

“It wasn’t so fucking awesome if you had to be there to peel him off the seats.”

“You think this cop did that?”

“I don’t know. I got my doubts, but I gotta follow up on it.”

“You want round-the-clock?”

“Yeah.”

He whistled through his teeth. “That ain’t cheap, my muscle-head friend. I’d have to get my guys pay and a half.”

“I’ll come up with the money.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get someone to approve it. Let me worry about that. I just need you to start as soon as possible. Tonight would be best.”

“Who’s the mark?”

“Jon Stanton. He’s a detective from San Diego, here as Orson’s pet for a few weeks.”

“You really think he did this?”

“I don’t know. But if he did, he’s one dangerous motherfucker. Make sure your boys are packing and vested up.”