Dog Tags

CHAPTER 38

M WAS MORE THAN A LITTLE TIRED OF HIS ROAD TRIP. He had arrived in Albuquerque three days ago, only to find that Tyler Lawson had gone to Las Vegas that morning. It was not a difficult thing to discover; Lawson had always been a compulsive talker, and he told at least five people, who related it to M when he arrived.

M had said he was an old army buddy of Tyler, but any excuse would have done. Tyler’s new friends in Albuquerque were not particularly suspicious, and they were quite willing to share with M what little they knew about Tyler.

M recognized the possibility that Tyler had heard about the deaths of his partners and run off in a panic, planting false information about going to Vegas to throw off his pursuers. M doubted this was the case, though. Tyler was so dumb that M thought he should be watered twice a day, and it was unlikely he had read a newspaper in the past decade.

If Tyler said he was going to Vegas, he was likely going to Vegas.

But Vegas is a big place, far bigger than it had been fourteen years earlier, the last time M had been there. Coincidentally, he had followed someone that time as well, but had managed to murder him and get out of town within twelve hours. Tyler would prove a lot tougher to find.

M was anxious to get it over with. Landon was very unhappy, and rightfully so, with the botched attempt to kidnap that dog. The fact that Childress was killed in the process was a plus; being dead made him substantially less likely to talk.

M checked into Caesars Palace, choosing it mainly because it was one of the few really nice hotels that had been there the last time he was in Vegas. In fact, he had gunned down his target in the Caesars parking lot, so the place held a sentimental attachment for him.

Once he checked in, M called room service for dinner and set about calling the hundreds of hotels in Vegas where Tyler could conceivably be staying. Since Tyler was newly wealthy, M started with the high-class hotels and worked his way down.

After calling twenty hotels and dealing with what he considered to be twenty idiots on the switchboards, he had not found the hotel that Tyler was registered at. There was always the chance that he was there under a different name, but M doubted it. If he had told the truth to his friends about going to Vegas, then he wouldn’t try to hide once he got there. He was there under his own name, or he wasn’t there.

M decided to go to sleep and continue the process in the morning. He never considered going to the casino; gambling had never interested him. Besides, with the money he was going to make, winning or losing at gambling would have no effect on him whatsoever, and therefore would provide no excitement.

It took another fifteen calls to learn that Tyler was staying at Circus Circus. It figured; the man was an idiot, child-like in many respects, and the name alone would have appealed to him.

M went to the hotel and walked around the casino, hoping to see him. He had the advantage of knowing what Tyler looked like, without Tyler knowing him. M was somewhat concerned about the ubiquitous security cameras, but if the operation went according to plan, there would be no reason for law enforcement ever to view the tapes.

M was there for eight hours, walking around and occasionally playing fifteen minutes of blackjack or roulette. He never gambled more than fifteen dollars at a time, careful not to call attention to himself. Gambling serious money in a place like this would be like shining a klieg light on himself.

Tyler finally showed up and sat down at a twenty-five-dollar blackjack table. M waited ten minutes, and then took the chair next to him. There was only one player at the table other than the two men. M handed the dealer a fake ID, so that the pit bosses could track his gambling, in case he was looking for comped meals later.

Tyler was the talkative type at the table, telling M and the other player whether they should draw or stand, and yelling loudly in support when any of them won. He also ordered and drank three scotch and waters in the first fifteen minutes that M was there, prompting M to reflect on the fact that it might not be necessary to kill Tyler, that perhaps he should just wait a few minutes for his liver to explode.

When the table was in the middle of a hot streak, the dealer having busted three hands in a row, M stood up. “Well, that’s enough for me.” He pushed his chips to the dealer, to change them for larger ones.

“Where you goin’?” asked Tyler. “We’re hot.”

“Believe me, I got someplace better to go.”

Tyler’s interest was clearly piqued. “Yeah? Where?”

M hesitated, as if thinking whether he should say something. “It ain’t for you.”

“What do you mean? Try me.”

M pretended to consider this again, and then finally leaned in to Tyler and whispered, “Meet me in front of the hotel in ten minutes. Near valet parking.”

“Ten minutes? I’m winnin’ here.”

M smiled. “Then stay and keep winning.” He got up and walked toward the front of the hotel.

Ten minutes later, just as M’s rented Mercedes was being brought up by the valet, Tyler appeared. M pretended that he didn’t see him, and took the keys from the attendant, as if preparing to drive off.

“Hey, where you goin’?” Tyler asked, then stepped back and assessed the car. “Nice wheels.”

“To a party,” M said.

“I’m always up for a party,” Tyler said.

M thought for a moment, as if weighing an idea, and then smiled. “Get in.”

They drove on US 15 South, toward Los Angeles. M said they were going to a place near Primm, which was a small group of three casino hotels designed to attract drivers from LA before and after they went to Vegas. He told a story about the cocktail waitresses throwing a party once a month, admission one thousand dollars, making it sound like a sexual Disneyland.

The story did not have to be particularly well formed or believable, since Tyler was too drunk and stupid to judge its credibility. “A thousand? No problem, man.”

They exited about five miles before Primm, pulling off on a small road that seemed to lead to nowhere but desert. By then Tyler had fallen asleep, and M would have preferred to shoot him then. Unfortunately, that would have gotten blood all over the rental car, so M had to force him out of the car before putting a bullet in his head.

By the time he buried him, it was too late to get a flight out of town, so that had to wait until the next morning.

At which point the road trip would be over, which would allow him to get back and deal with the dog, and the lawyer.