Funny Money

39 The Squarest Guy in Atlantic City

Long-term parking at West Palm Beach airport was deserted. Valentine parked under a halogen light, then pushed a button that popped the trunk. Then he and Archie got out and had a look.

Brandi lay on her back, her lifeless eyes staring into space. Six bullets had penetrated the trunk and riddled her body. As they stared, flies appeared and became stuck in puddles of blood that coagulated around their legs. Valentine waved them away and started to shut the trunk. Then he noticed the tiny revolver clutched in Brandi’s right hand. A two-shot Derringer.

They walked over to a stand to wait for the shuttle that would take them to a terminal. During the ride over, a portion of the windshield had disintegrated, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before airport security would be around to have a look.

“It was self-defense,” Archie said.

Valentine thought about the two-shot. Archie had probably bought it for her. Which meant he knew she was out of bullets.

“Bullshit,” he said.

Archie clutched his arm. “Listen to me, you stupid guinea fuck. It was self-defense. Say otherwise, and I’ll make sure the district attorney presses charges against you for shooting up The Bombay.”

Valentine pulled his arm free. Porter had said that Brandi hadn’t told anyone how Archie was skimming The Bombay. It was her trump card, and it had died with her.

A jet took off from a nearby runway. Then a tram came by, and they got on it.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on a runway in Archie’s private Lear jet. Archie swore the pilot could be trusted — “He’s worked for me for ten years” — but that hadn’t stopped Valentine from searching the cockpit for weapons.

Soon they were airborne. Archie got up and fixed them drinks, his fingers dropping ice cubes on the floor. He handed Valentine a Diet Coke in a plastic cup, then took the seat directly across from him. Killing another human being did something even to the worst people, and his face had taken on a gallows pallor. Valentine sucked down his drink in one long swallow.

Twenty-five minutes later, Jacksonville came into view. North of the city, paper mills spewed pillars of soot, the smoke dotting the night sky in lazy exclamation points. Valentine got up and poured himself another soda. Then he took a cell phone off the minibar and tossed it to Archie.

“You need to call the New Jersey attorney general. Have him call a homicide detective named Davis. I’ve got a number where Davis is hiding out. Davis is the only policeman in Atlantic City he should call.”

“Davis is square?” Archie asked.

“He’s square. Tell the attorney general to pass this message along. When the police raid your casino, Davis needs to watch where the employees run to. Wherever they run to, he needs to get to as quickly as he can.”

Archie made the call. The attorney general was in bed and barked his displeasure loudly enough so Valentine could hear. Archie gave him the full story. Hanging up, he said, “He’s calling Davis right now.”

“Now you need to call the Palm Beach police and tell them about Brandi’s body in the rental at the airport.”

Archie stared at the phone, then tossed it aside.

“Let her sit for a few hours.”

“Call them.”

“Forget it,” the casino owner said.

Valentine was too tired to argue. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. He felt his body melt into the soft cushions.

He thought of Brandi’s corpse in the trunk of the rental. It was a hot night in Palm Beach. A few hours would be ghastly. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. Then he undid his seat belt and stood up.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d slept so little over the past few days. Or just witnessed another life senselessly wasted. Or maybe it was the sad realization that he’d never pick up the phone and hear Doyle Flanagan’s voice again...

Whatever it was, it put a crack in his inner resolution. Placing his hands around Archie’s throat, he started to choke him, spilling Bloody Mary on the casino owner’s ruffled shirt and tuxedo jacket. He tried to scream, and Valentine squeezed as hard as he could.

He had no idea killing someone could be so much fun.