Gift sense

813/PAN-HAND

Valentine grit his teeth. What was Mabel doing? This wasn't funny at all. The ad had Gerry written all over it. In the smoky mirror behind the bar, he saw a meaty-faced palooka sauntering toward him. He was too soft-looking to be a mobster. As he slid onto the adjacent stool, Valentine said, "You must be Wily."

"That's me," the pit boss said, rapping his knuckles on the bar. "Roxanne said I might find you in here."

"She's some girl."

Wily ordered a bourbon and water. Under his breath, he said, "She's got a thing for older guys, if you hadn't noticed."

"Now that you mention it," Valentine said, "I was wondering what she was doing in my room."

Wily guffawed like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

"I'll use that one," the pit boss said.

His drink came. Valentine told him about being picked up by Bill Higgins at the airport and seeing Nola interrogated. Then he explained his theory of why he believed Nola was involved in the scam. Behind Wily's muddy cow eyes, he saw a flicker of something resembling intelligence.

"Sammy Mann said the same thing," Wily said. "He thinks she's guilty as hell. To tell you the truth, I didn't spot it right away, and I know this girl very well."

"Sammy Mann's living out here?" Valentine said, the threatening fax still in his thoughts.

"Sammy Mann is head of the casino's surveillance. He's my boss."

Valentine nearly spit water through his nose.

"He got religion," Wily explained. "He's one of us."

"Did he tell you I busted him once?"

"Sure did. Said he beat the rap."

"My ass, he beat the rap. He'd still be in prison if he hadn't paid off the judge."

That really got Wily laughing. "Sammy bribed a judge? Oh boy, that's really good."

Their talk drifted back to work. Wily pounded the bourbons in an attempt to keep up with Valentine's need to quench an insatiable thirst he'd had since stepping off the plane. Soon the pit boss's face resembled a big red blister.

"Sammy thinks this weasel Fontaine set Nola up," Wily said, his tongue thickened by the booze. "Sammy thinks it was all a smoke screen. He thinks Fontaine had something else in mind."

"Like what?"

"A big score."

"Fifty grand is a big score."

"Not anymore," Wily said, eyeing something floating in his drink. He fished it out with a spoon. "Of all the joints in town, he picked ours. There has to be a reason."

"And you want me to find out what that is."

"And him, if you can."

"That's a tall order."

"If it's any help, we think he's still in town."

"Bill Higgins tell you that?"

"Uh-huh."

According to a billboard Valentine had seen at the airport, the population of the Las Vegas metropolitan region was hovering at just over one million. As big cities went, that wasn't very big at all. With Nola out of jail and the police watching her, Fontaine was sure to show up sooner or later, and Longo's men would nab him. It was a no-brainer.

"Double my fee if he gets caught?"

Wily was too polluted to think it through. Normally, Valentine didn't take advantage of drunks, but this one had comped him the worst fucking room in the house. Raised a Catholic, he believed in making amends, the sooner the better.

"Sounds good to me," the pit boss declared.