Murder in Vegas

ROLLING THE BONES by Tom Savage

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“Well, maybe we should shoot him again.”

“Nah. He’ll be dead soon enough. Trust me on this.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“’Sides, whaddaya mean ‘we,’ Snake? I’m the one shot him.”

“Yeah, Artie, I know. It’s just a figure of speech. Like when the Queen of England says ‘we,’ you know? Like, ‘We are not amused.’ Like that.”

“What the hell you know about the Queen of England? You been hangin’ out with her lately? Huh, Snake? She your new best friend, or somethin’?”

“Uh, no, Artie.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

“Okay.”

“Here, help me roll him over. Yeah. Now take his feet. His feet, Snake! That’s it, that’s the ticket. Now let’s get him in the trunk. Count of three, okay? One-two-”

“Um, Artie?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you maybe not call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“You know. ‘Snake.’ I hate that, I really do.”

“Oh, for chrissakes-”

“No, really. One lousy roll, what, two years ago? And noweverybody calls me that. I don’t like it, okay? That’s all I’m saying.”

“Sure thing, Snake.”

“Knock it off, Artie. My name is Irwin.”

“Sure thing, Irwin. Anything you say. Now, could you maybe help me with the stiff, Irwin? We haven’t got all night here. Count of three. You ready?”

“Um, yeah.”

“One-two-Ouch!”

“Sorry. His shoe came off.”

“Well, put it back on! I nearly threw my back out! I swear to God, Snake, you’re so bright your mother called you ‘sun’!”

“Um, actually, she called me Irwin.”

“Oh, Sweet Mother of Pearl! Count of three, Irwin! Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Have we all got our shoes on now?!”

“Yeah.”

“Terrific. Okay, here we go. One-two-three.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, he’s a heavy son of a bitch. Now, get him in the trunk… that’s it… good… good… Okay, Snake, you can let go of him now.”

“Okay.”

“Now, get your hand out of the way. I’m closin’ the trunk.”

“Okay.”

“There. We’re ready to rock and roll. What time is it, Sna-um, Irwin?”

“Let me see. I have to get under the lamppost. Looks like it’s… ummmm… four forty-seven. Yeah, four forty-seven. Forty-eight. The minute hand just went past the-”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh! Let’s move. No, you get in the passenger side. I’m driving.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Right.”

“You got the directions?”

“Um, yeah, Artie.”

“Okay, which way?”

“Um, stay on this till we pass the Sands, then turn, and straight out of town into the desert.”

“Ha! That’s where he shoulda gone, eh, Snake?”

“Who?”

“Him! The stiff. Straight out of town. He shoulda done that before he ran up such a tab with Mr. Rios. Straight out of town and kept goin’. That’s what I woulda done. Course, I never woulda been in this situation. Gamblers! I swear! They don’t have the brains God gave a slug.”

“Gee, Artie, I don’t know. There’s dumber things.”

“Yeah, like what? Like what, Snake-pardon-me-Irwin?!”

“Like messing around with Mrs. Rios. Hey, watch it, Artie! You almost swerved off the road!”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“high?”

“What the hell you talkin’ about, messin’ around with Mrs. Rios?”

“You know, Artie. Molly Rios.”

“Yeah? Who’s messin’ around with her?”

“Um, I thought you were, Artie.”

“Where did you hear that? Come on, Snake, who the hell told you that? Who’s been runnin’ off their mouth about my business?”

“No one, Artie. Honest! I just thought-”

“Yeah? Well, do me a favor, Snake. Don’t think! Okay? Thinkin’ can get a dim bulb like you in a lot of trouble, know what I’m sayin’? A lot of trouble. Trouble like our pal in the trunk’s got trouble. Capisce?!”

“Yeah, Artie. I understand.”

“Good. ’Sides, Molly Rios is a nice lady. A beautiful lady. You shouldn’t oughtta talk about a nice lady like that.”

“A nice lady? Who’re you kidding, Artie? When Mr. Rios met her, she was working the second string clubs at the other end of the Strip. You know what she used to call herself? Molly Tamalé, the Mexicali Gal. That was her stage name, Artie. Molly Tamalé, the Mexicali Gal. She was a stripper.”

“Okay, okay…”

“Yup. Molly Tamalé-”

“Okay, Snake.”

“-the Mexicali Gal…”

“Snake! Enough, dammit! You want I should make you walk the rest of the way?”

“Uh, no, Artie.”

“Then shut up about Mrs. Rios, you hear me?”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“That’s our employer’s wife you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yeah.”

“So don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. So. Hey, this could take a while. You wanna stop for coffee ’fore we go out there?”

“No, Artie. Let’s just get this over with, then we can stop at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way back. We’ve got some digging to do, work up an appetite. Then we can have breakfast.”

“Hmmm. Okay. I swear, I haven’t slept in two days.”

“Well, you’ve been busy, right? You were following Mr. Big Spender all over the place.”

“Yeah. He sure did run up a tab, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s what Mr. Rios said.”

“A big tab, that’s what I heard.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t ever gamble, Snake.”

“No, I’m not a gambler, Artie. I never had much luck with the dice.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one rolled them snake eyes. That’s where ya got the nickname.”

“I hate that name. I like Irwin. I wish people would just call me Irwin.”

“Well, Irwin, I don’t cut the deck or spin the wheel or roll the bones. Uh-uh, not me, nosiree Bob! I stay away from all that. Gamblin’ only leads to one thing-a ride outta town with two characters like us, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, Artie, I hear you.”

“Nosiree Bob! None of that for me! I’m too smart for that. I’m on top of things, see?”

“Um, Artie?”

“I’m on top of things…”

“Um, Artie?”

“Yeah?”

“You missed the turn.”

“I what?”

“You missed the turn, Artie. That was the Sands back there. You missed it.”

“Oh. Oh, so I did. Okay, hang on.”

“Yikes! Jeez Louise! Take it easy, Artie! You almost hit that truck!”

“Relax, Snake. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s drive. Chill out. Here we go, now we’re on the right track. Now we’re cookin’ with gas!”

“Jeez, Artie, you nearly gave me a heart attack! We almost got a face full of Mack truck!”

“Well, we didn’t, did we? That’s your trouble, Snake, always worryin’. Don’t be such a momser.”

“I am not a momser.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“Am not!”

“Momser, momser, momser!”

“Cut it out, Artie!”

“Heh-heh.”

“Jeez…”

“Heh-heh.”

“How far?”

“Huh?”

“How far outta town we supposed to take him, Snake? Did Mr. Rios say?”

“No, Artie. He just said the desert. He said use our judgment, look for a good spot. Then I’m supposed to call him when it’s finished.”

“Okay. I know a good spot, another twenty, twenty-five miles or so. Big pile of rocks and a clumpa trees near the foothills, ‘bout fifty yards off this little dirt side road. We can pull in there, get the job done. Sound good?”

“I guess. How do you know about that, Artie? How do you know about that clump of trees off the side road? Have you done this before?”

“Course not! I only done four jobs for Mr. Rios before. Well, five. Yeah, five-but one didn’t count, ’cause he didn’t stay down.”

“Oh. When was that?”

“’Bout two, twoanahalf years ago.”

“Oh. How long have you been with Mr. Rios?”

“Three years next June. Yeah, ’fore that I was just a good-for-nothin’ small-timer.”

“Who did you work for?”

“No one in particular. Odd jobs. Did one for the Families once, but they like to use their own.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re a close bunch, the Families.”

“Yeah.”

“How ’bout you, Snake? Who’d you work for?”

“Um, nobody, really. I guess I’ve been a free agent, like you.”

“Ever do a job like this before?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Come on! Tell, tell!”

“No, I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You ever been inside?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to think I was workin’ with somebody whose bad luck went beyond a bad roll.”

“No, I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.”

“’Cept for that snake eyes!”

“Yeah.”

“How much you lose on that snake eyes?”

“Uh, twenty.”

“Wow! On one lousy roll? Wow!”

“Yeah, but Mr. Rios bailed me out.”

“That how you hooked up with him?”

“Yeah.”

“Gee, Snake, I just realized. You and me been workin’ for the same guy-what?-two years now, and this is the first time he’s put us together on a job. I usually work with Face.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever work with Face?”

“No. He’s-he’s an odd one.”

“Tell me! Imagine havin’ a face like that.”

“What was it, a fire?”

“Acid. His former employers.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t do to get on their wrong side.”

“Uh, no, I guess not. You should, um, you should think about that, Artie.”

“Think about what? What?! Come on, Snake, what’re you talkin’ about? You know something you ain’t tellin’ me? What?!”

“I’m just saying-”

“Oh, boy, what the hell is that? Cops! Just what we need, I swear! What the hell’re they doin’? Turn around and look, Snake. What’re they up to?”

“I don’t know, Artie. Looks like they’re just driving, you know, patrolling, or whatever. Doesn’t look like they’re particularly interested in us.”

“They’re followin’ us.”

“No, I don’t think so, Artie. They’re just driving.”

“They’re up to somethin’. I can feel it! Those guys are always up to somethin’.

“I don’t-”

“You’re packin’, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, get ready. You might need it. They’re gettin’ closer. God, I hate cops, I really do! I’m gonna slow down a little, we’ll see what they-”

“No, they’re pulling out into the other lane, Artie. They’re not-”

“Oh, boy! Get your piece out, Snake. Get ready to-”

“They’re passing us, Artie, see? They’re going right past us. They’re not even looking over here. Look!”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. There they go. Whaddaya know? Boy-oh-boy, that was a close one!”

“Not really, Artie. Close would be if they pulled us over, asked to see your driver’s license and registration. Asked us what’s in the trunk. That would’ve been close. ‘What have you got in the trunk, guys?’ That would have been something to get all worked up about. They didn’t even-”

“Snake?”

“Yeah, Artie?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

“It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

“What’s nice, Artie?”

“That. Look. The desert at five o‘clock in the morning. The sky still dark but just gettin’ light, and the sand and the hills all blue. Deep blue, like the ocean. I knew a girl with eyes that color, once. Asked her to marry me.”

“Did she marry you?”

“Nah. I ain’t never been married. No family, no friends, no ties of any kind. That’s the way I like it, Snake. Free as a bird on the ocean. Or the desert. Yeah, it’s practically the same color as the ocean out there…”

“No family? What happened to them, Artie?”

“Never had one. I was ‘found,’ that’s what Sister Mary Margaret always used to say. She ran the place where they found me. On the freakin’ doorstep, in a basket. They said I was just a coupla days old. A note pinned to the blanket. ‘His name is Arturo. Please take care of him becuz I can’t. God bless you.’ Whoever she was, she spelled because wrong. She spelled it B-E-C-U-Z. Ain’t that a bitch?”

“I guess so.”

“The freakin’ doorstep!”

“Yeah.”

“I kept that note. It’s in my wallet. Kinda like a picture, ’cept I don’t got a picture of her. Whoever she was.”

“Where was that, Artie?”

“Where was what?”

“The orphanage.”

“New York. The Sisters of Mercy on the Lower East Side. Bowery, just south of Houston. You know New York?”

“Yeah. I was there for a while, about ten years ago, just after I got out of college.”

“College? You went to college?”

“Yeah. Nassau Community on Long Island.”

“Wow. Me, I never finished high school. I got in some troublein New York, juvey, never finished high school. So, you’re from Long Island. Your family there?”

“They were.”

“Where are they now?”

“My parents are in Florida, a little retirement community near Fort Lauderdale. My sister is in Philly. She’s got a family. Two boys and a girl.”

“Wow, Snake, you’re an uncle?!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Two nephews and a niece. Must be nice.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them. Sally’s husband doesn’t like me coming around.”

“Oh. Well, at least you know where they are.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, college! What did you major in?”

“Business management.”

“So, why ain’t you managin’ a business?”

“I found other work that paid better.”

“Yeah, just like me! How long you been in Vegas?”

“A little over two years. I came out to do some work, and then I got stuck at that table.”

“Yeah, the snake eyes. Right. So, you plannin’ on stayin’ here?”

“Probably. A while, anyway.”

“Yeah. Vegas is where the money is, Snake. That’s why I’m stickin’ around. For a while, anyway. Lots of job opportunities, ya know? Lots of people like Mr. Rios. And lots of idiots like Mr. Big Spender in the trunk! Heh-heh. God, that was dumb! Tryin’ to cheat Mr. Rios like that…”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t try to cheat Mr. Rios.”

“That’s for sure! I hear he’s handled quite a few guys like Mr. Big Spender. Took out a coupla them myself. Face says he thinks it’s more than a dozen now. This desert must be fulla bodies. Yessiree Bob! Here, wanna cigarette?”

“No, thank you, Artie. I don’t smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, bad for your health. Lung cancer, emphysema, second-hand whatever, the ozone layer, higher taxes, the end ‘a the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I love ’em. Mmmm, that’s good. Nothin’ like a Winston. ‘Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.’ Remember that, Snake?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm. Let’s see, the turnoff’s up here somewhere. Then it’s a kinda long drive on the dirt road, straight out into the desert. I’ll know the place when I see it. What time is it now, Snake?”

“Um, let me see…”

“Oh, boy, here we go again.”

“It’s five-ten. Five-eleven. Yeah, five-eleven.”

“Five-eleven. ’Nother half hour or so, and our business will be over.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, here’s the turnoff.”

“You sure, Artie?”

“Yeah, this is it for sure. I know where I’m goin’.”

“Okay…”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“I trust you, Artie.”

“Damn right! This is the road, see. Straight out into the desert. I swear, this desert looks just like the ocean this time of the mornin’. You ever seen the ocean, Snake?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah, the Pacific. Nothin’ like it, man. I was in L.A. a coupla times, on work for some people, and I used to see this chick who liked the beach. Her old man had one of them beach houses in Malibu. Her and me used to go swimming a lot when he was outta town, know what I mean? God, I love the ocean.”

“You shouldn’t do that, Artie.”

“Do what?”

“Mess around with married women.”

“Oh, boy, not that again! Look, Snake, I hope you don’t mind my sayin’ this, but you don’t seem to be too bright. Even if you did go to college. And you’re definitely too uptight. Way too uptight. You could use a woman yourself, ya know? A little action, and you’d probably relax a little. Don’t be so scared of everything. Women like me. I like women. If they want a little action, I always oblige. No big deal. Life’s a gamble, ya know?”

“I thought you said you didn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Gamble.”

“Well, not at a casino, Snake. I don’t gamble gamble. But if you think about it, everything’s a gamble. You pays your money and you takes your chances. Women. Adventure. Whatever. I don’t wanna be bored, and I don’t wanna be boring. You’re kinda boring, Snake, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. Face and the others, they say you’re kind of a goof, you know? Klutzy. That’s why everyone calls you Snake. You’re the kinda guy who rolls snake eyes. Me, I’m a different story. I got plans.”

“And what would they be?”

“Ha! You’ll see! A few more jobs for Mr. Rios, another coupla years here in Vegas, and then I’m outta here. I’m goin’ to get me a place out on the Coast, near the ocean. Malibu, maybe. I’m gonna retire early, live the easy life. Wine, women, and song. That’ll be me.”

“Hmm.”

“You should have plans, Snake, like me.”

“Oh, I’ve got plans, Artie.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You plannin’ on strikin’ it rich? Winnin’ the lottery? Maybe being named Momser of the Year? Heh-heh.”

“Stop that! I am not a momser!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are so! Oh, hell, let’s not do that again. See that buncha trees up ahead? Those big boulders near the hills? That’s the place, that’s where we’re headed.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve only got the one shovel, so I’ll do the diggin’, Snake. I’m in better shape than you. I can get the job done fast. That okay with you?”

“Sure Artie. You dig, and I’ll watch. I’m just a momser, anyway.”

“Oh, now, don’t pout, Snake. For chrissakes! I’m just pullin’ your leg. Speakin’ of which, we gotta get him outta the trunk.”

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Big Spender. What’s his real name, anyway?”

“I don’t know, Artie. I didn’t ask.”

“I wonder who he is. Was. You suppose he has a family?”

“How should I know? He’s just a job, Artie.”

“Yeah. Just a job. Now you’re bein’ smart, Snake. Don’t get involved, don’t ask too many questions. Just do the job you’re paid for and get out. Go on to the next job.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not such a momser, after all.”

“Thanks, Artie.”

“Still…”

“What, Artie?”

“I just wonder what his name was…”

“Is this it?”

“Yeah, Snake. This is the place. We just turn off here… yeah, another few yards… okay. Here we are. Pop the trunk, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Let’s get him outta there. Put him down a sec’. Hey, here’s his wallet. A hundred and fifty-seven bucks. You want some of it?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, more for me. Ah! Driver’s license. Wallachinsky, Victor. Portland, Oregon. Hmm, Polack. That’s a Polack name, right? Wallachinsky? Must be.”

“Yes, Artie, he’s probably of Polish descent.”

“Ha! ‘Polish descent’-I like that. ‘Polish descent.’ Okay, you take his legs. Careful… okay, over here, near the tree. Okay, easy… easy… there. Damn, he’s heavy! How much you suppose he weighs?”

“A lot.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to dig a deep one for this guy, this gentleman of Polish descent! Hand me the shovel.”

“Here.”

“Okay, get in and turn the car this way, so the headlights can show me what I’ m doin’.”

“It’ll be dawn soon.”

“Well, dawn ain’t here yet, is it, Snake? Just give me some light, okay?”

“Okay.”

“There-no, a little more to the left… a little more-there. Stop! Perfect. Now I can see the ground.”

“Okay.”

“Here, take my jacket. Careful! That’s a genuine Gucci, cost me six hundred bucks. Better take this holster, too. Damn, that piece is heavy! Ya never notice that till ya take it off. Just put ’em on the front seat. Okay. Now, you just grab a seat there, on the hood, and watch how fast I can do this.”

“Okay.”

“Ouch! Damn! Lotta rocks around here. I don’t remember all these rocks…”

“So, when were you here before, Artie?”

“Oh, a while ago. Few weeks.”

“On a job?”

“Nah. I was-I was with someone. A woman.”

“Oh. Why did you bring her all the way out here?”

“Well, heh-heh, we needed a little privacy, know what I mean, Snake?”

“Oh. Another married woman.”

“Yeah, so what? What if it was?”

“Was it Molly Rios, Artie?”

“What the hell business is it of yours?”

“I’m just asking, Artie. Was it Molly Rios?”

“None a’ your beeswax!”

“Sorry.”

“You know what, Snake? You talk too much.”

“Sorry, Artie.”

“Talk, talk, talk.”

“Sorry.”

“And you apologize too much, too. Anyone ever tell you that, Snake?”

“No, Artie. I can’t say they have.”

“Well, you do. Trust me.”

“Sorry.”

“See? You just did it again!”

“Sor-um-hmm.”

“Just sit there and watch me dig.”

“Okay.”

“The trouble with you, Snake-dammit! Another rock!-The trouble with you, Snake, is that you ain’t got an attitude. Know what I mean? You don’t walk the walk, talk the talk. Me, I’ve got lots of attitude. I’m all about attitude. I tell you, when you’re found on a doorstep with a note pinned to your ass, you learn to develop an attitude. Sister Mary Margaret and all them other penguins, not to mention the kids. That was one mean buncha kids, Snake. No respect. So you have to teach ’em to respect you. Same with the foster parents, these nicey-nice, squeaky clean do-gooders who want an instant family. They’d come to the Sisters of Mercy every Saturday, whole groups of ’em, and walk around the place, starin’ at us. Just checkin’ us all out, like we was meat in the supermarket, ya know? And every so often, they’d point at me. ‘Him,’ the perky wife would say. ‘Isn’t he cute?’ And the perfect husband would smile and nod and say, ‘Yes, Janice, if that’s the one you want.’ Like I was a dog, or somethin’! And off we’d go, to Brooklyn or Bayside or Larchmont. I spent four months in Larchmont. That was the record. The others never kept me that long. It’d start out all nicey-nice. They’d tell me to call ’em ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom,’ and they’d smile at me and show me this stupid room they said was mine, with all these stuffed animals and crap. Matching bedsheets and curtains, with these pictures of sailboats or Superman or fairy tale stuff all over ’em. And baseball bats and gloves, and a football or a basketball. Picture books. Parcheesi boards. Legos! What is it with those people and Legos, huh? And a desk for my homework, and notebooks and pencils and rulers and stuff. And they’d send me to these fancy private schools, with all these candy-ass blond-haired-blue-eyed kids with names like Shane and Blake and Mallory, all smirkin’ and pointin’ at me and whisperin’. ‘That’s him, that’s the kid from the orphanage.’ Those kids just looked down their noses at everyone. So I’d take stuff from them, books and lunch money and stuff. I figured they were all so stupid, they deserved what they got. And the teachers would scream, and the perky momwould be called in, and back I went to Sisters of Mercy. And it would all begin again, and I got bigger and older and harder to sell. After a few years of that, I decided to make it harder for ’em, you know, get rid of ’em before they got rid of me. It became like a game, ya know? It all ended up with those last ones, Dave and Mary Singer. I guess I shouldn’t ‘a taken that stupid necklace. That was in-lemme see-Riverdale. Yeah, Riverdale. I was fifteen by then, and I met these really cool kids in the park, and we used to hang, ya know, and they showed me how to boost beer from the deli and cigarettes from the newsstand. And they had drugs-that was cool. Grass and acid and X. X was my favorite, drop a tab and go all night, know what I mean? But we had to pay for it, ya know? So I took that stupid necklace from Mary’s dresser. Hell, she had about a hundred necklaces, I didn’t think she’d notice. And I was sick of ol’ Dave and Mary by then. I figured they were about to trade me in for a new model, anyway, and they could take their baseball gloves and their Superman curtains and their Parcheesi boards and their goddamn Legos and shove ’em, just put ’em where the sun don’t shine. So I waited till this one night, when Dave and Mary were off playin’ bridge at their country club, and I took the necklace. This kid named Rex-he was a badass kid, Snake, really a cool guy, didn’t take nothin’ from nobody!-he took me down to this guy he knew in Hell’s Kitchen, and we pawned it. Got four hundred bucks for it! Hell, I didn’t know it was real sapphires. You know what that necklace was worth? Twenty-five grand! Twenty-five grand for a bunch of rocks strung together with gold chains. Dave and Mary hit the roof. She screamed the place down, and he called me some word I had to go look up in the dictionary. Ragamuffin. Ragamuffin! Can you believe that?! And he brought in the cops and everything. Sister Mary Margaret tried to talk ’em outta pressin’ charges, but I ended up in the system, anyway. Boy, that was fun. Not! Those guys in there, in Langton Juvenile, I tell you. I learned pretty quick. Don’t look at nobody, ever, and don’t pick up the soap. And the guards were worse. ‘Hey, you! Arturo! Pretty boy! Come over here, son, I got somethin’ for ya!’ That’s when they weren’t whalin’ on us, usin’ us as punchin’ bags. I kept a low profile, but this one kid, Billy Carson, he was a smartass. Used to call the guards names, you know, racial names. He ended upin the hospital. Twice. The second time, he didn’t come back. I heard he lost one of his legs from the damage. And those guards were never even reprimanded. They just kept right on breakin’ legs, and everyone else kept right on lookin’ the other way. Jeez. I was in Langton till I was eighteen, and then I was supposed to report in every two weeks until I was twenty-one. I didn’t stick around for that, nosiree Bob! I looked up Rex, and we did a coupla jobs together, and I took the cash and got outta New York. Came to Vegas. Found a new line of work. And here I am, with a whole new life and lots of attitude. Free, white, and twenty-seven. How old are you, Snake?”

“Huh?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh. I’m thirty-two. I’ll be thirty-three next month.”

“Ha! I’m five years younger than you, Snake, and I bet I’ve lived a whole lot more than you have! I go where I want, do what I want. I don’t answer to nobody!”

“Yeah? How about Mr. Rios?”

“Oh, well, yeah. Mr. Rios. For now, anyway. But not for long. I got plans. Okay, I think this is deep enough. Come over here and help me with Mr. Walla-walla-bing-bang, whatever the hell his name is, the gentleman of Polish descent.”

“Okay.”

“Turn the headlights off first. It’s gettin’ light enough to see now.”

“Okay.”

“All right, you ready for this, Snake? We’re gonna carry him over and just drop him in, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Take his feet, Snake. No, his other feet. That’s it. You ain’t done this kinda work much, huh?”

“I’ve done my share, Artie.”

“Well, let’s just do this. Here, I’ll get down in here, and you roll him over to-ouch!”

“Sorry.”

“There ya go with the sorry again! Okay, there. Now, hand me down the shovel. It’s over there by the tree. Go get theshovel, Snake. Well? What’re ya waitin’ for, Snake? Why’re ya just standin’ there?”

“The shovel can wait a minute, Artie.”

“Whaddaya mean, the shovel can-Hey! What’s with the gun? What the hell do ya think you’re doin’, Snake?”

“My job. It’s just a job, Artie. Remember?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Stay where you are! You just stay right there in the hole. I have a message for you, Artie. A message from Mr. Rios.”

“What the hell’re you talkin’ about? Hey! Don’t point that thing at me!”

“Shut up! You talk too much, Artie. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Snake-”

“Mr. Rios wanted me to give you a message, Artie. He said you shouldn’t have messed around with his wife.”

“What?! What the hell’re you talkin’ about?”

“I’m talking about Molly Rios, Artie.”

“Snake-”

“Molly Tamalé, the Mexicali Gal.”

“Whaddaya mean, me and Molly, Snake? Mr. Rios don’t know nothin’ about that!”

“No, but I duo.”

“Snake-”

“Even if I am just a momser.”

“Snake-”

“You shouldn’t have gambled like that, Artie.”

“Please, Snake-”

“You should have stayed in Riverdale, played with the Legos, called them Dad and Mom, know what I mean?”

“Snake-”

“Then maybe you would have seen the ocean again. Malibu. Whatever. You could have done whatever you wanted. But not now, Artie. It’s too late for that now.”

“Please, Snake-”

“Oh, and Artie?”

“For chrissakes, Snake-”

“Listen to me, Artie.”

“Snake!”

“Are you listening to me, Artie?”

“Snaaake!”

“My name isn’t Snake, Artie. My name is Irwin.”

“Hi, this is Irwin… yeah, I’m the one they call Snake. Who’s this?… Okay, Stan, I’d like to talk to Mr. Rios… Not up yet? What time is it there?… Eight? Yeah, it’s just going on six here. It’s five fifty-seven. Fifty-eight… Okay, tell Mr. Rios the job is done, as he instructed, and I’m heading back into town now. He’ll know what I mean. And tell him I received the payment, and thanks for the bonus. That was really nice of him. Tell him I’m available for any other jobs he might have for me. When will he be back in Vegas?… Okay, tell him I’ll see him next week, when he gets back. Thanks. Oh, and Stan? Please don’t call me Snake anymore, all right? My name is Irwin… Thanks… Yeah, Stan, you have a nice day, too. ‘Bye.”

“Good morning… Yeah, it’s me, Irwin… It’s just after six. Six-oh-two-oh-three. You sound like you’re still asleep… Oh, yeah? Want some company?… Yeah, I just called there. He won’t be back till next week… Well, I’m on my way back into town right now. I just did some business for him… No, I’m alone… Artie? How should I know where Artie is? I think he said something about getting out of town for a while. Maybe he did that… Okay, I’ll be there in about half an hour… All right, I’ll make it twenty minutes… Yes, I’ve got my key. Don’t get up, I’ll let myself in… Oh, yeah? That sounds nice. I can’t wait. Then we can have breakfast. I’ll see you in twenty minutes, Molly…”