Stone Cold

CHAPTER 33

ONCE BACK AT THE POMPEII, Milton filled Reuben in on what he’d discovered.

His friend looked impressed. “Damn, Milton, Susan has rubbed off on you.”

A few well-placed twenties later, the two men were directed to Dolores Radnor’s craps table. Milton bet on a hot shooter while he sized up the woman. She was thin and wrinkle-faced with a perpetually sad air about her. An hour later she took a break and Milton followed her to a table outside the bar area where she sipped on a cup of coffee, an unlit cigarette dangling in her free hand.

Milton said, “Mrs. Radnor?”

Startled, the woman looked at him warily. “How do you know my name? Is there a problem?”

“This is very awkward,” Milton began as Dolores looked at him expectantly. “I was in town a few months ago and your daughter gave me the best massage I ever had.”

The woman’s lips began to quiver. “My Cindy was damn good at giving massages. She went to school for it, had a certificate and everything.”

“I know, I know. She was great. And I promised her the next time I was in town I’d look her up. I was just over there and they told me what happened. And they were kind enough to give me your name and where you worked.”

“Why did you want to know that?” she asked, though her look was now more sad than suspicious.

“She was so nice to me that I told Cindy that the next time I was in town I was going to place a bet for her on the craps table.”

Dolores looked at him more closely. “Hey, aren’t you the shooter who burned up Table No. 7? I popped over there on a break because people were all talking about it.”

“I am the very one.” He took out his wallet. “And I wanted to deliver Cindy’s share to you.”

“Sir, you don’t have to do that.”

“A promise is a promise.” Milton handed her twenty one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Oh my God,” Dolores said. She tried to give it back but Milton insisted until she put it away in her pocket.

“You coming over and giving me this money is the only good thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” She suddenly broke down in tears.

Milton handed her some napkins from the holder on the table. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Radnor?”

“You can just call me Dolores. And you just did something wonderful.”

“Helen over at the spa told me she died in an accident. Was it a car accident?”

The woman’s face hardened. “Accidental overdose, they said. That’s crap. Cindy never took drugs in her life. And I’d know, because I did drugs, in my time. A druggie knows another druggie, and she wasn’t one.”

“So why did they think that’s what killed her?”

“Stuff in her body. And a container of stuff by her bed, and bam, she’s a crackhead. But I know my Cindy. She saw what the stuff did to me. I finally got myself straightened out, got a good job, and now this. Now my baby’s gone.” She started snuffling again.

“Again, I’m very sorry.” Milton left and rejoined Reuben.

Milton said, “Okay, Cindy gives Tony Wallace a.k.a. Robby Thomas a massage. Wallace gets nearly beaten to death by Bagger. And Cindy dies of an accidental drug overdose even though it appears she didn’t use drugs.”

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Reuben said.

“The probabilities are Bagger had her killed. I can do some poking around on the Pompeii Web site. There might be a back door there I can exploit.”

They walked off without noticing the man in the suit who’d been watching Milton talk to Dolores. He spoke into a walkie-talkie. “We might have a big problem. Get hold of Mr. Bagger.”