Vegas Moon

45.

“You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Carmine says, “Can I turn that fuckin’ TV down?”

He reaches for the remote, presses the mute button. Says, “My wife’s asleep. If she wakes up and comes in to check on me, you won’t make her a part of this, will you?”

“She won’t be joining us tonight.”

Carmine’s face goes white. Well, whiter.

“Relax,” I say. “I just pennied her into the room.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I pressed a couple of coins into the door jamb. She won’t be able to open her door until someone removes the coins. If she starts banging the door, you’ll know she’s awake.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You said Gwen was working for you.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Okay, it’s clear you’ve become, ah, ah…”

“Close to her.”

“Right.”

“So?”

“So you gotta understand, anythin’ I tell you happened before you and her ever met. And I don’t know shit about what happened these last few days.”

He pauses.

I say, “Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Right. Well, Gwen was on my payroll. I hired her to, ah, seduce Lucky. Well, she done it so well he up and asked her to marry him after a few fuckin’ weeks! So I give her permission, ’cause I want her to get me names, numbers, point spreads…you know, the works.”

I wait for him to continue.

“Well, she gets me nothin’. I mean, the motherfucker is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I think she’s lyin’ at first, so I threaten her a bit.” He looks at me and quickly adds, “No physical stuff. Just angry talk. You know.”

He looks at me, sees I’m not participating. Continues. “So anyway, I’m increasin’ the pressure on her, you know, turnin’ the screws, and then you come into the picture. Now I want no part of it, so I tell her I’m done, have a good life.”

He shakes his head. “And now this.”

I think about how Gwen asked me how much to kill Lucky. How much to kill Carmine. Now I know why. Carmine doesn’t like the way I’m looking at him.

He says, “I know this makes me look bad.”

“Ya think?”

“Let me tell ya somethin’,” he says. “I’ve known this girl since the first time she got knocked up.

I sigh. “Go on.”

“When she turned eighteen she started dancin’ for me.”

“By dancing, you mean?”

“In the strip clubs.”

I sigh again. Deeper, this time.

“That’s where she met Lucky,” Carmine says. “You really didn’t know this?”

“Just out of curiosity,” I say, “what was her stage name?”

“You don’t know?”

“I asked you, didn’t I?”

“Didn’t matter which club she danced,” Carmine says. “Her stage name was always the same: Vegas Moon.”