Dead Man's Hand

by Luke Murphy

  Dale and Jimmy waited anxiously, fidgeting in annoyance in the high-back wooden chairs.

  When the DA had finished, he slammed the folder shut and tossed it on his desk. He picked up his cardboard coffee cup—a caramel latte, Dale guessed from the scent which made the whole office smell like Starbucks—and sipped at it like a kid with a hot chocolate. Flannery set it back down, sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen.” Flannery scowled and opened the file back up. “But everything that you have brought me is tangential. The casino chip—circumstantial. The photographs—sure, they fucked, but did they kill? The documents—circumstantial. Even the sale of the casino is a tangent. What holds it together? Where’s the crime?”

  Dale had already known that everything the DA said was true, but he had been hoping that Flannery himself might propose a scenario, because he brought a different and expert perspective. At least point to what they needed to make a case.

  Flannery closed the file and handed it to Dale. “This is Ace Sanders we’re talking about.”

  “So what do we do about this?”

  “Is this your first day on the job? I need a weapon, a witness, or a fact that connects killer and victim.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Flannery looked disgusted, rose and slipped into a jacket that looked as though it had just been removed from the press. “I have a meeting to get to. Good luck, gentlemen.”

  Dale and Jimmy let themselves out and at their own pace, took the stairs back to the office. When they pushed through the door, Dale heard his name being called. “Dale, phone call. Line one.”

  He sat at his desk and picked up the phone.

  “Detective Dayton, this is Senior Special Agent Stanley Marks from FBI Headquarters in Washington.” The man spoke at an auctioneer’s pace. “I wanted to update you on your request in the search for one Calvin Watters.”

  Dale sat up. “Yes.”

  “Although we don’t have a direct line on him, we see no signs that Watters has left Vegas.”

  The words stunned Dale. Why would Watters, a number-one murder suspect, be hanging around the city? But Dale realized that as good as the FBI’s resources were, Watters could have slipped under their radar. Watters had the connections, smarts and money to do it.

  “Thank you, Agent Marks.”

  Watters was still in town, but Dale felt the chances of finding him were even smaller.

  Why would a giant, tattooed black man, who was well known throughout the city, state and region as either a notorious bill collector, a former football star, or both, take the risk of staying in the city where he allegedly killed a man and was wanted by the law?

  Chapter 31

  Calvin knew that it was risky, but he had to make the call. He needed an ally.

  “Mr. Grant’s office.”

  “Shawn Grant, please.”

  “Whom may I ask is calling?”

  To convince that he was legit, he had to use his real name. Because of his special phone, he knew that it was safe.

  “Tell Mr. Grant that Calvin Watters would like to speak with him.”

  Shawn Grant had just sat down at his desk when his secretary rang. As the new president and chairman of the board for the Greek, he had not wanted to be disturbed. He pressed the intercom button.

  “Yes, Maureen?”

  “Sir, a Mr. Watters is on line one.”

  Shawn froze, goose bumps springing on his arms. He only knew of one Mr. Watters—the man at the top of LVMPD’s list of murder suspects for his father’s investigation.

  “Thank you, Maureen, patch him through.” Shawn picked up the receiver. “This is Shawn Grant.”

  “Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Grant. This is Calvin Watters.”

  “How do I know you are really who you say you are?”

  The caller gave a list of the collections he had made for Pitt and said, “I know you can’t check them out right away, but you’ll have to agree that only Pitt, who is dead, would also know them. If I were an imposter, I would know you wouldn’t trust me after you discovered a mistake.”

  Shawn decided to hear him out. What did he have to lose? “That is a good start, Mr. Watters. Okay, you have me interested. Why call me?”

  “First, I had nothing to do with your father’s murder, or any of the other three murders.”

  “So you say.”

  “You have to trust me. I have a solid alibi for the night he was murdered, but I don’t want to involve that person if I don’t need to. I’d rather prove it by finding your father’s real killer.”

  “And why should I trust the man who allegedly killed my father?”

  “The same reason I’m trusting you right now. We both want to know the truth behind your father’s murder and the rest of the unsolved ones. I have already started to investigate and I have some leads. If we work together, maybe we can uncover the truth.”

  Now Shawn was very interested. “So what do you want from me?”

  “The way I see it, we both want something out of this arrangement. We both want to find your father’s killer and I want to prove my innocence. Let’s share information.”

  Shawn hesitated, contemplating the pros and cons of the proposal. He didn’t know Calvin Watters and wasn’t sure how far he could trust him. The man was accused of killing Shawn’s father. He would have to tread in slow motion. But he knew he needed help in nailing Sanders. His father had always told Shawn that he was a natural-born deal maker.

  “Fine. Let’s trade information. If that goes well, then we can continue, but if not, then we stop immediately.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What do you want to know about my dad?”

  “What was your relationship like?”

  He thought about his answer. “I loved him and he was my best friend. That is why we worked together for so long. He’d been showing me the ropes for the last fifteen years and preparing me my whole life to take over the family business. Nothing would have made my father prouder. It was perfect, until she came along.”

  “Who?”

  “His wife.” Again Shawn calculated his every word. “She’s a greedy, money-hungry whore. The only reason she married my father was for his money.”

  “I knew that you and your father were close and I’m sorry for your loss. What I don’t see is why your father married Linda?”

  Shawn snorted. “Look at her. After being divorced for almost fifteen years from my mom, dad met Linda when we upgraded the casino entertainment. Linda was one of the dancers in the night show. He should have known and I tried to tell him. He told me that he had fallen in love the moment he saw her and they married right after that.”

  “Okay, but she’s not the first beautiful woman who went after your dad, I expect. Did he want children with her?”

  “Please. Linda would never do that to her body. It’s her most prized possession. And my dad was too old to raise another child. But it was his choice to get married again and we never let her come between us. At least he finally saw through her.”

  “How is that?”

  Shawn smiled. “He made her sign a prenup. In case of a divorce, she was only entitled to six percent of my father’s estate and was automatically cut out of the will. She wasn’t happy about that.”

  Money was always a motive in Vegas.

  “As for my father’s other enemies,” Shawn added, without being asked, “as a collector, I know you understand who I mean.” Shawn considered how much to say. How much could he trust Watters?

  “Ace Sanders?” Watters asked.

  Shawn’s voice grew cold. “The hatred between them is well known. It’s not often that Casino owners get along, but the heated feelings between those two were extreme. It was more than just business. It was personal. And now the bitch just made him my partner. I detest the man! I despise Linda, but I hate Sanders more. I’m going to try to get more information on him.”

  “Wait a minute, you said oth
er enemies. Do you consider Linda an enemy?”

  “What do you think, Mr. Watters? First she cheats on my dad with Sanders and then she sells him his casino.”

  “You knew about the affair?”

  “I had my suspicions. Now I’m sure of it!”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “My dad told me.”

  “He knew too?”

  “He had heard the rumors, so he hired a private investigator to follow Linda. The PI confirmed the affair and had the photos and documentation to prove it.” Shawn knew the cops already had the pictures.

  “What did your dad do?”

  “He confronted Linda. Of course, she denied everything and claimed the photos were manufactured composites. What an idiot. My dad had expected the denial, but when Linda lied, despite all the evidence, he was amazed. Did she think he was a total fool? She used sex even at that point, but she must have been stupid not to see that he didn’t buy the repentant loving wife.”

  “Why didn’t your father just divorce her?”

  “He tried.” Shawn told Watters about his father’s plans to file for divorce the morning after the night he was killed. He was also going to change his will but never had the chance to do it. Linda would have gotten nothing.

  “Okay, so what do you have for me?” Shawn asked.

  Watters explained the Pitt-Sanders business deals and gave his version of what he found at Pitt’s murder scene. This interested Shawn and he wanted to find this so-called evidence.

  If anything was discovered by either man, they would talk on a secure line. Otherwise, they each had plans about getting Sanders. They’d just have to try not to duplicate their efforts.

  Calvin hung up, satisfied that the primary murder suspect had called the victim’s son and offered and received help. He sensed that Shawn was thinking the same thing. Why had Grant agreed to join him without so much as a concerned argument? Calvin couldn’t really relax his guard. Was Shawn laying a trap to get him out in the open for the cops?

  He made another call. His mind kept picturing the news report of the bomb underneath his car. Was it Sanders tying up loose ends?

  If anyone had seen anything at his apartment, it would be his neighbor.

  Tim Whitney, an out-of-work actor, spent many days locked up in his tiny apartment awaiting a call from his agent. They had first met when he approached Calvin because he’d been studying a part as a street thug. Whitney was the only member of the complex who didn’t have a problem with Calvin’s occupation. Almost at once they hit it off and he was home enough to keep an eye on Calvin’s apartment.

  “Hello?”

  “Tim, it’s Calvin.”

  “Hey, I’ve been worried sick about you, man.”

  “How are you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. What about you?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “What’s going on with the police?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Whitney blew out his breath. “What are we going to do about this?”

  “This isn’t one of your movies. We are not going to do anything. I just called to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “What do you need, big man?”

  “Have you seen anyone suspicious around there in the last couple of days?”

  “Yeah, I saw him.” Whitney’s voice lowered.

  “Who did you see?”

  “A guy underneath your car.”

  The bomb. It had to have been the killer. “Did you tell the cops?”

  Tim sighed. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know if the guy was working for you or what.”

  “What exactly do you remember?”

  “Well, I saw him snooping around your apartment and thought that maybe he was a friend. He had a black canvas bag and went inside. When he came back out, he had changed into grease-stained coveralls, so I thought maybe he was your mechanic. He walked around your car, unlatched and lifted the hood. He studied the engine and parts, then checked both sides of the engine block. He pulled on various wires. After a few minutes, he slammed the hood down and shook his head. Then he crawled underneath the car.”

  “How long was he under the car?”

  “Four or five minutes tops. Then he left.”

  Although he didn’t know much about bomb detonation, Calvin thought four to five minutes to skillfully install a bomb under a car seemed professional.

  “Do you remember what this guy looked like?”

  “I watched from my window and tried to stay hidden, so I couldn’t get a close-up of his face. But he was lean, all muscle and sinew, with long black hair. At one point, I thought that he had stared right at me. Like he knew that I was watching him.”

  “Any distinguishing features?” Calvin couldn’t place the man, who would have stood out among Pitt’s associates.

  “Nothing I could see. He just looked like a normal guy. Until I saw him squirming underneath the car.”

  Calvin thanked Tim and hung up.

  He called Mike and gave him the vague description. Mike said he might have enough to go on but Calvin knew he was pretending.

  “Do you still have those vests I got you?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, because you’re gonna need them now.”

  Chapter 32

  “Wakie, wakie, James.” Scott sat with the serenity of a corpse, allowing his captive time to collect his thoughts.

  He had stripped Pierce naked and sat him in the middle of the room straddling a chair, legs spread, his hands tied over his head, the rope secured to a ceiling beam and his ankles duct-taped to the chair legs. Duct tape also covered Pierce’s mouth.

  After his last conversation with Sanders, Scott knew that his time was running out. His reputation was on the line. He wasn’t worried about Sanders’ threat on his life, but if he failed again, he would not only be fired, but his two failures would be spread worldwide, damaging his perfect record.

  “Sorry about the chloroform, James.” He knew Pierce’s head would be throbbing, not to mention Pierce’s increased anxiety once he realized his predicament. “I didn’t think I’d need it after you chugged those first two whisky sours at lunch. You made it easy for me. I can’t blame you though. Most people are less alert to danger at work than they are at home. I’ve been reading over your file.”

  Scott held up a sheaf of papers. “Degenerates like you are creatures of habit. You just can’t control yourself. Once I found your place of work, all I had to do was wait. I followed you for a couple of days and just my luck—you followed the same routine every day. You couldn’t wait for lunchtime to get on the phone with your bookie and hit the nearest pub. I guess Watters’ last message didn’t get through.”

  Scott saw that the mention of Calvin Watters’ name had sparked his prisoner. He watched the man’s eyes wander around the vacated, gutted building to a crumpled body in the corner.

  “Don’t worry about him, James. His blood-brain barrier has been crossed by a shit load of heroin.” He held up a syringe and tension band. Like a trained registered nurse, Scott pressed the plunger and liquid dripped from the needle. “He won’t be bothering us.” Scott looked around the room. “It’s a shame they’ll be demolishing this building in a few days. I was introduced to the site by a local friend. Pity really, it’s the perfect location for my work.”

  Scott watched a rat scamper across the concrete floor, stop at Pierce’s foot and then continue across, disappearing into a wall crevasse. Pierce’s nostrils flared and his eyes leaked.

  “Ignore the smell, James. Our friend has been living here for a while. No functioning toilet and no change of clothes.”

  Scott rose from his seat and approached Pierce. He circled the victim’s limp body. “Do you know much about the Chinese culture, James? I do. I studied it.” Scott returned to the table he’d been sitting at, slipped on a pair of rubber surgical gloves and opened a briefcase. “Did you know that at one time in China, they used castration for religious a
nd social reasons? After battles, the winners castrated their captives to symbolize victory.”

  Urine pooled under Pierce’s chair.

  Scott picked up a tool from the briefcase. “This is called an emasculator. It’s used on livestock, to simultaneously crush and cut the spermatic cord, but I thought, ‘what the hell, if it’s good enough for a horse, it’s good enough for James.’”

  He set the tool down. “From my estimation, you have twenty-one minutes before you’re expected back at work.” He smiled. “A lot can happen in that time. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. If I like your answers, you’ll make your deadline. If I don’t, then I’ll show you how much I learned from the Chinese. All you have to do is blink once for yes and twice for no. Understand?”

  Pierce not only blinked once, but also nodded.

  “Good. Do you trust I’m a man of my word?”

  With wide eyes, Pierce blinked once.

  “Now, Calvin Watters. Do you know him?”

  One blink.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Pierce paused and Scott knew his hesitation meant he was about to conceal something or lie. Scott shook his head. What kind of hold did Watters have on his victims? It was as if Pierce thought that ratting out Watters was worse than losing his manhood. Scott had to put no doubt in Pierce’s mind that what he could do was far worse than any punishment Watters could inflict.

  “Don’t worry about Watters. Worry about me.”

  Scott shook his head and went back to the briefcase. He slowly removed the emasculator. He fastened the ends of the clamp over Pierce’s testicles and locked it into place.

  “Well.” Scott smiled. “That fits nice and cozy.”

  Pierce flinched, probably more from discomfort than pain, but maybe also from the anticipation of the perceived future. Trickles of blood ran down the inside of Pierce’s leg and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

  Scott gripped the handle of the tool and squeezed a little. Pierce squirmed but couldn’t move.

  “Again, do you know where Watters is?”