“You got a problem?” Royal said.
“I gotta find Delilah or Vincent the Hammer’s going to kill me,” I said. Normally honesty isn’t my first impulse, but I didn’t really have time to think of anything else. Of course Royal was talking about me eyeing his nose, but my answer seemed to work. He laughed. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with hula girls and their grass skirts seemed to vibrate when he laughed.
I took in the suite. Royal was standing behind a U-shaped couch that faced a wall of windows and the desert beyond. A silk bathrobe and some newspapers were scattered across the top. A room-service tray sat at the end of the couch. A couple of empty beer bottles and a plate with what looked like leftover spaghetti and meatballs getting ready to grow mold were atop the tray.
“So, you’re looking for Delilah.”
“Yeah. I’m going to make her a rock star.”
Royal laughed again. The hula girls swayed. He bent down and picked a ukulele off the couch and began strumming, his eyes on his fingers. I realized his fingers were supersized, too. Bananas to go with his watermelon – the guy was a walking fruit plate.
A second later, he was singing Margaritaville. He got about one-third the way through, then stopped and looked up at me.
“Maybe you can make me a star, too,” he said.
“My plate’s kind of full at the moment,” I said and nodded first to Jimmy and then to James standing on either side of me.
“Oh well, from what I hear you’re a pretty lousy manager, anyway.”
Now what could I say to that? Hard to argue when the only evidence of your expertise is the fact that you’re not dead. Using that standard you could say all the politicians in the country know what they’re doing.
“Rehearsal didn’t go so well, but the gig’s going to be killer.” I glanced at the Roo brothers, hoping they weren’t listening. No point in giving them hope.
“It’s Joey, right? Come here Joey, I want to show you something.” He turned and looked out the window at the Mojave Desert.
I crossed the room, went around the couch, and stood next to him. He rested his arm across my shoulders. It was like having a pet crocodile nestle close. You’re happy for its affection, but it’s tough getting totally comfortable.
“Take a look.” He gestured to the windows with a sweeping motion. I took it in. Nothing out there but sand, cacti, rocks, and sun hot enough to make Moscow in the winter look good. He squeezed my shoulder.
“So tell me, Joey, what three words come to mind?”
“Shake and bake?”
He leaned close and whispered in my ear. “No, I was thinking, rest in peace.” I held my breath. “Or maybe Arlington National Cemetery, but without the headstones, flags and grass. I’ve got a lot of former associates enjoying themselves out there. No need for sunscreen, if you get my drift.”
More like an avalanche. I nodded. “Sure.”
He leaned close and whispered. “Here’s the thing. I want to help you find Delilah, but I don’t want you taking her back to L.A.”
“You don’t?” I didn’t know where this was going, but I knew it couldn’t be good. I was right.
“Nah, I ah … .” He glanced toward the Roo brothers and bent to me again. “I want you to bring her here.”
“Here?” Even I heard the Mickey Mouse squeak in my voice.
“I met her a year ago and I’ve been in love ever since, but she won’t give me the time of day. I figure if she gets to know me, she’ll understand all my outstanding features.”
Somehow that nose of his kept coming up, and up and up.
“So,” Royal Rob whispered and squeezed my shoulder again, “you’ll bring her here, right?”
“But Vincent the Hammer … .”
“Joey, Joey, Joey, you don’t want to go through eternity not needing sunscreen, right?”
“That’s me, tan and terrific.”
He dropped his arm and I stepped away. I looked at the Roo boys. Even with their sunglasses on, I knew they were eyeing me suspiciously. I glanced at Royal Rob, who was smiling contentedly as if we shared a secret.
Yup, stuck at life’s penny slots and down to my last lint-covered Lincoln.
“So, I think I’m going to be able to help,” Royal Rob said and smiled at the Roo brothers. “After Vincent the Hammer called, I put my best man on it.” He turned and waved to the suite’s adjoining room. “Hey Digger, come on in.”
Digger appeared a moment later. He wasn’t what I expected and he didn’t inspire much confidence. He was nondescript — medium height, thin, pale, a receding hairline and glasses, the kind of guy you could overlook in a coffin. Next to him, a laundry hamper would look threatening.
“I’m Digger,” he said. His voice was high pitched and whiney. “I’ve already started digging into the situation,” he said and chuckled at his own bad pun.
Great, I thought. My personal guide to Las Vegas’ dark underbelly is a Rodney Dangerfield wannabe who sounds like Barney Fife. I glanced at Royal Rob. He was grinning broadly, obviously expecting me to be awed. My gaze shifted to the windows and the desert beyond. I nodded and turned to Digger.
“So where do we start?” I said and tried to scare up some fake enthusiasm.
“We’ll start with the doggie day care centers and maybe check a groomer or two.”
“What?”
“Vincent the Hammer said she loves animals, so … .” He looked to Royal Rob.
“Yeah, start with dogs,” Royal Rob said. He stopped smiling. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“Nope,” I said. “In fact, let’s start with Pluto and Goofy. Who knows, we might just bump into Dumbo along the way.”
About the only thing in life that surprises me any more is when I actually get something right and I was about to be very surprised.
Chapter 28
I didn’t have a lot of faith in Digger, but then again I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted him to succeed anyway. If we actually found Delilah I was going to face a tough choice — take her to Royal Rob or throw my lot in with the Roo boys and try to get her back to Vincent the Hammer in L.A.
On the surface, it looked like a pretty easy choice. Between them the Roo boys probably outweighed a small buffalo and had the compassion of a chainsaw, while Digger probably didn’t outweigh a Great Dane and couldn’t scare a Pekinese.
But we were in Las Vegas, and I figured Digger and his boss probably had quite a few friends in town, friends who would make sure any trip out of town ended in the desert without sunscreen.
I was still trying to figure out what I’d do when we left the Royal Alcatraz and got into the Roo brothers’ Continental. Digger immediately started giving Jimmy directions. Digger and I were in the back and the Roo twins were in the front staring straight ahead as expressionless as broken slot machines. I assumed Digger was giving directions to the city pound, but a few minutes later Jimmy turned the Continental into the parking lot of The Hitch and Bitch, a combination wedding chapel and doggie day care center for overactive female canines.
The Roo brothers waited with the car while Digger and I went inside. Hound Dog was playing over hidden speakers when we walked in. Digger introduced me to the guy running the place, an Elvis impersonator who wore a maroon cape, combed his black hair in a pompadour, and said his name was King. Two Jack Russell terriers pulled on his cape.
Vincent the Hammer had sent along a photo of Delilah and Digger showed it to King who shrugged.
“Nope,” King said. “Don’t know her. You tried the pound?”
“Too late, they’re closed. We’ll check tomorrow,” Digger replied.
“Maybe you need some reinforcements,” King said.
“Reinforcements?” I asked. We were just looking for one woman, not invading Bolivia.
The two terriers abruptly let go of King’s cape and sprinted out the door and toward the Continental where the Roo boys stood, their arms across their chests. The dogs skidded to a halt about ten feet from the car. They studied t
he Roos for a moment, like two lone coyotes stumbling across a herd of mastodons then turned, ran back into the chapel, and attacked King’s cape again, growling and snapping at each other.
I don’t now much about dogs, but I suddenly understood how Delilah might enjoy their company.
Digger turned his attention from the dogs back to King. “What are you thinking?”
“Have you thought of asking Toughie for help?”
“Didn’t know Toughie was back in town.”
King nodded. “Got in a couple of weeks ago. Everyone talks to Toughie. If you want, I’ll make the call.”
“Yeah, make the call. Royal Rob really wants to find this girl.”
“Who’s Toughie?” I asked.
“Toughie Basoon,” Digger said.
Toughie Basoon. The name struck a note, but I couldn’t quite place it. Digger must have seen the question on my face. He smiled.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re going to like her.”
We were halfway across the parking lot headed toward the Continental when it hit me.
“Her?”
Digger smiled. “Yeah, like I said, everyone talks to Toughie.”
Chapter 29
I recognized Toughie Basoon the moment I saw her coming across the motel parking lot. As wide as she was tall, she looked like a taco wagon rolling in to set up shop.
The Roo boys and I had spent the night at a motel, a dump a few time zones off the Strip. Jimmy and James had each taken a queen-sized bed and I’d taken the floor between them. We’d eaten cold take-out pizza and had a couple of warm beers for dinner, but I wasn’t complaining. I’d figured that, worst case scenario, I’d get heartburn. These days, heartburn was looking a whole lot better than sunburn.
The next morning, I’d grabbed a cup of coffee in the motel lobby and sauntered out to the parking lot to wait for Jimmy and James. I was leaning against the Continental when a half-ton pickup bounced over the curb and Toughie Basoon slid out of the cab. She spotted me and came across the asphalt moving like a mountain lion closing in on an abandoned baby elk, which is something for a taco wagon. The look on her face would have frozen a Rottweiler.
I considered my options and immediately decided to go with charm and bullshit. I figured why not lead with my strong suits? Besides I’m a really slow runner. I shoved away from the Continental and, my best used car salesman smile plastered on my face, I went to meet Toughie.
I had what I thought was a great opening line all ready. But when you’re playing at life’s penny slots with your last coins, the stress can disrupt even your best plans. I stopped about ten yards from Toughie and, for the second time in two days, did something that’s exceedingly rare for me. I blurted out the truth.
“I remember you from Roller Derby,” I said. With most women, telling them they look like a Roller Derby queen probably isn’t a good first move, but then I’ve never had much luck with great opening lines anyway. And, like I said, stress was short circuiting my brain’s usual agility.
Toughie stopped in mid-stride and studied me. Her scowl intensified. No need for claws or fangs. The look alone would keel over a moose.
“You a fan?” It was more a sneer than a polite question.
“Are you kidding? I was a huge fan. You’re Toughie Basoon.” I gestured to the horizon – nothing but sagebrush, sand, and broken dreams as far as you could see. “I’m probably the only guy in Vegas who still remembers you, not to mention your old teammates Hipcheck Henry and Jaunty Jimmy the Jammer,” I said. “I mean, Toughie Basoon, wow, you’re a legend.”
Something softened in her eyes but a suspicion lingered. “You came to the meets?”
“Nah, I could never afford it. But I caught every one on TV. Wednesday nights, Channel Five. Nothing better than grabbing a suds, watching the L.A. Jammers, and listening while Hold-Your-Horses Harry the announcer called the action from …” I made quote marks with my fingers “The Balcony High Above the Olympic Auditorium.”
“It’s a Korean church now,” she said.
“Small congregation?”
“Not the balcony, you idiot. The auditorium.”
“Oh, I guess I need to get out more often.” I shook my head. “Well, I still remember your final meet. It was against the Bay City Bombers, right? They had that little gal who could really fly, ah, Fanny Flame, that was her name. League’s top scorer, right?”
A sly smile played across her lips. “Not that night.” She dropped her eyes to the asphalt and glanced up a second later. “So how’d you get crosswise with Royal Rob?”
“Long story.”
“You steal from him?” She looked me up and down. “You don’t look like you’d be much of a thief.”
“I tried to run a con on Vincent the Hammer and one thing led to another.”
“How come you’re still alive?”
“Vincent the Hammer has this daughter and well … .”
Toughie’s gaze shifted from me to the Continental and I turned to look. Jimmy and James were coming across the lot to meet us.
“You’re with the Roo twins?” she asked.
“You know them?”
“I used to date their big brother.”
I think my eyes widened. It’s like learning that Jack the Ripper had an older sibling. It’s really hard to fathom all the possibilities.
Jimmy and James rumbled to a stop right behind me, but before they could speak another vehicle came into the parking lot. It was one of those squat Asian imports that looks like a toadstool on wheels. The thing slid to a halt next to us and Digger lowered the window.
“I think I know where Delilah is,” Digger said.
“You found her?” Toughie said. I could tell she wasn’t buying it.
“That so hard to believe?”
“Digger, you couldn’t find your ass with two hands and a search warrant.”
“I tell you, she’s working for Rex the Wonder Dog. Let’s go,” he said and the toadstool started to roll.
“Rex the Wonder Dog?” I said.
Toughie shrugged. I fell in behind the Roo boys and we headed for the Continental. As we climbed into the car, I took stock of my situation — number four in the pecking order behind a former Roller Derby enforcer and two hit men with a muscle-to-brain ratio of about a thousand to one.
I tried to be philosophical. After all, what can you expect from penny slots, to live forever?
Chapter 30
Rex the Wonder Dog was a recluse and no one knew how to find him. So, we went to see his talent agent, Auggie, who kept pretty close tabs on him. Auggie the Agent shared an office with a plastic surgeon named Bob who specialized in boob jobs. They called their joint venture The Enchantment Center.
The Enchantment Center was a doublewide in the middle of an acre of asphalt just past the edge of the city. At one point, it had been a used car lot. Now there was nothing but scorpions, lizards, and dust on all sides.
A few seconds after Digger turned his toadstool car into the parking lot, he scooted up the steps and through the door to the doublewide. Toughie and I got out of the Continental. She told the Roo brothers this would only take a moment, and they decided to wait in the car, the windows rolled up, the AC on. We followed Digger. The porch sagged when Toughie stepped on it. She reached for the handle, paused, and looked at me.
“Auggie’s a little sensitive,” she said.
“About what?”
Toughie didn’t answer. She swung the door open and I followed her into Auggie’s office. I think my mouth dropped and I fought not to laugh. Auggie was short, skinny, with pock marked cheeks and a pointy head covered with the worst comb over I’d ever seen. Even Donald Trump would have fired the guy’s barber.
Auggie had an oscillating fan going atop a filing cabinet and every time it swung toward him, his sprayed and shellaced hair would lift off his head like a wood shake shingle threatening to break loose in a storm.
I took in the rest of the place. Black and white publicity shots
of some of the top acts to ever hit Vegas were tacked on the wall. There were autographed pictures of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Celine Dion. They all thanked Auggie for making their careers. They were all written by the same hand.
Laughter drifted through the door from the other side of the doublewide. Auggie must have caught me looking, because he leaned a little to look past Toughie.
“One stop shopping. Dr. Bob enhances your natural attributes and I enhance your career. Our motto is ‘everything points up after a visit to The Enchantment Center’.”
Toughie cleared her throat and Digger hustled out of the way to the side of the small office. Toughie moved a step closer, but Auggie threw up his hands.
“Hey, Toughie, I already told Digger that I don’t know where Rex is.”
“I ain’t Digger,” Toughie said.
More giggles from next door. Auggie smiled. “Bob enjoys his work. Maybe you caught his commercials on late night cable? ‘Let Doctor Bob do the job.’”
Last night the Roo boys had turned the TV to Animal Planet. Little old ladies and cat lovers were probably not the target demographic for Dr. Bob’s boob jobs.
I shook my head. “I’ve only been in town one night.”
Toughie took a step closer to the desk and Auggie dropped into a chair behind it. He threw up his hands again.
“Look, Toughie, I don’t know where Rex is.”
Toughie turned to Digger and motioned with her thumb to the door. I think Digger was about to complain. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A second later, he was thudding down the steps to the asphalt.
“You, too,” Toughie said and I hustled out the door. I figured there was no percentage in getting in the way of a polite face-to-face conversation. That, and I hate the sight of blood.
I waited in the car with the Roo boys and tried to enjoy the silence but the doublewide was rocking on its supports and muffled cries came from Auggie’s office. Toughie came out a couple of minutes later. She pulled open the Continental’s door and settled into the back seat next to me.
Chuck Freadhoff - Free Booze Tonight Page 8
