Chapter 2
It was morning. I had spent the evening listening to music and uselessly going through the map on the tablet. The vacation I had in mind was slipping away, replaced by a new challenge. It was one that I could not turn down. So after a night of restless sleep, I had a breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs. Once I consumed enough coffee to start the old brain, I showered and dressed in a conservative gray suit with a white shirt, black loafers, and a red tie. A look in the mirror and I saw a man of higher than average height, a square jaw with a day of stubble, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. I could easily pass for a mid-level manager, or some tourist trying to impress the local waitress.
When I was finished with the morning routine, I headed down the flight of stairs, moving quickly down the steps until my heart was beating fast. I was feeling good by the time I opened the door to the garage. I looked at my truck, a rather decrepit black Ford F-150, and decided that it wouldn’t fit the character I was playing. Instead, I took the silver Chevy Impala, a bland sedan more fitting of the middle-class. It was also the sort of car that no one looked at twice. Mine was actually the V8 model that had been modified on the outside to look more like a Plain Jane rental. There was no reason to crow about the available power under the hood.
I started the car up. After I hit the remote for the security gate, I drove out and headed toward the nearest Lexus dealership which was over on the west side of town. The traffic this Saturday morning was light and it only took a few minutes of sedate driving to reach my destination. It was your usual car lot filled with shiny new models in the front and the more haggard cars pushed off to the side like unwanted children. I found a customer parking spot, got out of the Impala, and began to walk the line of parked sedans. It was only a brief moment of time when a salesman came bounding out of the front door to offer his assistance.
He was nearing middle-age with the accompanying bulge in the stomach and receding hairline. He was dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants. His skin was tan and a broad grin exposed the whites of his teeth which were dazzling in the desert sun. After a firm handshake, we were suddenly the best of friends.
“I’m Rob Hart. Looking for anything special?”
I slapped a most eager expression on my face. “I just got a real nice bonus check. I thought it would be a good time to buy the missus a new car.”
The salesman glanced at my poor Chevy which looked distinctly out of place in all this opulence. Pointing to a nearby car, he said carefully, “The ES330 is a nice little automobile. Rides real smooth too. It will come fully loaded with leather and satellite radio. It would be perfect for your little lady.”
I pretended to give this some thought. “Well I don’t know. Do you have anything a little bit bigger? I mean when I drive a car I like to have plenty of legroom. It’s hell hauling four kids around, even with a minivan. A trip to Disneyland just puts a crick into my back like you wouldn’t believe.”
Hart studied me closer, glancing at my shoes as if expecting to find dog shit. “Perhaps an SUV?” he asked uneasily, the quick friendship between us beginning to dissipate.
I took a few steps and touched the hood of a nearby LS460. “What about this fine beauty?” I asked.
“You do know how much these cars cost, don’t you?”
“Plenty,” I replied, giving my voice a rougher edge. “But I will want a special deal like you gave my friend.”
“Your friend?”
“Yes. His name is Keith Miller. Do you know him?”
The mention of that name made Hart stiffen. He tried to cover it up by giving me an awkward smile, but by then I knew I had hit the jackpot. Of course there was only one Lexus dealership in Las Vegas, so my bet had been an easy one. Of course Keith could have traveled out to the suburbs to buy from another lot, but a man suddenly flush with money wouldn’t have bothered.
“No, I don’t,” he finally said once he had regained control of himself.
“I’m sure you would have remembered him. He would have paid cash. I aim to do the same thing if the deal is right.”
The man blinked a few times and then the broad smile returned. “Well that’s different. I can offer you MSRP. Of course it’s a bit of extra paperwork, but we can go back to my office and work out the details.”
I took another stab in the dark. “Like my friend, I’m not exactly keen on having this transaction reported to the IRS. He told me you made did some special wrangling so there wouldn’t be any chance of that happening. Do you understand me?”
Hart looked around the lot as if we were being listened to by the FBI. His voice lowered, he said, “It will cost you extra. But yes, I can do it for you.”
“What kind of bonus for your services are we talking about?”
“An extra ten thousand for myself on top of my commission. In cash.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I said nastily. “I’ll give you five and you’ll like it.”
My sudden change caught the salesman by surprise. He said, “I don’t know. I’ve got expenses and it’s not exactly safe to be cooking the books like this.”
“You did it for Keith, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t do it for a measly five-thousand dollars, no matter what your friend said.”
“Yeah, he is a bit of a braggart, telling me what a great deal he got from you. But I’ll compromise with you – I’ll give you eight for your trouble.”
Hart nodded, looking a bit happier than before. “We can start the paperwork now,” he suggested.
“I’ll go get the money first,” I said as I started walking toward my car.
“What was your name again?” he asked.
“I didn’t tell you for a reason,” I replied. I opened the car door, slid inside and started the engine. When I drove away, I could see Hart in the rear view mirror, staring at the back of my car. He looked worried.
I drove back to my apartment. After parking the car I went upstairs and changed to my workout clothes. One floor down was my buffer space between the other units in the building. It was a cavernous room that was filled with exercise equipment. I spent every day here, either weightlifting or running the treadmill. After selecting a suitable album to listen to in the portable player, I first did some light bench pressing and then hit the squat rack. As I felt the pressure of the barbell against my back, I thought of what I had learned from my trip to the dealership.
First of all, it appeared that Keith Miller really had come into some money. No bouncer is buying luxury cars with cash unless they are dealing in something illegal. He must have sounded out several dealerships until he found one that was unscrupulous enough to swing a deal that wouldn’t involve the IRS. This indicated someone who was familiar with criminal activities and hiding income; something that I knew quite a bit about myself. Of course any real conman would have purchased a less conspicuous car than a Lexus, and they certainly wouldn’t trust someone like Rob Hart. Keith was a small-time hustler then, the sort who had perhaps already seen the inside of jail at least once. That didn’t make him any less dangerous, just someone who was running mostly on instinct.
When I was done with my workout, I went back upstairs and took a quick shower. I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I turned on the stereo and treated myself to The Wild Swans, a long time sentimental favorite of mine. As that played in the background, I thawed a steak from the freezer, and then fried it up in a pan, a heresy for the charbroiled boys, but I prefer to taste the meat, not burnt wood. Some steam broccoli and a beer rounded out the meal. When I was finished eating, I tidied up the kitchen and then flipped the record over to listen to the other side.
I sat on the sofa and thought of all the questions I had. I had plenty more for Cleora and even some for her sister. I would also like to know more about Bill Kinney and the sort of business he got up to while overseas. That would shed some light on the type of product that Keith had cashed out on.
The obvious answer was cash that had been earned through the selling of drugs. But why would Kinney bury that in the back yard when a safer place, like an inside wall or even a bank safe deposit box would do?
That would have been a better, especially if he was really concerned about the well-being of his family. If cash was ruled out, that left drugs, jewels, and precious metals. Any of those three would require a middleman, the first being the most dangerous of them all. But even the last two could be trouble if the dealer was unscrupulous.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled on the sofa. I napped. I listened to a few records and paged through a number of websites; just passing the time away. After a dinner of chicken breast with homemade wine sauce, asparagus fried with olive oil, and a glass of wine, I began to prepare for an evening out.
I went to the bathroom and looked myself in the mirror. Since I was heading for a meaner neighborhood, I combed my hair back, giving it a rougher look. I then splashed on some cheap cologne. In the bedroom, I found an old foam trucker hat and a brown hooded sweatshirt. I removed my t-shirt. I wasn’t expecting any trouble at this stage of the game, but also didn’t want to be caught flatfooted either. In the dresser drawer was a plastic knife – no, not something you would find in a cafeteria – but made of hard ABS and with a sharped end with a serrated edge. Using a roll of black tape, I attached the blade to the spot between my shoulder blades. It was one place that most people, even the police, skip when giving a pat down. After I dressed, I put on my Doc Marten steel toe boots which added another inch to my considerable height.
I then went to the living room and sat down again, trying not to get carried away by the scent of the hunt. There was always a thrill when I had a new quarry - an additional excitement that was a good departure from my normal, regulated existence. I waited with the lights off and only got up when the orange glow of the summer sun had disappeared under the horizon. It was Saturday night, the time when Vegas came alive with a blaze of neon. The red carpet was out and the carnival barkers were on the sidewalk, trying to pull in the rubes for an overpriced thrill.
I locked up and set the alarm. I went down to the garage and started up the worn-looking pickup truck. My foot touched the pedal and I gave the engine a few revs. The warble of the supercharged Ford Lightning crate motor sounded like magic. With the manual transmission and sticky tires out back, I could jump ahead of just about anything except the most dedicated sports cars. It was a fun combination of power that had surprised more than a few unwitting drivers. No one suspected that such a dirty old truck had that kind of mill. I pulled out of the garage and soon found myself in the throng of traffic heading toward the Strip.
The light and flash from the casinos was almost blinding - all neon and moving signs. It was bright enough that even daylight seemed pale in comparison. It was artificial glamor of no lasting quality, meant to keep the visitors distracted from the realization that they were being fleeced. If your idea of a good time is all-you-can-eat buffets, crowded sidewalks, noisy hotel rooms, and the minimal chance of striking it rich, then Vegas is the place for you. It was, of course, all a shallow sham but still the tourists kept on coming. Like moths to the flame they would keep on coming until the electricity ran out or money was outlawed. It was just a taste of an exotic life that few ever attained and no one really loved.
The roads here were thick with traffic. I circled around a few times until I found a good parking space. No one paid me any attention as I got out of the truck and joined the crowds. It was all laughter and toothy smiles; everyone on the make as if trying to find some adventure in this one-dimensional town. A few blocks later and the streets became a little meaner. I sauntered over to the Pussycat Lounge and gave the bouncer a familiar nod. He was a big man with a shaved head and arms thicker than my thighs. He gave me an uneasy smile and let me pass without even a cursory examination.
It was loud inside, the rhythmic music pumping out of the ceiling-mounted speakers. It was also dim, nothing but stage lights and a rotating disco ball. There was a narrow stage that jutted into rows of tables. A long bar of dark wood and stools bolted to the floor took up most of the left side of the room. It was crowded, the stage busy with several dancers in various states of undress, gaudy clinging clothes at the most or just a thong at the least. The seats on the floor below were packed with customers with hard eyes and drunken laughter. There was a scent of barely restrained lust in the air; the frustrated sexuality of men not getting what they really wanted. Like a poor shopper, they could look and even touch, but rarely buy.
After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I spotted an empty booth in the back that was far away from the action. After I was seated, a waitress stopped by. I knew her as Anne. Though dressed more demurely than the strippers, she was still had to wear extremely short skirts with nylons and a stiff white shirt that glowed under the black lights.
“Hello, Dev,” she said. “What are you drinking tonight?”
I pretended to think about it, even though the answer was always the same. “I gimlet will do. And make sure it is made with Rose’s lime juice and Plymouth gin.”
“As always,” she said as she jotted down my order inside a notebook.
I peered at the dancers working the floor, earning their dollar bills. “When is Cleora coming on?”
“Oh, a new love interest? Whatever happened to you and Melodie?”
Other than my eyebrows rising slightly, the rest of my expression remained impassive. “I had no idea I was the topic of gossip.”
She laughed. “There’s nothing else to do around here but gossip. And even though you’re familiar here, no one really knows you. I mean a man dressed like a factory worker who talks like a professor, orders top-shelf gin, and manages to date the prettiest girl here is going to draw some attention.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about me, I can assure you of that.”
“If you say so,” Anne said. “But your new friend will be out once Melodie is done with her act.” With those words, the waitress then disappeared to fill my order.
I frowned, chiding myself for becoming known here. I was getting sloppy. I would have to find another place to hang out soon and stay under the radar. There was always a chance that if my name popped up, let’s say during a police investigation, that could mean all sorts of trouble. I wanted privacy, not to be at the beck and call of some government official or, even worse, the tax man. My thoughts were cut off by a voice that came over the speakers.
It was the DJ announcing the next act. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Pussycat is proud to present Melodie. I want to hear a big round of applause!”
There was a scattering of clapping from the audience. And then a hush as the woman in question strode out with a fully-grown tiger on a chain. The two of them got an eyeful of awe as they made a slow sensuous circuit past the stripper poles and along the length of the stage. This was no small town strip joint, this was Vegas. With a slow turn, she then led the cat offstage and handed it off to a helper. The pace of the music quickened and rose in volume as Melodie leaped to the nearest pole and began to writhe and stretch. She had the attention of everyone in the building.
Anne delivered my drink.
I barely noticed her, but dug out a ten dollar bill from my wallet. I handed it over and had to shout over the music to tell her to keep the change.
Melodie was working hard as she moved with practice ease. Her legs wrapped the pole tightly as she flung her arms out and slowly circled down to the ground. A kick away and then she did a graceful pair of splits. Even with all these motions, her eyes remained alive and the expression was that of someone falling in love. Or at least that’s what I imagined since at this distance I could not clearly see her, but I had seen her act enough to know that she was a professional: part actress, part dancer, and full-time seducer. Minute after minute, a piece of clothing was removed until nothing remained but a black th
ong. When Melodie was finished the crowd broke into an enthusiastic applause with additional whistles and catcalls. She gave a little bow and left, her hips moving with perfect syncopation.
“And thank you, Melodie!” the DJ’s voice crackled over the speakers. “She’ll visit our fine patrons next, so make sure to have your tips ready! And next up is our newest dancer, Cleora!”
I remembered to take a sip of my drink. The bartender had used a touch too much lime juice, but it was still passable. I watched with curiosity as Cleora came out. There was no tiger or blasting music. Instead the speakers above poured out a gentle ballad. She hooked a leg to the stripper pole and swung her body slowly up, moving awkwardly. Compared to the previous dancer, she looked shy and gawky. But still there was a lovely charm, like a virgin getting ready for her wedding night. In a strange way it was more erotic than the experienced motions of Melodie. When her dance was over, and she scampered away wearing nothing but high-cut white panties, the crowd let out a collective sigh as if it had just glimpsed a more innocent time in their lives.
The DJ came on to announce the next act.
Someone slid into the seat across from me. It was Melodie. Her bare breasts moved up and down as she breathed. Like any experienced exotic dancer she did not seem very self-conscious of her nakedness.
“Good evening, Devon. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“How could I go another day without seeing you?”
She smiled grimly at me, her eyes flashing a spark of anger that quickly died. She was remembering that I had recently shot her down. “I thought you would be out of Vegas by now. So have you decided to help Cleora out?”
I nodded. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, I’ve got to go work the crowd first, but you can treat me when I get back.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
She gave me a grin that was all teeth. “So what do you think of Cleora’s moves? She isn’t that quick on her feet.”
I shrugged. “She has promise.”
“Yeah, if you mean the sweet girl act. That won’t last. It never does.”
“Did you come here just to badmouth her or do you have something else to say?”
She laughed. “I just wanted to know if you are really the bastard that I think you are or if there really is a heart beating inside of you.”
“Perhaps a little bit of both,” I replied.
“That’s a good as answer that I’ll get out of you. But I’m happy that you’ve decided to help her. I have to go now, but I’ll have one of the waitresses tell Cleora that you are here.”
“Thanks,” I said, putting more meaning into my gratitude than she expected.
Her face softened. Melodie slid out of the booth and said, “I’ll be seeing you around, Dev.”
I wouldn’t swear to it, but I thought I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. That made me feel rotten inside. But I didn’t chase after her. That chapter of my life was over. Instead I watched as she approached the nearest table, which was filled with drunken louts. She soon had them laughing at her jokes as she gathered a fistful of dollar bills for lap dances. I felt a sick jealousy that was tempered by reality. We could never be together without eventually breaking into a nasty fight. That would never do. So I nursed my drink and waited.
My wait wasn’t long. Cleora came to the booth. She was wearing a silvery robe that was nearly translucent. She sat down across from me, looking shy.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello, Mr. Pierce. Why are you here?”
“I’ve made my decision. I want to help you.”
“Really? That’s wonderful!”
“Don’t get too excited. If there is any money left over from Keith’s spending, I will want twenty-five percent of it along with any expenses that occur.”
“That sounds fair.”
“I’ve done a little research and came to the conclusion that this Keith Miller did steal something from you. What it is, I cannot say, but it may be something illegal.”
“I don’t want to be involved with anything that was stolen.”
“We don’t know that yet, but the possibility is there. I would, however, like to visit your home in Henderson and talk to your sister.”
“Why? Would could she have to do with this?”
“It’s a matter of impressions. I want to know what she thought of Keith. And there is another matter. I want to see how this mysterious item or items were hidden.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. That’s when I usually visit.”
“Good. I would also like to know if any of your father’s friends live in the area. I would like to talk to them and see what I can find out. The more the better. Are there any letters or anything like that?”
“That could be. My father would send my mom emails almost every week. Her old laptop might still have the password for her account.”
“Good, I’ll pick you up in the morning. Give me your address.”
“I would prefer to meet at your place. My apartment isn’t the type that I want friends to see.”
I gave in to this idea. “Outside my building at ten in the morning.”
“I’ll be there.”
Cleora then pulled herself out of the booth. I noticed that the silvery material clung to her body in interesting ways. With one last glance in my direction, she went to go work the crowd.
The Color of Sin Page 2
