by Rob Ashman
Mechanic took a knife, cut away the flap from the envelope lying on the table and spread the contents on the worktop. She spooned mango into her mouth and swallowed hard before she choked. This was a tough decision, she was torn.
The job would mean going back to Vegas, which made it a definite no. The mug shot was of Alfonso Bonelli, which made it a definite yes.
34
‘Alonso Bonelli. Are you out of your fucking mind?’ Harper jumped up from his seat. ‘Do I have to remind you that Bonelli was the man who skimmed a bullet past my head in a fake execution. He let his goons rip my arms from their sockets by dangling me from a forklift, and then he tells them to bury me in the desert. You mean that Alonso Bonelli?’
Up to that point the day had been going well.
Lucas, Harper and Moran were in Moran’s hotel room briefing each other on the day’s events.
Moran had repeated her stakeout of Seaport Village, with the same degree of success as the day before. Which was nothing. She had found that her pretence of being a fitness bunny was wearing thin. People were giving her suspicious glances. Her idea of a workout consisted of sitting on a wall in her running gear, drinking coffee and then wandering about.
By 10am she had decided to abandon Seaport Village to try her luck at the various parks the city had to offer. She couldn’t stay there any longer for fear of someone calling the cops.
Harper was still basking in the glory of yesterday’s purchases. And, as of this morning, Lucas and Moran were the proud owners of brand new illegal firearms, ammo, binoculars, and walkie-talkies with a two-mile range. Harper had spent today pounding the streets checking out the list of gyms. He had met with two types of response: either, ‘Sorry, sir, I don’t know anyone fitting that description’, or, ‘Sir, that describes half the women who come here’. The day had been a waste of time.
Lucas had paid Jameson a surprise visit at 7am. To reinforce his dominance, he had ignored Jameson’s previous warnings and turned up outside his house. The man was not happy.
And it was when he reported on the conversation that followed that Harper had blown a gasket.
‘Shit, Lucas. It never occurred to me to ask who the target was, because it never occurred to me you could be so stupid. Start from the beginning and run it past me again.’
‘Okay, I’ll go through it word for word,’ Lucas said. ‘I met with Jameson and he told me the initial plans were complete and he was awaiting confirmation from his shooter. I told him I needed to know the details. He refused. I reminded him of the deal and told him that our client was growing impatient. He refused again. I stressed to him that in the same way we had made the financial transactions disappear, we could just as easily make them reappear. He finally gave in and said that Bonelli holds a weekly meeting with his troops at a hotel on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas. It’s held at ten thirty every Friday, a chance for Bonelli to eyeball his lieutenants and discuss the performance of his drugs and racketeering empire. Bonelli arrives at 10am sharp. The hotel is heavily guarded but it has one weak point. Bonelli always arrives by car and parks in a private space at the back. He enters the hotel through a side door and uses the service elevator to reach the executive lounge at the top. He’s escorted by a small army at all times.’
‘The thinking behind the security routine is sound,’ Moran interrupted. ‘By entering the building via the service route they have a much smaller space to control than if they took him through the gaming floor.’
Lucas nodded. ‘Exactly. Jameson said the weak point is the ten feet of tarmac between the car and the side door. Bonelli is out in the open for five seconds tops, but it’s perfect for a sniper’s bullet.’
‘Did he say where the shooter would be?’ Moran asked.
‘He said there is a low-rise motel a few blocks away. It’s an ideal vantage point from which to blow a hole in Bonelli’s head.’
‘And far enough away to pack up and disappear before anyone comes calling,’ said Moran.
‘Okay, okay, I get all that,’ said Harper. ‘But of all the bad guys in Vegas, why the hell did you choose Bonelli as the target. You could have chosen anyone. Bonelli wants us both dead. You do remember he has mug shots of you and me? He probably has them pinned to his toilet wall so every time he takes a crap he can think of new ways to kill us.’
‘Yes, I know that. But it had to be someone Mechanic would go for. When I first met Jameson he told me that he discusses the hit with his shooter to confirm the plan. That would suggest that if Mechanic doesn’t like it, she can say no. And we had to ensure she said yes.’
‘She has a massive grudge against Bonelli,’ said Moran. ‘If I’m right, Bonelli killed her boss and held her hostage for days. She eventually escaped by killing the guard along with Bonelli’s brother Enzo. She would want to finish the job by taking out Alfonso as well.’
‘This is a huge risk. That’s all I’m saying. It’s been just over a year since Alfonso Bonelli thrust the photographs of you and me under my nose and threatened to blow my head off. He didn’t strike me as the type of man who would forget about that in the space of thirteen months.’ Harper returned to his chair.
‘Your points are noted. If I could have guaranteed Mechanic would take the bait with anyone else, I would have done it differently. It means we have to be extra vigilant but it’s worth the risk.’
Harper snorted. He knew Lucas was right.
‘We have the bones of Jameson’s plan. We can work with that to identify where this place is.’
‘Did he say which Friday?’ asked Harper.
‘No.’
‘Today is Tuesday, I guess we need to go to Vegas.’
Across the other side of the city Mechanic was staring at the photograph of Bonelli. The contract troubled her, was she taking it for the right reason? This should be a cold, clinical decision based upon the likelihood of success and the size of the payout. But with Bonelli there was a personal element which was clouding her judgement. She would be walking into the lion’s den.
Thirteen months may have passed, but Bonelli would like nothing better than to slice bits off her while she was still alive and feed them to his dogs.
The hit was straightforward. The exit plan was uncomplicated. It was the perfect job.
The phone rang. It was Jameson.
35
The journey to Vegas was long. They had hit the road by 7am with Lucas and Harper in the rental car and Moran driving her own vehicle. They travelled in convoy along Interstate 15, a three hundred and thirty mile route passing through Victorville, Barstow and Baker, and crossing the Nevada state line at Primm. With the scorched Mojave mountains behind them, it was a long slow descent into Vegas. They crested the summit and the Strip looked less than a foot long as it shimmered in the distance thirty-five miles further north.
They headed straight for Moran’s place. She let them in, it was good to be home. Moran checked her mail, there was nothing from Mills.
Lucas opened and closed every cupboard in the kitchen trying to fix coffee, while she found tourist maps that she had acquired when she first moved in. She spread the map of downtown on the table.
‘Jameson told you that Bonelli used a hotel on Fremont Street and the weak point was a ten foot slice of tarmac running between the car and the service entrance.’
‘That’s right,’ said Lucas. ‘He said the hit would come from a low-rise motel a few blocks away.’
Lucas handed her a coffee.
‘He also said something about it being a private parking space,’ said Harper.
Moran circled a line on the map with her finger.
‘This is downtown and this is Fremont Street. The main hotels and casinos start here, at the Union Plaza hotel, and run east to west for four blocks. I figure this must be the location Jameson was referring to.’ She switched maps to an artist’s impression of the delights of downtown. Each hotel, casino and bar was depicted by a small caricature.
‘If we focus on this area, we ha
ve maybe ten places we need to check out.’
‘Jameson said a hotel. Some of these are gambling halls. We should start with the hotels and widen the search afterwards if we draw a blank,’ Harper said.
‘Agreed. Let’s take two each.’
Lucas looked at his watch as he stepped out of the car onto Fremont Street. They walked the short distance to the junction with Fourth Street. It was 3.15pm.
‘Let’s split up and meet up at Sassy Sally’s at five thirty. Do we all know what we’re looking for?’ he said.
Moran and Harper nodded. They went their separate ways.
Lucas had the Golden Nugget and the Four Queens, two of the biggest casinos in the centre of downtown. The buildings stood either side of Second Avenue and sprawled onto the sidewalk to greet tourists as they passed by, hoping their sheer glitz would suck them in. Lucas passed the Sundance on his left and saw Harper disappear inside, and a block further on he came to the Four Queens.
The sound of chiming bells and falling change filled the air. He dodged between the people strolling along the sidewalk beneath the elaborate canopy of gold lights stretching out above their heads. Two showgirls wearing ostrich feathers and not much else strutted up and down on six-inch heels. Lucas tried to keep his mind on the job while bumping into the man in front.
He turned left and strolled down the side of the building. The car park was at the back. In fact, everything that was necessary to run a busy hotel and casino took place at the back. Alcohol and food deliveries, laundry, trash, staff arriving and leaving work, it all happened out of sight of the punters.
The frontage along Fremont Street was glamorous and exciting, but away from the Strip the transition into ugly and drab was ruthlessly sudden. The backs of the hotels were grey, dirty and functional. Lucas continued walking until the chain link fence ran out and he stepped onto the lot.
It was vast with enough spaces for a thousand cars. Each space was marked in flaking white paint. He made his way to the hotel. There were fancy doors leading through to reception and there were service doors marked Private, some with warnings plastered across them saying Caution – Alarmed. He skirted the perimeter and checked every corner and recess, but none of it looked right.
Lucas moved on. He didn’t bother returning to the front, but instead he scurried to the other side of Fourth Street to the derelict expanse of concrete next door, the Golden Nugget.
It was the same story. The parking lot butted up to the building but nothing matched Jameson’s description. He paced out every contour of the hotel.
Nothing.
Harper was closing in on his second parking lot of the day. Fremont Street made him smile. Whether it was the sight of the forty-foot-high plaid-shirted neon cowboy Vegas Vic, who waved his arm with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and said howdy to the folks below, or the Stetson-wearing cowgirl Vegas Vickie sitting in a flouncy dress kicking a shapely leg at old Vic from the opposite side of the street. It confirmed to Harper what he suspected all along. This place was crazy.
Harper almost ricked his neck while walking past the Golden Goose and Glitter Gulch, a couple of strip joints with a fearsome reputation. All of which contributed to his wide grin. He cut down Main Street and circled around to the back of the Las Vegas Club. It was much like the other sprawling parking lot. He found nothing.
Moran wandered past the Horseshoe. It clanged and chattered as people fed coins and tokens into machines promising double jackpots. The smell of smoke and cheap perfume wafted out onto the sidewalk. It had a frontier-land feel, with its low ceilings and red velvet wallpaper. Moran wrinkled her nose and gave it a wide berth.
The building merged seamlessly into the Mint. The hotel-casino had a futuristic look with a huge pink canopy of lights that swept across the front of the building in a wave and shot fifty feet into the air at the far left. It stood out from the other hotel facades on the street.
She reached the junction with First Avenue, turned right and found the parking lot. After thirty minutes of mooching around and poking her nose into the nooks and crannies, she left. She needed a drink.
By five thirty Lucas was already seated in the upstairs bar of Sassy Sally’s sipping a cold beer. A long bar ran down the left-hand side with black leather bar stools sitting underneath. He had completed his tour of the parking lots in double quick time and was already on his second drink, courtesy of the eagle-eyed waitress in the short mini dress.
Moran and Harper arrived and the waitress descended on them in a flash. The drinks were on their way.
‘Nothing,’ said Harper. ‘Nothing matched the description from Jameson.’
‘Same here,’ said Moran. ‘I scoured every service entrance and every inch of concrete, and none of it came close.’
‘I saw a parking space next to a side door, but it was well undercover. It was hidden away from any sniper shot.’
The drinks arrived. The waitress handed them out and placed another beer in front of Lucas. Next to the one he already had.
‘Do we widen the search?’ asked Harper.
‘We could, but Jameson was very specific. We must be missing something,’ said Lucas.
‘Maybe, but what?’ replied Moran.
‘I don’t know, but what I do know is, we haven’t found it.’
‘How about we take a look at the bars and clubs as well. It’s a narrower search area and it might throw up something new,’ Harper said.
‘It’s worth a go. Shall we meet back here at, say, seven thirty?’
‘Yes, and we can get a bite to eat then as well.’
Moran and Harper emptied their glasses, then waited for Lucas, who had to chug his down.
‘I’ll take the Golden Goose and the Glitter Gulch,’ said Harper, a little too quickly.
Seven thirty came around fast and they were all back at Sassy Sally’s sitting at the same table. They had already been there for twenty minutes and the conversation had dried up. There are only so many ways of saying ‘Nothing doing’.
‘This is frustrating,’ Lucas said, stating the obvious.
‘It’s pissing me off,’ said Harper slurping his beer.
‘I’m off to the little girl’s room,’ said Moran.
Harper waited until Moran was out of earshot. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I’m as pissed off as you.’
‘No, not about that. About having little miss Girl Scout with us.’
‘She’s a good cop and she’s a sharp operator. I’m glad she’s on the team.’
Harper clammed up. Perhaps sharing his views was not a good idea.
They drank their beer in silence.
Moran dried her hands and came out of the restrooms into the bar. There was a small window set into the wall to her left providing a view out to the back. Moran stopped and stared out across the vast grey expanse of never-ending parking lots and part-finished developments. She watched security lights flare into life as the sun disappeared.
Over to her right was the Mint, the hotel-casino she had checked out earlier. From her vantage point she could see the roofs of row upon row of neatly packed cars. The flash of an argon light cutting through the dusk caught her eye. It came from above a doorway tucked away at the side of the hotel. The cone of white light beamed across a triangular space with a wall running down the one side and a six-foot high metal partition at the end. The metal barrier segregated it from the rest of the lot.
She moved close to the window, cupped her hands to her face and peered down. She couldn’t see if there were lines painted on the floor. But she could see the words PRIVATE PARKING written in bold black letters on the wall.
A few minutes later all three of them were taking turns to stare into the brightly lit triangle of tarmac next door.
‘That must be a ten foot walk,’ Harper said.
‘Maybe more, depends how far down they park the car.’
‘I didn’t see it because of that metal wall at the end.’ Moran felt the need to justify hersel
f.
‘Well, you’ve seen it now,’ Lucas said.
‘I can see something else.’ Harper scanned the middle distance, away from the Mint. ‘I might be wrong, but beyond the top of those warehouses, I can see the windows of a hotel.’
36
The three of them spilled out into Fremont Street, the neon signs exploding with vivid colours against the fading light. They hustled to the back and crossed over into the parking lot.
‘I’ll go, three of us wandering around is going to raise the alarm,’ Moran said. ‘You two wait here.’ Lucas and Harper nodded and stayed on the street.
Moran sauntered across the hard concrete standing and reached the metal partition. It was painted battleship grey, made of thick galvanised steel, and mounted on a stand. The whole thing was on wheels. She gave it a shove and it moved. She heaved some more and it trundled across the floor banging and clanging as it went. She forced open a two-foot gap and slipped inside.
She had the hotel wall to her left and a rendered block wall to her right. The block wall was about seven foot high and connected with the hotel about thirty feet further on. At the apex was a door. Moran estimated the floor space – there was enough room to swallow up a large car and from the back passenger seat to the door was at least twelve feet.
She walked towards the door.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ A man was craning his neck around the metal wall. ‘This is off-limits to guests.’
Moran went into Oscar-winning mode.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a thick mid-western accent. ‘I was here last night, well, not here exactly, I was the other side of that metal wall, and I spilled my purse on the ground. Now I can’t find things and I thought they might have rolled under here. Can you help, honey?’
The man gripped the steel with a beefy hand and shoved it aside. He was dressed in a security uniform with a baton, pepper spray and handcuffs hanging from his belt. He had no gun.
