by Ray Hoy
Ripper trotted next to me, and I could see that he wasn’t happy. Every now and then he would give me a “Screw this, let’s go home!” look.
I’ve had a love-hate relationship with Las Vegas ever since I first laid eyes on her. I understand this Old Girl. If you actually live here you’d better damn well understand her. If you do, it’s a fairly nice place to live.
Las Vegas can be an unforgiving city, but when night falls the old girl puts on her makeup, lights herself up from head to toe and puts out that irresistible siren call. She’ll draw the suckers to her bosom, milk ’em dry, then spit them out. It’s an awesome sight to behold.
Two miles later I was approaching the halfway point and looking forward to making the turn for home. It was already hot and my mind was beginning to wander. Why in hell am I doing this? I glanced down at Ripper and got a confirming, “Yeah, why in hell are we doing this?” look.
That brought a smile to my face. That was just Ripper being Ripper. He can be a serious pain in the ass, but I can’t help but admire the big beast. I’ve always been under the impression that the automatic “Flight or Fight” response to a perceived attack is hard-wired into every living thing, But I’m not sure that’s true—either that or Ripper never went down that particular assembly line. His natural reaction is to fight, every single time. He’s a tough dog with a bad-to-the-bone attitude.
To escape the searing heat, my mind drifted elsewhere.
My ass is in a real sling, and I don’t know what to do about it. I was instrumental in the death of Tina Giovanni, the “wild child” daughter of one Carlos Giovanni, and he lives at the very top of the Syndicate food chain. He’s “Old School” and there’s not a doubt in my mind that he’ll do his best to make me pay for his daughter’s death—it’s just a matter of how and when.
By this time Giovanni must surely have issued a “full call” on me, which means every hit man in the country is probably already searching for the prize—my head on a platter. I am the pot of gold at the end of a deadly Syndicate rainbow.
What Giovanni doesn’t know is that his daughter committed suicide by jumping off the top of Hoover Dam, rather than go back to living with him. Tina had disclosed some dark secrets about her father during our short time together . . . very dark secrets. She hated him, and with good reason—but I doubt if Giovanni wants to hear that—especially from me.
I plodded on through the heat. My mind drifted back to when I’d first learned what made Tina the over-the-top young lady that she was. I had suspected that Jilly Evans, my oldest friend—and yes, a “semi-retired” high-ranking Syndicate mover and shaker—knew something that I also needed to know, so I called him and put him on the spot.
Jilly and Carlos Giovanni were old business associates. Not friends, as Jilly was quick to point out, just business associates.
It had been an enlightening, sobering phone conversation:
“Well Jack, this is all just rumor but I think it’s pretty close to the truth. I heard that Tina’s mother had a long-running affair with another woman for years before Giovanni found out. It was such a shock to his male ego that he had his wife’s lover killed. Then, for whatever reason, he told her what he’d done—in detail.”
“Good God.”
“Giovanni’s wife then turned her attention on Tina, who at that time was only fifteen years old.”
“She took her own daughter as her lover?”
“Yeah. Giovanni found out and took the kid away from her. Never let them see each other again, in fact. Then he kept his wife locked away like some turn-of-the-century misfit.”
“And that finally drove her to suicide.”
“That’s right.”
A blaring horn snapped me back to the present. Ripper looked up at me for a moment, then continued to plod toward home. The spring was definitely gone from his step. It was gone from mine, too.
Chapter 6
When I opened the door to my rented RV, Ripper muscled past me and went straight to his bowl of water. I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. I stood there for a moment, looking around. “Maybe it’s time to get the hell out of here,” I muttered.
I shook my head, frustrated with myself. Finally, I walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. I popped the top off with my thumb and flopped into a chair. I took a swig of the cold brew and closed my eyes and leaned back.
I took a long look at Ripper, who had made himself at home on his favorite rug. “I’m screwed, Ripper,” I said. His head came up and he gave me a long, indifferent stare. “Screwed,” I repeated.
I dug out my cellphone and pressed a speed dial button. I settled back in my rocker and waited.
“Jilly Evans.”
“You have a minute to talk?”
“Hey, Jack, of course I have a minute . . . and where in hell are you by the way?”
“Las Vegas,”I said.
“Have you lost your mind? What are you still doing there? Giovanni is going to come after you with everything he’s got.”
“That’s comforting,” I said. “But I’m not going to run, Jilly. First of all, there’s no place to hide from these guys. Giovanni has a long reach; he would eventually find me wherever I went.”
“Well, yeah . . . you’re probably right about that,” Jilly said grudgingly. “So what are you going to do?”
“I think I’m going to go see him, tell him face to face exactly what happened and how it all went down.”
I heard Jilly’s laugh. “You do have big balls, Jack. I don’t think it will work, but . . .”
“It’s probably my only chance.”
Jilly sighed. “Well, why don’t you let me try to talk to him first. He’ll still take my calls. I mean, we weren’t the best of friends when I was still . . . in the business . . . but we never really rubbed each other wrong, either.”
“If you think there’s even a chance you can settle him down, it’s worth a shot. I appreciate it, Jilly.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. Meanwhile, keep a low profile until you hear from me, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks again.”
I terminated the call and got to my feet.
“Screwed,” I said again.
Chapter 7
Carlos Giovanni sat in Harry Varchetta’s refurbished office on the top floor of the Jamaican Hotel and Casino, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee.
His secretary’s voice on the intercom interrupted his thoughts: “Mr. Giovanni, I have a ‘Jilly Evans’ on the line. He says he’s an old business acquaintance . . .”
“Give him to me,” Giovanni said.
A moment later the phone on his desk rang. Giovanni let it ring three times, then picked it up.
“Jilly . . . been a long time.”
“Yeah, it has, Carlos,” Jilly said. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine. You’ve been worried about my health, have you?”
“Actually, no. I think you know why I’m calling.”
“I think I do,” Giovanni said, allowing himself a small smile. “But go ahead, give me your pitch.”
“It’s not a pitch. You’ve lost a daughter, and I’m sorry about that, Carlos, I really am. I’m calling to let you know what actually happened—and why I think you shouldn’t go after Jack Frost.”
Giovanni took another sip of coffee before answering. “That’s interesting. Now just why should I show this guy mercy? He killed my daughter.”
“No, he didn’t. There wasn’t a thing he could have done. She decided to jump off the top of Hoover Dam. No one pushed her.”
“She just decided that afternoon that she could fly, did she?”
“Carlos . . . I’m gonna give you the whole story. After you hear it, if you still think it was Jack’s fault, then it’s gonna be just between the two of you.”
Giovanni sighed. “Okay, Jilly. I’m listening.”
“I’m sure you were aware that Varchetta had this ‘thing’ about Felicia Martinez for a long time, but she was in love wit
h my foster son, Jonathan Flynn.”
Giovanni examined his carefully manicured fingernails before answering. “Yeah, I knew that.”
“When Jonathan was killed practicing for the Las Vegas Grand Prix, Felicia came unglued. Varchetta provided her with drugs and got her hooked in no time. She became his prisoner, right there in the Jamaican.”
“I knew that, too,” Giovanni said. “Go on.”
“I’m the one who started the wheels in motion, so maybe you should be coming after me. Jack’s an old friend of mine, and I asked him to go to Vegas and bring Felicia back here to Reno, where I could keep her safe. I owed that much to my son . . .”
Giovanni realized that Jilly was fighting to maintain control of his emotions. He waited patiently.
Finally Jilly went on: “Somehow Jack got her out of there, right under Varchetta’s nose. Varchetta, of course, went nuts and immediately sent Benny Florentine—I’m sure you remember that creep—to grab Felicia and bring her back to Vegas again.
“So far you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Jilly.”
“Hang on, I’m gettin’ there, Carlos. Anyway, one day Felicia slipped away from Jack, looking for drugs. Benny was waiting, and Varchetta had her again. So I sent Jack and his dog to Vegas to bring her back.”
“Yeah, I heard about his dog, a Doberman . . . some kind of ‘Superdog’ or something, right?”
“Something like that,” Jilly said.
“This is all old news. Cut to the chase, Jilly,” Giovanni said, irritation evident in his voice.
Jilly paused, and Giovanni knew that his old business associate was trying to keep his legendary temper under control. Finally, Jilly went on: “Well, Jack yanked her out of Varchetta’s joint again, but this time they decided to hide out in a little cabin just outside of Virginia City, and wait to see what Varchetta was going to do next.”
“I’m looking at my watch, Jilly.”
“They were only there for a little while when Felicia discovered she was pregnant with Jonathan’s baby. It gave her a new lease on life. Shortly after that, Jack bought her a horse because her doctor had given her the okay to do some horseback riding. She was out riding one afternoon, and Benny Florentine was waiting for her. He shot Jack’s dog from ambush and dragged Felicia into an old abandoned mine shaft. He beat the hell out of her, and was about to rape her when Jack showed up.”
Carlos Giovanni drummed his fingers on his desk top. “I understand that Frost didn’t have much trouble killing Benny . . . that kinda surprised me, to tell you the truth.”
Jilly ignored Giovanni’s comment and went on: “The beating Benny gave Felicia caused her to go into premature labor. She died a few hours later giving birth to a baby boy.”
“You and Vi have the kid now, from what I understand.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to raise him, too.”
“Very commendable. But finish your little soap opera, will you? I have things to do here . . . plans to make.”
Jilly paused—Giovanni’s remark was not lost on him—then went on: “When Jack got back to Vegas, he discovered you’d left your daughter with Varchetta while you went somewhere on business; and that you’d also left James Red Sleeves, that crazy-ass Indian enforcer of yours, as her bodyguard.”
“Get on with it, Jilly.”
Jack decided he’d use your daughter to get to Varchetta, so he struck up a conversation with her while she was sunbathing at one of your pools, and arranged a date.
“The clock is ticking, Jilly.”
“Okay, okay . . . So just before she met Jack that night, your daughter lifted two ledgers from Varchetta’s office, ledgers that contained a record of money he’d evidently siphoned from your casino. She gave them to Frost, and he decided to use them as a way to get Varchetta in trouble with you.”
Giovanni leaned forward in his chair. “Ledgers?”
Jilly allowed himself a small smile. He had Giovanni’s attention now.
Giovanni put the phone on speaker, then stood quickly and began to pace, his coffee in hand. Clearly Jilly’s last comment was news to him. “I’m listening, Jilly.”
“Red Sleeves kidnapped Susan Harris, an old girlfriend of Jack’s who lived in Vegas, and arranged a swap—Susan for your daughter and the ledgers. It was supposed to take place on top of Hoover Dam.”
Giovanni walked to the window and stared down at the Strip traffic, far below. Over his shoulder he said, “I’m still listening.”
Jilly’s voice resonated from the speaker phone: “Jack and your daughter were on one side of the bridge and Varchetta, Red Sleeves and Jack’s girlfriend on the other. When the two women met in the middle of the span to complete the exchange, Tina suddenly jumped up on the railing. She had the ledgers in her arms, and Jack said she had a crazy look . . . said some crazy things . . .”
Giovanni spun around and faced the speaker on the desk. “Why kind of crazy things?” he said sharply.
“Uh, I don’t know, Carlos. Jack didn’t elaborate.”
“Bullshit! Tell me, Jilly, or this conversation is over.”
Jilly paused. “I guess your daughter said, ‘I’m not going back to my father . . . .’ Then from what Jack told me, she looked up at a 747 that was passing overhead and wondered aloud if it was your plane, and if you could see her . . . then she . . . she . . . .”
Giovanni stood at the window, his eyes closed. He said softly, “She jumped . . . . ” He took a deep breath and looked down at the floor for a moment. Then he said, “Did Tina say anything else to Frost? Tell him anything about me?”
“I don’t know, Carlos.” Jilly paused. “But he wants to come in and talk to you about this.”
Giovanni thought for a moment, then: “Sure, tell him to come ahead. I’ll talk to him.”
“Carlos . . . level with me. Is Jack going to be able to walk away from this meeting?”
“Yeah, Jilly, he is. I don’t know about after that, but he gets a free pass this time. Tell him I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks, Carlos. And once again, I’m sorry about your daughter.”
Giovanni walked to the desk. “Yeah, me too,” he said, as he hung up the phone.
Chapter 8
I waited to hear from Jilly. “There won’t be any miracle to save your ass, Frost,” I said aloud.
Ripper lifted his head off his mat and looked at me for a moment, then settled down again and went back to snoring.
I got to my feet and stretched. I was tired, mentally and physically. I haven’t been myself since Tina stepped off the top of Hoover Dam and plummeted to her death in the Colorado River.
My cellphone rang, startling the hell out of me. “Frost,” I said.
I heard Jilly sigh. Then he said, “Well Jack, for what it’s worth, Giovanni has agreed to meet with you. But it doesn’t sound hopeful. He’s bitter as hell about losing his daughter, which is understandable.”
“Yeah, it is,” I said softly. “Well, thanks for setting this up, Jilly. When and where?”
“Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon at the Jamaican. Giovanni has set up shop in Varchetta’s old office. Just go to Security and tell him who you’re there to see.”
“Any word about Varchetta?”
“Uh, yeah. He disappeared,” Jilly said with a little laugh.
“Disappeared? As in, ‘They can’t find him?’”
“No, disappeared as in ‘gone.’”
“Ah, I see. No surprise there.”
“None at all,” Jilly said.
“And Red Sleeves?”
“That’s a different story. They’ll probably never locate him. He’s as smart as he is deadly.”
“Yeah . . . well, thanks Jilly. Do you think I’m walking into a trap?”
“No, you’re not. I asked him point blank. He said you’ll get a free pass this time, but he doesn’t know after that.
“Fair enough. I’ll call you after I meet with him.”
“Do that, Jack. I’m hoping for the best,
but he’s ‘old school’ you know.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Jilly.”
Ripper and I exchanged looks. “Screwed,” I said.
I probably imagined it, but it looked like he nodded in agreement.
Chapter 9
Oddly enough I slept soundly through the night, but awoke with a start at 5:00 a.m. to find Ripper’s nose just inches from mine. “Alright, alright” I mumbled. I got out of bed and struggled into my sweats.
Might as well beat the heat and get the run in early anyway, I thought. It would also give me a little time to plan my conversation with Giovanni.
We were back in about an hour. Ripper went straight to his dish and began lapping up water while I headed for the bathroom, peeling off my soaking wet sweatshirt and pants as I went.
I stepped into the shower and stood there as the water poured over my head. I felt calm, even relaxed. I do my best thinking in the shower. My mind raced through a dozen possible scenarios, all with bad endings. Well, what the hell, I thought, I’m already too old to die young. However it turns out, I won’t go quietly—and Ripper won’t either.
I found myself smiling when I realized that I was looking forward to this meeting. At times I wonder just what makes me tick. This was one of those times.
* * *
I glanced at my watch as I turned off the Strip and pulled into one of the valet parking lanes at the Jamaican. Quarter to two.
I always park my classic old Jag roadster myself, but this time I decided to go in the front door, just like a real person.
As I rolled to a halt, a trim young black woman jogged toward me. She was wearing white shorts and a red Jamaican Hotel and Casino polo top. I noticed she was quite beautiful and that . . . she was B.J.!
She opened my driver’s door with a wide smile. “Frost!” she said. “My favorite entrepreneur.”
“B.J.,” I said as I got out. “You work here?”
