Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  “Don’t screw this up, Cindy. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Make it work.”

  “I’ll do my best. Police make me nervous.”

  Nick stuck his head out the door and checked the hall. Still empty. He closed the door.

  “Listen,” he said. “The cops will be the easy part. They’re a bunch of stiffs with no idea how much money moves through here. You could tell them anything. But when the insurance company sends its investigators and accountants, you’re gonna have to be a fantastic actress. Think of the cops as rehearsal.”

  “But the people in the counting room will know the real—”

  “Nobody cares,” he said. “Who’s gonna tell the cops? Bennie? The security guards who screwed up? They’re not gonna risk their jobs to dispute the numbers. The loss is how much the computers say it is, how much you say it is. You’re the star of the show.”

  She nodded, a spark in her eyes now. She’d be all right.

  Nick gave her a wink, then went to his own office. He crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the casino floor. Cops milled around among the gamblers. Waitresses flitted about, trays held high. Guards clustered near the entrance, muttering among themselves, probably yakking about what theyshould’ve done when the shooting started out back. Bunch of idiots. He’d hire some new security people once this was over. Part of the Starlite’s makeover.

  If he squinted, Nick could visualize how the place would look when he got the remodeling done. New carpet and paint, new gaming tables, light fixtures from the current century. All the improvements he’d been planning for years.

  He just needed to get through the next few days of questions and suspicions. Get the cops off his back. Make the insurance company pay off. Once he got his hands on that settlement, he could erase the rest of his debts and quickly dress up the aging casino. Then he’d persuade Bobby Calabrese to buy out his share. Tell him the robbery was proof that it’s time for new blood at the Starlite.

  Within weeks, he could put these lost years in Lost Vegas behind him and start a new life.

  Good thing these windows are tinted, he thought. Be a shame if somebody saw me up here after the traumatic robbery with a big fucking grin on my face.

  Chapter 25

  In his windowless office at Rancho Palomino, Big Jim Kelton hung up without saying good-bye. The police chief was a sniveling bastard, and Jim could barely tolerate him, but at times like these, he came in handy. Jim creaked to his feet.

  “Come on,” he said to Shamu. “Let’s go visiting.”

  They went downstairs and through the pinging, clanging casino. Out to the parking lot, where Big Jim could feel the baking asphalt through the soles of his boots. Shamu walked on it barefoot.

  The man was a fucking marvel. Four hundred pounds of muscle and bone and blubber, wide as a goddamned pickup truck, all but impervious to pain. Jim often mused that it was no wonder that Shamu’s ancestors paddled across the Pacific, spreading to every island they reached. Who would dare get in their way?

  He told Shamu what the police chief said about the holdup at the Starlite. The bodyguard showed no more expression than one of those sculpted heads on Easter Island. Jim was never sure how much actually sank into the big man’s brain. Sometimes, he suspected it was a lot more than Shamu let on.

  Jim said, “I knew something was up – all those goddamned sirens earlier – but I figured some idiot set the kitchen on fire. A robbery? Nobody’s ever robbed a casino in Fowler before. This sets a bad precedent.”

  Big Jim glanced over at Shamu, wondering if he knew what “precedent” meant, but he couldn’t tell. Shamu’s face was as stony as usual. About the only time the man ever showed any emotion was when he caused someone else pain. Then his face creased into a smile so scary, it could make grown men piss themselves. Big Jim loved watching Shamu hurt somebody. The boy so enjoyed his work, it was a pleasure to behold.

  Cops and private security guards milled around the lobby of the Starlite, but nobody tried to stop Big Jim from entering the crime scene. He paused to remove his wide-brimmed hat and wipe the sweat off his forehead with his cotton handkerchief.

  The police had customers and employees rounded up on the left side of the casino. The witnesses sat in chairs arranged haphazardly, smoking and drinking Cokes and whispering among themselves, waiting their turns. A couple of plainclothes detectives had a cute little waitress set apart from the others, questioning her about what she’d seen. Over in the bar, another detective in a cheap suit sat in a booth with Nick Papadopoulos.

  Big Jim planted his cowboy hat on his head and strolled over to them, Shamu shadowing him like a thundercloud.

  The young detective had a notebook on the table in front of him. A glass of what appeared to be Scotch sat before Nick. Tools of their respective trades.

  “Hey, Nick, I hear you got robbed. That’s a damned shame.”

  The detective looked up at Big Jim, annoyance on his face at the interruption. But one look at Shamu reminded him who ran this town. He quickly stood and said, “Here, Mr. Kelton. Take my seat. We were done anyway.”

  Big Jim slid into the booth opposite Nick, who looked weary from all the excitement. The detective scurried away, giving Shamu a wide berth.

  “The robbers get your whole weekend take?”

  “Posed as the armored car guys,” Nick muttered. “My people just handed it over.”

  “Didn’t anyone notice it wasn’t the usual guards?”

  “Yeah, but they’d been told it was okay.”

  “What idiot told ‘em that?”

  “I did.”

  Big Jim cocked his head to the side. Nick sighed.

  “One of the stickup men was in my office,” he said. “Held a gun on me while he made me call my security people and tell them a new crew was picking up the money.”

  “I’ll be damned. You hear that, Shamu? Guy went right into Nick’s office with a gun.”

  “I didn’t know he had a gun,” Nick said. “He said he needed to talk to me about a private matter. Soon as we sat down in my office, he pulled the gun and handcuffed me to my chair.”

  Jim shook his head. “That’s why I’m never alone with anybody these days. Always got Shamu standing right there. Anybody tries anything funny, he takes care of it.”

  Nick scowled at the big Polynesian who loomed over them.

  “What’s he do if they have a gun? He’s big, but he’s not bulletproof.”

  “Last time somebody pulled a gun on Shamu, he took it away from the guy and broke his arm in three places.”

  Shamu smiled at the memory, his teeth bright in his wide mouth.

  “Then he chewed on the guy a while, isn’t that right, Shamu?”

  The bodyguard nodded and murmured, “Tasty white boy.”

  “Goddamn,” Nick whispered.

  “Somebody fucks up, you’ve got to make an example of him,” Jim said. “You don’t want other people getting ideas.”

  Nick polished off his drink, ice cubes jingling in the glass.

  “That’s what worries me about this robbery,” Jim said. “Some asshole succeeds in robbing one casino, it makes targets of the rest of us. The criminal element might start thinking we’re vulnerable here in Fowler.”

  The Greek stared darkly at him. Jim checked his manicured fingernails, taking his time, working up to the question.

  “So,” he said finally, “how much did they take you for?”

  Nick glowered.

  “That’s none of your goddamned business.”

  “Careful now. You’ll hurt my feelings. I’m only asking because I represent the other ca—”

  “You don’t represent shit,” Nick said. “Don’t pretend you care about the other casino owners. You came over here to gloat.”

  Jim felt his cheeks warm. He glanced at Shamu, but the bodyguard looked like he was trying to suppress a smile. Jim wondered about him sometimes.

  He cleared his throat and said to Nick, “I was simply trying to be
neighborly.”

  “Only time you ever come around acting ‘neighborly’ is when you want something,” Nick said, “or when you want to lord it over me that your place does more business than mine.”

  “Now hold on—”

  “No, you hold on. You can’t come in here, on the worst day of my fucking life, and talk to me like I’m a dipshit. I know how serious robbery is. I was the one looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  “Sure, I was only—”

  “What happened here doesn’t concern you.” Nick leaned across the table, his voice low and sharp. “I don’t want you prying into my business, and I don’t want your fake sympathy. Now get out of here before I have you thrown out.”

  Jim scooted out of the booth and stood next to Shamu. The two of them cast a large shadow over Nick’s booth.

  “No need to get mouthy,” Jim said. “I came over to sincerely express my sadness over your loss. But you’re clearly in no mood to hear it. Maybe you’ll come around later and apologize.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Let’s go, Shamu.”

  Big Jim Kelton stalked out of the Starlite, the barefoot bodyguard hard on his heels. Once they got out in the harsh sunlight, Jim wheeled around and said to Shamu, “You hear the way that fucker spoke to me? Why didn’t you do something about it?”

  “The place was full of cops,” Shamu said. “Think they’d just stand by while I pounded on the crime victim?”

  All right, the man had a point. But that didn’t soothe Jim’s anger.

  “That fucker better watch out,” he said. “We’ll take him out in the desert, far away from any cops, and then see what he has to say.”

  Shamu shook his head. “Don’t think you can scare that guy.”

  “I’m not talking about scaring him.” Big Jim got right in Shamu’s face, though no one was within earshot. “I’m talking about you making a fucking luau out of him.”

  “Too old.” Shamu grinned. “He’d be tough and stringy.”

  Big Jim huffed and turned on his booted heel, headed for the Rancho Palomino.

  “Jesus Christ on a bicycle,” he muttered. “I live in a fucking loony bin.”

  Chapter 26

  By the time Tony steered the van onto the Bay Bridge, the fog-shrouded San Francisco skyline dead ahead, the three guys in the back were napping.

  “You’ve got to wonder,” he said to Eve, “what kind of dreams those guys are having, since their pillows are trash bags full of money.”

  “I’m surprised they can sleep at all,” she said. “I still feel sort of strung out.”

  “Good thing I’m driving.”

  She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Takes me longer to process all that adrenaline,” she said. “My brain keeps whirring for hours with everything that could’ve gone wrong.”

  “Probably just means you’re smarter than those guys,” Tony said.

  Ross’ voice came from the back. “I heard that.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “I don’t like all that shooting,” Eve said, her voice low. “It’s a wonder someone wasn’t killed.”

  “Wasn’t supposed to go down that way,” he said. “Bad luck.”

  “Is that what we’ll call it when we go to somebody’s funeral? Bad luck?”

  Traffic clogged as they reached the west end of the bridge. Tony kept glancing over at Eve, but she stared out her window at the familiar landmarks: the firehose nozzle of Coit Tower, the clock tower above the Ferry Building, the sleek taper of the TransAmerica pyramid. They’d seen it a thousand times before. He wondered if she was seeing anything at all.

  “Maybe we should take some time off,” he said as they inched onto an exit ramp. “I mean, more than usual. We can afford it.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, still not looking at him. “I think there’s going to be a lot of heat pouring off this job. Anytime there’s shooting . . .”

  Tony took Van Ness to Geary and snaked westward through Japantown. Traffic slowed again as they reached The Avenues. It was only 4 p.m., too early for the worst of rush hour, but traffic was always thick here.

  His stomach growled. They’d eaten lunch at a diner outside Sacramento – where they’d left the empty money sacks in a dumpster – but nothing since. Maybe they’d order in some Chinese food from Fung Cho’s, make a little party out of dividing up the loot. Get Eve playing hostess to distract her from her worries.

  “What about our inside man?” she asked abruptly. “Think he’s holding up?”

  “He’s a tough guy. Leo Berg says he was with the Mob, remember? Those guys aren’t afraid of cops.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “We’ve done a good job of covering our tracks. He’s the only weak link.”

  “Even if he wanted to roll over on us, what could he tell the cops? He doesn’t know us. Never saw any of us except me, and he doesn’t know my name, address, anything like that. His only contact was through Leo.”

  “I don’t trust Leo,” Eve said. “Leo loves money more than he loves people. He’s getting feeble. He has no reason to protect us if things go wrong.”

  “Leo would go to his grave before he gave me up.”

  “Because he’s so fond of you?”

  “Because he knows I’d bring the boys around to see him if he screwed up.”

  “That’s right.” Ross again. “Leo knows better.”

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was, but you two keep waking me up, with all your worrying. No consideration for other people.”

  Tony wheeled the van onto their steep street. A truck with ladder racks and construction equipment was parked in front of their building.

  “Aw, hell. They’re still working on the apartment next door. This has got to be the slowest remodeling job in history.”

  “Maybe the noise will drown out the whining from the peanut gallery,” Eve said.

  “Hey,” Ross said. “I heard that.”

  Tony eased the van into a curbside space, then looked back at his crew.

  “Rise and shine, boys,” he said. “It’s time to count our money.”

  Chapter 27

  Lola Cantrell flounced into the Starlite at dusk, intent on making Nick feel better. She wore a tight black dress with a peek-a-boo bodice and strapless stiletto heels that showed off the hard-earned muscles in her tanned calves. She’d fluffed her bleached hair into a bouffant, and applied her makeup as carefully as a Renaissance painter.

  “Oh, Nicky,” she said as she reached the booth where he sat, looking glum. “I just heard! I can’t believe someone would rob the Starlite!”

  Okay, it was only a small fib. She’d caught the news on the radio hours ago, but she’d taken her time getting ready, so her appearance would have enough oomph to take Nick’s mind off his troubles. Didn’t seem to be working, though.

  “Can I join you?”

  She slipped into the booth next to him and placed a hand on his thigh. With her other bejeweled hand, she signaled the bartender, who gave her a curt nod and started mixing her martini right away.

  “Are you okay, Nicky? On the radio, they said there was shooting.”

  “Nobody got shot,” he said. “Some people I’d like to shoot, if I thought I could get away with it.”

  She patted his thigh and said, “Poor baby. You must be worn out, dealing with the police.”

  “Fucking detectives interviewed people all day long. Business was completely shut down until a little while ago.”

  She glanced at the casino floor. Only a scattering of customers. She wondered whether the Starlite would be considered cursed because of the robbery. It didn’t take much to make superstitious gamblers go elsewhere. She didn’t say that to Nick, though. He seemed blue enough already.

  A waitress brought the martini to their table, along with a fresh Scotch for Nick. Lola carefully lifted the brimming glass to her lips and let the icy vodka slide down her throat. Yum.r />
  “You’re insured, right? They’ll cover your losses?”

  He shrugged. “They should, but you never know. Fucking insurance companies always try to cheat people.”

  “Is that why you’re so grouchy?” She gave him a well-practiced pout, trying to get a smile out of him, but it didn’t work.

  “Nah,” he said. “I let myself get mad at Big Jim Kelton earlier, and I can’t seem to shake it off.”

  “Big Jim? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He came over here after the stickup, talking shit about how the robbery set a bad example. Mostly just to enjoy my misery.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Big Jim,” she said, but she was thinking just the opposite. Big Jim Kelton had a cruel streak a mile wide.

  “He’s lucky I didn’t clock him one. But he had his big ape with him and there were cops everywhere and—”

  “Let it go, Nicky. Why should you care what your competition thinks? As long as everybody’s okay, and you get the money back eventually, I’d call that a happy ending.”

  He sighed and looked away. Said under his breath, “I gotta get out of this fuckin’ town.”

  Lola didn’t like the sound of that, but she tried to relax. Another sip of the martini helped.

  “It’s a one-time thing, Nicky. You can’t give up on the whole town just because somebody robbed you. The robbers probably weren’t even from here. Probably just some jerks passing through.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, they were just passing through. Just happened to have an armored truck and uniforms and guns with them. They thought, what the hell, might as well rob a casino while we’re here.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “You can’t blame the whole town.”

  Nick slurped his drink and smacked his lips.

  “I was tired of Fowler before any of this happened. Once I get that insurance payoff, I’m going to pour some of it into fixing up this place, then do my damnedest to sell out to my partners. Let them worry about the Starlite a while.”

  “You sure that’s what you want? I mean, where would you go? What about us?”