“So you killed him.”
“I’ll get to that.”
“Jesus, you did kill him.”
“Not quite,” she said.
Despite her cool feelings toward Lawrence Payne, and the fact that she was using him for security, he fell deeply in love with her, or so he said. He gave Cassandra the financial security she desperately needed, at which time she started thinking about having a sex change.
Their one-year anniversary—of the day they had met—Cassandra was nineteen and Lawrence said he’d give her whatever her heart desired as a gift. She said, “I want a sex change.” He nodded, figuring that would be her request, and informed her that he’d looked into the matter, and that he did indeed have enough funds in an account in the Cayman Islands to give her this gift.
It was done in Switzerland.
She was made a woman.
They were married in Switzerland, too.
“For two years, we played the game of domesticated husband and wife very well,” she said. “Our sex life was a normal one, but I suspected Lawrence missed the old me, in a way.
“It was building up, it was only a matter of time that I’d break my fidelity with Lawrence. I was proud of my cunt and wanted to put it to some good use. It happened, first, with a business associate of my husband’s, and next with a stranger I chanced to meet in a bar. I started meeting more strangers. It started to become a habit, a very addictive habit, picking up strangers, mostly in hotel and airport bars. Lawrence being away a lot gave me much freedom.
“You were watching me, spying on me,” she said, “you noticed I left the house and returned at all kinds of hours.”
“Dressed to kill,” I said.
“I was on the prowl for men,” she said.
“Was I just another one? Am I?” I said. “Another man to fool?”
“Yes,” she said plainly.
As I allowed that to sink in, she watched me, and continued.
“I didn’t want to be married to Lawrence anymore. There was another life out there, I’m in my twenties and Lawrence was closing in on fifty and I didn’t want to be a suburban American housewife. I told Lawrence this, but he refused to grant me a divorce.
“I started to think about Boyd Urick and what had happened to him, how he was doing. I made some calls to old acquaintances in Las Vegas, and was given his number.
“Boyd was ecstatic when he received my call. He thought I’d gone back to England.
“‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m a housewife in San Diego.’
“‘You’re bullshitting me.’
“‘I’m not.’
“He wanted to see me. I told him to come in two days, and take a room, and I’d meet him there. Our hello embrace turned into a long kiss, and then we were on the bed, and it was almost like it had been years ago, the two of them making their own little universe in Las Vegas. But before it got to sex, I stopped him and said, ‘Boydy-boyd, I’m different.’ That’s what I always called him: ‘Boydy-boyd.’
“I took his hand and put it between my legs. I thought he’d be rollicking; instead his face paled and he cried, ‘You mutilated yourself!′
“I thought he’d be pleased, that he would understand. He always knew I wanted the operation.
“He jumped away from me. He was upset. He wanted to know why a beautiful person as I would want to do such a thing. He said I’d done the wrong thing. I began to cry. He held me and told me he was sorry. He said he loved me, had always loved me, and wished I hadn’t changed. ‘People change,’ I said.
“I wept and told him I didn’t want to be married to Lawrence any longer. Boyd suddenly became all business. He said, ′Hubby is rich, right?’ He questioned me about accounts, stocks, overseas investments, insurance. I told him what I knew. He was calculating it all in his head. He said if Lawrence were to be out of my life forever, I’d have well over three million to my name. Maybe more.
“I knew what he was getting at. I told him he was crazy. He said of course he was crazy, he always had been.”
“Getting at?” I said. “Getting at what?”
“About having Lawrence killed,” she said. She questioned him for hours. What were the logistics? What were the risks of her being arrested? How did she know the contractee wouldn’t just take the money and run?
“We’re talking professionals here,” Boyd said. “These professionals always do the job. They have a code of honor, they live in a different world than you and I. They take one-third up front, and the other two-thirds when the job is done. These hit men live by a fucking code of honor. They have this crazy subculture all their own. They have their own morals and laws. But once you hire them, there’s no turning back. There’s no changing your mind. Even if you do change your mind—they still want the money. A deal is a deal with these folks.”
“And you know these men?” she asked.
“Sometimes they’re women,” Boyd said. “I don’t know any personally, but I know people who know how to get in contact with them.”
“How much would it cost?”
“Let me ask around.”
Two days later, he called and said, “Thirty grand, and it can be done.”
“I can’t come up with that kind of money,” she said.
“I bet you can come up with the ten grand as down payment,” Boyd said. “Then after he’s dead, you’d have access to all his money, and can easily come up with the rest.”
In fact, she could get her hands on ten thousand dollars. She took it out of three different accounts, because anything over ten thousand would be reported by the bank. She gave the money to Boyd to give to the person he knew who would give it to the contract killer. Cassandra didn’t know when the hit would take place, she was told it’d happen within two weeks. It was best, Boyd informed her, that she knew as little as possible, for her own protection. She didn’t know it was going to happen right after he left the airport. She was with Boyd that evening; she went to see him at a motel room, and he was in an especially good, sexual mood. (So this is who she went to see.) She should’ve known that he was well aware of the fact that as she was fucking him, her husband, and a cab driver, were having bullets pumped into their bodies.
But that wasn’t the case. Boyd was as ignorant as she was regarding when and how the hit would take place.
When the police came to her house, she was shocked, so her act wasn’t phony. Further, she was furious that someone else was killed. She never wanted anyone else to get hurt. Boyd told her these things happened. She was angry at him. The job, she felt, was sloppy, and she was afraid. He told her it was all right, and that the killer needed to be paid.
I said, “I saw Boyd visit you twice. Once, he spent the night. The second time, it was brief, and you were having an argument.”
She nodded. “Yes, first he came over to collect the twenty thousand, plus five thousand as his personal fee. I was upset, and I let him stay with me. I just needed him to hold me, and he did. The second time, he wanted me to leave with him. I told him I didn’t want to be with him. I told him that I was still angry that the innocent cab driver was killed.”
Just as she thought she was in the clear, Detective Roger paid her a visit and started asking her curious questions: Did she know of any enemies Lawrence may have had? Was she sure she didn’t leave the house the night her husband was killed? Had the insurance company paid off the policy yet? She was nervous. She knew the cop suspected something. She decided to do what she did best: seduce him. She gave him a few drinks, put on the charm, got close to him, and he was easily caught in her web. Now, if he did come up with anything on her, she would have the fact that he fucked her—and he was a married man—to mar any further investigation.
“Where do I fit in?” I asked.
“You don’t,” she said. “I happened to catch you peeping on me, and had a little fun with you.”
“Do you know what has happened to my life? Because of all this?”
“I’m sorry about Jessica, and I’m sor
ry about Mr. Vaughn. I really am. But I am not at fault.”
“You don’t see the big picture, do you? The cause and effect.”
“I have greater things to worry about, Mr. La—Philip. My life is in danger. The problem, the big problem, is that Boyd never delivered the twenty thousand to the hit man. I had no idea. I thought that was done and taken care of.
“Several days ago I received a call from a man with a deep, serious voice. He said he wanted his money. He said, ‘You hired me to do a job, even though you turned around and hired someone else to take care of the matter, no arrangements were made with me. I planned the hit out, and learned the target was already eliminated. You still owe me the money we agreed on. We have a contract between us, you and I.’
“I realized who he was.
“‘We had an arrangement,’ he said on the phone.
“I said that I gave Boyd the money, all of it.
“‘He didn’t give it to me. Boyd has disappeared,” the man said on the phone.
“‘I gave him the money!’ I cried. ‘I started putting it together—Boyd must’ve paid someone else less money to kill Lawrence. Either way, the man on the phone wanted to be paid, and he was dead serious about it. I even said this to him. I said, ‘You didn’t do the job, why do you think you should get any money?’
“‘Because a contract was signed,’ he said, very coldly.
“I suppose I could’ve come up with twenty grand, but I was scared,” she said. “He said we’d meet. I knew that a person in his profession wouldn’t risk me seeing him. I had the gut feeling that he’d take the money and kill me anyway, just for causing him trouble. And Boyd! That fucking bastard. He took the money for himself. That—turkey! The day the man called was the day you came over and the day your house caught on fire and your daughter …” She sighed.”There was just too much happening. I knew I had to leave, fast. I had to find Boyd and get my money back so I could pay the hit man off.
“And find out who really killed my husband.”
17
“How do you know Boyd is here? He could’ve gone anywhere with that money.”
“No,” Cassandra shook her head. “Las Vegas is his air. He couldn’t live without this city. I know what went through his mind. Boyd is a swindler and a little crook, and he wasn’t happy with me, but I knew he would never wish me harm. Because he had to know the hit man would come after me.
“You see, this is what Boyd was thinking: he has twentythousand American dollars, he doesn’t have to give it to the hit man right away, he has an opportunity to perhaps double the twenty to forty by gambling big, and making a better profit for himself.”
“He has twenty-five really,” I said. “The five you gave him.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“So you believe he’s gambling right now?”
“I believe he botched his plan. He lost more than he expected. So he’s trying to get it back. Because I’m certain that the hit man would not only want to kill me for not paying, but Boyd as well. Boyd knows this. And Boyd can’t stay in Vegas unless he pays off the hit man. Therefore, I know Boyd is desperately scheming another way to ‘break the bank’ at some casino for the twenty thousand. You don’t know how the gambler’s mind works, Philip. I do, having lived with one for so long. He believes the Big Win is always around the corner and all his worries will be over. The Big Win is the Ultimate High, the ultimate laugh in the face of chance. But in Vegas, that never happens. Men like Boyd always get sucked in. Let them win a few small big ones, and believe they’ll get the Big One … but instead, the casinos always wind up with your money. Gamblers are sick people. They’re always trying to grab what they don’t deserve.”
“I think I understand a gambler’s mind,” I said, softly.
We sat there.
“That’s my story”—she stood up—“What’s yours?”
I stayed in my chair. “You know mine.”
“I want more details.”
“There aren’t any. Have you tried looking for Boyd?” I asked.
“Last night. He only gambles at night, into the wee hours. Obviously I didn’t find him.”
“So let’s go find him.”
“Who is this ‘we’?”
“You and I.”
She said, “You should go back home.”
“Home?” I said. “Home?” I stood up, facing her. “I don’t have a fucking home! My daughter is dead and my wife has left me and I don’t have a fucking job because I’m a fucking screwup, worse than Boyd. I have an interest in finding Boyd too! It’s his fault that Bryan, about my only friend in the world, is in the hospital. Besides, you may need backup.”
She thought about this. “Suit yourself. I suppose I could use the company.”
“Say we do find him,” I said, “then what? I don’t think he’ll be very cooperative.”
“No, probably not.” Cassandra opened a suitcase that was on the floor and reached in. “This will help him to cooperate.” She was holding a silver-plated revolver.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Lawrence had it hidden in the house.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Yes. Six bullets. This is called a thirty-eight.”
“How did you get that on the plane?”
She gave me a look. “I drove here.”
“Do you know how to use it?” I asked.
“Lord, no,” she said. “I don’t plan to use it. Just to scare Boyd. But if I have to use it … I just click off the safety, cock the hammer, and start firing. I feel safer with it. I might run into the hit man.”
“Oh boy,” I said.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “We should go hunt us a Boyd Urick.”
I wish I could say that we found him in the first casino we looked in, but these things never happen. I was not confident we’d ever find him in the hundreds, if not thousands, of casinos in Las Vegas. Cassandra didn’t feel this would be a problem. Boyd was a creature of habit, and there were only about two dozen places he liked to go to—or was allowed to go into. It would be a matter of frequenting each of them on a rotating basis, and keeping an eye out for him.
She inquired of some of the dealers and pit bosses at the casinos if they’d seen someone fitting Boyd’s description recently. Some didn’t bother with her, shrugging or shaking their heads with disinterest, and others—much to my surprise—knew who Boyd Urick was. She received answers ranging from Boyd not having been there in a while, to having been in last night. This reassured Cassandra that he was indeed in Las Vegas. I availed myself of the free drinks in the casinos, but the booze didn’t sit well with me.
How could I be here in Vegas with all the tragedy I’d left behind in San Diego? It was easier than you think. It was easy to push it out of my head and forget it ever happened, and concentrate on assisting Cassandra in her search. I hated the fact that it was so easy.
I don’t know what good or help I was, following her around, grabbing free drinks, putting a few quarters in the slot machines when the urge struck.
In one place, I got lucky. I came up three peaches, the machine honked at me, and poured out dozens of quarters. Quarters were falling to the ground. I tried to catch them all.
Cassandra laughed and said, “Don’t let it seduce you.”
Filling my pockets with quarters, I knew how it could.
A little old lady aggressively pushed me aside and said, “This machine is mine now!”
I felt silly sloshing around with pockets full of quarters, but by the end of the night—or morning—I would lose them all to other slot machines.
I was exhausted. Cassandra was getting tired, too. It was 4 A.M. We’d been to most of Boyd’s favorite haunts at least three times. Cassandra was convinced we probably just missed him a few times, because that was the way this city worked.
“Time to turn in,” she said.
“Thank God,” I said.
“Where are you staying?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, where are you sleeping?”
“Well, I thought—”
“Oh, you thought,” she said, giving me a sour look. “You thought, since we messed around a few times, that I would just open my bed up to you, to sleep together like we were lovers?”
“Well,” I said. “Yes.”
“You didn’t take it well,” she said. “Finding out the truth.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
“You’re very presumptuous.”
“If we’re not lovers, what are we?”
“We’re neighbors.”
“I’ll get a room,” I said.
“Oh bollocks, come on,” and she took my arm.
In her room, she told me I could sleep in the bed with her, but to stay on my side. She didn’t want to cuddle, kiss, and she especially didn’t want to fuck. I thought it was somewhat cruel of her to then undress in front of me and get into bed naked after laying down these rules. But I found that I was unaroused seeing her body, or being in bed with her. I was just tired. The minute I closed my eyes, I was asleep.
18
Cassandra informed me I snored, but made light of this. We both woke up well into the afternoon. She told me to order up some food while she showered. I ordered plenty, and we ate. She was surprised I didn’t order any booze and I told her I was thinking about quitting.
“I love alcohol too much to ever quit,” she said. “I just hope I don’t become an alcoholic.” With that, she poured herself a glass of Wild Turkey from what was left of the bottle we had last night.
We finally found Boyd Urick in the first casino we walked into. “There he is.” Cassandra stopped me with a hand to my chest and pointed to a thin man with long hair and a goatee at a blackjack table. It was him all right.
“So what do we do now?” I said.
“We don’t want to cause a scene in here. We’ll wait for him to leave.”
We sat at the bar, where we could watch him. Cassandra had her usual Wild Turkey on the rocks, and I had a glass of water. Boyd was at the blackjack table for about half an hour; then got up and started toward the exit.
Wild Turkey Page 10
