by Rob Ashman
‘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 have 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 ligh
t 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 herself.
‘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.
Moran had her Browning in her bag.
‘You’re a long way from the parking lot, ma’am. Are you sure you dropped it here?’
‘You know, honey, that’s the problem. I was a little drunk and I might have got a little lost. But I’m sure I was here. I think.’
The guard stepped past the partition and looked around. ‘I can’t see anything, ma’am, maybe you dropped it somewhere else.’
‘Yes, maybe I did, honey. Is this the Pioneer?’
‘No, ma’am, it’s the Mint. The Pioneer is a couple of blocks away on the other side of the street.’
‘You know, I might not have been here after all.’
‘That’s okay, ma’am, it’s pretty confusing.’
‘Thank you for helping me look, honey.’ Moran slinked past the man as he shook his head.
She waved her hand and walked away. She could hear the sound of metal wheels trundling over uneven ground.
She circled left and met Lucas and Harper.
‘That’s got to be the place.’
Harper took out his field glasses and scanned the horizon. The top windows came into focus.
‘And that has to be where the shooter will be.’
They arrived at the Jackpot motel. It looked everything its name said it wasn’t. Nobody staying there would ever think they had hit the jackpot.
The place was long and thin, one room wide and four storeys high. Reception was located in a separate building to the left. The front of the motel was covered in fading blue paint with fading white doors. A network of wooden walkways ran around the outside on each floor with a stairwell in the middle and one at either end. They nosed the car across the parking lot.
‘CCTV at the back but none at the side,’ Moran said looking out of the car window. They came around again and parked at the side.
‘I’ll distract the person on reception, you find a way onto the roof,’ she said.
They piled out of the car and went their separate ways.
Lucas and Harper kept tight to the wall and looped around the back. There was a metal ladder bolted to the wall with a semi-circular cage build around it.
Lucas looked at the height and wished it were him creating the diversion and Moran climbing to the roof.
Moran was getting on famously with the young guy behind the counter. He was all bouffant hair and gleaming smiles, she was all coy and pretty.
‘Are you full at the moment?’ She had dropped the mid-west drawl.
‘No, we have plenty of rooms, would you like to see one?’
You don’t waste any time, Moran thought.
‘No it’s fine thanks. How much for a night?’
‘We have discounted rates for the weekend. When were you planning to stay?’
The conversation rambled on. Moran maintained eye contact and feigned interest.
The young man was falling over himself with good intentions. She was more interested in the CCTV images on the TV in the corner. The more she batted her eyelashes, the more he was distracted.
After much heaving and puffing Lucas and Harper were standing on the roof. Lucas was blowing like a twenty-dollar hooker and rubbing his injured leg. The place was cluttered with air-conditioning units, cable trays and switchgear. They were both leaning with their elbows on the front wall looking through binoculars. Two hundred and fifty yards away, over the top of the warehouses, was the Mint. In the dark they could make out the oblong shape of the grey metal partition.
‘It’s a perfect shot,’ Harper said. ‘Bonelli would be walking away from the shooter in a dead straight line. Excuse the pun. No need to pan to the right, or to the left. Just line it up and bang.’
Lucas shuddered. He wondered if it had been the same with Darlene. Did Mechanic have to pan the rifle, or was it a simple case of lining up the shot and bang. He shook the thought from his mind.
‘This is the place,’ said Lucas.
‘There is one slight problem. This building is high enough to take the shot from the room below.’
‘Yes, but it’s unlikely. The walkway passes in front of the windows, so the line of sight could get blocked. The shooter has five seconds and then Bonelli disappears. Also, the maid is going to be turning down rooms at 10am. It’s too much of a risk.’
‘Agreed. You would take the shot from here.’
‘Let’s go.’
They climbed down the ladder and headed to the car. Moran was already there. Lucas struggled to get in.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘That’s the place. The shooter would have a great shot.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Apart from a teenager with raging hormones, there is a CCTV monitor behind the desk. As expected, it covers the back but not the side. They aren’t busy, we can park up here and be out of sight.’
‘We need to get back, we got planning to do.’
37
The likelihood of the hit taking place the next day was slim. Only a few days ago Jameson had said the time was yet to be decided. If it was going down this week, he would have said so. But tomorrow was Friday and they couldn’t take the chance.
The three of them had built a childlike model of the motel w
ith food boxes, crockery and cushions. Each part was represented by something from Moran’s apartment.
The plan was to take Mechanic when she was on the roof. That way she had limited escape options and her attention would be focused on the twelve-foot piece of concrete lying between the back door of the car and the side entrance.
It is the Achilles heel for any sniper. You are so focused on what is happening at the dangerous end of the barrel you are oblivious to what’s happening behind you.
The plan was simple. Two people on the roof, one person on the ground keeping watch. The two on the roof would hide amongst the air conditioners and switchgear. When Mechanic was zoned out and focused on the hit, they would strike.
There would be no big speeches, no long recitals telling Mechanic that this was payback time, no watching her squirm as they told her this was justice for all those she had murdered, no looking deep into her eyes and saying this was revenge for killing Darlene. That kind of stuff only happened in the movies. In real life, it was shoot on sight and shoot to kill.
Tactically they had a decision to take. Who was going to pull the trigger? Lucas was the natural choice but the hike up the ladder had proved a challenge with his injured leg. Moran had made the point that he was at risk of doing himself even more damage and that was the last thing they needed. Lucas had to accept the practical common sense of the situation and agreed to stay on the ground.
The communication would be done with series of squelches. Squelches happen when the talk button is pressed on a walkie-talkie. The person on the ground would squelch once when Mechanic was spotted, telling those up top to expect her arrival.
The issue of timing was difficult. Mechanic would not want to arrive too early for fear of being discovered. They, on the other hand, had to arrive in plenty of time to be ready. They opted for 8am, two hours before the hit was scheduled and when the reception boy would be busy with checkouts.
Lucas and Harper retired to their hotel and ate dinner in their room. Moran cooked a pizza from the freezer. All three got an early night but didn’t sleep a wink.
