Cash Out

by Marshall Thornton

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Three hours, maybe a bit more.”

  “That’s not a very long time,” Louis pointed out. “Not in Las Vegas. Leon’s disappeared for longer stretches.”

  “And Reggie Cotton,” Marc added. “We haven’t even met her yet. She’s been who-knows-where.”

  “They’re both gambling, though,” I pointed out. “I don’t think my mother’s gambling.”

  “Do you know that?” Louis asked.

  “I think Angie’s the type who’d want to play single deck blackjack at a two-dollar table,” Marc said.

  “I wonder if that’s a compliment or an insult,” a voice said behind us. It was my mother. We’d left the door open and she’d walked right in.

  She wore a deep blue jogging suit I’d never seen before, her hair brushed back and her skin freshly pink. She was smiling in a way that told me she had no clue what had happened.

  “Oh my God, there you are!” I nearly screamed. “Where have you been?”

  “Your faces! What is the matter?”

  “Didn’t you see the crime tape?” I asked.

  “I did! Very clever boys… but, I haven’t told Cotton very much about the things that happened at Thanksgiving. So, if you could tone it down—”

  “Sonny fell of the balcony in your suite at eleven o’clock this morning,” I said as simply as possible.

  “What?”

  “It’s real police tape. He fell—”

  “Fell? That doesn’t make any sense. What was he even doing—”

  “He might have been pushed,” I admitted. “He was probably pushed.”

  “Oh my,” she said. “Poor Sonny, he was such a nice boy.”

  “For a mob lawyer,” I said. “Who was carrying a suitcase full of illegal money.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t nice,” my mother pointed out. “I have to be with Cotton.”

  “Not yet,” I said, reaching out and taking her arm. “The police think you have something to do with it.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Where have you been, Angie?” Louis asked.

  “I’ve been at the Flamingo.”

  “Two-dollar blackjack,” Marc said. “I told you.”

  My mother frowned at him and continued, “A dozen roses arrived early this morning. Gorgeous. There was a card that said I was to go to the health spa at the Flamingo and to use the name Virginia Hill. So, I did.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “I had a mud wrap and a facial and… everything was already paid for. I kept expecting Cotton to join me. I mean, I was sure he’d sent the roses and there’s a couple’s massage on the spa menu. But he didn’t show up, so I came back here.”

  “Sonny fell at eleven o’clock,” I said.

  “Or was pushed,” Louis said.

  “I was covered in mud at the time,” my mother said. “I couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

  “You mean Virginia Hill was covered in mud,” Marc said.

  “She was Bugsy Siegel’s girlfriend,” I mentioned. I only knew this because we had five copies of Bugsy at the video store. And I’d seen it twice.

  “Yes, of course,” my mother agreed. “That’s why it was so romantic.”

  “Angie, did you give anyone your real name?” Louis asked.

  “Of course not. That would have ruined everything.”

  “Do you think they’ll remember you anyway?” Marc asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, I was covered in mud for more than an hour and then avocado and honey for forty-five minutes. I mean, no one saw a lot of me.”

  “We should still talk to the police. They need to send someone down there. Just in case anyone remembers you.”

  I started to lead us out of the room, but then I stopped. “What about the flowers? And the card?”

  “They’d be in my suite,” she said.

  “In your room?”

  “In the living room. I left them on the coffee table in the living room. I wanted Katie Bug to enjoy them, too.”

  My stomach felt like a mobster wearing cement shoes. “They’re not there.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “I mean, I’ve been in your room, the flowers were gone. There was a puddle in their place.”

  “What about the card? I left it right next to the flowers.”

  “I didn’t see a card.”

  “Angie,” Louis said. “It seems someone is trying to frame you for murder.”

  A few minutes later, my mother called Detective Sergeant Brace Ryland. I had his card. Actually, we all had his card. He was quite forward about giving them out. Over the phone, he asked a few brief questions about where she’d been that morning then told her he’d be sending a squad car to bring her to the station. After she explained, I offered to go with her.

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Then she said, “I need to call Cotton. I’m sure he’s worried.”

  “He is,” I said. And that reminded me, “The woman with red-hair…”

  “The homeless woman from the restaurant?”

  “She left a message for me,” I said.

  “She did? How did she—”

  “We’re wondering if she might be Cotton’s ex-wife,” Louis said.

  “Oh, no. I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never met her, but I’m sure someone would have mentioned her hair being an odd color. Cotton described her as bland and unexciting.”

  “Did you ask Cotton about the incident?”

  “I did. He said she called him Billy and asked for five dollars. I scolded him for not giving it to her. I think it’s kind to give money to people like that even if they are sometimes con artists.”

  There was a terrible look of doubt on her face. Cotton had probably lied to her. After a moment, she said, “Hmmmpfh. Well, I guess we’re going to have to figure out what’s going on.”

  “We really shouldn’t get involved,” I said, though I’m not sure who I thought I was kidding. We were already deeply involved.

  Kissing me on the cheek my mother said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll give the red-haired woman some thought.”

  I doubted she’d be able to do that. I’d been questioned by Ryland; she was going to have to stay on her toes. As she was about to leave, she seemed to realize she couldn’t go into her suite to change.

  “Well, I may need to borrow a few things later on,” she said, and walked out.

  I looked at Marc and Louis and asked, “What should we do? Should we go down and see the Cottons?”

  “Maybe we should give them their privacy for now,” Louis said.

  “It’s nearly two o’clock,” Marc said. “I’m famished.”

  “That’s it. We should go to lunch,” Louis said.

  “I have my doggie bag from yesterday,” I said. I had half of my petite filet mignon in an aluminum foil duck and nearly half a loaf of the wonderful bread they served with the meal sitting in the suite’s mini-fridge. “I think I can make a sandwich.”

  “You still have that?” Louis said. “We ate our leftovers as a midnight snack.”

  “I was asleep way before then.”

  “You haven’t gambled at all, have you?” Marc said. “And you’re barely eating. You must think Las Vegas is a horrible place.”

  “It’s interesting,” I said. It was too loud, too bright, and people smoked anywhere and everywhere. Basically, it made me want to go home.

  “All right then,” Louis said. “We’ll meet you in front of Fortune’s Forum at three for the backstage tour.”

  After that, I went into my bedroom and did something I’m not proud of. I called Javier O’Shea. It had been several months since I’d spoken to him. He’d wanted to “talk” and I’d never called him back. My health got shaky and it just hadn’t seemed a good idea to start something.

  Luckily—or maybe unluckily—he was working at Rampart station and came to the phone after only a few minutes.

  �
�Yeah, what is it?” he said stiffly. Maybe I shouldn’t have given my name.

  “Um, hi,” I said, keeping my voice down so Leon didn’t hear me. “Listen, I’m in Las Vegas. My mother was supposed to get married and then her fiancé’s son-in-law fell or was pushed off a twenty-story balcony and—”

  “Las Vegas is out of my jurisdiction.”

  “Yes, I know that, it’s just—”

  “Let me guess, you’ve gotten yourself accused of murder.”

  “No.” I paused for just a moment. “It’s my mother. She’s been—someone is trying to frame her.”

  I could almost hear him frowning.

  “Your mother?” I had the terrible feeling if it were me, he’d have refused to help. “Do you have any idea who’s trying to frame her?”

  “The murderer?”

  “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have called me if you did,” he said, anger just below the surface. He was silent for a bit, then he asked, “What would you like me to do?”

  “Um, well, there are people I don’t really know. My mother’s fiancé, his three girls, the son-in-law…”

  “All right, I can do some digging. Names.”

  I gave him the names, including my Aunt Katie. Well, I didn’t really know her either, did I? When I was done there was a very long silence. Then he hung up without saying good-bye.

  As I went ahead and made my sandwich, I realized I hadn’t told him where in Las Vegas I was staying.

  11

  After I ate and took my pills, I decided I should really walk down the hallway and see the Cottons. I was a little ashamed of myself. I should have gone to see them sooner. I mean, not that I could have. I did have to talk to the police and find my mother and call Javier and have lunch. Okay, I probably shouldn’t have had lunch. But I did. And now I was ready.

  I debated whether I should put on something black. I was wearing a shirt I loved—a Ralph Lauren oxford in baby blue. As much as I loved it, it didn’t scream, “I’m sorry Sonny died.” It screamed, “Where’s the yacht?”

  I thought through everything I’d brought with me and the only black piece of clothing I’d packed was the Batman T-shirt I’d worn the day before. And I couldn’t possibly wear that again. No, everything else I’d brought, a Wayne’s World T-shirt (the studio had sent us three and I thought it was funny), another T-shirt covered with skateboard riding fish (which I thought was funnier), and a red-and-blue striped shimmering rayon shirt for the wedding; no, none of that was right. I’d come completely unprepared to mourn.

  I wondered if I should slip down to the Talisman and charge some black clothing to the room, but that seemed rude. Charging a shopping spree to a dead man. No, I would go down the hall as I was and say how sorry I felt that Sonny had been pushed off the balcony.

  Since it was nearly time to go downstairs and meet Marc and Louis at Fortune’s Forum, I left my suite, locking the door behind me. I started down the hall toward the bridal suite. I knew that’s where Cotton was staying. I wasn’t entirely sure which suites his girls were staying in. I was hoping they’d all gathered in the bridal suite so I could do this in one fell swoop, when I heard raised voices inside one of the suites, the one right after the elevators, 20108.

  “No, no, no… you do not get to be more upset about my husband’s death than I am.” Becky, that had to be Becky.

  “You didn’t love him.”

  “Who cares? He was my husband.”

  “But I loved him.”

  “And I’m his widow so you need to keep that to yourself. Do you understand me?”

  “Why? What difference does it make now? I should be allowed—”

  There was a loud slap followed by a gasp. Becky had slapped her sister, hard. Reba broke into loud, ragged sobs.

  Suddenly, the door flew open. I pressed myself against the wall next to it. Reba rushed out and hurried down the hallway to the bridal suite. I slipped around the corner to the elevators as quietly as possible.

  Well, that was awkward.

  I pressed the elevator button and waited. God, I hoped the elevator arrived quickly. I didn’t want either Becky or Reba to know I’d heard what they said. Because… well, because it sounded like it might mean something, a lot of something. Though exactly what I wasn’t sure.

  The elevator door opened, I jumped in, and hit the button for CASINO. Waiting for the door to close I had a horrible moment wondering if Becky or Reba might jump in with me. But that was silly. Their grief was keeping them on the penthouse floor.

  I found Marc and Louis at the craps table.

  “Look, I’m winning,” Marc said. “Even though I don’t understand this game at all.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. He knows exactly what he’s doing,” Louis contradicted, as he picked up his chips. Marc had probably read the book Louis loaned me.

  The moment we were away from the table, I said, “I just heard Becky and Reba having a fight. I think Reba was having an affair with Sonny.”

  “Really?” Marc said. “That gives Becky a motive.”

  “The thing is, she didn’t sound too upset about it.”

  “About the affair or about Sonny’s death?” Louis wanted to know.

  “Either. She just didn’t want Reba upstaging her.”

  “That seems cold,” Marc said. “Do you think she had something to do with Sonny’s death?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, she’s not much bigger than my mother. If my mother couldn’t do it, could Becky?”

  “I think you need to give Angie more credit,” Louis said. “She’s not frail. Given the right angle…”

  “…and the element of surprise,” Marc added.

  “Stop it! My mother did not kill Sonny.”

  “Well, no,” Louis said. “She didn’t kill him because she’s a good person. Not because she couldn’t.”

  “Whatever,” I said, not exactly happy. I kind of wished it was impossible for my mother to have killed him. “So, what you’re saying is that Becky could have killed Sonny.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m saying. She could have.”

  “That would mean she’s the one trying to frame my mother.”

  Louis nodded his head, while Marc said, “I’d like to cash in my chips. Did you see where the cashier’s cage is?”

  “You’re done?” Louis asked.

  “We have an extra thousand dollars toward our down payment. Yes, I’m done.”

  “Well, here’s three hundred more. The cage is over that way. Why don’t we meet you?”

  Marc grabbed the chips, adding them to the stacks he was juggling. “Don’t go backstage without me,” he said, walking off.

  As Louis and I walked the rest of the way across the casino, I asked, “So you guys are really going to buy a house?”

  “Someday,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to move away though.”

  “Well, they have these things called cars.”

  “Stop it. You know it will be different.”

  He shrugged. “We could take turns finding dead bodies. Sometimes we’ll find them at our place and sometimes we’ll find them at yours.”

  “You’re not going to take this seriously, are you?”

  “Nope. Not at all.” Then he saw Tina and Robert standing in front of the famous blue dresses from The Girl From Albany. When we got to them, he said, far too casually, “Sonny fell off the balcony in Angie’s suite. He’s dead.”

  “What!” Tina screamed.

  That caused Robert to ask, “Who’s Sonny?”

  It took quite a while, but we brought them completely up to speed. Tina and Robert each smoked at least three cigarettes during the telling. There was a standing ashtray filled with sand next to each door of the theater.

  “Well,” Robert said. “I’m afraid my backstage tour is going to be a real let down. I wasn’t planning any violence at all.”

  Tina ignored him, asking, “You said the police searched your room?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And my
mother’s.”

  “And ours,” Louis said.

  “But, how could they do that?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m sure the manager—”

  “They didn’t have warrants.”

  “We weren’t there when the rooms were searched,” I pointed out. “We wouldn’t know.”

  “Yes, but normally they leave you a copy and they’d need probable cause to search your rooms. They don’t have that,” she said with all the authority of a script reader—which was quite a lot in my book. “At best, they’d be able to search your mother’s suite because it’s the murder scene. But that would be it.”

  “Are you saying they illegally searched my room?” I asked.

  “No, I’m saying it wasn’t the police.”

  “But—why would anyone search my room? Or theirs? Or yours?”

  “Looking for the money,” Tina said. “And they didn’t find it, did they?”

  The three of us shook our heads. I mean, maybe they did find it, but we didn’t have any reason to believe they had. And if they hadn’t—

  “So where is the money?” Louis asked.

  “We thought Sonny had it,” Marc said.

  “Now that would be a legal search,” Tina said. “As the victim there’s cause.”

  “And they would have found the money,” Louis said.

  “If it was there—yes?”

  “Where is it then?” Marc wanted to know.

  “The killer has it,” I said, stating what I thought was obvious.

  “We need to know more about the money,” Tina said. “We need to know how all of this works.”

  “But I thought you knew how this works. You said they turn the money into profit.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure how that’s done. Plus, who knows how often money is delivered, who brings it, and, most importantly, what happens if the money disappears.”

  “Oh,” I said. “How are we going to find out all that?”

  Tina looked up at Robert who pushed his scant blond curls across his forehead, then frowned. “Wouldn’t you really rather just go backstage?”

  “No!” we all said.

  “Oh, all right. There is someone I can introduce you to.” He walked a few feet away. When we didn’t follow, he turned and said, “Well, come along.”