"Mary?"
She mumbled something, sobbed again. I opened the lock and she fell into my arms. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. As I carried her into the living room it became clear she'd also been in a fight. She was pretty banged up. Her blouse was torn. Darlene backed away rapidly, out into the kitchen, I assumed to get some ice and a towel.
"Relax, Mary. You're okay, now."
I eased my sister down into a sitting position and went down on one knee. I checked her out. It wasn't too bad, despite the blood. She had a small scalp wound that had dried up after staining her white blouse and smearing her face. Her cheek was bruised and her lower lip puffy.
"What the hell happened?"
She looked up at me but wasn't able to focus her eyes. Her breath was strong enough to kill flesh eating bacteria.
"Mick?"
Mary Kate, looking up over my shoulder, finally registered Darlene's presence. She offered a halfhearted smile and said, "Hi."
Darlene was not amused. Then Mary Kate frowned and said, "Uh oh, I think I'm gonna puke." I took her into the bathroom, put her by the toilet and left her there. She didn't vomit. I backed out, closed the door.
Darlene pushed by me, carrying her purse and keys. She'd put the gun away. Her eyes were red. I finally caught up. "Wait, no. Darlene, I need to explain this, give me a second. . . ."
"You don't need to tell me anything, Mick," she said. "Your personal life is none of my business."
"Darlene, damn it. . . ."
The woman did a lot of upper body work. She shoved me out of the way and opened the door. Stopped abruptly. "Shit."
Now a man was standing on the steps.
I think we both went stupid for a moment. For one thing, my house is not usually Grand Central Station. I've seldom had so many people there in one night. As for Darlene, I think her circuits had already shut down because of what appeared to be another woman. In any event, we were both caught flat-footed for a time, and nobody moved. At least I had the presence of mind to check for weapons. None were visible, anyway.
The stranger glowered at me. He was almost my height, slim with a dark tan and a five o'clock shadow. He wore a blue sweatshirt and jeans. He raised his right hand and pointed a finger. "Get out of my way."
I blinked, laughed involuntarily. "Excuse me?"
"I said get the fuck out of my way, before I kick your sorry ass, motherfucker. I'm here for Mary."
"I've got a better idea, bozo." Darlene stepped in between us, headed out the door. "How about you get the fuck out of my way first?"
Man, she was really steaming. To Darlene, I was not only fooling around, but had been seeing someone else's woman. She probably figured I deserved what I got. "Mick, it's been real, but now I think it's time I went home."
The stranger stuck out his hand. The gesture caught Darlene by surprise. Incredulous, she looked down at his offer to shake. Finally gave in.
"Name is Ed Talbot," the man said. "Bet you didn't know your boyfriend was screwing around with my woman."
"No, I didn't."
"Me neither, until now." Talbot hitched up his jeans, glared my way. "But now I plan on giving him a proper ass whipping."
Darlene looked up at me, shook her head sadly. "Yeah, well, maybe he has one coming, Mr. Talbot."
I moaned. "Now wait just a damned minute."
Things can always get worse. Mary Kate finally heard us through the bathroom window. She wailed, "Mick, don't hurt him. Please."
"Mick," Ed Talbot said quietly, as if memorizing my name. He brightened and grinned, then pretended to beg. "Please don't hurt me, okay?" This guy Talbot was starting to piss me off.
"Ed, just go away," Mary Kate called. "You've done enough for one night. Leave me alone."
Darlene finally absorbed the sound of Mary Kate's misery, remembered her battered face. It awakened something in her. She looked back at the stranger and produced her ID. My lady was herself again, and rapidly losing patience with this whole charade. "Perhaps I should mention, Mr. Talbot, that I'm a police officer. Now, the young lady in question seems to have a few cuts and bruises. I don't suppose the two of you had a little disagreement tonight?"
His mouth opened and closed. Darlene stepped forward, searched his eyes. "And don't tell me she started it, or that she hit you, too. That won't wash. Striking her would be a clear case of assault and battery. And since I don't see a mark on you, under the law, you'd be the one going to jail."
He lost color. "Ma'am, I. . . ."
Darlene smiled coldly. "I should also warn you that the man whose ass you came here to kick has a pretty fair temper of his own. As of now, you're about to attack him on his own property in front of a witness. I wouldn't recommend that, either. Of course, you could wait until I leave, but then you may wish you had a police officer here to save you from a trip to the ER."
I still hadn't said anything. Why bother? Damn, what a woman.
Darlene walked down the steps. Talbot backed away from her, following the cement path. I let them go. He seemed far more afraid of Darlene than me, anyway. And he was probably right.
Darlene paused. "If I were you, Mr. Talbot, I'd think very carefully about the next thing you say or do. An awful lot might depend on it."
Talbot shot me a foul look. He backed up all the way to the wooden gate, clearly struggling for a way to save face. He pointed that damned finger at me again. I really wanted to run over and break it, but refrained.
"I'll see you some other time."
I waved, smiled brightly. "Looking forward to it."
I didn't mention that I was Mary Kate's brother because I just didn't figure Talbot deserved to know. We watched him jog down the sidewalk to his car, gun the engine and squeal away. I turned back to Darlene and one look at her expression wiped the smile off my face. "Honey, listen. . . ."
She closed the distance and shoved me back against the wall of my house. "As of right now, Mick, lose my number."
"Darlene. . . ."
"Shut up."
She turned to go. Her anger barely masked tears. I touched her arm and said, "Mary Kate is my sister. Well, half sister. I only met her yesterday."
"Excuse me?"
I pulled her close, hugged her. "Hal is the only one I've mentioned this to. You got here late and I hadn't told the other guys." I filled her in. Darlene finally relaxed. Then she grabbed my shirt, shook me.
"Why the hell didn't you say something?"
I shrugged. "I was about to, but then dickhead showed up. Part of me wanted him to twist in the wind thinking I was a boyfriend, so maybe he'd leave her alone."
Darlene looked away into the darkness. "He won't leave her alone, Mick. His kind never do."
As if on cue, Mary Kate wailed again. "Ah, God!"
This time we heard the sound of vomiting. Darlene beat me to the doorway, tossed her purse on the living-room table. "Get some ice."
I've handled a few drunks in my time, but Darlene made me feel like I was an amateur. She held Mary Kate's hair back, flushed the toilet, wiped her mouth, sat with her and mopped her brow with a towel full of ice chips. They hugged like old friends. Women never cease to amaze me. I watched from the hall for a while, then wandered out into the living room and sat alone in the dark.
"Alcohol and drugs are the number one cause of death in the United States." I remember an instructor saying that, back when I was working on my certification in chemical dependency counseling. Most of us doubted the veracity of his statement, until he went on to add, "just throw in drunk driving, spousal abuse, murder, assault, lung cancer, strokes, and myriad other health and societal problems related to the use of alcohol, nicotine, and both legal and illegal drugs. Use your imagination. I'm not up here arguing that everything should be against the law. I'm just observing one disturbing fact. Alcohol and drugs are involved in most violent crimes and many terminal illnesses. But they are also big business, and worth billions of dollars in profit and tax revenue. You can forget banning them. Prohibition faile
d in the twentieth century, and is not likely to be attempted again, so get used to it. People want the right to get high and destroy themselves, even if the collateral damage is mind boggling."
I grew up knowing my father had abandoned us because of alcoholism. My stepfather also had a bad drinking problem. Naturally, I followed in their wake. Seeing it everywhere, having experienced it myself, and struggling to help my clients sometimes depressed the hell out of me. Generation after generation thinks it is exempt from the percentages, and spawns a new group of drunks and addicts before coming to its senses. And now my sister was a drunk. Alcohol is significantly harder on a woman's body than a man's, so Mary Kate was on her way to serious health problems.
I realized it had been quiet for a time. "You guys okay in there?"
I heard muffled laughter, and then Mary Kate called out, "We're better now." The nursing "we." More laughter. Women have such a mysterious ability to bond, become gal pals within moments. That impresses me, although it's also disconcerting, this time because I had a sneaky feeling some of the laughter was at my expense. Of course, it's also very crowded here at the center of the universe.
Eventually, Darlene came out of the bathroom. She looked around, saw me sitting there in the dark. "Okay, help me get her into bed."
"We can put her in the office, the couch folds out."
"Whatever. She needs sleep."
I crossed the room, looked down into her eyes. "Forgive me?"
"Actually, I can't help but wonder if you wanted me twisting in the wind over this. If so, I'm not sure I can."
"This wasn't about you," I protested. We were both speaking in low tones. "I just didn't want to take this Talbot character off the hook."
"So you let him think you were her new boyfriend."
"Exactly."
"And what if he was carrying a concealed weapon?"
A weak smile gave me away. I hadn't thought of that.
Darlene sighed. "Doesn't it ever occur to you that people can handle things without fighting?"
"I'll go find some sheets."
Mary Kate had passed out. Moments later, we each took an arm, hauled my sister into the office and dumped her on the guest bed. I left the room while Darlene undressed Mary Kate and covered her with a sheet. I went into the kitchen and hit the fridge again. A few minutes later, Darlene joined me at the kitchen table. She took the diet cola from my hand, stole a sip. I told her a bit more about the conversation with my sister.
"And what are you feeling now, counselor?"
"Numb."
Darlene wrinkled her eyes. "Isn't that an evasive answer coming from a therapist?"
I shoved my chair back and stretched. "Maybe, but the truth is that I'm sleepy and completely overloaded, not up for getting into a big discussion tonight. Honestly, I don't know what to make of this, Darlene. Part of me is glad to have found a living relative, and part of me is . . . scared."
"Of?"
"I don't know, getting entangled, being in over my head somehow."
"And feeling something you've never felt?"
"Yeah, a bit of that." I yawned. "And no kidding, I really am sleepy."
"Okay, I should go."
"Not yet." I touched her hand. "I don't want you to leave."
"I don't have a change of clothes, Mick. I have an early shift tomorrow."
"What the hell am I supposed to do with her come morning?"
Darlene just looked at me. "Treat her like any other alcoholic, Mick. If she wants to get sober, help her. If not. . . ."
I stared back. My eyes gave me away.
She leaned over, kissed my cheek. "Okay, I'll leave when you're asleep."
Like I said, what a woman.
Twenty
One day earlier, Bud Stone left our daytime meeting near my gym, went back to the dump he was staying in and forced himself to sleep for a few hours. He waited until well after rush hour before packing up and hitting the Hollywood Freeway. That was probably at about the time I was checking out Gents. He drove carefully.
There was a bad wreck near Universal Studios and traffic was snarled for several miles because people slowed down to rubberneck. Bud's blood pressure skyrocketed and didn't return to normal until he was safely past the thick cluster of police cars and a line of emergency vehicles. He went through Hollywood to catch the split towards Santa Ana and then San Bernardino. A Highway Patrol car followed him for a bit, probably out of curiosity, but then dropped away to chase after some screaming kids in a new Ford pickup truck.
Bone was driving his third battered wreck, and his luck ran out near the small town of Upland. He blew a radiator hose. Bone didn't want to risk calling Auto Club or attracting attention, so he shoved the car to the side of the road. He hiked to a service station, paid cash for a replacement, walked back and installed it himself.
That one diversion threw him off by a couple of hours. Bud didn't pull into Vegas until after two in the morning. Even at that hour, and from miles away, the strip was still a demented neon rainbow. The new "family-friendly" streets still had plenty of nighttime action, most of it hardcore. Some things never change.
All my friend had to go on was names and places Faber and Toole had dropped along the way. He hit two bars and a twenty-four-hour buffet, asking questions. He went to the newest Wynn casino, mostly just to eyeball the surroundings, and then poked around until he got information on a high-stakes poker game near an upscale barbeque restaurant called The Boneyard Bistro. Joey Faber had once bragged to him about taking down some black guy named Taylor in that game. It could have been a bunch of bullshit, but Bone figured it was worth a look.
The restaurant was closing when he got there. It was a beautiful place, well appointed, and seemed an unlikely place for that kind of event. Eventually Bone drove around the block and discovered another building behind the restaurant. It looked like a small industrial storage facility with high fencing. A number of people were standing around smoking and talking in the dimly lit parking lot as the grim night pressed down.
Bone checked and got my message that Brandi had disappeared. He didn't know what to think about that, so he drove about a quarter mile down Sagebrush, parked near an empty lot, and tried to decide what to do next. His emotions told him to drive back to Los Angeles, but Bone decided to just keep going. He went back to the poker game, parked down the alley, and strolled toward the small crowd. A tall businessman with a bald spot and a ring of white hair was chatting up a quiet Latino man whose slanted posture announced his criminal background as clearly as arms roped with jailhouse tattoos.
"How do you get a seat at the table?"
The ex-con cupped his cigarette and turned away without answering, but the businessman had downed a few drinks. He laughed too long, too loud. "Get in line, pal, and you'd better have a wad of cash." He gestured over his shoulder.
Now that he was closer, Bud could see at least fifteen men were waiting for a chance to play. He whistled. "Best get here early, huh?"
The ex-con spoke in a guttural whisper. "You got that right."
"Any advice?"
"Be ready by six, game usually breaks up around two. Everybody in town wants a piece of Ernie Taylor."
Bone felt a little starburst of excitement. Ernie Taylor. Pay dirt. "Taylor? That black dude?"
"He's the man, homes. ET. That dude has played on TV." The convict used his cigarette as a pointer. Bone squinted. Through a small space in the thick curtains he could see the poker table, a crowd watching. There were only four men left playing. The huge, largely empty room was thick with cigar smoke. Only one of the men was black. Ernie Taylor was handsome, a man well into his forties, with gym-rat muscles and a thick moustache.
Bone shrugged. "He doesn't look like much."
"Hey, he wins." The businessman belched. "Mr. Taylor also owns most of the Wagon Wheel. The rumor is he won that right here, maybe four years ago."
Bud feigned boredom. "Ah, fuck it. I don't want to have to stand around."
Th
e convict said, "ET, he got the hottest hand in town. You want in, got to maybe try next Friday."
"Maybe I'll come back."
"Good luck if you do," the businessman laughed. "It's five grand just to sit."
Bone drove straight to the Wagon Wheel, one of the newest businesses on the strip. It was a faux wood building, round, and a mere ten stories tall; known more for hosting small concerts than gaming. He parked in the lot, eyeballed the area, and strolled in through the main entrance.
The casino was not crowded. The décor was Western, and the walls were decorated with paraphernalia gathered from Nashville, Bakersfield, and a few other locales connected with country music. Some artifacts referenced old twentieth-century black-and-white Western serials featuring actors like Tom Mix and The Cisco Kid. It was cheese, but good cheese. Other than that, the place was typical, with loud colors, bright lights, big tits, short skirts, jangling noises, and free booze.
Bone made one circuit of the main room, to check out the location of the security cameras and guards, just to be on the safe side. Then he left and went several doors down to a chain coffee shop for a stack of wheat pancakes and some strong coffee. He lost a few dollars on their slot machines before wandering away.
By now my friend was bored and feeling tired. He walked the strip for a while, trying to make sense of what he'd learned so far. So the fabled ET was a card pro, a casino owner, and somehow affiliated with Big Paul Pesci. Everything led back to Pesci, sooner or later. Maybe Pesci had ordered Brandi kidnapped, in order to have one more tool to apply pressure.
Bud, like the rest of us, had a nagging feeling that he was missing something important. He walked and pondered. All around him tourists paced, sinned, lost money, went home satisfied or in disgrace. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—especially your money.
At around two in the morning, Bud Stone was sitting up the block from the Wagon Wheel, watching the place through military binoculars. He'd parked at the top of the hill, where he could see both entrances. Bone figured Ernie Taylor would come back to his casino to look at the receipts and check things out before retiring. It also seemed likely he'd use the back, where the private parking spaces were marked by a low concrete divider, but Bone didn't want to take any chances.
One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel Page 16