Dark Ice: A Hard-Boiled Crime Novel: (Dan Reno Private Detective Noir Mystery Series) (Dan Reno Novel Series Book 4)

by Dave Stanton

  I printed the info and began a file, then Googled Valerie Horvachek. Finding nothing, I logged onto a subscription site that provided access to a compilation of public records. Real estate transactions, addresses, phone numbers, rental history, and also criminal records. Not complete information, but enough to be valuable.

  Valerie Diane Horvachek, twenty-two years old, address in Sacramento. An arrest for cocaine and marijuana possession, and a DUI. I wondered what the General thought of that. I guess I’d find out.

  “That was an unexpected call,” I said to Candi.

  “Who was it?”

  Candi continued to paint as I told her of the general’s interest in hiring me, but she set down her brush when I changed the subject to the trouble with the bikers.

  “Do you expect you’ll hear from them again?” she said.

  “Who knows? They’re all looking at jail time.”

  “You’re not worried, then?”

  “I’ve dealt with their kind before.”

  She stood and curled a finger in the waist of my jeans. “I know how to use a gun, you know.”

  “You do?”

  “My father taught me when I was barely a teenager. You’re tense, aren’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  “I think you need a back massage.” She reached her hand under my shirt, her palm warm on my skin. Then she raised her lips to mine, put my hand on her breast, and led me to the bedroom.

  • • •

  Afterward, she said, “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

  “I thought we’d bring in the New Year with a bang, but you jumped the gun.”

  “Oh, shush. Midnight is hours away.”

  “Cody wants us to join him and his date for dinner at the restaurant at the top of Pistol Pete’s.”

  “At the Gold Lantern? He has reservations?”

  “Said he did.”

  “Wow. I better go figure out what to wear.”

  “You sure you want to go? I mean, we’ve never met this girl—”

  “Dan, are you kidding? It’s one of the top rated restaurants in the state.”

  She swung the blankets away and walked naked to the wall length closet. Standing on her tiptoes, she took a pair of heels from the top shelf. I sat up, enjoying the sight of her hourglass figure.

  “There could be celebrities there.” She pulled out my only sports coat and held it up for inspection. It was in good shape; I didn’t wear it often.

  “This should do,” she said. She began going through her dresses, then spotted my black cowboy boots. They were the closest I had to dress shoes. “These need a shine, buckaroo. I’ll iron a shirt for you.”

  “I’ll let Cody know we’re in.”

  She turned back to me, her nipples pink on her firm breasts. “Who’s his girlfriend, again?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  • • •

  We left a little after six and headed down Highway 50. The Nevada state line was only a mile from my house, but as soon as we turned onto the highway, I knew it would take twenty minutes or more to get to there. The road was jammed with cars, most on their way to the casinos that loomed at the border. As we crept along the hotels grew more frequent, and all displayed neon no vacancy signs. Every room in town would be booked tonight.

  When we finally crossed into Nevada, police on foot and horseback were patrolling the boulevard. Beneath the WELCOME TO NEVADA sign, heavy wooden barricades waited, ready to be moved into place. At 9:00 P.M., traffic would be stopped and the half-mile stretch of 50 at the state line would become a pedestrian-only party zone.

  The wide sidewalks that lined the street were teeming with people. I watched a group of young women come out of Harvey’s Casino, carrying drinks, their jeans tight on their hips, coats unzipped, shirts revealing cleavage and midriff. A group of boisterous fellows followed behind, hoping sheer proximity might help them get lucky.

  I rolled down my window and felt the air. “I’m sure the chamber of commerce is thrilled with the weather,” I said. It was barely freezing outside, and it hadn’t snowed in three days.

  Candi shifted in her seat, her wrists glittering with bracelets. “You look spectacular,” I said.

  “Look out!” she yelled. I snapped my eyes back to the road to see a man stagger into my path. I hit the horn and slammed my brakes, missing him by a foot. He raised his eyes, an idiot’s grin on his face.

  “Happy New Year, dimwit,” Candi said, staring hard at the fellow as he stumbled back up the curb.

  “Amateur night,” I muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what hard core boozers call New Year’s Eve. A perfect night to stay home while all the amateur drinkers go out and cause assorted mayhem.”

  “Well, I’m not worried, with a big stud like you to protect me.”

  “That’s right, babe.”

  We parked, went into Pistol Pete’s casino, and waded through the noisy sea of humanity to the elevators. Once the doors closed I checked my duds in the mirrored elevator wall. Boots shined, jeans clean and pressed, shirt crisp. Not bad. Nothing compared to Candi’s glamorous getup, but for me, not bad.

  When we got off on the thirtieth floor, the dimly lit corridor was quiet, save for some barely discernable jazz. We found the entrance to the restaurant and went in. A middle-aged woman in an evening dress met us at the hostess stand.

  “Your name?” she said.

  “Cody Gibbons party.”

  “Ah, yes. They’re waiting for you in the lounge.” We turned and saw Cody and his lady come around the corner.

  Cody was all smiles, his beard neatly trimmed, the blond mop on his head combed, to the extent it could be. He sported black slacks and a purple button-down shirt that somehow managed to fit his massive torso like a glove.

  “Hello, Dan. Candi, you look lovely, just lovely.” Cody grasped my hand in his huge paw. “And this is Terry,” he said, gesturing to the woman at his side.

  I tried not to eyeball her up and down, but her outfit demanded it. Her skin-tight white jeans were stuffed into the tops of gold knee-high boots on six-inch heels. Obviously enhanced breasts sat like overinflated balloons in a lacy white blouse split down the center to reveal a strip of tanned skin and a flower tattoo around her belly button. A pair of long silver and jade earrings hung within a mass of frizzy blond hair cascading over her shoulders.

  “Hey, shit, how y’all doin’?” she said. Her eyes were shiny and there was lipstick on her teeth.

  The hostess seated us at a table in the center of the dining room. Waiters and waitresses in white shirts and black bow ties hovered in the shadows.

  “Are you from San Jose, Terry?” I said, once we’d settled in.

  “Oh, hell no. I’m a SoCal girl, and I can’t wait to get back to Hollywood.”

  “Terry, Candi is a painter,” Cody said. “She teaches at the local college.” Terry took a long pull off her margarita, the ice cubes rattling against her lips.

  “Really?” Terry said. “Have you ever done nudes? I used to pose. Man, was that boring.” She raised her glass and looked around for the wait staff.

  “I’ve never done nudes,” Candi said. “It’s—

  “Photography was a lot more fun,” Terry interrupted, her voice shrill and loud. “Paid better, too.”

  “Cody, how’s business?” I asked.

  “Busy as a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest. Been nice to take a week off.”

  “I’ve been keeping him plenty busy,” Terry said, elbowing Cody and casting a goggle-eyed smirk his way. The smile on Cody’s face became pained.

  A waitress came by and took drink orders and tried to tell us about the specials but Terry seemed oblivious, talking over her, something about a magazine feature.

  “Quiet, Terr,” Cody said.

  “What? Don’t shush me.”

  “The waitress is talking.”

  “Come back later, sweetie,” Terry said.

  “Excuse me,” C
andi said, “I—”

  “Oh my god, look,” Terry said, pointing across the restaurant. “It’s Sammy!”

  I looked over and saw a red-haired man I recognized as a popular rock and roll performer. He was sitting with a younger man—likely his son. They both looked up when Terry stood and waved.

  “Hi, Sammy!”

  Every head in the place turned in our direction. Candi crossed her arms and sunk in her chair. I could sense the waitress in my peripheral vision, trying to gauge the right moment to return.

  “I had a little fling with Sammy once,” Terry said, winking. “But that was years ago.”

  A cocktail waitress brought a round of drinks. Sucking on a pair of straws, Terry drained half of hers.

  “Rock and roll, Sammy!” Terry yelled, pumping her fist. Our approaching waitress froze.

  “Terr, kitten, you got to keep your voice down. This is a nice place.” Cody’s face had turned red.

  “Whatever,” Terry said. “I wish we could smoke in here.”

  “We’ll go out to the hall in a few minutes.”

  The table became quiet, and the waitress quickly told us of the specials and asked if we needed more time.

  “Candi?” I said.

  “Yes, I’ll have the Chilean sea bass, and could I get rice pilaf instead of the mash potatoes?”

  “Oh, Cindy, you should just get the potatoes. I’m sure the chef knows what he’s doing.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Tracy. I’ll stick with the rice.” Candi rolled her eyes, and I could feel a wave of negative energy radiate from her body.

  “And for you, madam?” the waitress said to Terry.

  “Madam?” Terry giggled. “What do you think I do, run a whorehouse?”

  “How about a salad, Terr?” Cody said. “That’s what you always get, right? They got a salad with poached prawns.”

  “Sure, why not?” Terry hit off her margarita but it was empty. “What’s with these miniature drinks? Could I get an adult-sized drink, please?”

  The patrons at the nearby tables were trying to ignore us, but I kept seeing annoyed faces. The exception was an older couple. They were making no pretense of their irritation, staring at Terry and commenting to each other under their breath.

  “Hey, gramps,” Terry said, “don’t get cranky, I know it’s getting close to your bed time.”

  The redness was gone from Cody’s face. His skin was now the hue of granite, gray and coarse and deathlike. His green eyes were fixed on the table.

  After a moment the waitress said to me, “Would you like to order, sir?”

  “All right. A T-bone, medium rare, baked potato, and salad, with Italian.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  “Are you going to behave?” Cody said very quietly to Terry.

  She took her napkin from her lap and dropped it on the table.

  “I’m really not hungry. What I’d really like to do is get drunk and do a few lines and see if I can get laid.”

  Cody stood abruptly. “Cancel her salad,” he told the waitress. “Put their dinner on my card.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said to Cody.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  • • •

  We didn’t say much for a few minutes after they left. I apologized to the waitress and slowly felt my embarrassment recede as the tension around us dissipated. People went back to their conversations and their enjoyment of a holiday evening.

  “What the hell was that about?” Candi said.

  “For all the good things about Cody, he sure makes some bad choices when it comes to women.”

  “All the good things? Like what?”

  “He saved my life twice.”

  Candi swallowed. “You never told me that.”

  “He’s the bravest, most loyal friend a man could have. His personal life, though, tends to be a little rough around the edges.”

  “Why?”

  I sipped my drink, thinking how to answer what sounded like a simple question, but in truth was not.

  “He’s the product of an alcoholic father and a weak mother. He was married once to a stable type of gal, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Why not?”

  “I always thought he got married to try to create the normalcy of a family life he never had.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “Looks like he’s given up on that concept, huh?”

  I smiled. “At this stage, Cody’s definition of normal is probably different from yours. Ours, I mean.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

  My drink was empty, and the conversation was making me thirsty. I looked around for our waitress and saw a man in a dark suit escorting a young woman to a table along the floor-to-ceiling windows. I pegged the woman at twenty-one. The man was double that age. I knew that for a fact, because it was Nick Galanis.

  “What are you looking at?” Candi said.

  “The local police captain just came in. Same guy that was there when I found the dead girl.”

  “The ladies man?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Candi turned and snuck a glance, and like I knew he would, Galanis looked up and spotted me. I nodded, and he smiled in return.

  “He looks like he should be in the movies,” Candi said.

  “That’s the popular consensus.”

  “And she looks like she could be his daughter.”

  “She’s not.”

  We finished dinner, Candi only eating half her entrée, as was her habit. She had an incurable sweet tooth, and whenever we went out to dinner, we always stopped somewhere else for desert.

  “How about The Rosewood? They have great apple cobbler,” she said.

  “Okay, doll.” I would have just as soon gone home. The longer we stayed out, the more tempted I’d be to drink, and I was committed to not allow booze to sabotage my relationship with Candi. Just one more drink, I told myself. It would be a relatively sober New Year’s Eve, a good way to start a new year.

  3

  The next morning I woke early. While Candi slept in I had breakfast, drank a pot of coffee, then went to my garage and pumped out a dozen sets of heavy weights, alternating between bench press, curls, and upright rows. When I came back inside, Candi was up, and I said a brief good morning before taking a shower. I needed to get on the road for my meeting with General Raymond Horvachek. I don’t like being late.

  I drove south and began climbing Echo Pass. Rock walls draped in snow lined the road as it corkscrewed toward the summit at 7800 feet. The skies were mostly clear, allowing the low sun to cast a bit of warmth through my windshield. There was no cellular reception at this point, but my phone rang as soon the signal reconvened, half an hour later in the little town of Kyburz.

  “Cody,” I said.

  “Hey, man. You at home?”

  “No, I’m driving to Sacramento.”

  “Really? Shit. I wanted to come by and apologize.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  “Look, I came into town thinking I’d impress you and your old lady, and now I feel like a complete asshole.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. We had a good time, anyway.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone did.”

  “What did you do after you left?”

  “We went to our room and Terry pulled out a bindle of blow and packed a couple fat lines up her beak. I thought it might mellow her out, you know, the way Ritalin calms a hyperactive kid.”

  “Did it?”

  “Uh, no. When I said her behavior at the restaurant was a joke, she started bitching me out, then she split.”

  “What did she have to say this morning?”

  “Beats me. She never came back to our room last night. She won’t take my calls, and I have no idea where she is.”

  I didn’t say anything for a moment. This type of situation was not atypical for Cody. Since his divorce, his girlfriends consisted of strippers, small time porn actresses, closing time bimbos, and gold-dig
gers. They usually came laden with drug, alcohol, and money problems. All were unstable and temporary, and to my knowledge, none of the relationships had ever ended amicably.

  “What’s so funny?” Cody said.

  “Nothing, man,” I said.

  “What, you think I deserve this?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Bullshit. I do deserve it. Can I help it if the women I’m attracted to are freaking psychos?”

  “I think maybe you should see a sex therapist,” I said, breaking into laughter.

  “Great, thank you, Doctor Ruth. Appreciate the advice. When you going to be back in town?”

  “Four, maybe later. You going to hang out?”

  “I don’t see what choice I have. I don’t want to strand her here.” Cody lived where I used to, in San Jose, a four-hour drive from Lake Tahoe.

  “I’m sure she’ll call soon, begging for forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, wonderful. Call when you’re heading back, would you?”

  We hung up, and I chuckled all the way into Sacramento.

  • • •

  Fortunately, my humor subsided by the time I reached the Horvachek residence in an upper-middleclass Sacramento suburb. I wore a straight face when I knocked on the door, and when the General answered, he did nothing to encourage otherwise. The contrary, actually—he stared me down with a withering glare that made me think of the Marine colloquialism, I’m gonna rip your head off and shit down your neck. I subconsciously stood a little taller, thinking he might perhaps say, “At ease, soldier.”

  Instead, he said, “Dan Reno.”

  “It’s Reno, as in no problemo.”

  His face tightened in a brief wince. “Come in, please.”

  I followed him past an immaculate kitchen and glanced down a hallway I assumed led to bedrooms. All with beds you could bounce a quarter off, I imagined. We went into a small room with a desk and a wall-length bookshelf. I measured the general at five-eleven and a hundred eighty hard pounds. He lowered those pounds into a chair at the desk and told me to sit.