“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jack whispered in his ear and then said loudly for everyone else’s benefit, “Good to see you!”
Falco tried to wriggle out of Jack’s grasp, but the booze made him slow and stupid. He cried out as Jack wrenched the gun from his hand.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Did I step on your foot?”
Falco held up his hand, his index finger was bent at painful angle.
Susan gasped and Whitmore edged further in front of her.
He saw the gun in Jack’s hand and his face twisted in anger as he realized what Falco had tried to do. He grabbed fistfuls of the man’s lapels and nearly pulled him off his feet. “I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t think you were this stupid. You pull a stunt like this again and I promise you it will be the last thing you do.”
He shoved Falco away.
Falco stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. Bright red socks flashed from beneath the cuffs of his pants. Jack had known a few of these flashy types; they were usually all bark and no bite. Usually.
A few men who’d been standing by the community center entrance started over to see what the fuss was about.
No one but Whitmore had seen the gun, and it was definitely best if it stayed that way. Panic led to problems. Jack didn’t have a jacket to hide it in, so he took off his hat and held it over to his stomach.
The small crowd that remained watched as Falco struggled to regain his feet and held out his injured finger.
“Get him out of here,” Whitmore said and the two men started toward Falco. Before they could reach him, Falco turned and ran, his shoes slipping on the sidewalk as he made a quick turn.
“Daddy,” Susan said, breathless as she gripped his arm.
He patted her hand and turned back to the small crowd, smiling. He was quite the performer.
He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s all right. Just a misunderstanding. Now, you all go on inside and enjoy yourselves.”
Still nervous and talking amongst themselves anxiously, the crowd did as he suggested. The two men who’d given chase stopped at the edge of the parking lot and turned back for orders.
Whitmore shook his head and they started back.
He looked at Jack then, his keen eyes narrowing suspiciously. Jack looked around to make sure the rest of the crowd was gone and then eased the gun out from beneath his hat.
He held it out, butt first to Whitmore.
Whitmore relaxed a little and took the gun. He stared down at it and then slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Susan tightened her grip on her father’s arm.
“It’s all right, darlin’,” he said, eyeing Jack. “Thanks to …?”
“Jack.”
Whitmore paused, still unsure of him, but then stuck out his hand to shake. “Regular Johnny-on-the-spot, aren’t ya?”
“Just glad I could help.”
Whitmore nodded, grunting, clearly deciding if he could trust Jack.
“Daddy, you’re not being very gracious,” Susan said.
Whitmore arched an eyebrow and looked at his daughter. “No, I suppose I’m not. Forgive me, I am grateful. You handled that quite skillfully.”
There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.
Jack shrugged. “Thank the Army. 7th Infantry. You pick up a few things.”
“You served in Korea?”
Jack knew his cover backwards and forwards. And while he hadn’t had time to memorize all of the intricacies of that war, he’d seen enough of his own to be convincing.
“’50 to ’51. Yes, sir.”
Whitmore nodded solemnly. “Well then I am doubly grateful,” he said, the last bit of suspicion washed away. “And I’d like to repay you.”
Jack shook his head. “No need. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
Whitmore smiled, but there was something else in it. “Not anyone. My son seems to have—”
“Daddy,” Susan said. “Please?”
Whitmore sighed and clenched his jaw.
Susan smiled at Jack. “Thank you,” she said. “We’re very grateful.”
“Of course, Miss …” Jack said.
She laughed embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m Susan. Susan Santo.”
“My daughter,” Whitmore said.
Jack smiled. “Nice to meet you. Jack Wells,” he said and held out his hand toward Whitmore, who shook it.
“Where’re you stayin’? I’d love to put you up at the La Fortuna.”
Jack shook his head. “Thank you. I’m over at the Paradise.”
Susan’s face lit up. “You are? That’s my husband’s hotel.”
Jack grinned. “Well, then you can tell him he’s got a fine place there.”
Whitmore grunted, but Susan ignored him. “I will.”
The mayor appeared at the entrance to the community center and waved to them. “Carson?”
“I’ll be right there, Mayor,” Whitmore called out, then turned back to Jack. “If there’s ever anything I can do.”
He held out his hand again and Jack shook it.
“You’ve got a steak dinner waiting for you at the La Fortuna whenever you get tired of that uptown food.”
“Thank you,” Jack said.
Whitmore and Susan started toward the front door.
“Nice meeting you,” she said.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She nodded and looked once more over her shoulder at him before walking off with her father.
Chapter Six
JACK LEANED AGAINST THE open door to his hotel room, one hand resting high on the doorjamb.
“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?” he asked. “I could order something.”
Charlene smiled back at him and shook her head. She put her hand on his bare chest and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
“I have to work,” she said when she pulled back. Then, gently, she rubbed away the fresh coat of lipstick she’d left on his face.
“All right.” He was a little disappointed and a little relieved, too. He’d enjoyed their dinner and their after-dinner together very much. But he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
She looked at him with those beautiful green eyes and her mouth quirked into a smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
Or maybe she was the one who didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Sure,” he said.
She winked at him and walked down the hallway.
“Have a good day,” he called out after her. She smiled over her shoulder as her shapely hips waved a goodbye of their own.
Jack chuckled and went back into his room, closing the door behind him. He checked on the guns and the watch, just to make sure. He’d fallen asleep for a few hours and the last thing he needed was to get rolled. Not that Charlene was the type. She was a good kid. But it paid to be cautious.
The guns were still taped in their hiding places and his pocket watch, his only way home, was safe and untouched. He pulled the cord on the drapes and the early morning sun streamed in.
He opened the sliding glass door and walked onto the small patio. He stretched, working out the muscles he’d worked out last night and thought about what he’d learned. As he’d suspected, Charlene knew every bit of dirt on every last person associated with the Paradise. He’d covered as much ground as he could without looking like it. Luckily for him, dishing on one’s employer was universal and transcended time and place.
Tony Santo was a hands-on boss. Emphasis on hands. He’d worked his way through quite a few of the staff. Somehow Jack doubted a woman like Susan would find that very amusing.
Charlene had deflected any questions about the mob’s involvement in the hotel and he hadn’t pressed the point. The last thing he wanted was for her to get into trouble. And those were the very last people you wanted to get into trouble with.
Jack had his own suspicions. Tony Santo could be connected, but more likely he was a front man. It wasn’t wise for wiseguy
s to be the face of legitimate businesses, but that didn’t keep them from owning them. The Teamsters Pension Fund had provided the money to build several of the major resorts on the strip, and everyone knew the story of the Flamingo.
Bugsy Siegel, a founding member of Murder, Incorporated, along with his longtime pal Meyer Lanksy and mob boss Lucky Luciano, knew that there was money to be made in the early days of Las Vegas. They took over the floundering construction of what would become the Fabulous Flamingo hotel. But not before it went five million dollars over budget and got Siegel killed.
Organized crime figures had always been part of Vegas, but Siegel and the Flamingo took them from being involved to owning. The Sahara, the Sands, the New Frontier, the Riviera, and the Tropicana were all built with mob money. It wasn’t hard to guess that the Paradise was too.
And that complicated things. Was whoever killed Susan Santo after her? Her husband? Her father? Or somebody else?
Jack had far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. He hoped to get a few of them today.
He looked out at the hotel grounds in the early morning light. It was quiet, with just a few early risers making their way to the pool and the odd hotel employee crossing through the garden.
His introduction to Susan Santo yesterday couldn’t have gone better. Now, he just had to manage another chance meeting.
He scrubbed his face and scratched at the stubble. His hand still smelled like mint, like Charlene. A shower was definitely in order. It was never smart to see a woman when smelling like another.
Learned that one the hard way, too.
~~~
Freshly showered and smelling of nothing but Brylcreem and Aqua Velva, Jack made his way toward the cafe in the main building for some breakfast. When he stopped by the front desk to leave his key, the clerk told him he had a message and handed him a small note.
Didn’t get a chance to thank you properly. Come to the La Fortuna. Today. Noon. - CJW
Jack smiled. It wasn’t so much an invitation as an order, but one he was happy to take. Anything that got him closer to Susan was a step in the right direction.
Tucking the note into his pocket, he walked back across the lobby and into the Wonderland Cafe. The diner was doing a brisk business so he took a stool at the counter.
A pretty waitress caught his eye and held up a carafe of coffee.
“Please,” he said.
She placed a cup and saucer in front of him and smiled as she poured him a cup. “What can I get ya?”
Jack hadn’t even looked at the menu, but gave it a quick glance. “Cloud Nine? Over easy.”
“You got it.”
She gave him another enticing smile and put his ticket on the line. He had to hand it to Santo. He hadn’t come across one woman working here that wasn’t quite attractive. It was good business. Nothing kept a man off-balance and wanting to hang around more than a pretty smile.
The casino owners were smart. They didn’t miss a trick. The food was cheap, the booze was free and the girls were pretty. Not the worst first assignment, he thought as he took a sip of coffee. Even the coffee was pretty damned good.
The man next to him finished his meal and pushed fifty cents across the counter as he stood. He put his newspaper down on the counter and left.
Jack pulled the newspaper closer and shuffled through the sections. He wanted to see if the incident yesterday at the community center had made it into the papers. It hadn’t. There was, however, an article on the opening and a picture of the mayor, Whitmore and Susan. Ronnie was half cut off.
Judging from the way he and his father interacted yesterday, that wasn’t all that surprising. It was clear that Whitmore doted on Susan. He’d made no bones about favoring her over Ronnie at every turn. Ronnie wasn’t exactly helping his own cause, either. There was definitely bad blood there. Jack added another suspect to the list. Hopefully, his trip to the La Fortuna could shed a little more light on just why Ronnie wasn’t the favored son.
After breakfast, Jack made the rounds through the casino again. He knew it was a wasted effort, but he had to be sure. It was the heart of the place, but not where he was going to find a woman like Susan during the day.
He left the dark and smoky casino and headed back through the grounds toward the tennis courts. He’d try there first, then maybe the golf course.
Jack put on his sunglasses as he pushed open the back door that emptied out into the main grounds. He took a different path than he had this morning. Another habit from his days in the OSS. Patterns were predictable, and predictable was never good.
Luckily for him, the Paradise grounds had multiple crisscrossing paths, including one that ran the entire perimeter of the hotel’s V-shape. Jack decided to veer toward the Arcadia wing and crossed back through the main pool area.
There were three pools—one large pool in the center of the grounds and a smaller one adjacent to each wing. The main pool was not quite Olympic-big, but big nonetheless. One end even had a small hollow with a swim-up craps game so people could gamble without ever getting out of the pool.
Thatched umbrellas and lounge chairs lined either side of its length, with a diving board sitting at the far end. It was still early, just after 8 o’clock in the morning, and so it was fairly deserted. A few early-risers read paperbacks in lounge chairs or soaked up some morning sun with the help of a Bloody Mary or two. In the far corner under the shade of an umbrella a man worked the legs of a tripod to set up his camera. This was no tourist though. He wore a dark suit, and so did the man with him who sat at the table and flipped through a notebook as he smiled at Susan Santo.
Susan had said something about Sports Illustrated and an interview the first time he’d seen her. This must be it.
Jack adjusted his path so that he’d walk directly into Susan’s line of sight. He didn’t want to be too aggressive and approach her. It was better if she did the approaching. He just needed to give her the opportunity.
He walked along the far side of the pool until he was less than twenty feet from her. He stopped and made a show of taking off his sunglasses and cleaning them, lifting them up to the sky to check them for smudges.
When he brought them down, their eyes caught each other and she smiled. He waved and continued on toward his room, hoping she’d take the bait. He’d taken three steps before he heard her call out to him.
“Jack!”
Bingo. He stopped and turned back to face her. She waved him over.
“I thought that was you. Why didn’t you come over?” she said.
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“That’s all right,” she said and then looked to the man with the notepad. “Isn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said, amiably. “You two friends?”
Susan quirked a smile, unsure how to answer.
“We just met actually,” Jack said, stepping in. “At the dedication. But we have a mutual friend,” he added with a grin.
Susan arched an eyebrow and fought down a smile.
Then an awkward moment landed and Jack looked at the photographer and reporter. He started to say something to bridge the silence, but Susan interrupted him.
“Where are my manners? Jack, this is Dick Jepson, from Sports Illustrated. Dick, this is Jack.”
Jack saw her start to struggle to remember his last name and stuck out his hand. “Jack Wells.”
Jepson stood and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He jerked a thumb toward his partner. “The one doing his Jimmy Olsen impression is Otis Baxter.”
The photographer pulled a face. “I suppose that makes you Superman.”
Jepson shrugged good-naturedly. “If the cape fits.”
He did have a little Clark Kent thing going on. He was handsome and painfully all-American looking. Otis, on the other hand, didn’t look at all like his counterpart, unless Olsen had put on fifty pounds and twenty years.
“They’re doing a story on the Paradise,” Susan said.
“And the ann
iversary party,” Dick added. “You gonna be around for that?”
The hopeful look in Susan’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed.
Jack wrinkled his chin in consideration. “I think so,” he said and then looked at Susan. “I kind of like it here.”
“Yeah, it’s a nice place,” Dick said as he turned to Susan.
Otis wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief. “Sure, if you’re a lizard or snake or something.”
Dick chuckled and shook his head. “He’s delicate.”
Otis frowned, and was about to come back with something when Dick interrupted him. “We really should be getting back to it, if…”
“Of course,” Jack said. “I’ll leave you to it. Nice seeing you again.”
He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. “And I’ll say hello to your father for you.”
Susan tilted her head to the side in confusion.
Jack lifted the leading edge of the little note from his pocket. “Summoned.”
Susan laughed to herself and then said, “I’ll see you at the party day after tomorrow?”
It was the first event of the week-long anniversary celebration.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Nice meeting you,” he added to the two men and with one last smile for Susan, he left.
~~~
Jack paid the cab and got out in front of the La Fortuna. The façade was vaguely Spanish but with the same strong Old West feel that many of the downtown casinos had. It was a three-story building that took up most of the block. On one corner, there was a large neon sign—a hand with giant gold coins falling from it in an endless loop.
Standing beneath the sign, leaning against the brick wall was his new friend Falco. His red socks made him hard to miss.
Falco struggled to get a cigarette out of its pack. His broken finger was splinted and wrapped like something from a cartoon. Jack watched him for a moment, and almost felt sorry for him. He was that perennial loser type. Jack had a known a few in the war. None of them made it home.
That wasn’t Jack’s concern, although, it looked like Falco might be. He was obviously waiting for someone, and dollars to donuts it was Whitmore.
Jacks Are Wild: An Out of Time Novel (Saving Time, Book 1) Page 5