Falco managed to light his cigarette and turned to check out the front door to the La Fortuna. He saw Jack standing there and jumped. Even from here, Jack could see his hand shake. Whether it was from fear or anger, Jack didn’t really care and started toward him. Falco hesitated and then turned and hurried away down the street.
Jack watched him for a few moments. Whatever he was upset about, he wasn’t ready to let it go. That was bad news for Whitmore and Susan.
Whitmore’s office was on the second floor. Jack entered the outer room to find the secretary’s desk empty. The door to Whitmore’s office was ajar. He heard raised voices coming from inside.
“I can make it work, I know I can.” That sounded like Ronnie.
Whitmore’s deep baritone rumbled back. “What part of no don’t you understand, boy?”
“It’s a good plan. There are some men coming from New York and I know if you’d just listen—”
“When you say something worth listening to, I will. But for the life of me, I don’t remember that ever happenin’.”
Jack winced. Ronnie did seem like a bit of a baby, but that hurt.
“I don’t want you and your … friends involved. I’ll find my own buyers for the land.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Ronnie finally said softly.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“If Susan came to you—”
“You leave your sister out of this.” Whitmore’s voice was cold and hard.
There was an awkward pause and finally Ronnie spoke again. He sounded a little desperate. “What am I supposed to tell them?”
“That is your problem.”
Jack could almost feel an icy wind come from the other room.
Ronnie stomped over to the door and yanked it open the rest of the way, ready to storm out, but froze when he saw Jack standing there. His eyes went wide with embarrassment and then he ducked his head and strode across the reception area. An older woman was coming in just as he was going out and he almost ran over her.
At the same moment, Whitmore strode over to his office doorway.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitmore,” the woman said as she came into the room. She glanced nervously at Jack. “I was just down the hall getting some tea.”
Whitmore held up his hand to stop her apology. “It’s all right, Agnes.”
He looked at the hall doorway where Ronnie had just fled and let out a beleaguered sigh, then turned his attention to Jack. “Mr. Wells.”
“Jack, please.” He took a step forward, holding out his hand.
Whitmore shook it. “Come on in.”
He led Jack into his office.
“You’ll have to forgive my son. He’s a little over-eager sometimes.”
Jack shook his head, dismissing his concern.
Whitmore’s office was modestly-sized for such an over-sized man. Like everything else, it had a mild western theme, but the things here were authentic. Longhorn steer horns hung on the wall over his desk above a Charles Russell painting. A large Frederic Remington bronze stood in one corner and another smaller one sat on his desk. He even had a sawhorse with an old hand-tooled leather saddle on it.
“You should know," Jack said, “that fellow Falco was out front when I came in.”
Whitmore’s pleasant expression fell. His eyes narrowed. “Was he?”
“At the corner. Just waiting. Ran off when he saw me.”
Whitmore nodded thoughtfully and picked up the phone on his desk. “Agnes, get me Carl.”
He cradled the phone in his shoulder. “This won’t take long.”
Jack walked over to the saddle and ran his hand over the leather.
Whitmore held up a finger to beg a second and spoke into the phone. “He’s back. Yes, Falco. Who the hell else would I be talkin’ about? … Out front. … Make sure you do.”
He hung up the phone and glared at it. Jack had a feeling Carl felt it all the way on the other end.
It was time for a change of subject. “This is beautiful,” Jack said as he admired the saddle.
“You ride?”
Jack smiled slightly. The only horses he’d seen when he lived in Chicago were under police officers, but after his stint working on the dam, he’d found his way to Hollywood in the early 1930s and found work as a stuntman. He was better at falling off a horse than riding one, but he did well enough for himself.
“A little,” he said.
“I don’t get to ride as often as I’d like,” Whitmore said. “But then, that’s the price you pay for being a businessman. And you? What is it you do, Jack?”
Jack looked slightly pained and embarrassed. “I sell paper. Or at least the company I work for does. I’m mostly window-dressing. Just a cog in the machine.”
Whitmore regarded Jack for a moment. “Somehow that doesn’t seem the sort of thing a man like you should be doing.”
Jack smiled. “And what’s a man like me?”
Whitmore stared at him for another slightly uncomfortable moment and then walked to the other side of the room to stand at the large floor to ceiling window. “A man of action. Of substance.”
He turned and waved Jack over.
The window was tinted dark and now Jack realized why. It didn’t look outside, but inside. It hovered over the main casino room floor giving Whitmore a perfect view of everything that went on below.
“These people are the cogs. They do the same thing day in and day out. Then they come here to break out of their ruts and what do they do? They do the same thing day in and day out. They just do it here.”
He looked over at Jack and narrowed his eyes. “I’m a good judge of horseflesh, son. And you are no cog.”
He looked back down at his packed casino floor.
“How can you be so sure?” Jack asked.
“Because they are down there and you are up here with me.” He turned and grinned at Jack in a benevolent and yet kingly way.
Jack nodded, accepting the compliment, and looked back down at the casino.
“It’s quite a view.”
“You have to watch every minute. They’ll get away with whatever they can, like children.”
Jack wasn’t sure if he was talking about his guests or his son anymore.
Whitmore turned to him. “You have any children, Jack?”
Jack shook his head.
Whitmore pursed his lips and took in a deep breath through his nose as he nodded. “Don’t.”
He turned away from the window and returned to his desk.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Jack said. “Susan certainly turned out all right.”
Whitmore chuckled. “That she did.”
He picked up one of the picture frames from his desk and admired it for a moment. “Even prettier than her momma was.”
He held the picture out to Jack. “Beautiful.”
Whitmore looked at it one more time, his eyes wistful. It didn’t last long. He shut that emotion down and put the picture back on his desk.
He fixed Jack with a steady gaze. “So, you find my daughter attractive, do you?”
Jack felt a twinge of discomfort. He’d been asked that question by fathers before. There was never any right answer.
“Sir, I think any man in his right mind would.”
Whitmore laughed and Jack let himself unclench a little.
Whitmore nodded. “And you’re not married?”
The question made him a little uneasy. “No.”
Whitmore nodded again, and Jack could see the wheels in his mind turning.
“But your daughter is.”
This was turning into a very uncomfortable and odd exchange.
Whitmore looked back at the photos on his desk. “Nothing is forever.”
Jack wasn’t sure what to make of that. Were Susan and Tony having trouble? Was Whitmore trying to make trouble for them? Was that why he asked Jack to come over, to be the trouble?
Whatever it was Whitmore was thinking about, he thought better of it,
at least for now. When he looked up, the troubled calculating look was gone and the king was back.
“Now, tell me. How can I repay you?” he said.
Jack shook his head. “There’s no need.”
“I take my debts seriously. You saved my life. I aim to repay you for that.”
Jack held up his hand. “Really, I don’t want anything.”
“What do you drive? I have a friend who—”
“No, no, really,” Jack protested. “I’m just glad I was able to help.”
Whitmore grunted, displeased. “You’re going to make this hard for me, aren’t you?”
“Tell you what,” Jack said. “You mentioned something about the best steak in town. You deliver on that and we’ll call it even.”
Whitmore snorted and reluctantly smiled. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I love a good steak.”
~~~
Jack put his hands up against the tile of the bathroom shower, dipped his head and let the warm water run down his neck and onto his back. He rolled his neck from side to side to work out the kinks.
His lunch with Whitmore had been entertaining and educational. Whitmore wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions. Hell, he wasn’t shy about anything as far as Jack could see. He was the sort of man you’d get into a bar room brawl with and end up sharing a beer with at the end of it. If he didn’t kill you first.
He told a heck of a joke, too. However, Jack knew a man like Carson Whitmore didn’t get where he was by being the life of the party. He got there through hard work and more than a little ruthlessness.
Jack had seen a taste of that in the way he’d dealt with Ronnie. There was no love lost there.
Jack had only learned a little about the land for sale they’d been arguing about. He didn’t know exactly where it was, but it was worth a lot of money and apparently finding the right buyer was difficult. Whitmore was a savvy businessman.
He might not be the cold-blooded killer some of his mob counterparts were, but he was no pushover, and clearly didn’t mind pushing over anyone in his way. Jack had to wonder if his son-in-law was one of those people. He knew that Whitmore and Santo were having a business problem, but had no idea what it was. Whatever it was, Susan seemed to be in the middle of it.
Jack turned off the taps and ran a quick hand through his hair.
He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped his hand back and forth across the mirror to clear away the fog and stared at his reflection.
He knew from firsthand experience that the fastest way to get to a man was through the people he loved. In Whitmore’s case, that was Susan. And if Tony Santo wasn’t a complete ass, it would be the same for him. Throw in a brother jealous of Susan’s position with their father and she was in potential danger on multiple fronts. And those were only the ones he knew about so far.
Jack frowned at himself. He’d have to get a lot more information fast, and a lot closer to Susan, if he was going to save her. He ran a hand over his chin scratching at the five o’clock shadow that always came early.
“Hell.”
He hated shaving. Felt like he spent half his life doing it. A nice relaxing shave at a good barbershop, however, was one of the world’s little pleasures. And, as luck would have it, the Paradise had its very own barbershop.
~~~
The barbershop yielded nothing but a smooth, close shave, but he’d take it. Freshly shaven, Jack made the rounds through the cafe, the casino, and finally, the lounge to see if Susan was there. The lounge was intimate, maybe twenty or so two and four-top tables clustered around a small stage. Smoke hovered in a cloud above the crowd.
“I just got back from a pleasure trip. I took my mother-in-law to the airport.”
Jack laughed in spite of himself. It was an old joke, maybe even as old as the man who told it. The Great Merlini had apparently been a staple in Las Vegas since the war. His show was half comedy and half magic and all schtick, and the audience loved it.
He pulled flowers out of thin air as he told crusty old vaudeville one-liners.
“I’ve been in love with the same woman for forty-nine years.”
The audience applauded.
He smiled in appreciation. “Thank you. It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? And if my wife ever finds out, she’ll kill us both.”
Jack chuckled and scanned the crowd. No Susan. That left him with only two more places to search.
The restaurant ended up being a bust, and if he didn’t find her in the Avalon, he probably wouldn’t tonight.
The Avalon was the Paradise’s all-purpose main room. It was their answer to the Sand’s popular Copa. Jack paid his five dollars for dinner and a show and entered through the main door at the back of the room.
The Avalon was a decent sized theater, maybe four or five hundred people could fill it up. The stage was long and slightly narrow running the length of the rectangular room. Crystal chandeliers hung suspended over the crowd.
It was basically a dinner theater set-up on three slightly staggered levels, with small rounds at the top for the cheap seats, then a few steps down were the luxury half-moon booths in the middle, and finally rows of long tables lined up perpendicular to the stage.
A small orchestra tucked into a corner played standards while everyone ordered dinner and drinks and waited for the floorshow to begin.
Jack made his way down the center aisle until he reached the booth level. If Susan was here, that’s where she’d be. It didn’t take him long to spot her. Even though she was facing away from him, her blonde hair and her husband, Tony, gave her away.
Jack walked casually past their booth and stopped a few paces from the far aisle. He turned and pretended to look for a spot at a table down front before looking back and catching Susan’s eye.
He smiled and started toward her.
She said something to her husband who turned and looked Jack up and down without any pretense of doing anything else.
“Susan,” Jack said.
“Good to see you,” she said and turned to her husband. “Tony, this is Jack. Jack, this is my husband, Tony Santo.”
Jack held out his hand. Tony stood up as far as the table would let him and shook hands.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Jack said.
Tony lifted an eyebrow. “No?”
“He’s just being modest,” Susan said.
She looked at her husband asking silent permission the way couples do. Tony shrugged.
The power of his indifference was palpable.
“I should probably get a seat,” Jack said.
“Sit with us. There’s plenty of room and we’d love the company.”
Tony did not love the idea, or even like it that much, but he also didn’t seem to care enough to stop it.
“If you’re sure?” Jack said.
Tony shrugged again and moved over halfheartedly. Susan slid around in the booth making room for Jack to sit on the other side of her.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “Great place you got here.”
Tony nodded, but his focus was already elsewhere.
“So, how did lunch go with my father?” Susan asked.
That got Tony’s attention. “You had lunch with Whitmore?”
Jack looked at Susan briefly then back to Tony. “Yeah, he just wanted to thank me for the other day.”
Tony frowned. “Yeah. Your heroics.”
It was painfully clear that he wasn’t a fan.
“You know,” he continued, “I’ve known Carson Whitmore for ten years. You know how many times he’s invited me over for lunch?”
He held up a finger. “Once. Chewed me out. Like I was some scrub teenager who pawed his daughter in the back of a car. She’s my freakin’ wife.”
“Tony,” Susan said, embarrassed.
Tony looked away. “Whatever. We get this deal squared away with him and he can do whatever he wants.”
&nbs
p; Susan was about to say something to Jack, an apology by the look on her face, but a couple approached the table. The man looked to be in his early forties and straight off a Vegas stage. He was a little too tan and his teeth a little too white. He had a young woman maybe half his age on his arm. She filled out what there was of her dress with authority. Her curves had curves that threatened to spill out any moment.
“Tony, good to see you,” the man said as he and Tony shook hands. His eyes darted over to Susan and something passed between them. Jack wasn’t quite sure what it was though.
Tony managed a routine but tired smile for the man, but his attention was focused on the woman with him. “So tell me, Bobby. Where have you been hiding this one?”
Bobby laughed and kissed the girl’s hand. “Yolanda,” he said, lingering in a slightly dirty way over her name and added a not so subtle eyebrow waggle.
Tony held out his hand. The girl delicately dropped hers into his.
Tony grinned. “A pleasure.”
Jack glanced at Susan, who was smiling amiably, but the corners of her mouth were tight. And who could blame her? Her husband was doing everything short of hitting on a woman right in front of her.
Yolanda giggled nervously and dipped in a small curtsy, at least as far her dress would allow. “Pleased, I’m sure.”
Bobby looked over at Susan again. “You’re looking good, Susie.”
She sat up a little straighter and gathered her pride. “Thank you.”
But she still couldn’t keep her eyes on his. Whatever had gone on between them, she felt uncomfortable about it now. And from the way Bobby was looking at her, he seemed to be enjoying her discomfort a little too much.
Jack slid out from his spot in the booth and held out his hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Jack Wells. A friend of Susan’s.”
Bobby’s brow went up in surprise. It almost looked like he had something to say about that, but thought better of it.
“Bobby Lord.”
“He’s a performer,” Susan said, almost dismissively, as if she was talking about the help.
Bobby blanched slightly. “Yeah, aren’t we all? I just get paid for it.”
He looked at Susan, making sure his comment hit the mark. It did. Susan’s composure fell for a moment. But only Jack and Bobby saw it. Tony was too enraptured with Yolanda to notice.
Jacks Are Wild: An Out of Time Novel (Saving Time, Book 1) Page 6