“But she’s there?”
“She’s here all right, but like I told you, Rolando’s not. Yiolanda’s been spending the evening in some guy’s lap.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Yeah, I’m kidding all right. She’s not in his lap, but they’re sitting so close you couldn’t slide a napkin between them. I’m beginning to think she’s a sex maniac. Some women are, you know. They go crazy about sex. They’ll do anything to get it. Hey, do you want me to interrupt her conversation, say you’re asking for her on the phone?”
“Yeah, Joey. Tell her I want to say ‘hi.’”
She took four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to reach the phone.
“Having a grand time tonight?”
“I’m getting along.” Her voice was crisp.
“I’m not. Your sandwich shop disappeared.”
“I send you to do one small favor for me, and you can’t do it?”
“There’s no sandwich shop with orange umbrellas anywhere near where you told me.”
“On Thursdays the shop is no longer open in the afternoon, only in the evening. You went too early. Go back and take another look.”
She hung up.
I slammed my phone shut so hard two passersby turned to stare.
On the very off chance that she was telling the truth, I had to traipse back to Bally’s and take another look.
The corridor had filled, but I was right the first time; there weren’t any sandwich shops. There weren’t even any eateries with umbrellas. I stopped for a black cherry ice cream, trying to figure if there was any way I could have misinterpreted Yiolanda’s message or if there was any way she might have gotten it wrong herself, but the only rational answer was that she’d spun a web that I’d proceeded to fly into.
As I passed Bally’s theater, a line of tourists waited for admission to the magic show. I thought about buying a last-minute ticket, but I was too fidgety to sit in place. There were empty seats at the nickel slot machines, but I didn’t want to try that either. When it came to gambling, I could be rational. The numbers were always against the player.
It was too early to go back to a hotel room that would make me think even more about Yiolanda. Instead I sauntered down to the Bellaggio and joined the Vegas tradition of waiting for the fountain to erupt to classical music. I wouldn’t have long to wait; people were already lined all along the handrail in front of the fountain. People had also taken places along the incline leading up towards the entrance to the hotel. Amongst the crowd I spotted a few singles, mostly other men. A majority of the groups consisted of parents clutching the hands of small children.
No matter how Vegas had started out, it had become a prime family destination. I was out of place on every level.
After a trumpet fanfare, water shot towards the sky, accompanied by the oohing and aahing of the spectators. The water crashed and danced in synchronization to the music. A young couple before me clutched each other in anticipation of each new burst of aquatic energy. Beside me a man lifted his son so that the boy wouldn’t miss an inch of the action.
When the show finished, satisfied out-of-towners turned to their companions to share their reactions. They melted into the Strip, laughing and chatting because they’d gotten what they’d come for. I didn’t move. I stared into the shallow water, watching the ripples slowly fade. “Passion is a blooming flower,” Yiolanda had told me. But flowers bloomed more than a few days at a time even after they’d been slain with a pair of scissors and thrown in a vase. Yiolanda’s proclaimed passion lasted less time than the Bellaggio show.
I walked on down to Caesar’s, entered the shopping mall, and went to the far end where I could visit the fake marble fountain under the fake blue sky. The mythical scene venerated a goddess protected by horses whose wilted faces mirrored my own. A continual stream of visitors vied for prime positions to take pictures beside the steeds’ heads so that they could share their quickie trip to Rome with their friends back in Kansas.
Behind the fountain, diners enjoyed the illusion of eating at an outdoor restaurant cooled by the bubbling sounds of water. While recent arrivals attacked mounds of pasta, others sipped espressos, their faces red with wine and their voices buoyant with the knowledge that they’d achieved, at least for the night, some form of the good life.
I wished I were so easily satisfied. I tried to imagine myself sitting with Stefani, happily finishing a luxurious dinner. But no, she would have said something to set me off with annoying reminders about something I had or hadn’t done or needed or didn’t need to do.
Yiolanda was totally different. She was focused. She only made demands when she wanted something. By now whomever’s lap cat she’d become for the night was probably on top of her. Not that she was making love. She was gaining control. No wonder she’d strayed from Rolando. Over him she already had all the control she wanted.
I kicked myself again for letting Yiolanda talk me into helping her. I hadn’t even argued. I’d muttered objections before giving in. I’d behaved exactly as she’d expected me to. It was small comfort to know that Leonard had been locked more completely under her wrap. Year after year she had him yearning for more, grateful for any stolen hour. No wonder she so often came to visit her “sick mother.” Leonard probably paid the airfare.
But I’d done more for less—risking my life running from thugs through the streets of Squid Bay, rescuing her in the middle of the night, breaking into her house at her request. Not even Joey had been able to pound sense into me. He’d tried, but I’d been too stubborn to listen. I hadn’t even listened to myself.
Middle-aged lovebirds asked me to take their picture in front of the fountain, thanking me profusely when I took the time to angle the shot. They waltzed into the outdoor restaurant, lucking out with a front row view of the fountain and reveling in their good fortune. I envied their simple pleasures. I couldn’t imagine a single simple dinner with Yiolanda. There was nothing simple about her, and I was lucky that all I’d lost was a little time and some of my dignity. Only Joey and Pablo knew how close I’d veered to the abyss.
Never mind. Yiolanda had roped me into being her knight in shining armor, but I was ready to discard the metal along with the chivalry. I turned off my self-analysis. Instead of trying to out-reason her, I merely needed to resist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I hit the Strip and kept walking. The only thing that calmed my nerves was the rhythm of my feet. I continued down the Strip as far as Monte Carlo before turning around and heading the other way. When I hit the Venetian, I went inside to see if the café I liked was still open.
A woman and her daughter were watching a cook make them crepes. A couple was sitting down over coffee. A man was seated reading a newspaper.
Phil was behind the counter. He greeted me as if he remembered who I was. “Long time no see.”
“Too much work.”
“At least I don’t have any saucy headlines to show you this time. Frappé?”
I nodded. My mistake. He did remember.
“I’ve been in L.A., so I haven’t kept track. Did the police ever find out anything about those murders?”
He measured out the coffee. “Depends on your point of view. They were holding some woman for a while, but the evidence didn’t check out.”
“A woman?”
“That’s what I heard.” He bent down to watch the liquid drip into the glass, waiting for the optimal amount. “It’s been hush-hush. The police either don’t know, or they don’t want to say.”
Phil handed me the coffee. As I paid him, I motioned for him to sit down with me. “A hotel owner and a male dancer are a strange pair of victims.”
Phil twisted the ends of his apron. “Get this. The hotel guy used to come in here.” He indicated the table under a mural showing Montmartre. “He used to sit right over there next to the wall. Dino told me about him. I didn’t know it until later. Hey, Dino?”
Dino, the crepe chef, was cleaning up after his las
t creation. He wiped his hands on his apron and came over to us. Despite his white hair, he had a youthful look.
“Tell us about that guy who got killed.”
Dino sat down with us; evidently the café’s informality extended to all the staff. “Poor fellow. Used to come in here all the time. Always asked for a chocolate crepe with extra sauce. Said I was the only guy in town who could make them the way he liked them.”
“Any ideas as to why someone would murder him?” I asked.
“None. He was a decent guy, friendly. Asked how you were doing and meant it. Always left a tip. He was the only customer that’s ever done so, but he claimed I was underpaid, that I should be working at a French restaurant instead of a café.” The man chuckled. “Of course I never got around to telling him that I own the café.”
“Did this guy come in by himself?” I asked.
“Most of the time. Sometimes he was with a woman.”
“His wife?”
“Tsk, tsk.” Dino stretched his arms over his head. There were sweat circles on each side of his shirt. “One night he and this woman were having crepes. It was pretty late at night. In fact I’d already turned off the grill, but when I saw the guy come in, I turned it back on again. You know how it is. Some customers you don’t mind going out of your way for. Anyway, all of a sudden the guy spots his wife marching right past looking for him. Pays us to let him slip out the back.”
Phil shook his head. “Whenever I get off early, I miss something good.”
“The man was that worried?” I asked.
“I’d say embarrassed. His lady friend was pulling on his arm and telling him not to go, but by that time he was fishing money out of his wallet. And hell, we’ve got a back door, so why not?”
“Sure.” I could imagine the scene down to Yiolanda’s purring “stay here” so she’d have the pleasure of watching Edith crumble in front of her.
“My hunch is that the wife already knew he was cheating and wanted to catch him at something stronger than coffee.”
Phil wiped his lip with his index finger. “If she did catch him, maybe she killed him.”
“You think the wife was that wild?” I asked.
“It doesn’t cost much to get somebody knocked off these days.”
“Maybe this guy had business partners,” I said. “He could have been in trouble with them.”
“Hotel Farfalla is smaller than this café. It can’t be turning that much of a profit. Besides, I hear it’s family run. Chances are, whatever happened stemmed from something personal.”
I nodded. “Chances are, you’re right.”
***
After I left the café I took the long route back to the hotel by swinging past the alleyway behind Dazzle! Dazzle! As I approached, G.C. and Cross exited the building and headed my way. They’d changed back to street clothes, so they were wearing tight jeans and silk shirts. They hadn’t seen me because they were busy talking. I wasn’t sure that they would recognize me, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by turning around mid-stride. I crawled into an open cab.
The twenty-year-old cabbie yawned. He hadn’t bathed for a day or so, and his black hair stuck up in tufts around his head. “Where do you want to go, buddy?”
Behind me, G.C. and Cross had stopped in front of a sleek black motorcycle.
“We’re off to a party,” I said, pointing. “Follow my friends.”
“Easiest thing I’ve done all day.”
G.C. drove straight to the Strip. He was intent, but that was the demeanor bikers took to show they could concentrate. I might have had ten thousand dollars back at Hotel Farfalla, but I only had forty in my pocket. When we passed the Stratosphere, I got worried. I didn’t want to spend the night walking back to the hotel, but the downtown area was a likely destination. If my pals wanted to unwind after work, this was a likely place.
As the meter hit twenty-five, G.C. made a left on Carson, turned onto a side street, and parked his bike amidst a bunch of others. I got out of the cab and concealed myself behind a parked van. Bright street lights illuminated the stream of late-night drinkers cruising from bar to bar. I hustled among them. The drinkers were the same age as the cabbie. Young blood.
The duo had parked beside Vegas Elegance, a new downtown hotel. They strode past it and hit the palm-studded walkway leading through the property of the Grand View Hotel. Unlike Yiolanda’s mysterious café, at least the hotel existed. I followed G.C. and Cross, keeping a safe distance. Instead of entering the hotel, they followed an alternate walkway that led around to the side. By the time I reached the same spot, they’d disappeared.
I walked partway down the street, judging possibilities. To my right stretched the grounds of Grand View. To my left a series of bars competed to see whose radio was the loudest. None of the bars enticed me, and I couldn’t afford to let G.C. and Cross spot me before I spotted them. I didn’t think they could have concealed weapons in their tight pants, but I didn’t want to count on it.
I meandered over to the Fremont Experience, an all-night mall that housed stores and hotels, restaurants and bars. I tried not to be obvious as my eyes scoured the sea of drinkers. When I thought someone had called out to me, I reeled around, causing two women to trip.
“Asshole!” they yelled after me.
I couldn’t help being edgy, so I found an alcove where I could stand out of the way. The other strollers were more purposeful than I was. If they hadn’t gotten what they’d come for, at least they’d known what they wanted.
I couldn’t even be sure why I’d agreed to come to Vegas. I couldn’t imagine a tortuous ten-year affair either; ten days of a heightened friendship were plenty. Any pleasure Leonard had reaped from Yiolanda he’d paid for with anxiety. The picture from the newspaper obituary was too blurry to show details, but I remembered the snapshot I’d seen at Edith’s of a man with a wide face and over-happy smile. He didn’t seem like the type to desperately rush after sudden opportunities. His slipping from the café suggested a conscience, yet if he were audacious enough to go around town with Yiolanda, Edith could have easily discovered them. Their home wasn’t far enough away.
I was more bewildered by a decade-long affair on the part of Yiolanda. It wasn’t her style. Maybe Leonard had become a habit, a necessary stroke to her ego, but not even his namesake made him out as a natural ladies’ man. The truth was that I had no way to understand Yiolanda. Luckily I didn’t need one.
I returned to the side street, hurrying past the bar entrances and keeping myself in the midst of other walkers. I needn’t have bothered. G.C.’s motorcycle was gone. The bars promised only drunken companions, so I followed the palm-lined path to the entrance of Grand View. I wanted to know what I was missing.
The main lobby had immense ceilings with crystal chandeliers and worn red velvet furniture. I claimed a cushioned chair and watched the stream of handsome guests. They exuded an energetic, devil-may-care nonchalance. No wonder Yiolanda felt at home here.
Presumably she’d met Leonard here from time to time to throw his wife off track. After all, the long red velvet curtains hinted at dignity, a throwback to another mind set. Thirty years ago, the hotel would have been top of the line. Now it was quaint, struggling to capture something that no longer existed, the way I’d been trying to make Yiolanda into the woman she couldn’t be. She was the fog that fled when you came near, the rainbow that taunted you by showing its arc. She wasn’t quite real.
I sat for a while in the lobby, but not even pretty, well-dressed women kept my attention. I walked out past the main desk. The four clerks with matching jackets and Vegas pins stood behind a solid marble counter, two computer monitors looming between them. Even if I could have reached the computer to check the register, I would have learned nothing. I hardly expected Yiolanda or her lover to have signed anything close to their real names. I told myself I didn’t care.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The afternoon flight to John Wayne Airport afforded perfect visibility.
The rocky desert slopes of Red Rock Canyon were clear from the moment of ascent until they dwindled out of sight. Moments later, we descended over the California coastline, where the Pacific tangoed in choppy waves.
I’d only slept a couple of hours. The resulting headache sharpened my thinking. The knot in my stomach had subsided into a dull throb, and its pulsating message was clear: stay away, stay away, stay away. Yiolanda had dangled me around because I’d allowed her to. It was a natural human instinct. Children did it to their parents, bosses to their employees, lovers to weak partners. I could hardly blame Yiolanda for using such simple strategies to get what she wanted, but I’d had enough. I didn’t even want to be responsible for her money. I’d deposited the whole amount on my way to McCarran. I’d let her worry about how to get it back out.
Thanks to early evening traffic, it was six p.m. before I reached my apartment. I called Stefani to apologize about the mix-up with Joey since I knew good and well she’d still be at work and I’d only need to leave a message. After that I was too restless to be constructive. I had only a short time to kill before going to the restaurant but I didn’t feel like warming up, so I knocked on Mrs. Sfirakis’ door.
“Andy, how are you?” She shook her finger at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of milk again?”
“This time I’ve run out of coffee. So I decided to invite myself over.”
She nodded for me to follow and we trotted into her kitchen, which she’d handily organized with spice racks and jars with hand-printed labels.
“You must be quite a cook.”
“I used to be. Now I’d rather have yogurt. Or cookies.” She opened a package of lemon meringues and arranged them on a plate. “Would you take these out to the balcony?”
The balcony was as orderly as her kitchen. Her newspapers were stacked, her plants pruned, and the cat’s litter box fresh. Suddenly I envied my neighbor’s leisurely world. I hoped I wouldn’t have to reach her age before finding a modicum of peace.
Now that the sun had lowered, I could sit in a shirt without suffocating. I turned my attention to the street below where a stream of tourists hunted for souvenirs and locals hurried home to dinner. From the balcony I could keep my eye on the street’s energy without being part of it. I didn’t have any energy myself. It had evaporated between the long wait at the bank, another one at airport security, and the longer one to catch a bus from the airport to Squid Bay. Now I had to muster enough force to spend the evening in the presence of a woman I needed to resist paying attention to.
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