Dead Ringer

by Michael A. Black

  “So, did I snore or say anything really embarrassing?”

  “No more than usual,” she said, with a self-satisfied smile.

  I figured it was better not to inquire further.

  The plane canted and we saw the Strip, the huge hotels looking like real expensive toys spread out in a cluttered sidewalk. I wondered what Vegas would be like in ten years if the building craze continued. Chappie’s remark on my last trip had sort of stayed with me. “Shit, when I was fighting out here, wasn’t nothing around ’cepting Fremont and a few big hotels. Now there’s wall-to-wall people.”

  And one of them was Bayless. I checked the copy of the Sun-Times in my carry-on gym case. Still there.

  “You really think he’ll be intimidated enough to cooperate when he sees that?” Alex asked.

  “One headline’s worth a thousand words, and this one’s a doozy.” It read, in big block letters: DENTIST AND ASSISTANT SLAIN.

  We were descending now, the ground getting closer and closer. I started a slow count, estimating that we’d touch down in about fifteen seconds. We hit the tarmac in ten, harder than I thought we would. The big turbines turned it up a notch as they began to spin in reverse, and I felt the pull on the brakes. The plane slowed and everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief, whether they wanted to admit it or not. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lost Wages.”

  As soon as we’d deplaned, we headed to the washrooms before making the hike to pick up our luggage. Naturally, Hal went in first. I glanced at Alex and told her I’d watch the carry-ons if she wanted to go to the ladies’ room. “Unless you figure the men’s room would be quicker.”

  She smirked and as she walked away, said, “Don’t think I wouldn’t.”

  I shifted my gym bag to my right forearm and took off my watch to reset it to Nevada time. It was only four-forty-five here. I refastened my watch and checked my cell. The screen showed a missed call from George.

  “How’s things in sin city?” he asked. The reception was iffy, but it always was on the Ryan.

  “Hot and nice,” I said. We went by an island of slot machines. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to let you know, our buddy Nick Farnsworth still isn’t anywhere to be found.” He laughed. “Of course, maybe he’s out helping the homeless.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “I think I might know where he is. Someone at Alex’s office tipped his lawyer daddy that we were out here.”

  I heard him sigh. “Not much point in asking daddy lawbucks where he’s at, either.”

  “Keep checking under some rocks,” I said. “And maybe with some of the airlines. You guys can get access to passenger lists, right?”

  “If I ask sweetly.”

  “I guess I can forget that, then. Anything on that Russian dude?”

  “Nope, but I’m looking.” His laugh was bitter. “You got any fucking idea how many Russkies are named Viktor?”

  “More than three?”

  “Yeah, a lot more. But, we did get a line on the dude you shot.”

  “Great, who is he?”

  “John Doe. At least we’re pretty sure it’s the same guy. The ET’s lifted a blood print from the dashboard. Norris said they told him the guy must have been close to bleeding out from the amount of blood that was in the car. So they’re still checking all the hospitals. My guess is he’ll turn up in the morgue or on a dump.”

  “Or maybe in Sunset Manor. Why don’t you get a warrant for that place?”

  “With what as probable cause? The fact that you think the guys that attacked you were Russkies?”

  I sighed. We were still marching down the long aisle toward the shuttle tram, and Alex St. James and old Hal were ahead of me. “No ID on the print yet?”

  “Nah, nothing. We’re running it through the FBI now. Maybe he’ll turn up with an arrest record in another state, if we’re lucky. Then I can run his known associates and maybe get a line on our buddy Viktor.”

  He pronounced the name with a heavy accent.

  “I didn’t know you spoke Russian,” I said.

  “I don’t. I was imitating Schwarzenegger. Wanted to make you feel at home. He’s the governator out there, ain’t he?”

  “That’s California. We’re in Nevada. And he’s Austrian.”

  “Close enough. Besides, he played a Russian copper in Red Heat with Belushi. Anyway, if it’s possible these assholes are in Vegas, you watch your ass.”

  “I always do, but why’d you mention it?”

  “The way this thing’s playing out, these guys ain’t your typical street punks.”

  “So?”

  “They had the foresight to have another ride stashed and ready for their getaway. And the way they did that dentist and his secretary . . . Lulinski told me it looked like a couple of professional hits.” The rest of his sentence faded away.

  I considered this. Very cold-blooded. Very Spetsnaz.

  “Ron, you there?” His voice brought me back.

  “Yeah, I lost you for second.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting to a bad spot. I said, don’t discount the possibility that they might already be out there. Like I told you, nobody’s seen hide nor hair of Farnsworth lately, and it fits with what you told me.”

  “I hope they are,” I said. “I’d like a rematch with the dude who tried to run me down.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “just remember that you’re dealing with some sociopathic motherfuckers.”

  I grinned, even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “Maybe I’ll have this thing all wrapped up for you by the time I get back.” I caught up to Alex and Hal at the shuttle doors. She looked up at me as I talked.

  “Hey, I’m serious,” George said. “You ain’t licensed to pack in Nevada, buddy.”

  “Don’t worry. I got that covered.”

  “Huh? How?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Any word on the demise of the good Doctor Colon?”

  “Cause of death for both was a close contact wound to the back of the head. A couple of cold-blooded dispatches. Office was ransacked, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  “So, most likely the killer was looking for something, then?”

  “Probably, but that’s an assumption. Still, we’d like to talk to Farnsworth about Colon. There’s got to be some connection with all this. I mean, Colon fixed the teeth of the homeless and Farnsworth buried them.”

  “And sometimes not in that order,” I added.

  “Like I said, watch your ass.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Ron . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t do nothing illegal as far as carrying a gun. I don’t want to get a call to wire you any bond money.”

  “I told you, I got that covered,” I said. “I’m on my way to see a bondsman.”

  I hung up on him, fished out the card I needed, and began punching in another number.

  “Who are you calling now?” Alex asked.

  I glanced toward the big window to the right. I could see the shuttle tram making its smooth run along the cement track toward us. “A guy I know from the army. Lives out here.”

  “Can’t we get our luggage first?”

  “Relax.” I finished putting in the long-digited number and pressed the SEND button. “It’s not even off the plane yet.” I pointed in the direction of the monorail shuttle that would take us to the baggage claim section. “Besides, we still have a long walk just to get to baggage claim.”

  The phone rang twice before a gruff male voice answered. “Licardo bail bond.”

  “Hey, Tony, it’s Ron Shade.”

  “Ronnie.” His voice immediately warmed up. “What you been up to? How’s Chi-town?”

  “Actually, I’m in your backyard. Just landed at McCarran.”

  “No shit? What, you got another fight out here, or something?”

  “Or something. I wanted to touch bases with you.” Alex St. James turned away f
rom me, as if she couldn’t care less about my conversation. “I’m working a case and might need some local assistance.”

  “Does it involve a bail jumper?”

  That was the Tony I remembered. Always looking for an angle. All business. “Sort of. Only there’s no bail on this one. It’s a missing person case.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  I could almost hear his mental wheels whirling, trying to calculate how profitable this would be for him. “I thought I’d drop by your place after I get my car. You still at the same address?”

  He repeated the Desert Palm Street address that was on his card.

  “Yeah, come on by. It’ll be good to see you again.”

  As I hung up I spied the shuttle through the huge Plexiglas windows, unloading the departing people on the other side of us.

  “Why did you say that?” Alex asked as the doors for our side opened.

  “Say what?”

  “ ‘Touch bases.’ ” The three of us stepped inside and sat on the area next to the window. “I’ve always thought it was ‘touch base.’ ”

  I considered this for a moment and realized she was probably right. Since I’d always been too busy punching bags or running track growing up, I never took the time to learn the rudiments of the national pastime.

  “Well, ordinarily it would be,” I said, as the shuttle closed. It was just her, me, and Hal in the car, so I shot out a super-quick jab. “But when you’re as fast as I am, you say ‘bases.’ ”

  Luckily, the shuttle lurched forward and I grabbed the long metal pole for support, sparing me any further demonstrations.

  Alex St. James

  A tram ride later, and just as we entered the enormous baggage claim area, Hal had to make yet another pit stop.

  On the phone again, Shade gave me a look that said, “I told you he’s going to slow us down.”

  I turned away, rolling my eyes when I knew he couldn’t see me. They were both slowing us down.

  Let Shade make his important calls. He was probably a player, and I didn’t mean the kind who sat at a Baccarat table. Chances were he was “touching bases” with a girlfriend—or twelve—to tell the poor dears that he landed safely.

  None of which was helping my story.

  I wanted to get moving.

  “I’ll be with the luggage,” I said, loud enough to break into his conversation. He signaled me to wait, but I shook my head. “You wait for Hal.”

  Striding toward the cavernous carousel area, I finally felt like I’d accomplished something. At a minimum, I was moving. Coupling the daylong wait at Midway with my inability to move freely on the plane for the past several hours, I was tense, irritable and wanting to break away. Now.

  Getting the luggage would help.

  My bright purple suitcases popped over the top of the carousel, and I scurried to retrieve them. Hal and Shade would have to find their own, since I didn’t pay close enough attention to their belongings to recognize them now. I snapped up my wheelies’ handles and started back. Shade spotted me from across the room and changed his trajectory.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Still walking, I pointed toward the rent-a-car counter. “Somebody has to get us organized here.”

  “Just wait till I get my stuff.”

  I didn’t stop. “I’ll be in line right there.” I pointed. “Where’s Hal?”

  Shade yanked a thumb over his shoulder. “Playing the slots.”

  “For crying out loud. Doesn’t he know we’re here to work?”

  “Go get him then, while I get my stuff.”

  “No,” I said, “you go get him.” Shade had followed me to the rent-a-car location, and I was already in line. A long one. My voice betrayed my impatience. “Tell him to get his butt over to the luggage with you and then both of you meet me here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted.

  “Hop to it, soldier.” I fought a smile as I turned away. At least someone was finally listening to me.

  Just as I was making the final arrangements for the car, Shade came waltzing up with the luggage and Hal in tow.

  “You win anything?” I asked him.

  He shook his head sadly.

  Good.

  Shade and I battled a bit over the hotel arrangements. He wanted to go check in as soon as we got our car, but I felt it was just one more delay. As the woman behind the rent-a-car counter processed an extra driver, Shade persisted.

  “But what if they give our rooms away?” he asked. “Then what do we do?”

  “Our rooms are reserved,” I said. “They can’t give them away.”

  “You better hope you’re right.” He shook his head. “I mean, it’d be a real shame if we had to double up.” He wiggled an eyebrow at me.

  “I’d manage to find a room for myself,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Hal who stood about thirty feet away, surrounded by luggage. “But you two would make interesting roommates.”

  Just then the counter clerk handed us our paperwork.

  I grinned at Shade. “Don’t forget, he snores.”

  “Just the same, I’d feel better if we got ourselves settled.”

  I bit my lip. Another delay.

  Shade, Hal and I took the shuttle to the remote lot where Shade insisted on upgrading from a Taurus to a big cream-colored Cadillac Escalade. Another delay. While we waited, he told me that his trainer, Chappie, said, “A champ should always ride in a Cadillac.” Truth be told, I was impressed by his world-champ title, though I was loathe to admit it at the moment. I was hungry, tired, and more than a little bit annoyed by the constant drag on our time.

  Shade drove, Hal took shotgun, and I sat in the back. I was starting to feel like the useless female again. But then, just before we pulled out, Shade turned around. “Okay, your call. I think we should get our rooms because we need a base of operations. There’s no telling how long we’ll be at the Bayless house, and the last thing we need is complexity when we’re tired tonight. Plus it’s good to have somewhere people can reach us to leave messages.” He fixed me with an earnest stare. “But it’s up to you.”

  “I’m just worried. It’s already after five. How are we supposed to find where Bayless lives? I’m sure all the official buildings are either closed by now or will be soon.”

  He dug into a pocket and pulled out a note. “Here.”

  It was an address for a Robert Barstow. “This is Bayless?” I asked.

  “Yep.” Before I could say anything else, he pulled out pictures and handed them to me. “And here’s the happy couple.”

  They were copies of Illinois drivers’ licenses for Robert Bayless and Candice Prokovis. I was amazed and nearly speechless. Coupled with the address, Shade had eliminated the biggest challenge we faced. Finding these people. “How did you get these?”

  He smiled as I handed the papers back to him. “I got friends in low places.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Suddenly ebullient, I grinned. “You’re good.”

  He wagged an eyebrow. “You have no idea.”

  I was about to quip back, but Hal chimed in, “So where are we going first?”

  They both looked at me.

  “Let’s go check in.”

  Chapter 19

  Ron Shade

  I was beginning to feel like spending time with this high-maintenance gal was like going a couple of rounds in the gym, with one hand tied behind my back. All she did was complain and find fault. We were like two bull goats, butting heads over which way to go on the mountain path. I glanced in the mirror and saw her pretty face staring back at me. Well, maybe not a bull goat . . . She smiled at me. No, definitely not.

  “Aren’t we going the wrong way?” she asked a moment later.

  I’d taken a left on Koval, instead of a right, and then another left on Las Vegas Boulevard. We were going past the Luxor with the Mandalay Bay coming up on the right. “Nope.”

  “But we’re going south. The Venetian is back that way.”


  Of course, she was correct, but I’d be damned if I was going to admit my mistake in front of Ms. High Maintenance. “Yeah, I know. But this is a special route.”

  I drove down Las Vegas Boulevard until we went past the big sign telling us to drive carefully and come back soon, and turned around.

  “There it is,” I said, “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. It’s one of my favorite sights.” Naturally, this elicited an exasperated sigh from Alex St. James.

  “Aww, looks like the old Klondike Casino is closed,” I said.

  Another sigh, this one more exaggerated. “That’s a real tragedy . . . And this has what to do with our assignment again?”

  “I always like to drive past this spot,” I said, by way of explanation.

  “Wonderful. Now can you do something to avoid some of this traffic?”

  It was getting pretty heavy, so I edged over to turn right at Tropicana and take the back way in.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she asked, her voice lilting with sarcasm.

  “Yeah, like the back of my hand. This ain’t the first time I been out here.” I pointed to the MGM and said to Hal, “I had a fight in that place once.”

  “Great,” he said. “Say, how soon till we get there? I got to go to the bathroom.”

  So much for male solidarity. I shot a quick look back at Alex. How did I get stuck with these two? But at least she was easy on the eyes. Plus, I got a feeling that under that ice-princess exterior beat the heart of a real sweetheart. Maybe someday I’d find out. I glanced at her in the mirror again, and this time she looked away. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t find out.

  Now it was all beginning to come back to me . . . My early morning runs along the streets east of the Strip. I cut over on Koval and took it north. The traffic was noticeably lighter, so we reached the back entrance to the hotel in about ten minutes. I still needed to get to Tony’s place before we went Bayless hunting. I parked in the special section that allowed us express check-in and left the luggage with a bellman. I slipped the guy a twenty and told him which rooms we were in. I figured after my unintended detour, time was of the essence, and the expense account would handle it.