The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2)

by Michael Panush

  Weatherby and I peered out of the wide window. The Duat Grand Casino was dolled up like an Egyptian palace. Fat round pillars held up the square archway, while red, gold, blue and silver lights twinkled like ancient mosaics. A couple of showgirls stood on the steps and beckoned in the suckers. They looked like Egyptian queens, with long white robes and jewels in their hair and on their arms and wrists. A costumed camel was even trotting around, looking like it wanted to walk into traffic, get hit by a speeding car and put itself out of its misery.

  “I’d be blind not to,” I said. “Are they business rivals?”

  “I could tolerate that. I have tolerated that. But there is something odd about that establishment. Since they opened, about a month ago, business at every casino on the strip has gone down dramatically. The guests get lucky at the slot machines. They get winning hands at the tables. We are losing money. And the Duat appears to be going strong.”

  “So you think fate hasn’t just dealt you fellows a bad hand?” I asked. “You think there’s something up the Duat’s sleeve?”

  “Exactly. The owner of the Duat Grand, an enigmatic man named Nestor Caduceus, has not responded well to our threats and offers. I sent several of my associates to his place of business, to ask him to cease whatever activities he was doing to drive down our business. They have not returned.” Don Vizzini leaned back. “And so, Mr. Candle, I have contacted you. Find out what Caduceus is doing. Report back to me. Let our organization handle the rest.”

  I considered Don Vizzini’s offer. The mobster made Bugsy Siegel look like a saint, but there was no doubt he could pay handsomely for a little snooping. I looked at Weatherby. The kid got good and pissed whenever someone placed a child in danger, and Vizzini had done just that to Henry Wallace Baum. But I guess Weatherby figured that no harm would come from taking a little of the Don’s money. He gave a very slight nod.

  I stood up and held out my hand. Don Vizzini shook it, his bandages feeling rough as sandpaper. “Sure thing, Mr. Vizzini,” I said. “We’ll head over there and snoop around. See what turns up.” I nodded to Weatherby. “Come on, kiddo,” I said. “Let’s see what we can dig up on these Egyptian idiots.”

  We left Don Vizzini’s office, and took the elevator down to the lobby of the Desert Rose. We had the Roadmaster parked on the curb, but I figured it was short enough to walk. Weatherby didn’t say anything as the elevator rocketed down, just put his hands in his pockets and stared at his reflection in the silver mirrored sides. I had a cigarette, and stubbed it out under my boot, rubbing it into the velvet carpet of the lobby. From there, we walked across the street and onto the Vegas Strip.

  “Do you think we can truly serve a man as wicked as Don Vizzini?” Weatherby asked suddenly. “And still retain our own goodness?”

  I stared down at him. “That’s a hell of a question,” I said. “And not one I really want to ask. I’ll tell you this – Don Vizzini’s paying us top dollar. That means we solve the case. Soon as we agreed to it, everything that ain’t the case ain’t important. We crack this nut – and then we can worry about cracking others.”

  We crossed the street, and made our way to the Duat Grand. It seemed even bigger when we stood at the base of its stone stairs and started climbing up. The large glass doors were open, beckoning in with light and music like a lover’s arms.

  “Strange,” Weatherby said, as we entered the main floor of the casino, looking out over a sea of slot machines, standing next to obsidian statues of Egyptian animal-headed gods and beasts. “The name of this casino – the Duat Grand – comes from the title of the Egyptian underworld.”

  I shrugged. “Makes sense to me. A place that could be heaven or hell sure sounds a lot like Vegas.” A waiter passed us, wearing a spotless white tuxedo and a strange wooden jackal mask. All the waiters were wearing similar animal heads. I wondered how they could see out of those things, and avoid colliding into the guests and the slot machines. I took a martini from his tray and sipped it as we walked to the tables.

  At the center table, a familiar face stood behind a fan of cards and a tower of his winnings. He was intent, and didn’t even notice us. His eleven-year-old son did, and came running away from his father to stand before Weatherby. Henry Wallace Baum hurried to Weatherby’s side, then turned and grinned at his father. “Papa! Papa!” he cried, hurrying over to tug his father’s sleeve. Weatherby and I followed. “It’s Mr. Candle and Weatherby!”

  A brick wall was more expressive than his poker face. “Hold on, Henry Wallace,” he said. “Give me exactly one more second.” He didn’t take his eyes from his cards, even as he laid them down and revealed a straight – the best hand at the table. The other players grumbled as he shoveled in the pot. Sly turned to look at us. It was like he was noticing us – and his son – for the first time. “Oh, Mr. Candle!” he said. “Good to see you. What brings you to the Strip?”

  “Just seeing the sights,” I explained. “Particularly in this place. I’m no expert on this whole Egyptian thing—”

  “I am,” Weatherby chimed in.

  “But this is real impressive,” I finished. “All these big pillars, and the mugs in the masks, and some of those showgirls are real easy on the eyes.”

  Sly Baum wore a disheveled blue tuxedo. The bowtie was fastened, but fastened poorly. His dark stringy hair hung over his eyes, which were dark and focused on the game. Henry Wallace wore a white jacket and bowtie. He stood next to Weatherby, waiting anxiously to talk with his friend, and tapping his shined dress shoes on the shinier marble floor.

  “That’s right on the money,” Baum agreed. “This place is all new, you know. It appears to be doing quite well. I’ve got a pretty good eye for these kinds of things, and I can tell you that the Duat Grand is gonna be around for a long time – especially if their luck holds up.”

  “Their luck?” I asked.

  Baum looked both ways to make sure no one was looking. “Say, sport, why don’t you go and play with Weatherby? Me and Mr. Candle have to talk about grown-up things for a little.”

  “O-okay, papa.” Henry Wallace agreed as he fidgeted with his glasses. He looked back at Weatherby. “Do you know anything about these Egyptian gods and things?”

  “Indeed I do. My father was quite keen that I learn all the pagan pantheons at an early age,” Weatherby explained. “And, quite oddly, the decorations for this casino appear to be accurate in the extreme. That maternal statue by the bathrooms is doubtlessly Isis, the matriarch of the Egyptian gods.” He introduced them one by one to Henry Wallace, who listened in quiet fascination.

  I looked back at Sly. The veteran gambler seemed like a magician, about to reveal one of his tricks. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “It seems like Lady Luck has got a room at the Grand Duat, and she’s giving Nestor Caduceus all the benefits he’s asking for. The house always wins the most in the games here, even more so than usual.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve tried a little card counting here, strictly on small stakes games, and I know I can pull it off. But it doesn’t work. Not here.”

  My detective’s instincts came to life, like a hungry wolf that had smelled blood. “Any idea why?” I asked.

  “Not one in the world, Mr. Candle. And there’s something else. This building’s six stories high. Gambling’s on two, offices, living quarters and so on are on three. So what’s on the sixth? Why do they need a whole goddamn floor to themselves?”

  “And Caduceus – the owner of this joint. What’s he like?”

  Sly Baum’s eyes flashed to the big spiral stairwell that curved down to the center of the casino floor. “You’ll find out,” he said. “Here he comes now.”

  He pointed to a tall fellow heading our way, a small crowd of masked waiters around him. He was tall, very tan and lean as a whip. Nestor Caduceus wore a light turquoise suit, wide black sunglasses and a cowboy hat. His cuffs and hat brim glittered with rhinestones, and he wore a bolo tie, though he looked more Indian than cowboy. I couldn’t place h
is race. He had eyes like a serpent, and was just as hairless. He licked his thin lips as he and his party joined us at the table.

  He had a woman on his arm. I recognized her. If Nestor Caduceus didn’t have Lady Luck herself staying at the Duat, than he had the next best thing. Her name was Miss Rosa Dominguez and she had worked the upper crust and wealthy tourists in Havana, before a run-in with Don Vizzini and some hungry zombies sent her to greener pastures in America. It seemed like she had done all right for herself.

  “Mr. Baum!” Caduceus had a booming voice, rich as dark rum. He reached out and patted Sly’s shoulder. “Grand to see you, my friend. Absolutely grand. The world needs to know that the Duat takes excellent care of its high-rollers.” He looked over Sly’s shoulder. His eyes fixed on Henry Wallace. I didn’t like the look. “And of course, you brought your darling little boy.”

  “Of course,” Sly agreed. He nodded to Henry Wallace. His son and Weatherby hurried over. “We’re both enjoying your hospitality.”

  “Yes, sir,” Henry Wallace agreed, with practiced politeness. “It’s very nice.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Weatherby said. “And very accurate, with regard to Egyptology.”

  “It is a passion of mine,” Caduceus said, breathing out each word. “But I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  “I’m Mort Candle,” I said. “This is Weatherby Stein. We’re private detectives.” I could have played it quiet, but I didn’t. I could tell something was up, so I made the obvious move, anxious to see how Nestor Caduceus would respond.

  He was cool as the desert sands at night. “Well, it is a rare pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my wonderful companion, Miss Rosa Dominguez.”

  “We’ve met,” I said. I gave Miss Rosa a grin and she gave me a look that could have stirred the black stone statues around us. She wore a sleeveless dress, with sparkles along the woven straps. It was a toss-up between her and Caduceus as to who sparkled more. “Looks like you’ve done okay for yourself, sister.” Her dirty blonde hair was piled in an elegant tower over head, glistening with a couple of jewels like dewdrops.

  “I’m good at my job.” She pulled a cigarette from her purse and jabbed it between her lips.

  “I’ll bet.” I grinned at Caduceus. “Word of advice, pal – pay her well and on time, or she might move to the next guy. But count every cent in your piggy banks, because she might leave you just a little light before she moves down the conga line.”

  Miss Rosa smiled pleasantly. “And what are you doing here, Mr. Candle?” She took a step towards me. Even though I knew exactly what she was, I still couldn’t take my eyes off of her. “Besides ruining a perfect evening?”

  “Hell, sister, I do that for free.” I turned back to her boyfriend. “We’re investigating the Duat, Mr. Caduceus.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I suggest you start with the excellent buffet. Our chefs are the best on the Strip.” He gave me a quick nod. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some pressing business that I must attend to. Come along, Miss Rosa. Wave goodbye to the gorilla in the suit and his little friend.”

  She gave me a wave as Nestor Caduceus led her away. Sly, Weatherby and I followed her with our eyes. Sly looked back at me and shook his head. “Why are you treating a red hot dame like that worse than a piece of dirt?”

  “She sells herself to the highest bidder,” I explained. “And I bet her current best customer’s up to no good.”

  Weatherby shrugged. “Our own services are often procured by individuals of questionable moral character. Like our current employer.” He nodded to me. “Speaking of our case, where exactly do you intend to begin our search?” He knew seeing Miss Rosa had touched a nerve with me, and didn’t want to go further. I was glad of that.

  “Well, it won’t be at the excellent buffet, kiddo,” I replied. “So long, Mr. Baum. We’re gonna take the air.”

  We headed out, but I heard light footsteps behind us. I turned around to see Henry Wallace Baum tentatively following us. He looked up at Weatherby. “C-can I come with you guys?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Maybe I can help you out, to solve the case, I mean, and it would be good to thank you for helping me and my father before.”

  I looked up at Sly Baum. He was already looking to the high-stakes tables. “You can go with them, Henry Wallace,” the kid’s father said quickly. “Long as you promise to be good and you come back before your bed time.” He nodded to me. “Is that okay?”

  Weatherby answered before I could. “We shall see that no harm comes to him, Mr. Baum. You have my solemn word.”

  “Great.” Sly was already heading for the poker tables, leaving us with Henry Wallace.

  I would have pressed the matter, but I didn’t feel like arguing with Weatherby. I looked back at them, and saw Weatherby put his hand on the smaller boy. Henry Wallace beamed. “Try to keep up,” I muttered, as I headed for the exit.

  We crossed the street and got into my Buick Roadmaster. I angled the car into the street, and sped past the Duat Grand. I waited until an alley popped up, and headed that way. Henry Wallace was sitting in the back, surrounded by guns and ammunition, with his hands folded and his owlish eyes wide. Weatherby was talking to him about Egyptology, but I wasn’t listening.

  “Their afterlife is actually quite pleasant,” Weatherby explained. “The dead are judged by Anubis, their hearts weighed across the feather of truth. If it passes, they are allowed into the underworld and served by ushabti, clay figures given life.”

  “What if their heart doesn’t pass the test?” Henry Wallace wondered.

  “Well, then they are they are fed to Ammit, a strange composite demonic animal that is part lion, part hippopotamus and part crocodile.”

  “Wow…” Henry Wallace whispered, as I turned the auto down the alley.

  “Sounds like my kind of justice,” I added. The alley that ran behind the Duat was wide and dark. A couple dumpsters rested on the pavement, their contents overflowing onto the slick asphalt. Next to it, the Duat Grand squatted like a fat block of stone and light.

  “So, what exactly are we doing in this dingy little corner of this wretched city?” Weatherby asked. “Don’t tell me we’re going to go through the trash.”

  I pressed down on the brakes, coming to a stop right before the dumpster. “It’s a classic shamus move,” I replied. “Caduceus will expect it. I want to see his reaction.” I moved to open the door, my eyes flashed to the rear view mirror. There was a car at the mouth of the alley, a two-door Rambler Sedan. It was midnight black, almost blending in with the evening darkness.

  An automobile full of hired killers – was that Caduceus’s reaction? “Henry Wallace?” I asked. “Be a good kid and hand me the shotgun, will you? The big one.”

  “Okay, Mr. Candle.” The cannon looked massive in his small hands, but he handed it over. “Um, sir?” he asked. “The door near the dumpster, I think its opening.”

  I looked out the window as I cradled the shotgun. The door opened and one of Caduceus’s waiters¸ wearing a wooden mask shaped like a ram’s head, stepped out, a revolver in his hands. “Damn,” I hissed, as I ducked down. He fired, and the glass of my window cracked. Then I opened the door, raised the shotgun and planted a shell right in his chest.

  I knew the sound of bullets burning into flesh, and I didn’t hear it when the waiter was struck. It sounded like a clay pot had been kicked over. But he still went backwards and landed hard on the kitchen floor.

  There were three more waiters behind him. One was a jackal. One was a lioness. One was an ibis. All were packing. They fanned out into the alley, cracking away with their weapons. “Get down!” I told Henry Wallace, but Weatherby was already keeping him below the windows. The kid had his revolver out, but I wasn’t betting on his skill with a heater to keep us alive.

  The jackal took a shot at me with a rifle, and I ducked down. I racked the pump of my shotgun and fired, taking his leg out from under him. He didn’t scream, just turned around a
nd tried to draw a bead on me. I racked the shotgun and fired again and that put an end to him. The lioness was cracking away with an automatic, his shots nearing Weatherby and Henry Wallace. I stood up and gave him a blast of gunfire that turned his mask and face into a pile of splinters and smoke.

  I was about to reload, when the ibis came at me from behind. He pulled a knife from inside his white tuxedo, a strange curved blade shaped like a sickle moon. He swung it my way and the sharp curved end slashed into the upper part of my chest and would have gutted me if I hadn’t stepped back. There was no time to fire the gun. So I did the next best thing — swinging it around and crashing the butt right into that leering ibis mask.

  I knocked him back against the wall and pounded that mask of his to splinters. Wood broke. I didn’t hear skull doing the same, but he dropped anyway. And then, for a few seconds, it was totally quiet in that alley. The crowd and the honking horns, the ring of slot machines and the simple lure of greed had covered up the gunshots.

  I turned around and saw the Rambler sedan backing out of the alley and into the street. Its engine roared as it joined the endless stream of autos purring down the Strip. I shook my head. There was no catching it. But then I looked down at the four bodies, and found a whole different headache.

  “They’re not human,” I said, as Weatherby and Henry Wallace stepped out of the Roadmaster to have a look. The waiters didn’t have flesh, skin and bone behind their wooden masks and white tuxedoes. Instead, they had clay. The muddy tan clay was shattered and broken where my bullets and blows had cracked it. I reached down and picked up a pot shard, then tossed it down the alley. “Any ideas, kiddo?”

  “T-they’re Ushabti,” Henry Wallace whispered. He was still nervous from the gunfight, and shaking like a leaf. Weatherby patted his shoulder and that calmed him down a little. “Those clay servants you were telling me about!”

  Weatherby smiled like a proud father. “Precisely. They are automatons, created through magical means to serve a wealthy master. I believe that is Nestor Caduceus. He is clearly more than he seems.” He pointed to the curved knife. “That is a khopesh, a traditional weapon of the pharaohs.” Weatherby looked up at the Duat Grand. “I think we need some further exploration of his establishment.”