Jump the Gun

by Zoe Burke

Luis paused and shook his head as he looked across the room at a couple of bleary-eyed revelers. “He’d have no problem, for instance, coming into a place like this and yanking that poor kid up by the back of the shirt and smacking him around after accusing him of being on drugs, even though it’s obvious that the guy is just hung over.”

  The thought of Jake coming in here and yanking anyone to their feet didn’t start my day off with a bang.

  “Why do you think he told me his name was Jake?” Mickey asked.

  “And why do you think he was hanging around the Royal Opal and trying to kidnap us?” I added.

  “Chuck is tied in with some high rollers. He hangs at the casinos a lot. I think he gets paid on the side for being a bouncer for some of them. Look, I made a couple of calls to some of my friends on the force. They told me that nothing new is going on that they know about. Chuck’s up to his usual shit, but that’s all I could find out. He got the Jake nickname a little while ago when he had trouble with one of his victims, and this guy slit the side of his nose, just like Jack Nicholson got it in Chinatown.”

  “Jake Gittes.” Mickey and I both recited Nicholson’s character’s name in unison. We looked at each other.

  “Maybe Mary wasn’t lying,” I said.

  Mickey shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can trust anything Mary told us.” Then he took a swallow of coffee. “Okay, so why not go to the police? Will they all rally behind him? Can’t we bring charges?”

  “Sure, you can, but you might end up dead if you do that. Like I said, he is tied in with some big names in Las Vegas, and they won’t put up with anyone messing with their boy.”

  “Are you talking about the mob?” When I asked that I suddenly left my body. I mean, how would I ever be in a situation when I was seriously asking someone about mob connections?

  “No, not like you mean. Just a local Vegas mob. But still very dangerous.”

  I started playing with the salt and pepper shakers. These are important tools for reducing tension, in case you didn’t know. Twirl them around, dump some salt on the table, make designs in it with your fingers, really, there’s a multitude of things you can do.

  Mickey and Luis watched me for a minute until Mickey coughed and I stopped.

  “Luis,” he said, “why are you here? Why did you come back for us? Hanging out with us could be dangerous for you, right?”

  Luis nodded. “Right. But I hate this guy. He’s the reason I’m on suspension, and he’s the reason I’m driving a fucking cab in Las Vegas. He’s the reason my wife doesn’t want to leave the house. I want to figure out a way to bring him down.”

  “What did he do, to get you suspended?”

  Luis gazed across the room again, then turned back to us. “I caught him stealing money off a corpse. Not a drug-dealer corpse, mind you. An abuela, an old lady who had just won a jackpot. She got hit by a car. She was dead. And this piece of shit robbed her. And he saw me see him, and he put me up against the wall and said if I told he wouldn’t come after me, he’d come after my wife. And when I got home that night, Ruby was crying. He had called her a few minutes earlier and told her that I was dead. That she was a widow, and he’d be visiting her real soon. I held her and told her what had happened, and she calmed down. But the next day when she went to work, Chuck followed her there, and when she left, he followed her home. He did that for a full week. She was terrified.”

  Luis stopped and took a sip of coffee. “So one day in the squad room I lost it. Jumped him, all the while screaming that he was a thief. The guys pulled me off him before Chuck had a chance to take a swing. I got suspended. Two months.”

  “No one believed you?” Mickey asked.

  Luis shook his head. “I’ve got no real evidence, and he’s been around longer than I have. Now I’m spending as much time as I can following him, trying to nail him. So far, all I have is a lot of photographs of him coming in and out of casinos.” He paused. “I’m working weekends as a private security guard at a casino off the Strip, but mostly I’m driving a cab, filling in for a friend. Even now, once a week, Chuck comes by and parks outside my house for about an hour. Just sits there. Ruby’s a nervous wreck. She took a leave of absence from her job and rarely goes anywhere.”

  I sat on my hands, rather than play with the salt again, and my left leg started bouncing as my heel began a fast tap on the floor. Mickey put his hand on my knee and sat up straight, his other hand clenched in a fist on the table. “Jesus, man, don’t you have anyone on your side?”

  “My partner’s doing what he can. Keeping an eye out. Look, Lowery is ruining my life. I need to fix this, and whatever mess you two are in might be the way for me to get him.”

  Oh, great. Just what we need. Someone who wants a shoot-out with Jake or Chuck or whoever at the OK Corral. “Luis, sorry if I’m being rude here, but why don’t you just move to another city, work for another police department?”

  Mickey answered me quietly. “Luis is no coward.”

  “Oh jeez,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply that. But Ruby’s scared out of her mind, and it sounds like it could be impossible to bring Jake down.”

  Luis sighed. “I want to get him. I want to expose him. I’ve been trying to come up with the right plan.”

  “And that’s us?” I paused. “I’m sorry for your troubles, I really am, but I don’t think we can help you. We don’t even know why we’re mixed up in this, and right now I’m thinking, let’s get the hell out of Las Vegas. Let’s go to the airport, now, let’s go. Okay, Mickey?”

  He didn’t move. I reached for my purse and turned toward him, indicating that he should slide out of the booth, but, again, he didn’t move. “Annabelle, when did Nana die?”

  I didn’t get it, but answered. “A couple of months ago.”

  “Mary knew her, Jake is probably Mary’s son, we think he’s after you, her granddaughter. I wonder if…”

  “…something bad happened to Nana? You think he murdered her?” My stomach wound itself into an instant knot. I picked up my water glass and drank in huge gulps. When I put the glass back down my hand was shaking.

  Mickey put his hand on top of mine. “Sorry. Just a thought.”

  I took a few deep breaths. “I don’t know why anyone would kill Nana. She didn’t have much besides her house, and my parents sold that in order to afford Tall Oaks. But Jake did hurt an old lady…” Something was adding up, but to what, I had no clue. How could all of this have anything to do with Nana? “What do you want to do, Mickey? I’m sensing more and more that this is my situation, not yours, so don’t you want to leave town?”

  “I’m the one who was knocked out. I’ve got a stake in this. I can’t walk away from it.”

  “Don’t go all Gary Cooper on me.” I was mixing up High Noon with the OK Corral, but you’re allowed to do that in frightening situations. “You don’t have to be a hero. Let’s get out of here.”

  “What if something happened to Nana, something bad? Don’t you want to find out?”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out or not. “We can find that out in California better than we can find it out here. Come home with me, we’ll drive up to Tall Oaks, ask some questions.”

  Mickey considered this, then frowned. “What about all our things at the hotel? My laptop? It’s got all of my business stuff on it.”

  This bothered me. I mean, I was willing to let go of the six pairs of shoes I had brought to Chicago, and my new Donna Karan raincoat, and, oh yeah, my laptop with all of my business stuff on it. But I had the distinct impression that Mickey was coming up with reasons to stay, so that he and Luis could face the enemy rather than head for the hills. Me, I was all for running.

  Luis said, “Amigos, let’s go back to the hotel, get your things. I’ll notice if anyone is watching or following us. Then I’ll take you to the airport. I promise. No fare.” I was about to say
“What’s not fair?” when I figured it out.

  Luis and Mickey waited for me to give in. I was outnumbered and suddenly exhausted, so I nodded my agreement, thinking to myself, my god, Annabelle, you are an idiot. We left the coffee shop and headed for Luis’ taxi. But when Mickey opened the back door, a dark blue sedan screeched into the parking lot and pulled up next to the cab.

  Two men poured out and yelled, “Police! Don’t move! All three of you! Stop there!” They had guns. So we stopped, with our arms in the air.

  “Line up against the cab there, hands on the roof, spread eagle,” one commanded, and so we did, while they patted our legs and hips and sides and arms to see if we had any guns or other weapons, I guess. We didn’t. They pulled Mickey’s and Luis’ wallets out of their back pockets and fished out their licenses. Then they grabbed my purse and rifled through it, finally finding my license. They took a look at all of the IDs and then handed them back to us. They calmed down.

  “Okay turn around.” We did.

  “What’s this all about?” I tried to sound calm while expecting Jake to show up any minute. Mickey apparently had lost his voice.

  “We’re looking for a Mary Rosen, and we got a report that this cab was seen picking her up last night on the strip.”

  Somehow all of this search and seizure had rallied my strength and made me a little—no, a lot more than pissed off. And that anger was feeding my voice. “You mean that we are dangerous criminals because we are using the same cab?” I didn’t like these guys much. Mickey was still silent.

  “We have reason to think the lady was kidnapped. We are taking all precautions. Which is why I would like to hear from the cab driver here if he remembers her, and if any of you are connected to her in any way.”

  I saw Mickey steal a look at Luis, and Luis shook his head, just the slightest bit. I thought about lying and telling them that I had never seen or heard of Mary Rosen in my entire life. But if these guys were good cops and not Jake’s buddies, and if Mary really was a criminal, then that lie could land me in a Las Vegas slammer for obstructing justice. And one rule I live by is that when in doubt, either say nothing or tell the truth. I said nothing.

  Mickey obviously had a different rule book. “We don’t know the woman and we can’t help you. Luis drove us around all night last night, and we never picked up another passenger. In fact, I paid this man a two-hundred-dollar tip for the privilege of chauffeuring me and my girlfriend, isn’t that right, Luis?” With this Mickey put his arm around me and smiled like he and I had been together for years. I, on the other hand, looked at him like he was out of his mind.

  The policemen turned to Luis for confirmation, and Mickey took the opportunity to whisper in my ear, “These guys are not cops.”

  I didn’t know how he knew this, but I had about half a second to decide whether to trust him or think he was crazy, and if I thought he was crazy, or leading me into danger, what would that have meant about our night together? So I trusted him, and before Luis could open his mouth, I said, “That’s right. We’re here on a kind of romantic holiday. Some friends got married on Sunday, and we decided to stick around for a couple of days after the wedding. Luis turned out to be the perfect driver.” I smiled at Luis.

  “So, Mr. Maldonado, what’s your story?”

  “I could not have picked up any lady last night since I was with this couple from about six on.”

  “Then how do you explain the report that your cab was outside the Royal Opal last night and Mary Rosen was seen getting in it?”

  Luis thought for a moment and came up with an answer. “I wasn’t driving this cab last night. I drove my own car, it’s nicer, and these people wanted a nice evening. I left the cab in the street. Perhaps someone took it for a joy ride?” I didn’t think this explanation was going to fly, but if these guys really weren’t police, and they were only looking for Mary, then any explanation would do.

  “Where did you park the cab?” one of them asked. The guy with hair. The other guy was bald. They didn’t wear uniforms or hats.

  “On Locust Street, not far from my house.”

  “Was it there when you got back last night?”

  “I didn’t look last night, but when I went to get it this morning, it was there.”

  “All right,” Baldy said. “Give me your card. We may want to get in touch with you again.” Luis reached in his pocket and pulled out two business cards, one each for Moe and Curly. Then Moe turned to us. “Are you staying at this motel, just in case we need to contact you again?”

  Great. Do we make this up, too? See what I mean about telling the truth? When you don’t, you just have to keep making more stuff up.

  Mickey answered. “No, in fact we’re leaving today for San Francisco. But let me give you my card with my cell phone on it; feel free to call me.” Mickey patted his pockets and then shrugged. “Sorry, I guess I’m out. I’ll write it down on Luis’ card.”

  Moe handed him the card and gave him a pen. “All right, thanks, Mr. Paxton. Ms. Starkey. Hey, you’re not related to Ringo, are you?”

  I shook my head and groaned. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’m asked that.”

  Moe and Curly got back in their Buick and drove away. I turned to Luis and Mickey. “Would either of you like to clue me in here?”

  Luis answered. “They’re not the police. I gave Mick a signal and he picked up on it. Nice to be working as a team.” He nodded at Mickey and Mickey nodded back. Man stuff, I guess.

  “How do you know they’re not the police? Do you know every single cop in these here parts?” I was starting to talk like a cowboy, but there was some male-bonding thing going on, and I got sucked in.

  “No, I don’t,” Luis said. “But I saw the bald-headed one’s revolver, a Smith and Wesson .38. It’s not a gun that any policeman on duty would carry. And, I didn’t recognize them. And, their shoes were wrong. They were fancy leather, with thin soles.” To tell you the truth, this last statement made the most sense to me. I’m a firm believer that you can judge a person by his or her shoes. I looked at Mickey’s feet and was relieved to see that he was wearing a nice pair of Cole Hahn brown casuals: stylish, but not flamboyant; practical, but not clunky; masculine, but not macho.

  “Okay,” I said. “So let’s get the hell out of Dodge.” Mickey and Luis each had a slight smile as I turned away from them and walked back to the cab. I hoped they’d notice I was swaggering a little. I turned around to face them. “You know, if those guys weren’t cops, and they’re looking for Mary, then Mary is hooked up in something bad, and probably is connected with Jake. And we really don’t know anything about her at all and we can’t trust her at all. And we’re still in a lot of trouble.”

  “Yes. All true. We don’t know who we can trust, except each other.” Mickey patted Luis on the back.

  “Well, Mickey, we could trust a United Airlines pilot, couldn’t we? How about we go to the airport and trust one of them to get us to San Francisco? How about we skip the hotel escapade, compadre?” It was really hot and my glasses were slipping down on my nose and I was pushing them back up as I posed this very logical question.

  Mickey walked up to me and touched my cheek. My scar. “If we go to the hotel, we might be helping Luis. We’ll make it quick, I promise. And then, as you say, we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”

  His touch alone would probably have been enough to make me agree with him. But something else was holding me there. That gut thing again. A little-voice thing. Maybe a macho thing. I couldn’t let go of the idea that Nana could have been murdered. I was getting in touch with my inner male. “Luis,” I said, “Let’s go to the Royal Opal. One hand shakes the other, my friend.”

  I have no idea, really, what I meant by that. But Luis and Mickey were kind enough to let it slide, and we all got in the taxi and headed for the Strip.

  Chapter Eight

  Las Vegas really
is hell on earth. At about 11:00 in the morning the temperature felt like seven hundred degrees. Without my contacts, I could measure the heat by the rate of speed at which my glasses flew down my nose. Plus, I had been wearing the same clothes for far too long, my hair was plastered to my head like a bathing cap—and I had no hat to hide under—and I was developing some sort of rash—a heat rash, no doubt—right at my waistline where my pants buttoned. While my right hand was busy pushing my glasses up my face, my left was scratching around my navel. Luckily I had on my favorite pink T-shirt and my Levis because I look good in them, but at this point they were stretched out and wet and probably smelled.

  Mickey and Luis were quiet, and I started thinking about the two of them in the front seat, while I sat in the back. Why do the men always assume the front seat is theirs? Then I remembered that I had gotten in the cab first and had chosen the back seat, and come to think of it, I was more comfortable back there, as comfortable as I could be in Las Vegas. Apparently, they haven’t invented air conditioning cold enough for that wasteland. Either that or Luis’ cab’s AC needed a rebuild. I was hot and itchy and it was just as well that no one was sitting very near me. Luis, for some mysterious reason, did not seem to be sweating. This is as weird to me as people who eat whatever the hell they want and don’t gain any weight.

  I was looking at the back of Mickey’s head. Nice shape. Nice thick hair, black with some gray starting to show up. He told me that first night we met in Chicago that his mother had been a hair stylist and his father, a plumber. He was an only child and his parents doted on him and saved everything they could to put him through college. A real American story. But they were killed in a car accident when he was twenty-five. I thought about that, staring at his head, and my eyes filled up.

  He was looking for a stopgap job after college when he got into publishing. He found out he was good at sales and stuck with it. Sales people in publishing—and probably in any business—make the most money. Editors don’t make squat, unless they handle acquisitions for megapublishers and have their own imprints. It used to be that a sales rep could sell a blockbuster to Barnes and Noble and put his kid through college on that order alone. Okay, I might be exaggerating, but not by much. All of that was changing, what with e-books and iPads, but Mickey prepared well for that and was scouting for new opportunities. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Anyway, he didn’t have any kids, he had only himself to support, so for the time being he was sitting pretty, financially. Physically, too, as I’ve already stated.