by AR Winters
Ian looked like he couldn’t decide between emotions. His face was a funny mixture of disappointment and anger, and he said, “I don’t believe you.”
Katrina shrugged coolly. “Don’t. But why don’t you go there and see for yourself?”
“I think we’ll do that,” I said. “Come on Ia—Tim.”
We left in a rush, leaving Katrina to drink her wine alone. George waved us down before we left. “I got your videos here,” he said, handing us a flash drive. “Hope you get your guy.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Do you know Jacinta Gondalez? Pretty brunette from the second floor?” Ian asked.
George’s face broke out in a happy grin. “She’s about the only one who bothers to talk to me here. But she just left, if you’re looking for her.”
I sighed and dragged Ian out before he could quiz George about Jacinta’s boyfriends and ex-boyfriends.
We stopped by the apartment first, and I packed my uniform into my tote bag and reapplied my mascara and lipstick. I wouldn’t have time to come home and change – Ian could drop me off at the Treasury afterwards and drive himself home.
“I’m sure Katrina’s mistaken,” Ian said as we drove towards the Peacock Club. He’d taken off his wig, and he looked like himself again.
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe her dealer’s someone who just looks like Jacinta. She doesn’t seem all that bright.”
“Or sober.”
We reached the Peacock Club within a few minutes, and I drove into the alley-side parking reserved for clients.
The Peacock Club was one of Vegas’ smaller strip clubs. Their clientele tended to be middle-aged locals and penny-pinching out-of-towners. The club didn’t have the pizzazz and flair of the larger clubs, and they weren’t as well-known. Most of the strippers lived locally, with only a few LA starlets flying in to dance at the weekends.
This was the slightly seedy part of town. There were a few other cars parked there, but I assumed they belonged mostly to the club employees. It was early in the evening, and I knew that if I stepped inside, I’d see that the club only had a few patrons at this hour; these places tended to get busy much later at night.
“That must be her,” Ian said, pointing to a red Ford Focus parked a few meters away. We couldn’t see the driver clearly, but it seemed to be a woman, and she seemed to have short brown hair.
“I guess we go talk to her.”
Ian groaned. “Katrina was right, Jacinta deals drugs! Why do I always fall for the wrong women?”
I looked at him sympathetically. “Maybe it’s not Jacinta. We won’t know till we go talk to her.”
“I’ll go,” said Ian. “She’ll recognize you, but she won’t know it’s me without my wig.”
“Try to buy something off her.”
Ian sighed and stepped out of the car. I pulled out a baseball cap from my tote, and crammed it on, hoping it would be a bit of disguise, and headed over to the red Focus. I stopped at a few paces’ distance. From here, I could make out the driver of the car – it was Jacinta, wearing a Jerry’s Diner uniform – and hear what Ian was saying.
“…looking for something to start the party, you know.” He was doing a great imitation of a stoner.
“Sure,” said Jacinta. “You’ve got the cash?”
Ian reached into his wallet and pulled out two Franklins.
“All yours,” said Jacinta, handing over a small Ziploc bag containing white powder.
“Thanks,” said Ian, as I walked up to the car. “This looks dope.”
I pulled off my baseball cap and said, “Hi, Jacinta.”
Jacinta looked at me. “Oh shit.” She revved up the Focus, backed out of the carpark, and sped away.
Ian and I looked at each other.
“At least now I can throw a great party,” he said, holding up the baggie.
I looked down the road, where the Focus had sped off. “She’s gone too fast, we can’t follow her.”
“She probably just went back to her apartment. Let’s go there.”
I drove us over, but when I knocked on Jacinta’s door, nobody answered, unsurprisingly.
We went downstairs to talk to George. “Did Jacinta come back here?” I asked.
George shook his head. “Haven’t seen her since she left. Probably at her work, yeah?”
Ian and I left the apartment again and drove over to the Jerry’s.
Jerry’s was packed at this hour, with Strip employees having dinner before their shifts, and office workers winding down after work.
“Dinner for two?” Michael, the manager, said when he saw me.
“Not tonight,” I said. “Is Jacinta here?”
Michael shook his head. “No, she just called in sick. First shift she’s ever cancelled since she started working here.”
I frowned. “I didn’t know Jerry’s was being sold.”
Michael sighed. “Yeah. Jerry wants to retire and head over to Florida. But it’s ok, a couple of us regulars are pitching in to buy it. We’re not gonna see it get sold to some Arby’s or some rich kid from New York.”
“And Jacinta’s going to be one of the buyers?”
“She needs to come up with fifty grand before the end of the month if she wants to buy. So far, it’s me and three other waiters, and we’re getting a small bank loan for the rest of the money.”
“How much does she make?” I asked. “How’d she come up with fifty grand waiting tables?”
Michael shrugged. “Beats me. Either of you want to buy in? It’s a good business, you’ll get ten grand a year guaranteed, if you pitch in fifty.”
“I wish I had the money,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind owning part of Jerry’s.”
“What about you?” Michael turned to Ian.
“It sounds good, but my lawyer doesn’t let me spend money.”
“Too bad,” said Michael. “It’s a good business.”
We said goodbye to him, and Ian speed-walked to the Treasury with me.
“I’m late,” I grumbled as we walked. “I hate being late!”
“Then don’t go! Hang out with me, we can eat cookie-dough ice-cream and watch re-runs of Seinfeld.”
It sounded tempting, but I shook my head. “I might need to skip a few shifts next week, I’m meant to be doing some work for Stone. I can’t miss this shift.”
“Maybe we could invest in Jerry’s together?”
“I thought you wanted to invest in my PI business?”
Ian groaned. “Why do I always like the wrong women? I’m like a magnet that’s only attracted to bad people.”
“You couldn’t have known. She seemed nice, at first.”
“She did, right? Even George liked her. And that old lady.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to understand people. What’s on the surface isn’t the same as what’s underneath.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I rushed off to the Treasury only to find that I was twenty minutes late for my shift. The floor manager gave me a dirty look when I finally got to my assigned blackjack table.
I could tell that it would be a busy night – although it was a Wednesday, the out-of-town tourists were starting to arrive. The usual LA crowd would start arriving tomorrow, and tonight, I knew that we’d have lots of young people from the east coast celebrating a short break. The jingle of slot machines reverberated through the air, and every now and then, a group of gamblers burst into laughter. The pit was as brightly-lit as ever, giving no indication that night was falling. The casino was a world of its own – and I was late.
“Where were you?” whispered the dealer I was relieving, a slim red-head named Clarissa. “They’re cracking down on us again, saying we’ve got to be on time and not call in sick too often.”
I sighed. Drama at my casino job was not what I needed right now. Clarissa and I didn’t have time to chat, so I clapped my hands out, to show that I was ready to start dealing, and began work.
My shift passed quickly. Every now and then, I glanc
ed up at the security cameras, and thought of Stone in his office. It would be good to see him again. Now that I was working a case, I probably needed to head back to my Krav Maga classes and brush up on my self-defense skills.
Treasury dealers needed to rotate between games and tables, and I was moved from the blackjack table to craps, to the roulette wheel, and then back to blackjack. In between dealing cards, I thought again about Jacinta.
She really had seemed nice when we’d first met her, and I felt sorry for Ian. At least she’d said no when he’d asked her out. It worried me a little that she hadn’t gone back to her apartment after rushing out of the parking lot; the town was full of motels and she could’ve chosen to hide out anywhere.
***
After my shift, I wound my way down the alley behind the Cosmo Hotel, looking forward to a long sleep. It was early morning, and the sun was just starting to come out; I could grab a few hours’ shut-eye before I got up in time for lunch and maybe a Krav Maga class.
My answering machine was blinking when I got into my apartment. I threw my bag onto the floor and hit the play button, hoping that it was someone from Max’s building who’d remembered seeing something.
A robotic voice that sounded a lot like Stephen Hawking drifted up from the machine. Perhaps someone had used one of those text-to-speech readers, I thought distractedly, as the voice said, “Hello, Tiffany.” There was a pause, and then it went on, “You’re looking into Max’s death. You need to stop. Unless you want to be the next to die.”
That’s funny, I thought. A Stephen Hawking voice leaving threatening messages. A murderous Stephen Hawking would be an incredible killing machine, I decided; he’d be smart enough to leave no clues behind. Although with that mechanical voice, he’d have a hard time getting people to take his threats seriously.
The voice continued, “We know where you live. And we know how to get you.”
Realization hit, and then a chill ran up my spine. Whoever this caller was, they weren’t joking, and they weren’t Stephen Hawking. I looked around, as though someone might be in my apartment right now. The living room and kitchen area were devoid of intruders, and it didn’t look like anyone could’ve broken in. Before I chickened out from fear, I went over to my dark bedroom and switched on the light. Nobody that I could see. I checked under the bed, in the bathroom, in the wardrobe, and opened the curtains to check that there was no-one hanging out on the fire escape.
Once I was sure that there was nobody there, I grabbed my toothbrush and a pair of pajamas and went over to Ian’s. I banged the door until he opened it, woozy from sleep.
“Someone left a message on my phone,” I said, rushing into his place. “I need somewhere to crash. The caller said they knew where I lived, and I’m not taking a risk.”
“Sure,” said Ian. As though he had a choice. “Any idea who it might be?”
“No, and I’m too tired to deal with this now. Can I sleep here? Or I could drive over to my parents’.”
“No, don’t bother your parents and Nanna. You can crash on my couch.”
That worked well for me, and I drifted off soon after our conversation. If somebody did break into my place looking for me, they were going to be disappointed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I slept surprisingly well for someone who’d just been threatened by a Stephen Hawking-wannabe. I woke at midday to the sound of Ian microwaving something.
“Microwave calzones,” he told me, when I looked at him bleary-eyed.
Even in my foggy, sleep-ridden state, I knew that didn’t sound good. I remembered the message on my answering machine and groaned. I don’t know why I ever accepted murder cases; there was always a crazed killer behind every one.
“It’s not so bad,” Ian said. He pulled the plate out of the microwave and showed me. “See? They actually taste good.”
“You should learn to cook.”
“Why bother? Microwave meals are delicious. Stop looking like that.”
“It’s not the calzones.” I sighed. “I don’t want to deal with this crazy message-leaver.”
“Jacinta.”
“It could be anyone.”
“Look,” said Ian, taking a bite of his calzone. “It’s probably Jacinta. And if she bothered to leave you a message, that’s a good thing.”
“How so?”
Ian chewed his disgusting calzone thoughtfully and finally said, “If she was a cold-blooded, thoughtful killer, she wouldn’t have bothered to leave a message. The message means she’s worried, right? And she’s a drug dealer, so she’s probably scared you’ll turn her in to her gang, or something. You might be able to get her to talk.”
I rolled my eyes in disbelief. On the other hand, maybe Ian had a point – Jacinta hadn’t come across as cold-blooded. “Maybe.” I said. “You wanna help me check my apartment for intruders?”
Ian’s face lit up. “Sure! But after Stone installed that security system for you, your apartment should be really safe.”
“I’m not taking chances,” I said, and Ian helped me go through my tiny apartment carefully, looking for and failing to find any intruders.
“What’re today’s plans?” he said. He’d brought his calzone with him, and it was starting to smell kind of good.
“I’m having breakfast,” I said. “And then we’re trying to talk to Jacinta again.”
***
There was a new security guard at the reception desk – Jeremy – and he didn’t even pretend to care about his job.
When we asked him about Jacinta, he stared at us blankly. “Sure,” he said. “She might be home.”
I said, “Did you see her come in?”
Another blank stare.
“Do you know what she looks like?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Sure. Blonde, right? Or maybe she’s got brown hair now?”
Ian and I walked off, not sure how Jeremy managed to keep his job. I double-checked my gun in the lift, making sure I had bullets and that I could reach into my bag easily to grab it.
I knocked twice, and when Jacinta opened the door, I took a step back in surprise.
She glared at me. “You didn’t think I’d be home.”
Jacinta was wearing blue-and-white striped shorts and a white singlet, and didn’t look at all like a crazy murderer – other than the death-stare she was shooting me. She definitely wasn’t carrying, but maybe there was a gun in her apartment.
“We thought you’d be staying in some motel,” Ian said.
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “But motels cost money. And I need every cent.”
“Right,” said Ian. “Because you’re saving to buy a share in Jerry’s.”
Jacinta sighed and gestured for us to come in. “It’s not just that.”
We stepped inside warily, looking around and then perching gingerly on the floral-print sofa.
Jacinta headed over to the kitchenette. “I’m making coffee. I’ve only got instant but I can make you some. Do you want cream and sugar?”
“We’re fine,” Ian and I said quickly, in unison. We looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: Jacinta probably wanted to poison us. She was definitely being suspiciously nice for someone who’d possibly left me a threatening Stephen Hawking-ish voicemail the night before.
“How long’ve you been dealing drugs?” I tried to sound polite, and kept my hand on top of my bag, ready to reach in and grab my gun if I needed to.
Jacinta took a sip of her coffee and peered at Ian and me from over her mug. “You’re not going to tell the cops, are you? I was worried when they came by about Max’s murder, I thought they’d caught onto me.”
“But they hadn’t?”
Jacinta shook her head. “No. I was too nervous to say anything about Max. In a way I was glad when you two came along and I could actually talk about him.”
“Did you like him?” Ian asked. He actually looked jealous, and I could tell he’d momentarily forgotten that she was a drug dealer – and probably a
murderer as well.
“No, of course not,” said Jacinta. “We just spoke, once in a while.”
“Back to the drugs,” I said. “What’s going on there?”
Jacinta sighed and looked from Ian to me. She took another sip of her coffee, and after what seemed like forever, she said, “I need cash. A lot of it. I started dealing drugs last year; waitressing wasn’t enough.”
“Enough for?”
Jacinta stared at her coffee for a few seconds, and then said slowly, “My mother had a stroke last year. Her left side is paralyzed. She needed physio. And round-the-clock nurses. Insurance wouldn’t pay, and I wasn’t going to let her suffer.” She looked up from her coffee, her eyes shining in defiance. “So – I did what I had to. And I don’t regret it.”
“I think you do regret it, a little,” I said. “Wasn’t there anyone else who could help?”
Jacinta shook her head. “My brother’s doing jail time for some stupid assault, and my dad left us when I was three. I’ve got two uncles who want to help, but they’re kind of deadbeats.” She smiled wryly. “Not the greatest family.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom. And your family,” Ian said.
Jacinta gulped. “That’s ok. She’s doing better now. It was slow going, but they’re saying she doesn’t need as much help any more. And I’ve got enough cash saved now to buy a share in Jerry’s, so that should help.” She looked at Ian and me pleadingly. “Please don’t tell the cops. I just need a bit more cash, and then I’m out. No more drugs. But I can’t afford to get busted.”
I sighed. It was the worst sob-story I’d ever heard, but it did sound true. “What about Max? Where does he come into this?”
Jacinta shook her head. “He doesn’t. We just talked a few times, I barely knew the guy.”
“Then why’d you leave me that message last night?”
“What message?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know, the Stephen Hawking voice. Telling me I was next.”
Jacinta shook her head. “I didn’t leave you any message.”
“You can’t prove that,” I said slowly. “And you can’t prove that you didn’t have anything else to do with Max. If he was dealing drugs, he might’ve gotten them from you. Or maybe he was in your territory? Or—”