by Rod Reynolds
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Discovering the identity of the man Lang had called ‘Harry’ proved no great task. The forename and a description were enough for the duty manager at the motor court to come up with a likely candidate – Harry Heller, owner of the Pioneer Club.
Finding him proved harder. A frantic run to his office at the Pioneer was a bust – one of the deskmen said he hadn’t been seen that day, and that daytime wasn’t the time to catch him there. But the trip wasn’t a total waste. Through the small window in Heller’s office door, I could see the walls were adorned with a number of framed newspaper cuttings; the man I’d seen with Lang appeared in most of them.
I called the sheriff’s office from the Pioneer, and a desk sergeant confirmed Trip Newland had been released. I drove with Lizzie straight to the Telegraph-Register, but that proved to be a bust too; Newland hadn’t been in yet. But his colleague kicked loose his address, and we tore across town. When we drew up, Newland was on the driveway wrestling a box into the trunk of his car. It escaped his grip when he looked up and recognised me, scattering shoes and books on the cracked concrete.
I left the car on the street and went over.
‘They let you go,’ I said.
He stepped out from behind the trunk lid, watching me approach. He didn’t reply.
I stopped a few paces short of him. ‘What happened with you and Lang?’
He bent down to right the box, staying crouched. ‘Nothing happened with Lang. He knows I don’t know zip.’
‘Then why—’
‘It’s tit-for-tat. A swipe at me because he thought I’d given up Booker’s name to you when I’d been holding out on them.’
‘Sorry he took that impression.’ I lifted my hand to my face, taking in the row of small cacti that lined the front of the yard. ‘How did you know I’d found Booker?’
He looked up at me. ‘The cops were talking about it when I got there, their hot lead – some reporter that’d been asking around the Flamingo about Booker. Lang called you “That LA jackass”.’ He stood up and toed a shoe back towards the box. ‘They let you go so figure you didn’t do it?’
‘Don’t be a jerk.’ I pointed to the trunk, a duffel bag and another box visible inside. ‘You’re leaving town?’
‘I got a new job, remember?’
‘I was questioning the timing.’
‘After what’s happened? You should be questioning why I’m still here.’
‘What has happened? If you’re ducking out, at least tell me what you know.’
‘I’m not ducking out of anything.’ He reached up to place his hand on the trunk lid, resting it there. ‘Look, it’s beyond me. Swear to god.’
‘You don’t know anything about Booker’s connection to the Desjardins girl?’
‘Everything I told you is the truth.’
An answer to a different question than the one I’d asked. I let it go, shuffling on the spot, the cold penetrating again. ‘Do you know Harry Heller?’
He squinted at me. ‘Sure. Not personally.’ The non sequitur made him want to ask, but he looked down to stop himself.
‘I overheard him talking to Lang. He wanted to look at Siegel for the Desjardins murder. Any idea why that would be?’
He scoffed. ‘Sounds a little like desperation.’
‘You don’t think it’s possible?’
He looked at me like I was simple. ‘It’s a play to stop him getting his gaming licence. The County Commissioner has denied him twice already, but he’s got Senator McCarran in his corner so it’s still on the table. Money he’s spent, I’d have said he’s a cert – unless they can make this stick.’
‘He’s a killer – how’s a trumped-up murder beef supposed to make the difference?’
‘That’s his California rep. This is local, something the commission can get their teeth into.’
‘And if he doesn’t get his licence?’
‘No casino. An expensive hotel with no guests.’
Dragged under by his own dream. Something to use against him – but the prospect of a sickening decision lumbering into view.
‘Don’t leave town yet,’ I said. ‘Booker wasn’t the end of this. You can help.’
He stuffed the last shoe back in the box and closed the lid, hefting it into the trunk. ‘I wouldn’t even be talking to you now, wasn’t for how bad I want out. So thanks, but I’ll see you in California.’
*
The car was shut tight against the cold, our breath coating the windscreen with a sheen of condensation that blurred and dissipated the pink neon of the Flamingo sign.
We were waiting on the shoulder of the highway. Cars pulled off into the Flamingo lot at regular intervals, the purpose of the night coming clear after the conversation with Newland – Siegel greasing the local great and good to firm up support for his gaming licence. With time running out until opening night, he had to be getting desperate. Enough at least to let me air my proposal.
Lizzie turned to say something and it was only then I realised we’d been silent a stretch. ‘What would you have him say? If you had the choice.’
A cloud moved from in front of the moon, bathing the desert in a cold light. ‘I don’t know.’
‘He can’t admit to his involvement,’ she said. ‘He’ll have to deny it. Where will that leave you?’
‘With leverage. If he wasn’t involved in her murder, he’s going to need someone to be searching for the real culprit. Lang won’t be looking for any other suspects if the owners are railroading him.’
‘And would you be able to go through with it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d be prepared to help Siegel.’
‘Yes. If it keeps us safe and finds her killer, yes.’
‘What about Special Agent Tanner?’
‘It’s not his concern.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Charlie.’
I looked at the moon, trying to keep ahead of my own thoughts. ‘Tanner wants to play a waiting game, this way serves to give him more time. The worst shame for him would be Clark County Sheriff’s being the ones to finally take down Siegel.’
She looked forward again, the dancing pink light playing on her face.
‘Would you do differently?’ I asked.
She shook her head slowly, taking my hand but somehow more distant for it. ‘I’m glad it’s not my choice to make.’
*
From the inside, it was obvious the Flamingo was in worse shape than it appeared. Hosts in tuxedos ushered guests through to a casino area that sparkled and smelled of wood polish and new leather – but once we were there, the glitz couldn’t distract from the drop cloths cordoning off other sections of the property on all sides. Although styled to look like decorative drapes, there was no disguising their purpose. One had come unpinned in a high corner, revealing plywood boarding behind it and hinting at the level of disorder that lay beyond.
White-gloved waiters moved through the crowd handing out champagne flutes, and a good level of noise rose from the bar, but it wasn’t the easy chatter of enjoyment; there was a halting feel to proceedings, as if no one quite understood their purpose in being there. I’d worried that our getup – me in a wrinkled suit and Lizzie in a three-day-old dress – would give away the fact we had no business being in attendance. But in the event, the crowd was a mix of men in Stetsons with western shirts and bolo ties, local pols in lounge suits, and sullen Hollywood cats in black tie; enough of a hotchpotch that no one looked our way for long.
Siegel was nowhere to be seen, his absence only adding to the jittery anticipation in the room. Lizzie and I moved through the crowd, passing between two roulette tables attended by cigarette girls dishing free casino chips. I thought back to Heller’s words in Lang’s office and wondered at how Siegel had the front to shake men down and then invite them to a reception for his own benefit; the thug mentality that a spin of the wheel on house money made everything copacetic.
I took a glass of champagne and handed it to
Lizzie. She held it but didn’t drink any, carrying it with her like a spent match. We were tracing a loop around the room, waiting for him to show. We rounded a bank of slots, but I stopped us dead when I saw Sheriff Lang at the other end of the row. He was in conversation with three other men, but our movement was abrupt enough to catch his attention. He looked over and tagged me with a nod, without breaking his verbal stride. I backed Lizzie up and led us away from his position.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she said.
I looked back to see if he’d come after us. ‘Being seen.’
‘By who? Siegel?’
‘Not sure. Maybe letting all sides know he’s keeping tabs.’
‘He bothers me. He’s got the same look about him as the others.’
‘Because he’s bought and paid for, same as them. Put him out of your head for now.’
I was facing her as I said it and when I looked forward again, Harry Heller was standing alone at a blackjack table five yards in front of us.
‘That’s Heller.’ I nodded in his direction. We were already drifting towards him, as if moved by convection.
He was holding a large tumbler of drink, his back to the dealer and the table. He’d loosened his necktie and was resting his fist on the stool next to him, taking in something across the crowd with a hard look. Following his eyes gave no clue as to what.
He snapped out of it as we drew up, glancing at me before turning his gaze to Lizzie.
‘Mr Heller, my name’s Charlie Yates, I’m a reporter from Los Angeles.’
He turned back to me when I offered my hand, ignoring it. ‘I’m surprised to see you have your liberty again.’
I hadn’t expected he’d recognise me. ‘A misunderstanding on Sheriff Lang’s part.’
‘This must be your wife,’ he said, taking a bite out of her with his eyes.
‘Elizabeth.’ She held her hand out and he made a show of kissing the back of it. She looked at me as he did, unsure what to make of the formality.
‘This doesn’t have the feel of a chance encounter, Mr Yates.’
‘In a way. I’d like to talk to you about a shared interest.’
‘Would that happen to be our fair host?’
‘You’re a perceptive man, Mr Heller.’
‘Informed. There’s a difference.’ He winked at me. ‘The sheriff has the notion you might be in the employ of our kosher friend.’
I was shaking my head before he’d finished speaking. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth.’ The image of Trent Bayless’ corpse popped into my head and made my neck flush as I said it.
‘And yet here you are at his party …’
‘The same as you …’
His face darkened. ‘I know why I’m here. He’s already picking my pockets clean and now he wants to have me say uncle while he does it.’ He took the lapel of my suit coat and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Appearances can deceive, but I don’t think he has you here for your green.’
‘He doesn’t know I’m here at all.’
He looked off to one side, a nod of the head to acquiesce. ‘Cut to the chase, then.’ He glanced at Lizzie when he said it, checking he’d impressed with his command. She blinked and checked her watch.
‘You’re aware of the young woman that was killed?’ I said. ‘Named in these parts as Diana Desjardins.’
He nodded once. ‘When you put that out there that way – am I supposed to ask you for her real name?’
‘No. I want to know if you have reason to believe Ben Siegel was involved in her murder.’
He lowered himself backwards to sit on the stool he’d been hovering over, cracking a rictus grin. ‘That sounds like a question could get me in trouble. If the sheriff was right about you and your associations.’
I dipped my head, working through what to say. ‘You’ve dealt with Siegel and his men. You really think he’d send the likes of me to put a squeeze on you for talking out of turn?’
He swirled his drink, rattling the ice cubes. ‘You’d be a bad choice, I’ll warrant.’
‘Look, I think you know I overheard you talking to Lang, so my cause for asking is no mystery. What set you on that tack?’
He sucked in a breath, filling his lungs, then let it out as he spoke. ‘That question is below anyone with a half a brain. He’s a stone killer – and I’ll risk saying that to you because if he’s the man I take him for, he’d consider it a compliment.’
I felt my hope for quick answers sliding away. It was what it sounded from the start – a power play, no basis in evidence. ‘That’s an empty answer.’
He snapped his eyes to something behind me, following it across the room with his gaze. Lizzie caught it and turned just before me. When I did, I saw Moe Rosenberg in a slack tux, glad-handing his way through the crowd as though he’d just arrived. Even expecting he’d be there, the sight of him woke the butterflies in my stomach.
‘You know who that is?’ Heller said, still watching.
‘Yes.’
‘Of course you do.’
I ignored the barb, no conviction behind it. ‘How far will you go to get Siegel?’
‘Look at him.’ He motioned with his head to Rosenberg. ‘He’s like a trained gorilla, makes me sick. His keeper won’t be far behind.’
I pressed him, aware of the irony that the more spurious the case against Siegel’s involvement, the greater my leverage with him. ‘Because it strikes me you’ll need more than bogus charges to worry him.’
But he wasn’t listening to me, still scorching Rosenberg with his stare. ‘You know what Siegel said to me? He comes into my office out of the blue and tells me I need new slots, he’ll front them, but I gotta cut him in on the business. ‘It’s my way, all the way, and twenty-five percent.’ In my own damn office. I found out later he used the same line on all of us.’ He broke the look and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and a knuckle. ‘I’m not a rube, I know who he represents in New York, what else am I supposed to do? But then he comes back a month ago and he wants ten more on top. I know where that’s going – right into this place. I might as well pour the cash in with the concrete.’
A murmur went through the crowd, and then a commotion kicked up on the far side of the room. The noise level jumped and every head turned, the gas pumping at last on the evening. Through the bodies, I caught a glimpse of a white dinner jacket, a red carnation on the lapel; looked like fresh blood from my distance. Then a sightline opened up and I saw the rest: Ben Siegel shaking hands left and right, a smile plastered on his face that looked like it cost him.
Heller got to his feet, as though to step to him, but didn’t advance. I put my hand on his chest anyway, a sop for his ego.
‘Tell me about the casino licence,’ I said. ‘That’s your move against him, isn’t it?’
That got his attention and he looked at me. ‘Every question you ask sounds like it came out of Bugsy’s mouth.’
I glanced at Lizzie to buy myself a beat. She gave a slight shake of the head, as if to say Heller’s usefulness was played out, and I wondered if her nerve was faltering with the new arrival.
I turned back. ‘I’ve got more reason to hate Siegel than all of you put together. If money was all he’d taken from me, I’d be thankful.’
‘And yet you doubt he’s a killer.’
‘Not for a second. But if you’re going to pin the girl on him, you need more than thin air.’
‘Thin air? Maybe there’s a little more to it than you know.’
I wanted to look over to Siegel again, but the way Heller said it made me zero in on him. I waited, a breath trapped in my throat.
‘You should have your wife take a powder,’ he said.
Lizzie had moved tight to me now, sensing the change, all eyes on Heller. ‘I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.’
Hard eyes on Heller.
He shot her a half-smile. ‘As you will, darlin.’ He flicked his gaze to me again. ‘The one that died, she was a working girl. You knew t
hat.’
I nodded.
‘She was also an actress – trying to be.’
I inched closer to him. ‘How did you come by that?’ Knowing he could only have got it from me – via Lang.
‘Sheriff has his sources.’ He winked at me again and twisted at the waist to set his tumbler down on the card table behind him. ‘Last few weeks, Siegel’s been touting girls to certain types – money men exclusive. He’s billing them as starlets, chartered in direct from Hollywood …’
I looked over my shoulder, searching. I felt Lizzie grab my forearm. The room, the noise, the lights, they all dimmed. Siegel the only thing I could see.
‘… so now you heard that, you tell me again that son of a bitch isn’t involved somehow.’
I felt Lizzie’s grip tighten. But I was already turning, pulling away from her. I twisted my arm free and started moving towards him across the floor.
‘Charlie—’ Lizzie’s voice behind me. A thousand miles away and fading.
Muscling through the crowd, a straight line to him.
Rosenberg seeing me first when I came close, only his eyes giving away his surprise. Collecting himself enough to alert Siegel. One hand slipping inside his jacket – and holding there.
Then Ben Siegel ten feet in front of me, turning to look, his face rippling with hate; the opposite of Rosenberg, no attempt to hide it.
I pointed a finger at him. ‘Diana Desjardins. Your office right now, or we talk here.’
I felt a hand clawing at my back, heard Lizzie’s voice; words I didn’t catch through the roar in my head.
Rosenberg stepped in front of Siegel and moved to grab me, Gilardino appearing from nowhere with the assist. They locked my arms to my sides. Siegel was already futzing with his tie, trying to laugh it off in front of the shocked onlookers, mimicking I was a drunk.
I got my right arm free and used it to pry a gap between the men wrestling me away. ‘Tell me what happened to her—’ Gilardino stuffed his hand over my mouth but it wasn’t enough. ‘Tell me, goddammit—’