Cold Desert Sky

by Rod Reynolds

‘A runaway with a story?’ He said it out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘A girl from the heartlands. Picture that on the stand.’

  He tapped her image. ‘A child. Even if she knew something, who’s going to take her part over him?’

  ‘You’re … are you afraid of him?’

  He feigned a yawn. ‘This isn’t kindergarten.’

  ‘It’s a woman’s life.’

  He got off his stool. ‘I’ve told you what I know.’

  I stood up, a hand on his chest to stop him. ‘I’ve dragged myself and my wife through hell to try and save that young woman. I’ve come this far and there is no goddamn way I’m about to stop now. So tell me what I want to know, because if you let her die, I swear to god I’ll be back for you.’

  I shocked myself with the words. Not what I’d meant to say, anger spilling out of me. He tried a tight smile, brushing it off, but down low he was beckoning someone frantically with his hand.

  ‘Give me a name, a number, anything,’ I said, my face in his.

  He moved to look over my shoulder, desperation growing, waving openly now.

  ‘No one will know it came from you.’

  ‘Mr Heller?’

  A voice behind me. I turned to look. A cowboy in a plaid shirt, hovering.

  I turned back. ‘No one. On my life …’

  He pursed his lips, grease in the corner of his mouth. He looked at the photograph again, lingering over it. ‘She’s a fine-looking woman.’ He backed up and stepped around me. ‘Wait here.’

  He walked off, curling his finger for the cowboy to follow him.

  I thought about going after them, but the last working logic wire in my head said to stay put. That if he wanted to have me kicked out or beaten down, he would have done. That walking off wasn’t his style.

  The music droned in my ears, the sound of laughter and empty chatter. The cowboy reappeared. He zipped across the casino, came to where I stood and handed me a slip of paper. It had a telephone number scrawled on it, nothing more.

  ‘Ask for DiSalvo,’ he said. ‘Mr Heller sends his regards.’

  I nodded and took it. Then I ran for the exit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I hit the street and stopped, my brain catching up with my feet.

  I stared at the number on the paper. If I gave it to Lang, would he freeze me out? If I was just his front man to let Heller keep his public face intact, my usefulness was shot.

  I looked up too late. Lang cruised up to the kerb and called for me to get in. I hesitated a second, grasping for an alternative – make a run for it, dial the number and take my chances. I recognised the selfish thought for what it was. Finding Nancy Hill was what counted; running from Lang would only prolong matters.

  He was already out of the car, propping open his door. ‘You have something?’ Eyes on the slip in my hand.

  I bolted across the sidewalk and climbed in.

  He did the same and took the scrap of paper from me before I could protest. He glanced at it. ‘You tried calling it yet?’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He stared at the number on the paper. ‘We can use the line in there.’ He was pointing at the S.S. Rex Casino down the block. He pulled a U-turn and swerved across the street to park around the corner, and I had the feeling of being swept away by events.

  I followed him into the S.S. Rex. Another gambling den full of flushed faces, chasing the night. A woman shrieked as she hit a slot jackpot, nearing giddy as the coins slammed into the payout tray. A square John patted a cigarette girl on the behind as she passed by, slopping his drink and drawing a squeal from her and a chorus of yuks from his buddies. By the roulette tables, a skinny kid was going spot-to-spot, skimming stacks and pocketing chips while the players were distracted watching the wheels. For all the money Siegel had spent buying into Las Vegas, I wouldn’t have given you a nickel for it.

  Lang badged one of the deskmen to get use of a telephone. He dialled the operator and read out the number, getting the corresponding address back from her. He didn’t write it down. He hung up without another word.

  ‘It’s a brothel on the Boulder Highway.’ He said it quiet, hesitant, and I knew why.

  ‘Then we go take a look. Now. You’re not leaving me behind.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re turned all around. I know the place, it’s legit.’

  ‘All the more reason for them to talk to us.’

  ‘It’s not as straightforward as that. There are folk in the ownership have seats at the right tables. I can’t waltz in there without due process.’

  ‘Just to talk? Take a look around?’

  ‘I’m the sheriff, I can’t dress it up as a social call. Their lawyers would be calling the mayor before I had my hat off.’

  ‘Let them call. We’ll be out of there before they can stop us.’

  ‘Easy for you to say when what comes next doesn’t fall on your head. Besides which, we don’t even know the girl’s there.’

  I twisted on the spot, hands on my hips, the pain in the back of my skull reigniting. ‘It’s still the best place to start looking.’ I turned back to face him. ‘I’ll go. What’s the address?’

  He stared at me a beat too long. ‘I think that would be unwise.’

  ‘I’m a private citizen, that solves your problem.’

  He flipped the torn pocket of my suit coat. ‘Are you fooling yourself about what he’ll do to you?’

  ‘He’s tied up at the Flamingo.’

  ‘Goddamn but you’re a hard-head. Maybe he is, maybe not. Maybe your little drama spooked him and he made a call. Maybe—’

  ‘If he did, and if the girl’s in reach, what do you think happens to her next?’

  We stared at each other until he broke it, a cheer from the casino floor drawing his empty gaze, acceptance creeping across his face.

  ‘Still, you should think this through before you go charging,’ he said.

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘Every choice under the sun. If I was in your shoes, I don’t know I wouldn’t be taking that young lady back at my office and getting as far away from Siegel as I could.’

  I shifted so I was in his sightline. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘You’ve strayed a mile out of your lane already. The Flamingo, Heller, now this. You want to see her safe as bad as me. Can you give me a ride?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s nothing around there. You can’t roll up in a department car and you can’t say you walked in off the street.’

  ‘My car’s at the Flamingo.’

  He scratched his throat, me counting the seconds. ‘I’ll drop you at a cab stand. Rings truer that way anyhow. I’ll follow and wait a half-mile down the road, you come find me soon as you’re out.’

  I nodded and offered my hand. ‘Thanks.’

  He pinched the corners of his mouth between his fingers, watching me, then he shook it. ‘Good luck.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The cab ride on the Boulder Highway took a half-hour – a straight shot into the desert in the direction of the Dam. It was time I didn’t want. Too much of it. I couldn’t see Lang behind us, but I had to think he was out there. I sat alone in the darkness of the backseat, thinking, planning, regretting. All the lies I’d told, all the people that suffered, all the guilt I earned. All the truths I’d betrayed, except one – that I’d never give up on finding her.

  And the knowledge that it was all for naught if she was gone already.

  I clung to the belief that Siegel wouldn’t be there, nor any of his men that would recognise my face – and yet as we drew close, it was that fear that rose in me. He might have had me killed at the Flamingo if Lang hadn’t shown up; the desolate location of the brothel gave him licence to do anything he liked. I felt stupid going there without a gun. I thought about the calls I could have made before I set out: Tanner, a plea for help. Lizzie, save her from wondering. But to say what
? A final admission that finding Nancy Hill mattered more to me than my own life?

  The property came into view. It had the shape of an extended barn, looked like a converted roadhouse. Constructed of a dark wood and almost windowless, it was hard to make out its form against the night sky. There were two small squares of light on its huge flank, the only thing to suggest it wasn’t derelict. A hand-painted sign in white letters above the door announced it as the Kitten Litter.

  The cab driver dropped me out front and asked if I would need a ride back later. I shook my head, earning a conspiratorial grin from him as he got my meaning all wrong. ‘You watch yourself, them girls’ll eat a man up.’ I walked away before he could say anything more.

  I pulled the door open and went in holding my breath. From the doorway, I scanned the room: no Siegel, no Rosenberg. A woman greeted me inside the entrance. She wore a cowgirl outfit that showed too much skin and a smile that didn’t wash. ‘Well, howdy there. Looking for some company?’

  The interior didn’t feel as cavernous as the structure led me to believe. A wooden partition wall hid more than half the space inside, a small closed door in one corner of it. There was a bar to one side, four women in varying states of undress sitting on stools along it – none of them Nancy Hill. A few tables dotted the floor between them and where I stood – the suggestion that this was just like any other lounge in Las Vegas. Metal lamps hung from the ceiling on long cords, lighting the space like a pool hall. If there were any other customers in the place, I couldn’t see them. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Come and have a drink with us.’ She took my hand and made for the bar. ‘Have you joined us here at the Litter before?’

  ‘No. My first time in town.’

  ‘Well, we’ll look after you real nice. Have yourself a seat.’ She patted a barstool.

  The bartender nodded a greeting, but he held his station just along the counter from where she set me, and I had the idea that was the spot he kept a weapon stashed.

  The working girls sat in a cluster at one end, talking in low tones among themselves but making a point of flashing smiles my way. The cowgirl caught me looking and winked. ‘See anything you like?’

  ‘I was hoping … are there any others?’ I felt as if ants were swarming up my back.

  The women looked away in unison, smiles in place but lower-wattage now. ‘Well, you couldn’t want for a more beautiful set of girls, but … what did you have in mind?’

  ‘Petite, brunette.’ The best description of Nancy Hill I could give.

  She glanced at the women – two bottle blondes, a natural and a redhead – looking for a new pitch. ‘If that’s your usual thing, maybe you ought to mix it up a little.’

  I had the urge to walk across the room and bust open the doorway in the wall. The bartender was watching me, hands together on the counter now.

  ‘I’m particular.’ I made a point of looking to the back. ‘You have any more you could bring out?’

  Her tongue was in the corner of her mouth. Then she smiled, shook her head. ‘Whatever your choice, I can promise you a good time.’

  I looked along the liquor bottles behind the bar, labels of every colour – somewhere to put my eyes while I regrouped. ‘I’ll take a bourbon.’ I held up two fingers for a double measure.

  The bartender turned away to fix the drink.

  I faced the cowgirl. ‘I was looking for DiSalvo.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, handsome, I don’t know who that is.’

  The bartender had stopped pouring.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ She swivelled away from me and I couldn’t see if she gave the barman a look as he came over with my drink. ‘Mr Landell, can you help?’

  He set it down in front of me. ‘The young ladies here aren’t to the gentleman’s taste, I think perhaps he ought to try somewhere else.’ He held his arm out to the door, not so much the choice he made it out to be.

  My heartbeat accelerated. I looked over at the women again. ‘It’s a long way out here, how about I buy the ladies a drink first?’ I feigned giving the redhead another look.

  I could feel the bartender’s indecision. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cowgirl looking at him for direction. My intuition: he knew the significance of the name DiSalvo, she didn’t.

  I circled my finger in the air, signifying another round. ‘Whatever they want.’

  He stared at me and I had no clue what he was thinking. Then he moved over to the shelves and took a bottle down. He carried it to the counter and set it right above the spot where he’d first been standing. ‘Where’d you hear the name DiSalvo, friend?’

  His hands dipped out of sight.

  I slipped off my seat and inched towards him. I leaned over, as if to offer a confidence. Then I tossed my liquor in his face.

  I dived onto the bar top, reaching under the counter. One of the women screamed. He staggered back a step, wiping at his eyes. I scrabbled blind with my hand, feet off the floor. He got his vision back and lunged as my fingers touched metal. I snatched the object up just as he grabbed for it, pushing myself back off the bar. I steadied myself, righting the pistol in my hand, aimed it at him. The cowgirl was on the floor, looking up at me, a dropped glass to her right. No one moved.

  ‘Nancy Hill. Petite, brunette. DiSalvo. Where is she?’ Breathing hard.

  ‘Give me back the gun.’

  Eyes on him. ‘DiSalvo, tell me. It’s not too late.’

  He glanced over at the partition wall – fleeting but enough.

  I started backing away towards it, the women on the stools silent, staring at me bug-eyed. Halfway there I turned and sped up, glancing back to keep the gun trained towards the bar. I called out to him. ‘Stay where you are.’

  ‘Worst mistake you ever made.’

  I glanced at the small door, twenty feet away, and back. The cowgirl staring at it now. I kept moving. Another glance, her still looking past me. I turned back, a snap—

  I dived to the side as the door flew open. Behind it, a man holding a shotgun – the backup they’d been expecting. I fired twice in panic, wild shots aimed at the wall, enough to make the gunman retreat into the darkness beyond the doorway.

  I scrambled to my feet and threw myself against the partition. There were shouts and screams, the four women running for the main door. The cowgirl ducked around the bar to cover out of sight with the bartender.

  ‘I only came for the girl,’ I shouted, my voice wavering but holding. ‘Nancy Hill. Give up the girl and we all walk.’

  I could hear movement behind the partition, but I was side-on to the doorway, flattening myself as much as I could, no view of what lay beyond it.

  A voice came back from the other side. ‘Lay down the piece and we’ll make a deal.’ It sounded distant. I gave no response.

  Wisps of gunsmoke swirled, dissipating into the gloom of the rafters. A rush of thoughts screamed through my head, nothing sticking. I inched closer to the doorway, the gun held out in front of me, thinking frantically. A back way out? If so, maybe another gunman circling around right now, about to pin me in a crossfire. My arm shook holding the pistol, and it spread through my chest and up my throat.

  But the fear set off my anger. I hammered the gun butt against the wood. ‘I’ll shoot every damn one of you to get that girl. Tell me where she is.’ I ducked low, hoping he wouldn’t have adjusted for it if he took a pot-shot.

  No answer came. There were sounds of movement behind the wall, but from far off – footfalls on a staircase, more than one set. My pulse was strong enough that I could feel it in my fingers, pounding against the grip.

  Then the wall exploded along from me. The blast knocked me sideways. The retort was dizzying, wood splinters showering me.

  I staggered onto my haunches, ears ringing. Smoke leaked out of the hole – a pot-shot, but not how I’d expected. It was right where I’d been standing a minute before. I heard a shotgun being cocked.

  Panic descended. No way i
n, no way out. Empty desert for miles around, even if I did make it outside. No getaway car, Lang a half-mile away.

  I waited a second more, the one way to salvage something coming clear. I took off across the floor.

  I was halfway there when another shot came. My eyes screwed shut, braced, but I kept running. I opened them again just before I reached the bar, diving behind it.

  The cowgirl screamed as I slid into sight on my side, crashing into a shelf of highball glasses. She was taking cover with the barman at the other end of the bar. I got my feet under me and stole a look over the counter but the gunman was out of sight. I stayed low and scuttled along behind the bar.

  ‘Take off,’ I said to the cowgirl.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get clear of here. Go.’

  She stared a second, then nodded a half-dozen times. She got up, woozy, and ran along the bar in a crouch. Coming into the open, she threw her hands up and sprinted, screaming.

  The barman, Landell, was three feet away. I turned to him. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘You’re out of your goddamn—’

  I pointed the gun. ‘Is she here?’

  He eyeballed me.

  ‘Make me ask again, I’ll put a bullet in you.’

  He looked down the gun barrel. He shook his head, rapid.

  I held my breath, listening. A burst of footsteps in the main room and then silence. Moving closer with caution, station-to-station.

  I poked the gun over the bar and fired once, whipped it back down.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ I said.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘On your feet.’

  He hesitated so I snatched a handful of his shirt and put the gun to his temple. ‘Up.’

  He rose slowly. He called out to the room. ‘It’s me, don’t shoot.’

  I waited a second to be sure they wouldn’t plug him, and then I stood up behind him and locked my arm around his throat. ‘WE’RE COMING OUT. BACK THE HELL OFF.’

  I dragged him along the bar and out across the main room, moving slow, clumsy, him saying nothing, me too damn scared to think. All the while searching the room.