Stephanie Caffrey - Raven McShane 01 - Diva Las Vegas

by Stephanie Caffrey

  “You from Vegas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you the one who’s been calling me from the 702 area code?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ve called a few times, but there was no answer.”

  “A few times? I think it’s been more like twenty.”

  I shrugged.

  “So you had to follow me to the race track?” He turned around fully to face me. “This must be some project.”

  “Well, it’s pretty important. Rachel thought you could help me get a handle on some things and…” I stopped in mid-sentence. “So how come you didn’t answer your phone?” I was more than a little curious. And ticked.

  He shook his head back and forth, his face more serious. “It’s kind of personal. If you really want to know, I owe a lot of people money back there, and they only managed to track me down here a few months ago. Since then there have been any number of bill collectors and lawyers calling me, and I’ve been playing hard to get, you might say. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He looked at Mike for the first time. “Your friend?”

  Mike introduced himself.

  Just then the young woman returned with a glass of white wine for herself and what looked like a martini on the rocks for Mel. He flashed us a mischievous look that suggested we would be better off if we didn’t make any editorial comments about his supermodel companion or his pre-noon cocktail. He attempted to introduce us to his young friend.

  “Nicole, this is…” he stopped, obviously forgetting our names.

  Mike shot out of his seat like a Marine corporal coming to attention for a four-star general. “Mike Madsen,” he said, taking her hand. “Nice to meet you. This is Raven McShane.”

  Nicole’s greeting was pleasant but wary. She’d probably learned to be cagey at the Chanel modeling school. But she smiled faintly at Mike, and I immediately began to like her a lot less.

  “Sorry,” Mel said, “I’m getting old. Nicole is my in-home assistant and caregiver. Honey,” he smiled indulgently, “these folks have some business to talk over with me. Would you mind taking a look at the horses in the first race?”

  “Of course,” she said, knowing she was being dismissed.

  “She’s actually got a great eye for winners,” Mel said. All three of us admired Nicole as she walked away. I wondered if it hurt to sit down when your ass was that small.

  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time on a nice day like this,” I started. The old man’s eyes glistened with interest, but he kept quiet. “Anyway, I managed to get myself banned from the casino, so you’re the only person I have left to talk to.”

  “Banned?” he squawked incredulously. “Who banned you?”

  “A guy named Holman and another guy with a mustache. He didn’t say much.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted. “Holman’s head of security, works for Phil d’Angelo.”

  I nodded.

  “He’s also a schmuck,” Mel mumbled.

  “Among other things.”

  Mel shrugged. “And what makes you think I would just start singing like a canary? Or that I even have any dirt to dish?” His gaze was directed down at the track, where Nicole had begun dutifully inspecting the horses as they pranced by. Mike was watching her too, I noticed. I elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

  “She’s too young for you,” I hissed under my breath.

  Mike put up his hands in a protest of innocence. Mel seemed amused by the whole thing.

  I turned back to Mel. “I don’t know if you know anything,” I said. “But we did drive all the way down here just to talk to you.” He turned to face me, and I leaned towards him to give a better view of my cleavage. Shameless, but effective. Nicole might have a great pair of legs, but she didn’t have a rack built by the finest plastic surgeon in L.A. “What I’m really interested in is anything you might know about the murder of George Hannity.”

  He looked up from my chest. “Jesus, you don’t mess around.”

  I smiled back at him.

  “Look, I heard the same rumors other people heard, and I’m certainly not buddy-buddy with the crowd running the place now. Did you know they got rid of me?” He pulled a short cigar out of his coat pocket. “I’d offer you one, but I wasn’t expecting cigar-smoking company today.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I like them much bigger than that, anyway. So why did they get rid of you?”

  He seemed amused by the question. “No hard feelings on my part, actually. That was three years ago, and they were the new guard. I should have retired long ago anyway. But those are people you don’t want to be messing with, let me just put it that way. They have a good thing going, and they’re not going to take kindly to some stranger poking around.” He took a big loud slurp of his martini and then lit his cigar with a match. “Even if that stranger is a stunning beauty like yourself,” he added. There was a friendly yet devilish twinkle in his eyes.

  I pretended to ignore the compliment, but I made sure to store it in my compliment bank for future reference and re-examination. “So you didn’t hear any gossip one way or the other whether Cody actually killed George?”

  “Nope. After Cody got off, I don’t think anyone who actually knew anything was in the mood to stir up that pot.”

  “Including you?” I asked.

  He chuckled, letting loose a big puff of cigar smoke. He pointed his cigar at Mike. “Does this guy talk, or do I have to pull a string?”

  “I’m her boss,” Mike deadpanned. “Just here to make sure she doesn’t screw things up.”

  Mel shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about the murder,” he said, “but…”.

  I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

  “I shouldn’t really be telling you this,” he said, sighing. He slumped a bit in his chair, and he turned to look down on Nicole and the sun-drenched racetrack below. “I’m dying,” he said simply, catching me completely off-guard. “I don’t know exactly when, but this is probably my last summer.”

  I wasn’t good at sympathetic utterances, so I just sat there in silence. Several seconds passed before he spoke again.

  “Anyway, I didn’t know exactly what was going on,” he explained, “but I had a hunch before I left that some people were taking some liberties with the books. Not nickel-and-dime stuff either. By the time I left I was pretty sure that the casino was making more money than it was reporting to the owners.”

  “Or the IRS,” Mike said.

  “So they were stealing?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell anyone this before?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment, holding his cigar up to his face to inspect the evenness of the cigar’s burn. “That’s a fair question. For one, I didn’t have much proof. I just noticed people were living a little higher on the hog than their salaries justified. A lot of closed-door meetings. And two, I’m just plain greedy. Do you know that even though they basically threw me out on my ass, they pay me twenty thousand dollars a month in a pension? Out of the blue. I didn’t have any pension coming to me at all. I thought it was a mistake at first, but when I asked about it they told me to enjoy retirement and remember my friends at the casino.”

  “So you think it’s hush money?” I asked.

  “Basically. I know where a lot of bodies are buried, and I put in twenty-six years in that place. They weren’t going to take any chances on my loyalty, let’s put it that way. I had a few million saved up already, but with the pension I began developing some expensive habits,” he said, gesturing at the racetrack below. I couldn’t tell whether he meant the horses or Nicole.

  “Who did you talk to about the pension?” I asked.

  “Whom.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “Phil d’Angelo—he’s in charge of all the numbers, the books, that sort of thing.”

  Nicole waved at us from the track below.

  Mel smiled indulgently. He apparently felt the need to unburden himself. “Since my wife passed four years ago, Nicole’s been the highlight of my life.
For eight hundred a week, she cooks, cleans and takes me places three days a week. There’s no simpler pleasure I know these days than to park myself in a chair in the backyard and watch her mow the lawn. Nothing but a red bikini top and jean shorts. Back and forth she goes, back and forth.” He chuckled. “She’s usually lost in whatever music she’s got on her headphones. But she knows I’m watching, and I think she secretly kind of likes the attention.” He looked at Mike conspiratorially. “Those legs of hers,” he said wistfully. “They’re about all that’s getting me out of bed these days.”

  Mike nodded gravely, and I let the horny old man think about Nicole’s legs for a few more seconds. “About the management,” I said, “do you think Cody was involved in cooking the books?”

  “Could be,” he said, taking another long puff of his cigar. “Honestly, I didn’t know him that well. When he came in to work there it was more as a hobby, I think. You know, he was basically a trophy househusband whose wife owned part of the place. He was just a stage dancer, you know, and I think he wanted to look and act like he was a businessman or something. Phil D’Angelo really runs things over there.”

  “I can relate to that,” I blurted out. Apparently Cody and I had something in common: we both wanted to find something more productive to do than taking our clothes off for money.

  Mel drained the rest of his martini as if it were his last, and he turned to face me directly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if my hunch about embezzlement was part of the reason George Hannity was killed, if that’s what you’re getting at. He was a tough owner and a straight shooter. Not everyone was thrilled to have him lurking around.”

  “And if he found out anyone was ripping him off, the gravy train would end?”

  “Could be. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered in that town to protect the skim.” He chuckled knowingly.

  “That stuff was before my time,” I said. “Or I thought it was, anyway.”

  “In the good old days,” Mel said, “the casinos were run by the mob and financed by union pension funds. Anyone who threatened the skim would be shot, execution style. Don’t think all of a sudden everyone’s a Boy Scout just because we have corporate masters now.”

  He didn’t need to tell me that. After all, I’d been back-roomed like a common card counter just last week. “You’ve been very helpful.” I elbowed Mike and stood “Thank you for talking with us.”

  “Did I have a choice?” he asked, grinning broadly and grabbing my arm with a little affection. “Sorry you had to come all the way out here to find me,” he added. “But I’m very glad I got to see you in person.” His wink was cute as hell.

  “And if anyone asks,” I said reassuringly, “I didn’t hear anything about the casino from you.”

  He held up his palms, feigning offense. “That’s nice, but you said it wrong. You gotta murder the grammar. “

  I looked at him quizzically, not following.

  “I said what wrong?”

  Mike elbowed me, cleared his throat, and then deadpanned a perfect New Jersey mobster accent, lowering his voice a half-octave in the process. “We didn’t hear nothin’ about nobody from you.”

  Mel smiled. “The robot talks!”

  I snorted at Mike’s Tony Soprano impersonation.

  Nicole returned with another martini for Mel, although this one clearly had more ice than gin in it. Smart woman. I handed Mel a business card in case he thought of anything else later, and we left the two of them to enjoy the races in peace.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mike and I took the escalator down to join the rest of the unwashed masses in the cheap seats.

  “Nice accent,” I said.

  “Huh?” He wasn’t getting it.

  “You know, we didn’t hear nothin’.”

  He smiled. “I guess I’ve seen The Sopranos a few times.”

  “Nicole seemed to like you,” I said, changing the subject.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She didn’t twist her face into a disgusted frown when she looked at you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was beginning to get jealous.”

  Mike grunted. Apparently the topic of conversation didn’t interest him.

  He looked thoughtful on our walk back to the car. “So what do you think?”

  “You mean, is that enough to nail Cody Masterson?”

  He nodded. “If Mel’s hunch is right, Cody’s got a steady flow of tax-free cash coming in. That’s hard to give up.”

  “Tax free and partner-free, too,” I added. “If Cody’s been skimming money off the top, he would have been stealing from George. If George had found out he was getting ripped off…” I trailed off.

  Mike finished my thought. “I can’t think of a better reason for Cody to blow George’s brains out on a deserted road. Especially if George was about to end it or turn Cody in to the cops.”

  We left the racetrack parking lot and made our way back downtown to the hotel, where we checked out. Mike was quiet for most of the drive back to Vegas. I wasn’t sure if he was lost in thought or just hung over. He hadn’t said a peep about last night, and I was beginning to wonder if he even remembered our romp in the hot tub. We hit the Nevada border around four o’clock, and that seemed to rouse Mike out of his thoughts.

  “This Mel guy didn’t seem too sure that Cody was actually involved in this skim business,” he said.

  “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time?”

  “No. I have a headache, that’s all. How much did I have to drink last night?”

  “Not too much. A gringo margarita and a half a beer.” I didn’t mention that the half beer was probably as strong as two normal beers.

  “Huh. Anyway, your problem is still the same,” he said. “Something like a skim is hard to prove. It’s a complicated process that’s all done on the inside, and you happen to have gotten yourself banned from the place.”

  “Are you volunteering to help me?”

  “No. I do actually have some of my own cases, you know.”

  “But they’re not as much fun as working with me, are they?”

  “True.” He smiled. “But let’s face it. I’ve lived in Vegas for fifteen years. I remember the FBI once spent two years trying to make a single case of skimming. They had informants on the inside, specially trained agents, accountants, handwriting experts, marked bills, wiretaps, and God knows what else. And you’re just you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “My point is, I don’t think you want to open that whole can of worms. And you don’t have to. The details of the skim aren’t that important right now, or at least that’s not what your client hired you to sniff out. That would take forever, and for you it’d be impossible. The real question is, did George Hannity find out about a skim before he was killed? And if so, was Cody involved?”

  “I don’t think I’m with you all the way,” I said.

  “The point is that any embezzlement operation is irrelevant unless you can show that George Hannity had actually found out about it. Otherwise there’d be no reason to kill him. So if you can show that he knew about it, and if you can show that Cody’s tied into the whole thing, that might be enough to take him down.”

  I nodded. “I get it. If I find out Hannity knew nothing about it, I can drop it and focus on other things. No sense going off on a wild goose chase if I don’t have to.”

  “Exactly.” Mike had a good point.

  We got back to Las Vegas just in time for the tail end of rush hour, and I dropped Mike off his house. He gave me a smile and thanked me for dragging him along. But that was it. Quiet Mike was back.

  I got home and checked my mail. I was surprised to find a cashier’s check for $4,500 along with a copy of my retainer agreement signed by Barbara Finley, the woman from Indiana who’d called the week before. I was almost certain she’d been scared off by my hourly rates, but I was happy to be wrong. As instructed, Barbara included a note describing what she�
��d sniffed out about her husband’s itinerary. He’d be arriving Thursday morning on Northwest Airlines flight 903, staying at Mandalay Bay with a party of five or six, leaving Sunday. She’d also enclosed a few pictures of her husband to help me identify him. Easy work—no hassle, paid up front, nobody gets hurt. The best part was that clients like Mrs. Finley were always happiest when I had nothing interesting to report.

  The sun was creeping lower and lower, and after the long road trip all I wanted to do was open a bottle of champagne and lounge on my balcony to watch the Strip light up at night. In a rare moment of genius I came up with a way to be lazy and get some work done at the same time. I could call Rachel. We hadn’t talked much about my progress so far. Probably because I hadn’t made any progress. I picked up the phone and dialed her cell number.

  “How’d you like to come over for some champagne? We can order food and watch the Strip light up from my balcony.”

  “Um, okay. What’s the occasion?”

  “Just want to talk a little about the case.” I cringed, unable to believe my own fib. I fessed up. “Actually, it’s really just an excuse to open some bubbly.”

  She laughed. “You need an excuse? Just give me your address, and I’ll get there in a half hour.”

  That gave me enough time to dig out a few bottles I had stashed away underneath my bed. One for the freezer, one for the fridge. I was glad Rachel was joining me. We’d been great friends five years ago, but things had changed when she married George. But even after George was killed Rachel didn’t make any efforts to restart our friendship. I supposed that once you were admitted to high society, there wasn’t much reason to rekindle old friendships with a commoner like me.

  Rachel was on time. It was still over 90 degrees outside, and she was dressed for it. She wore casual athletic shorts, sandals, and a thin brown zip-up cotton top. When we got outside to my balcony, she removed the top. She knew I was checking her out, so she made a little display out of it by swinging her top around above her head. She was pushing forty, but she looked fantastic in the skimpy red bra she wore underneath. The washed-out Rachel I’d seen at Cougar’s a week earlier was gone.