The Picasso Flop

by Vince Van Patten

  “Jimmy—”

  “No arguments, Kat,” Jimmy said. “Don’t make me put a bodyguard on you, too.”

  “What about you?” she demanded. “You ain’t no detective, and you’re no tough guy. Who’s gonna look out for you?”

  “I’m not going to be in any danger,” Jimmy said. “I’ve just got some questions to ask, that’s all.”

  “Right, right,” she said. “That’s why you want to keep me safe. Jimmy . . . you gotta let me know what’s goin’ on.”

  “Look,” he said, not wanting to tell her anything that would lead back to her father, “the WPT just asked me to help out, and Vic was my father’s partner at one time. We ran into each other here. I’m just using him to try to do what I can.”

  “What makes you think you can do something the police can’t?”

  “Well,” he said, “for one thing, the police once suspected you.”

  “Okay, good point, dude,” she said. “They’re not all that smart.”

  “Go back to your room and go to bed.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “The same,” he said, “but I’m going to get up early so I can do what I have to do and be ready to play.”

  “Jimmy,” she said, “you gotta really concentrate, you know?”

  “I know that, Kat.”

  “I’m gonna be watchin’ you,” she said. “You start to screw up and I’m gonna let you know.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “I’ll count on it.”

  He walked her to the door.

  “Who’s your biggest competition tomorrow?” she asked, wanting to talk about the game now.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a great table, some of the very best.”

  “Very best is not the word for it. Esfandiari is like sick. And the Grinder? Forget it. And what about Gus? This is a whole different level.”

  Jimmy shot her a look. “Thanks for the pep talk. I’ll get their autographs before I bust,” he said sarcastically.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but what about that crazy dude with the wooden dummy? He’s a freak.”

  “I’ve played against him before,” Jimmy said. “He’s good.”

  “And the dummy?”

  “He’s even better,” Jimmy said, opening the door and giving her a gentle push. “Good night, Kat. See you in the morning.”

  “Meet for breakfast?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if—”

  She grabbed the front of his jacket in her fist. “Dude, I’ll know you’re safe if you meet me for breakfast.”

  For the first time he realized she was truly worried about him.

  “Okay, kid, okay,” he said. “We’ll meet for breakfast, at Palio. Okay?”

  “Nine?”

  “Nine’s good.”

  But she didn’t release her hold on his jacket yet. She stared right into his eyes.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “I wish I knew what’s really goin’ on with you.” She yanked on him. “Someday you’re gonna have to tell me.”

  “I will,” he promised. “Someday.”

  She gave him a quick hug and then headed down the hall to the elevators.

  Jimmy went back inside and closed the door. He had known for a long time that she was a smart girl. Now he realized she was even smarter than he’d ever given her credit for.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Alone in his room, he realized he was too keyed up to sleep. He decided to go down to the casino, take a walk around, try to make sense out of all the things that were jumbled in his mind. He was still trying to put two and two together, thinking back over the past four days to things he’d seen and heard that hadn’t registered at the time he’d seen and heard them.

  The casino was quieter, less populated than any other time of the day, and yet there was still more activity going on in this town than anywhere else.

  He walked past the poker room. With the tournament down to the final table the room was once again home to daily and nightly games, tables populated by tourists, locals, and the occasional pro. Most of the attention was near a high-stakes table where a couple of the high-profile players were holding court. A large group of players were standing around a table where a Vietnamese man with John Gotti bling sat looking nervous yet determined. James Woods beelined up to Jimmy.

  “Hey, congratulations on making the final table.”

  “Thanks. I got lucky. What’s going on here?”

  Woods smirked, shook his head. “It’s classic. Scotty Nguyen has bet fifty grand that he can eat five packets of saltines in less than two minutes. Fuckin’ wackos.”

  Woods briskly walked away to the action. Cash and side bets exchanging hands. Jimmy stood and watched from a distance. The clock went down, and within one minute Scotty Nguyen was only on his second packet when he started shaking his head and spitting out the remainder on the table. He had lost but was still smiling. The crowd was hooting and hollering, and Jimmy walked away.

  Jimmy continued to walk through the casino, occasionally stopping to watch someone playing a slot machine. He came around a corner into a row of nickel slots and saw Margaret Porcelli there, intently pressing the Bet-the-Max button on her machine, something called Jackpot Party. She was wearing her lime-green jogging suit jacket with sequins on the back spelling out CASINO QUEEN. Her concentration was intense, and he started to back away before he disturbed her, then thought better of it. She was, after all, staying at the Bellagio thanks to his largesse. Vic had been doing his part, and he’d said that his wife would help as well. Jimmy needed to tap into her medical expertise and knowledge of computers.

  He got close enough to see the readout in red numbers that showed she had over six thousand credits in the machine. Some quick math told him she was sitting on better than three hundred dollars.

  He moved closer to her and her machine and watched for a few more moments, hoping she’d notice him. When she didn’t, he decided to press the issue.

  “Hello, Margaret,” he said.

  She turned her head quickly to look at him, her eyes wide and glassy. He recognized the slot trance she was in, and gave her a moment to process his face.

  “Oh,” she said finally, “Mr. Spain. Hello. I, uh, had a message from Vic saying he was doing something for you tonight, that I, uh, shouldn’t wait up.”

  “Margaret,” he said, “you don’t have to explain to me why you’re down here after midnight playing slots. Vic’s already told me how well you’ve been doing.”

  “I—I was going to get out of this machine if I got down to three hundred dollars.”

  “I’d like to leave you to it, I really would,” he said, “but Vic told me you were willing to help me out.”

  She stared at him for a few moments, then said, “Oh, uh, this is about the murders, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I was going to wait until morning to ask you, but . . .”

  “Well, I’m not sure what you want from me. . . .”

  Briefly, he told her his plan.

  “Oh, we can do that now. Just let me cash out of here.”

  She pressed a button on the machine and a TITO ticket came out with a bar code and the number $304.55 on it. As he watched she opened her wallet and put the ticket inside along with some others. He thought he saw one that had $400 on it.

  “That looks like quite a haul,” he commented.

  “I save them, you see,” she told him, “and cash them out later. I’m doing quite well.”

  “Good for you. I’m sorry to interrupt—”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” she said. “I was only going to play this one machine and then go back to the room. I did very well on it earlier today.”

  They walked through the casino together to the elevators and went up to her floor. Along the way she told him how grateful she was for the room and all the comps.

  “That’s silly,” he told her. “You and Vic are saving my a— helping me out tremendously.”

  “Well,” she said, sliding her
key card in the door and pushing when the green light came on, “I hope I can be of some more help, then.”

  When they got inside, she said, “Just let me put my purse away.” He watched as she actually put it—tickets and all—into the safe each hotel room had.

  “Now,” she said, turning to face him, “what can I do for you?”

  “Vic told me you were a nurse until you retired last year.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I need to know some medical information.”

  “What kind?”

  “Well, the kind that, uh, may be illegal for me to know. How good are you with that computer?” He nodded his head at the laptop sitting on the desk.

  Her eyes lit up as if he’d pointed to a slot machine.

  “I’m very good with the Internet.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said. “How about we get some coffee from room service?”

  It took a couple of hours of surfing and hacking, and Jimmy had most of the information he thought he needed. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure he had the answers he wanted.

  By the time they were done, they were both ready to turn in, so Jimmy thanked Margaret for her time and headed for the door.

  “Mr. Spain?” she said.

  “Jimmy, please.”

  “Jimmy,” she said, “is what you have my Vic doing going to get him in trouble?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Or hurt?”

  Jimmy wondered if Vic had told her about the bump on his head yet.

  “Never mind,” she said, before he could lie. “He’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. I know he wasn’t having a good time here before we ran into you. We only came here because I wanted to. I guess I should thank you for giving him something to occupy his time.”

  “You are supposed to check out tomorrow and head home, aren’t you, Margaret?”

  “Yes. We have a five-fifteen flight.”

  “Why don’t you use your computer to change your flight and stay another couple of days as my guest. Is there any rush to get home?”

  “No,” she said, “I’ve got nothing but retirement waiting for me, and the department forced Vic to take two weeks’ vacation. The days have been piling up.”

  “All right, then. I’ll have your stay here extended two days, with full comps. And I’ll reimburse you whatever it costs to change your ticket.”

  “Are you doing this because of your father?”

  “What about my father?” Jimmy asked, bristling slightly as he always did when the old man was brought up.

  “I mean because he and Vic were partners. That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, it was,” Jimmy said, “but that’s only part of the reason. You and Vic have been very helpful at a time when I needed help. That’s worth a lot to me. Good night, Margaret.” He bent down to hug the little woman.

  “Good night, Jimmy.”

  He went back to his suite, his pocket filled with notes he’d taken during various Internet searches. He sat on the sofa and spread the papers out on the coffee table. He decided to leave them there until morning, when he’d look at them again. Maybe they’d sort themselves out, fit themselves together like a jigsaw puzzle.

  As he got ready for bed he knew that what he was thinking was something the police had never thought about. And why would they? They were busy investigating everyone in the Bellagio. He wondered how Detective Cooper would react when he finally told him his theory. He knew Devine would make trouble, so he’d have to get Cooper by himself. He would definitely need the help of the police if everything came together the way he was thinking it could—the way he hoped it wouldn’t.

  This was one time he would have preferred to be wrong.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Jimmy woke at 8 A.M. The notes on the coffee table had not moved themselves during the night. No unseen hand had arranged them in a way that would make perfect sense. That task was still going to be very much up to him.

  He showered and dressed quickly, gathered up his notes, and went downstairs to meet Kat for breakfast. He had eight hours ahead of him to do what he had to do in order to be able to play the final table with a clear head.

  Kat had gotten there first, and as he approached the table she said, “You look like shit, dude. Don’t tell me another murder happened?”

  “No, nothing that eventful. I just didn’t get too much sleep.”

  “You’re gonna have to rebound, dude,” she said. “Maybe you could take a nap later?”

  “I don’t know, Kat,” he said. “I’ll see. Let’s have something quick for breakfast, okay?”

  “Fine with me,” she said. “I’m gonna play tourist today and do some sightseeing. I wanna see the Venetian and the Wynn . . .”

  She continued to talk while they walked to the counter for coffee and pastries.

  When he was able to get a word in edgewise he asked, “Did you see Sabine at all yesterday?”

  “Once, I think,” she said, “why? You into that broad, Jimmy?”

  “She’s interesting.”

  He ate his doughnut and studied Kat. She seemed to have found herself a happy medium as far as her appearance went. All the Goth qualities were still there, but she had on just the right amount of makeup and was wearing a skirt.

  “You look nice.”

  “I had some help,” she admitted. “A couple of the other chick players helped me out before I did my WPT interview. They were the nuts.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Cloney Gowan and Evelyn Ng.”

  “Wow,” he said, impressed. “If you’re going to take advice from anyone on style . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. They were cool about it.”

  After a little more chatter they finished their breakfasts and left Palio.

  “I’m headin’ out,” she told him. “Is there anything you need me to do first?”

  “Just go and have a good time, Kat,” Jimmy said.

  “I can do that.”

  “And be at the game tonight,” he added. “I’ll need the moral support.”

  She smiled and said, “I can definitely do that, dude.”

  “Then I’ll see you there.”

  They parted company outside Palio. Jimmy was very satisfied with both Kat’s level of play and her attitude. She had come a long way in the time they’d been in Vegas, and she had finished in the money. She was dressing in a more feminine style, and the conversation they’d just had had only one poker term in it.

  Jimmy went by the poker room to see who was around and was surprised to see Sexton there, talking to a couple of guys. Jimmy thought to himself, This guy gets less sleep than me.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  Sexton turned, saw Jimmy, and excused himself and came over.

  “That was the director and one of the cameramen for tonight,” he explained.

  Jimmy nodded. Perhaps a little too much information, but nevertheless.

  “How did it go getting Vic and those guys a room last night?” Jimmy asked.

  “No problem,” Sexton said. “And I checked in with them this morning. They’re all still alive.” Sexton chuckled.

  A bit odd, Jimmy thought. Perhaps the sleep deprivation was getting to him.

  “Listen,” Jimmy said, “I need to talk to Vic. Is he in the room with them?”

  “No,” Sexton said, “it took me until this morning, but I got a couple of off-duty security guys in there.”

  “So where’s Vic?”

  “I don’t know,” Sexton said. “Maybe in his room?”

  “I’ll check,” Jimmy said.

  “Are you all set for tonight, Mr. Final Table? You definitely locked up a seat as one of our Bad Boys. ‘Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do,’?” he started to sing the Cops TV theme.

  “I hope to be by five o’clock.”

  Jimmy gave Sexton’s shoulder a soft punch, then he walked away, leaving Sexton standing by himself, smiling and singing, “whatcha gonna do when they come for yo
u.”

  Rather than just go to Vic’s room Jimmy decided to use a house phone to call him. He’d kept Margaret up pretty late, and there was no telling how much sleep Vic had gotten. He was surprised when the Philly cop answered, sounding chipper and very much awake.

  “Did I wake you or Margaret?”

  “Naw, Margaret went down to hit the slots early, and I been waitin’ for your call. What’re your plans for today?”

  “My plans?”

  “Jimmy,” Vic said, “I been a cop for a long time, and I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look a cop has when he’s got the scent,” Vic explained. “You had that look last night. You got the scent.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the scent on the phone,” Jimmy said. “Meet me downstairs in front of the elevator that leads out to the Strip. We’ll talk about the scent there.”

  “Okay, kid,” Vic said. “See you in a few.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Margaret told me we’re staying longer, thanks to you,” Vic said. “I appreciate it. It means a lot to her.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I still got a week’s vacation,” Vic said. “I’m happy to do that here and not at home, mowing the lawn.”

  They were out on the Strip now, walking in the direction of Caesar’s Palace.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” the older man said.

  “What I have on my mind didn’t make much sense yesterday.”

  “And today?”

  “Well, after your wife got finished on the computer, it makes even less sense today.”

  “Keep talkin’.”

  Jimmy did, outlining his theory in full, hearing it himself for the first time out loud.

  “Am I crazy?” he finished.

  “I don’t think so, Jimmy,” Vic said. “Sounds to me like you’re actin’ on what you’ve observed, wrapped around a big hunch.”

  “What would you call that then?”

  Vic smiled. “I’d call it sound police work.”

  They decided to go into Caesar’s Palace. The street was packed with people walking to and from the casinos, and it was too hard to talk while trying to dodge them. Several times they almost had one of those huge, souvenir drinks the tourists hauled around spilled on them.