by Anna Burke
“That was a long time ago. How am I supposed to remember that?’
“There must not have been too many guests handing out hundred dollar bills. I thought that might make the name stick in your mind.”
“Not really. Guys would toss me a chip or two from their winnings all the time. I made way more in tips than I got in that piece-of-shit check the casino deposited in my bank account.”
“She never told you that an older man she met at the spa wanted to set her up in Hollywood, and that he was the one giving her those big tips?”
“No, she did not.” He bristled and sat up, as if about to leave. Jessica reached out and touched his arm. That caused him to look at her. This time, her smile got a reaction. Not like the one Jerry had generated in Bobby’s coworker, but enough that Bobby relaxed a little.
“We’re almost done here, Bobby. And speaking of tips, if it won’t get you into trouble, we’d be really happy if you’d take something for the disruption we’ve caused in your community service.” Jessica pulled out the wad of bills she had dug out earlier to use as a donation and laid them on the table. Bobby did not hesitate. In a split second, he snatched the cash and slipped it into a pocket in the shirt he wore under the apron.
“We wondered if you ever saw this gentleman at the casino, in a restaurant or bar or anywhere else at the hotel or spa?” On cue, Jerry slid a photo of Mr. P across the table, putting it in front of Bobby. In the black and white publicity shot from the late 90s, Mr. P. was wearing an unconstructed two-button blazer with rolled up sleeves, a dark t-shirt, and a pair of trousers with double reverse front pleats. His brown hair, streaked with grey, was shoulder length. Bobby looked at the photo, and a wave of recognition swept over his face. He shrugged a little. “He mighta been there. I, I can’t say for sure. Maybe I seen him, but it could have been on MTV or somewhere like that. He’s a big shot in the music business. I’d be stepping over a line if I was to tell you for sure that I seen him at the casino.”
He was squirming in his seat. With the money already in his pocket, they were about to lose him. Jessica looked at Jerry, who raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Liar,” Jessica thought, but did not say.
“Okay, thanks, Bobby. There’s just one last thing. Did Kelly ever tell you about a guy she might have seen once, maybe more? A tall guy called the doc, with some kind of disfigurement like a scar or...” Jessica stopped without finishing her sentence. At the mention of the doc, Bobby had flinched, then stood up abruptly.
“We’re done here. I told you all I can remember about that last time I seen Kelly. I don’t know why you want to ask all these other questions about Mr. P or the doc. All of this was a long time ago, and I don’t have anything to do with anything. Got that?” For the first time, Bobby had moved beyond wary to full-blown paranoia.
“Wait, you just called him Mr. P. I thought you didn’t know the man in the photo, Bobby.”
“No, that’s not what I said, Tommy. You trying to confuse things, or what? I told you I seen him before, and of course I know he’s Mr. P ‘cause I pay attention to what goes on in Hollywood and the music scene there. Anyone who doesn’t know who Mr. P is has got to be brain dead or something. I know who he is, I’m just not going to say he was at the casino handing out hundred dollar bills, got it?” Realizing he had raised his voice, Bobby looked around, kind of nodding and smiling to a few of the patrons who had stopped eating.
“How’s it going? The food good?” he asked an older man with a tanned face covered in white stubble, sitting at a nearby table. The old man nodded his head enthusiastically and went back to eating. Bobby was back in control. “Tom and Jerry, I can’t get over that. Only you got the names switched. You should be the Tom cat and you should be Jerry the mouse.” He threw his head back laughing as he turned to walk away.
“Hang on, Bobby. Take my card will you? If you come up with anything else, give me a call, okay?” He grabbed Jessica’s business card and stuffed it in the pocket where he had put the money earlier.
“I’d like to show that guy a thing or two about what a mouse can do to a louse. I can get my Tomcat on anytime I damn well please,” Tommy said, gritting his teeth. He clawed the air and hissed a couple times as they left the building.
“Let’s go, guys. Do you have time for lunch? My treat,” Jessica said, hoping that changing the subject would make her feel less creepy about the encounter with Bobby Simmons. She did not like the fact that there were moments when he was about as skittish as Chester Davis.
“Can we go to Inn-n-Out burger? I need junk food. There’s one a few blocks from here on 111, please, please?” She would have preferred a salad and a good glass of wine somewhere. At least it would be a low budget, unpretentious lunch.
“Sure, Tommy, a burger sounds good.”
“I’m having fries animal-style,” Tommy said, pawing at the air and hissing again. Animal style fries was an item on the secret menu at the iconic west-coast burger joint. A load of fries served up with cheese and grilled onions, covered with Thousand Island dressing. It was way more than she could handle, especially after the scotch and pie and Kalua pig the night before. By the time she arrived at the restaurant, the cloud of guilt swirling around her was more about gluttony than greed. Watching Tommy wolf down the animal fries with apparent abandon caused Jessica to contemplate a third deadly sin for the day—envy. How could he get away eating like that and stay so willowy thin?
She remembered sitting with Kelly wondering the same thing all those years ago. Kelly smiling and vivacious, full of life, as the two of them chattered about students or teachers at school. Kelly’s words had tumbled out, each one practically tripping over the next as she filled Jessica in on the latest gossip. She always knew first who was planning to break up or make up, who was having a party or getting a hot new car, whatever. She was St. Theresa’s answer to the Gossip Girl, but without the blog. That was probably a good thing. Jessica wondered how much of what Kelly said was true, and how much the figment of an overactive imagination.
She couldn’t quite remember when Kelly had nonchalantly suggested that purging was the key to no more worries about eating all those animal fries. Did she have an eating disorder? Could her vivaciousness and impulsiveness been early signs of bipolar disorder? Was she speedy from some drug she was using, keeping that and other secrets from Jessica and her friends? And how in the world did she end up with Bobby Simmons as a boyfriend? When and why?
Over lunch, they agreed that, though he had shed a lot of his lounge lizard looks over the years, along with most of his hair, Bobby Simmons was still a creep. They also agreed he knew more than he was willing to say about Mr. P and the doc. Like Chester Davis, Bobby Simmons was scared. It was hidden under a layer of belligerence, but it was there. She intended to go over everything again with Chester Davis Wednesday morning, whether or not Detective Greenwald put together a photo lineup as Frank was going to ask him to do. Jessica wondered if Chester Davis knew Bobby Simmons back in the day. There was a lot of the small town in Palm Springs, obvious from the way in which townies had put the finger on Bobby Simmons so quickly.
Jerry and Tommy agreed to keep digging into Mr. P’s past. There had to be a way to discover if the doc was hovering somewhere around Mr. P. A guy like that was hard to miss, and with his “doctor-feel-good” inclinations, it was hard to believe he had not had some brush with the law. They needed a photo or a name or both. Meanwhile, Frank would make sure Art Greenwald and his team took another look at Bobby Simmons, adding to whatever Jerry and Tommy could dredge up with a background check. Perhaps they could turn up something in the years since Kelly’s death linking Bobby to Mr. P or the doc. They could at least find out what sort of trouble had landed Bobby Simmons in prison.
CHAPTER 22
A distinguished looking gentleman walks into a restaurant in downtown Palm Springs. The hostess asks, “Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“Why yes, I do. We’re standing on it.” This apocryphal story, widel
y circulated in the desert cities, reflects the unique arrangement of tribal lands in the Coachella Valley.
In the 1860s, the U.S. government made land grants to encourage railroad magnates to lay down track. In what was referred to as checker boarding, alternating plots of land along the railroad corridor were given to rail companies to subsidize the cost of building the railroads. When it came time to square up with the native people who had occupied the Coachella Valley for 2000 years, checker boarding served another purpose. Plots on the checkerboard, not previously doled out to the railroads, were awarded to tribal members.
After decades of wrangling with government authorities, the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians ended up with more than thirty thousand acres of reservation lands. About a third of that acreage was located within the Palm Springs city limits, often side-by-side with parcels bought and sold on the open market. It was the 1960s before the details of tribal ownership were worked out, allowing tribes to realize profit from the land they owned by leasing it. Leasing land for both residential and commercial development began to bring badly needed money to the Agua Caliente, even before gaming took off.
In 1999, an agreement was reached with the state of California to allow expanded gaming on tribal lands. That included Nevada-style slot machines and card games. Gaming did not pay off for all the tribes that pursued it, but for the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians it did—big time. Half of the 400 or so tribal members were living at or below the poverty level in 1993. Today the tribe’s wealth is estimated to be in the billions of dollars, including preserve land, real estate holdings, gaming, banking, agriculture and a host of other ventures.
The Agua Caliente spa casino in Palm Springs was built on a square of the tribe’s checkerboard reservation in the downtown retail district. That location encompasses the ancient hot springs the Cahuilla called “Se-Khi” or boiling waters. The area and the band of Indians occupying it were later given the name Agua Caliente (“hot water”) by the Spanish. In the 1990s, the establishment in Palm Springs grew to occupy several square blocks adjacent to other commercial properties.
Jessica arrived at the downtown Palm Springs complex with Bernadette and Laura around 6:00 p.m., as planned. As they queued up to check in, Tommy and Jerry walked into the hotel and joined them. While they waited in line at the front desk, Brien walked by in swim trunks. He greeted them, saying he was heading out to do some “surveilling,” as he called it, in the pool area. Somehow, he had already “scored” a beer and a bag of chips. He would meet the rest of them for dinner in the steakhouse at the casino, across the street from the hotel, at 7:45.
In the meantime, Jessica settled in and made their spa appointments for the next day. They had decided to hit the casino, bars and restaurants tonight, and then meet up at nine the next morning to have Uncle Don walk them through the area where Kelly’s body was found. After that, they would visit the spa for their scheduled appointments, and then meet up once more to debrief.
Peter had arranged to meet his friend in security for a drink in the bar when his shift ended at six o’clock. By the time the rest of them made their way to the front desk, Peter had already stowed his overnight bag in his room and was headed to the casino for that drink with his friend, nodding to them as he passed. Tommy and Jerry planned to hit the lounge areas and bars before dinner. They all carried photos of Mr. P and Kelly.
In no time at all ‘the girls’ were checked in, had dropped off their things, and scooted on over to the casino. Saturday nights were busy at the casino, even in the summer. Not crazy-busy like in the cooler months, but there was a lively crowd. A steady hubbub of voices undergirded the pulsing lights and mechanical sounds emanating from the slot machines. Even now when not all the machines required players to pump them full of coins, they made a lot of noise. After a quick loop around the perimeter, Bernadette had abandoned them.
“I’m going to the bathroom and then I’m going to play the slots. I already spotted the machine I’m going to play.”
“What? You’re really going to pump money into one of these contraptions?”
“¡Claro que si! I’m undercover. I got to fit in, don’t I? Maybe you two should try your luck at one of the card tables. Are you any good at blackjack or Texas Hold ‘em? They got both in here.”
Jessica and Laura looked at each other with their mouths open as though to speak. They eyed Bernadette. Maybe she was putting them on. The tiny powerhouse was champing at the bit to get going. “I’m going to keep looking around, Bernadette. What about you Laura, you feeling lucky?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve heard of blackjack and Texas Hold ‘em, but I have no idea how to play.”
“We’ll have to leave the gambling to you, St. Bernadette.” Jessica fixed her gaze on Bernadette as she spoke.
“Don’t give me your nasty nun look, Jessica. I’ve played bingo since I was younger than you, Niña, and I haven’t missed a casino night at St. Theresa’s in twenty years. It’s not a sin if you’re not losing your grocery money or something like that, and if it’s for a good cause.” She seemed determined, so Jessica let it go, wondering how much there was about this precious creature she did not know.
As Bernadette dashed off toward the restrooms, Jessica and Laura resumed their promenade around the casino floor. “Do I really have a ‘nasty nun’ look?”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite that way. Stern, maybe, haughty and disapproving, more like a Mother Superior, I’d say.”
Jessica frowned, as she took in their surroundings. She wondered if Laura was serious or was putting her on. Just then Laura leaned in and said, “See you’re doing it again. You do not like what you see around you and it shows! You’ve got that ‘gonna whack somebody on the knuckles with a ruler’ expression on your face.”
Jessica peered at herself in a nearby mirror. She did look serious, but haughty and disapproving? Well, okay, disapproving, maybe. “Go ahead, call me, Mother Jessica. At this point I’m a practicing celibate so maybe I am channeling my inner prioress. Hell with the ruler, though. In this place I’m going to need a yardstick. I just don’t get the gambling thing.”
Diehard gamblers did. They were hard at work, punching buttons on the slot machines, many of them puffing away on cigarettes as they perched on stools in front of one animated machine or another. The air filters in the place were going like gang busters or the room would have been filled with smoke. There was a room full of slots designated as a nonsmoking area, but that room was nearly empty.
Apparently, compulsions were doled out in duplicate, smoking and gambling two expressions of the same underlying drive. Or in triplicate if you also counted the steady stream of drinks being served to players. Those drinks were delivered by women in outfits like the one Kelly had worn when she was killed. Jessica stopped and watched play at card tables where rounds of poker and black jack were underway. Gamblers, perched on tall stools, waited for each turn of a card with great anticipation.
“They’re playing Texas Hold ‘em here, Laura.” As she spoke, the dealer and a couple of the men sitting at the table looked up from their cards. They didn’t shush her, but gave her their version of the nasty nun look. She moved away from the table, out of earshot, feeling lost.
“So, what’s your take on all this?” she asked Laura, who had been quietly circling the room with her.
“Honestly, I don’t get it either. It seems like some level of hell to me, but they seem so absorbed by it all. Kind of the way you look when you’re in the zone shopping.” Laura smiled at Jessica, taunting her.
“Ha, ha. I know you’re right, but you don’t have to be such a brat about it.”
“I’m only teasing. Besides you don’t smoke while you’re shoving items into a shopping cart like you were feeding quarters to a slot machine. You may have given up sex but you haven’t taken that vow of poverty yet, Mother Jessica.” Jessica stuck her tongue out at Laura.
“So, should we just walk up to one of these servers and flash the p
icture of Kelly or Mr. P?” Jessica was eager to get on with it, hoping to speak to a couple servers before going to dinner at the restaurant, which was just off the casino floor.
“We don’t need to gamble in order to go ‘undercover,’ but let’s order a drink first before we flash anything other than a credit card.”
“Okay, that’s probably a good idea.” She and Laura hustled over to the bar area nearby, where several women were busy working. Most appeared to be 20ish, but one woman was considerably older than the others. If they had any chance of finding someone who had been at the casino for a while, she was more likely to fill the bill than the younger women. Jessica hopped up on the bar stool closest to the woman, Graciela, according to her name tag. Laura took the seat next to her.
“We’d like a couple drinks. Can you help us with that?”
“Sure can, what would you like?”
“I’ll have a mojito.”
“One mojito, coming right up.” Turning to Laura, she asked, “and what can I get for you?”
“A mojito sounds great, actually. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Graciela stepped away and mixed their drinks. In no time flat, she was back. “You want to run a tab or settle up now?”
“We have a dinner reservation in a few minutes. I guess we should pay as we go. Can we take our drinks with us?”
“Of course you can.” Graciela told them what they owed, and Jessica paid with cash, adding a twenty dollar tip. “Thanks. Where are you having dinner?”
“At the steakhouse,” Jessica said, nodding in the general vicinity of the door leading to the restaurant.
“Good choice. Are you two in town for the weekend?”
“No, we’re local. I’m Jessica and this is Laura. It’s nice to meet you, Graciela.” Jessica held out her hand and Graciela shook it.