by Carolina Mac
“Yeah, I know, bro. We’ve been on a treadmill lately.”
“You should bring Misty something nice too. She don’t get much of your time.”
“I will, and I’ll bring her to Vegas for a weekend as soon as we get a break.”
“Where we staying?” asked Farrell.
“I like the Bellagio. Annie always stays there.”
“Good enough.”
AT NINE, Annie boarded her flight, made herself comfortable in first class and ordered a beer. She had a loose plan in mind to track down Dougie the Dog and see her mission through to the end. He was a loose end, and she never left one of those.
Never.
Las Vegas. Nevada.
BLAINE rented a Sahara at McCarran when they landed in Vegas. He drove to the Bellagio and checked himself and Farrell into the hotel at ten. They tossed their luggage on the beds, freshened up a little and headed down to the casino floor looking for a game.
“Soon enough to talk to Reg’s brother tomorrow,” said Blaine. “We deserve a break.”
“Damn right we do.” Farrell gave Blaine a fist bump. “I’m up for a game of Hold-em and the free beer that goes with it.”
ANNIE rented a Cherokee at the airport and checked into her suite at the Bellagio at one a.m. Tired from the trip, but not tired enough to sleep, she headed downstairs looking for a game and a beer.
What she found instead were her sons in the poker room playing in a cash game. She stood behind Blaine and asked her question, “Can anybody play?”
“Hey, Annie. What are you doing in Vegas?”
“Guess.” She sat down in seat seven and stacked up her chips.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday, January 31st.
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
BLAINE and Farrell joined Annie for breakfast in her suite. She’d ordered enough for four people, knowing what a good eater Farrell was and he didn’t disappoint her.
He helped himself to another piece of toast and covered it in strawberry jam. “This is nice, Mom, just the three of us having breakfast in Vegas.”
Blaine nodded. “It is relaxing. Can I ask how you plan to find Dougie?”
“I’m working on that. He likes to play poker and I might get lucky and run into him if I play in enough games.”
“How much time are you willing to dedicate to tying up this little loose end?”
“A few days,” said Annie, “I can’t be away from home or the kids too long.”
“I think I have his old Vegas address in my laptop, but that might be just what it is—old—and he doesn’t live there anymore.”
“Maybe he kept his Vegas place,” said Farrell, “If he intended to come back.”
“I haven’t got much to go on,” said Annie. “But it feels like the job isn’t finished. The man said not to worry, we’d get him later, but I don’t like the feeling.”
“See what you can do, Mom,” said Blaine. “If you can’t find a trace of him, let it go. For all you know, he could be in Mexico or Canada and you’re looking in Vegas.”
“That’s true. I wish I knew who that kid was riding Dougie’s bike and covering for him. That might give me a clue.”
“Dougie have any kids?” asked Farrell.
Annie shrugged. “I don’t know much about him at all.”
“How did he manage not to have a jacket?” asked Farrell, “The dirty Dog can’t be squeaky clean.”
Blaine shook his head. “There was nothing. A couple of ten-year-old arrests, no convictions.”
“I’ll start with his old address and go from there,” said Annie. “What time are you talking to the casino guy?”
Blaine checked the time on his phone. “Twenty minutes.”
The Golden Lotus. Las Vegas.
THE GOLDEN LOTUS was three blocks off the strip. Not one of the major hotels, but twenty storeys high and impressive in its own right. Oriental décor and loaded with bling, it would attract customers who wanted their Vegas experience to be over-the-top fakery.
Blaine displayed his cred pack to a clerk at the registration desk. “Mr. Bromwell, please. I need to speak with him.”
“Sorry, sir, Mr. Bromwell is only available by appointment.”
“Does he have an assistant?”
“Yes, Miss August.”
“And where is her office?” Blaine was losing patience.
“She doesn’t come in until ten, sir.”
“This is a police matter, sir. What’s your name?”
“Ben Carter.”
“Mr. Carter, you’re close to obstructing an investigation,” said Blaine. “Get Mr. Bromwell on the phone and tell him I’m here to speak to him.”
“I’m only doing my job, sir.”
“Do it better,” said Blaine, “And do it now.”
Carter punched a bunch of numbers into the house phone and spoke in almost a whisper. When he looked up his face was flushed. “Mr. Bromwell doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s eating breakfast.”
“Where is he?”
“In the Lotus Garden Restaurant on the second floor.”
“Thanks.”
Blaine and Farrell stepped off the escalator and followed the signs for the Lotus Garden. “How are we gonna find him in the restaurant, bro, if its crowded?”
“Maybe he’ll look like Reg,” said Blaine.”
“Yeah, and maybe he won’t.”
He didn’t.
They circled through the maze of tables twice and decided on a large bald man in a black suit sitting at a corner table alone. Blaine took out a card and asked, “Are you Harry Bromwell?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I do. Ranger Blaine Blackmore. Violent Crime for Texas.”
“A cop. What do you want with me?” He never stopped eating.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” asked Blaine.
Harry pointed his fork at the chairs on the other side of the table. “We can talk here.”
“You weren’t at your brother’s funeral,” said Blaine.
“Reg and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
“But you knew he had been murdered?”
“News travels.”
“You don’t seem upset about it.”
“I told you, we weren’t close.”
“But you were still brothers.”
Harry shrugged.
“Tell me about the missing money, Harry.” Blaine studied Harry’s jowly face searching for a sign. Nothing.
“I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis, sir. And until we are, you may call me Mr. Bromwell.”
“And you may call me Ranger Blackmore-Powell.”
“Fuck, I don’t want to talk to you, kid.”
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons and I don’t have to explain them to you.”
“Who killed Reg?”
“How in hell would I know?” He waved to a blonde waitress and she filled his coffee cup. He didn’t offer Blaine or Farrell any.
“I’ll have a coffee,” said Blaine, “and one for my brother too.”
She smiled and filled up their cups.
“I think you do know, Harry. Maybe you’d rather not know and knowing is making you nervous. But I bet you know.”
“Fuck off with the guessing game.” He pushed his chair back. “I’ve got work to do.” He checked his Rolex. “My day started ten minutes ago.”
“My investigation into Harry Bromwell started ten minutes ago, too,” said Blaine. “Enjoy the ride.”
“Fuck off, kid. I know who you are.”
Bromwell stomped off towards the bank of elevators. Blaine stood up to follow. “Fifty says he makes a phone call.”
“No bet,” said Farrell, “I was thinking the same thing.”
Governor’s Mansion. Austin.
CAT wanted desperately to go home to her own house for the weekend and not spend it wandering around the Governor’s mansion. She packed a small bag and wondered if the media would
try to follow her to see where she was going. She should talk to Blaine first and see what was happening with Reg’s brother.
I didn’t know he had a brother.
Thinking back on her time with Reg, she realized they hadn’t spent much time in deep, meaningful conversation. They hadn’t made an effort to get to know one another, all they did was have sex and engage in a bit of small talk. A few dinners out, but not many.
I was using him as much as he was using me.
She sat in the dark blue velvet wing chair by the window in her bedroom and pressed Blaine’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Are you busy?” she asked.
“Just leaving the casino. We interviewed Harry Bromwell and he’s non-cooperative.”
“Do you think he had something to do with the murder?”
“He’s my only suspect right now, so I’ll push him as hard as I can.”
“Will that be dangerous, I mean, if he’s mob-related?”
“Could be.”
“Please be careful, sweetie. I don’t want you getting hurt. Reg is dead and there isn’t much we can do about it.”
“He deserves an investigation, Cat, like every citizen.”
“Of course, you’re right.”
“How did the rest of your crime meeting go yesterday?”
“Productive and well received. I had a lot of compliments on the directives I put forward and many of the delegates enjoyed your presentation.”
“Enjoyed?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t enjoy talking about crime.”
“They were impressed. How’s that?”
“Okay.”
“Something else I need your opinion on.”
“Shoot.”
Cat giggled. “I want to go to my own place for the weekend and get away from here and from the eyes on me. Do you think that would be weird?”
“Hell no. Scott went to his ranch every chance he got, to kick back and get away from the media.”
“I’m only going to the other side of town.” She laughed.
“Doesn’t matter. Same thing. Have Gene drive you in the SUV. Leave the limo sit.”
“Thanks. When are you coming back?”
“Not sure. I’ll call.”
Doug Robertson’s Vegas Residence.
ANNIE drove her rental Cherokee to the address Blaine had looked up for her earlier. The rancher where Dougie used to reside sat in a row of almost identical one-storey houses on an older tree-lined street in the north end of Vegas.
From where she parked down the block, she couldn’t tell if there was any life in the house or not. There was a garage attached by an open breezeway, and Dougie’s bike could be in the garage—or not—if he still lived there. There were a lot of ‘ifs’. If she came back after dark, she’d be able to see if any lights were on and if she saw his bike, she’d know for sure.
She left and drove out to Summerlin, a beautiful section of the city, where she used to live with Jackson and Billy. She drove by her old house, and then wished she hadn’t. Tears flowed from her eyes as she passed by. So much had happened in Vegas. She’d been happy for a time—a time much too short—and then so sad she couldn’t bear to stay.
I should have kept the house.
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
BACK at the hotel, Blaine set up his laptop and dug up everything he could on Harry Bromwell and the Golden Lotus. Was Harry the sole owner? Was Reg listed as part owner? Did he have other partners? Who were they? How much debt did the casino carry? Was the Golden Lotus making money? Were they going down the toilet? Harry seemed like a miserable human being. Maybe he wasn’t, and something was making him miserable. What was it? What were his problems? Was Reg one of them? Had Reg screwed his brother over? How? Did the money belong to the casino? If it did, how did Reg get his hands on it?
While Blaine hunkered down on his laptop, he sent Farrell to help Annie.
ANNIE was sitting at the bar in her suite drinking a cold Coors when Farrell arrived.
“Hey, Mom. Blacky is doing research and he got rid of me.”
Annie smiled. “Have a beer, sugar and help me figure out the Dog problem.”
Farrell helped himself to a beer and sat down on one of the stools. “Let’s write down all the things about Dougie that don’t fit. You write, and I’ll say the ones out loud that are stuck up my ass.”
Annie giggled and ran across the room to the desk. She scooped up the notepad and pen that the hotel provided and jogged back to the bar. “Okay, go.”
“One. His sheet is weird for a career biker as old as he is. Not enough on it. Not by a long shot.”
“He’s around forty or a bit younger. Maybe he’s been extra careful.”
“Careful, lucky or something else.”
“What kind of something else?” Annie was writing.
“I don’t know.”
“Keep going.”
“Two. If he left the B team, why isn’t he already dead? Members can’t up and leave. They made vows. Few get out and if they do there has to be like a huge reason and it has to pass a vote. Those guys are the most violent gang out there, and they don’t fuck around, and they don’t miss—not as often as they’ve supposedly missed the Dog.”
“Supposedly?” Annie turned to look at Farrell, “Do you think those were fake tries to take him out?”
“It makes sense if he was never really off the B team and was working on something for them.”
“But wouldn’t Langois have checked into that? Dougie was third in The Rule. How could he have been third if he wasn’t with Langois for a long while and earned the trust?”
“I don’t know.”
“Interesting. What’s number three?”
“Three is huge for me,” said Farrell. “All of the Rule go to Houston to get the guns back and Dougie doesn’t go. Why?”
“I got the vibe that he wasn’t going,” said Annie, “but I don’t know why. That’s why I tried to follow him. He figured I would be on his tail and put that kid on his bike to throw me off.”
“Four. The fire bomb in his condo. What kind of wussy attempt was that?” asked Farrell.
“There wasn’t much damage,” said Annie. “Hardly any.”
“I think it was for show. Only for show.”
“Uh huh. Could have been.”
“Five. Why did he live in a nice condo and keep clear of the Rule most of the time?”
“It’s my turn to say, I don’t know.”
Farrell went to the fridge and took out another beer. “Here comes the big one.”
“Number six is the big one?” Annie wrote it down.
Farrell chugged half his beer. “Where was Dougie when he left the B team. How high?”
“I’ll text Blaine,” said Annie.
Three minutes later, Blaine knocked on the door and Farrell let him in.
“Jesus Christ, Mom, why didn’t I put the pieces together? I didn’t even look at the players on the B team. Everything makes sense now. Dougie is number one.”
“Jesus in a hand cart.” Farrell stamped his boot on the carpet. “We fuckin helped him with his plan.” Farrell paced. “He wanted the Rule’s business with the cartel and we helped him get it.”
“We sure as hell did,” said Blaine. “I feel like a goddam idiot.”
“It was Farrell who put it together,” said Annie, tapping her pen on the pad. “He pointed out everything that didn’t make sense and we wrote it down and talked it out.”
“A lot of things were bothering me,” said Blaine, “but I kept shoving them out of my head because I’m trying to concentrate on Reg’s murder.”
“Find anything on the brother?”
“He has a silent partner who owns thirty-five percent. His name is Michael Junkin, but I can’t find a single thing on him. It’s like he doesn’t exist, and there’s no mention of Reg buying in like his wife said he did.”
“Maybe Junkin doesn’t exist either,” said Annie. “They made
up the name and somebody else is the partner—like a secret person.”
“That’s why they have a gaming control board,” said Blaine, “to check into underhanded shit like that.”
Annie shrugged.
“Any idea where the B team hangs out, bro?” asked Farrell. “I’d like to cruise by for a look-see.”
“Me too,” said Annie. “Then I want to cruise Dougie’s old address and see if it isn’t old at all.”
“I’ll check my laptop,” said Blaine, “then we’ll eat somewhere nice before we go.”
“I’m in favor of eating,” said Farrell sticking his hand in the air.
AFTER STEAK sandwiches and a couple of drafts, Blaine drove Annie’s rental Jeep and they went for a cruise around the city.
“The address the gang squad has on the B team is out near Red Rock Canyon,” said Blaine. “I figured they would know better than most sources.”
“Lots of secluded areas on highway one sixty,” said Annie. “I used to ride out there with Jackson and Billy.”
Annie always sounded so sad when she mentioned Billy Jennings’s name, it made Blaine’s heart ache for her. She must have loved him a lot.
They drove the highway for half an hour, turned around, came back and were none the wiser. “I’ll go see my friend in the gang squad tomorrow,” said Blaine. “He’ll help us zero in on the location.
“Who’s your friend,” asked Farrell.
“Keith Vargas,” said Blaine, “I hope I still have his number.”
“I wonder if the B boys play at Red Rock since they’re at this end of town?” asked Annie.
“Let’s go see,” said Farrell. “Maybe we got time to sit in on a game.”
Barb Bromwell’s Residence. North Dallas.
TRAVIS and Fletcher changed off surveillance of Mrs. Bromwell with Hammer and Greg. Before they left for their hotel room, Travis brought Blacky up to date.
“Nothing all day, boss. No movement at all.”
“What do you mean? No sign of her?”
“Her car never moved off the driveway.”
“I’m going to call her cell and make sure she’s all right,” said Blacky. “Call you right back.”
Travis sat with his cell in his hand and waited. It rang and even though he was ready for it, he still jumped. “She okay?”