Diva Las Vegas (Book 1 in Raven McShane Series) (20 page)

Cody nodded, still looking a bit apprehensive.  “Won’t he suspect a trap if I call him out of the blue?”

“Not if you play it right.  You’re in on the skim too, remember?  So you’re just as anxious as he is to shut me down.  And having them think I know the murderer’s identity will light a fire under him.”

Cody cracked a faint smile of satisfaction.  “Actually,” he said, “that might work.”

My first call had been to the Flamingo valet to order up my car, so when we got downstairs it was already waiting for us.  With little traffic at that hour, the drive over to
Nellis
Boulevard took less than ten minutes.  We drove into a deserted parking lot surrounding a dated and boxy three-story office building.  I parked prominently out front and the three of us headed to the front door.

We were early, which would give us enough time to survey the office building before the guest of honor showed up.  I punched in the key code Jeff had given me and walked in the main entrance.  I fiddled with the door to make sure it stayed unlocked.

The inside of the office building was mostly brown painted brick.  The three of us walked through the lobby, which was an open atrium with skylights on the ceiling above the third floor.  The walls were broken up only by a few dated wall hangings and a large indoor palm.  The front of the lobby was a wall of windows on both sides of two oversized glass doors.  I thought it must be expensive to keep the space cool in summer.  The only light came from a few safety lights attached to EXIT signs near the doors.  We headed up a set of thick wooden slat stairs, which led to a corridor overlooking the lobby below.

“Okay, this will work fine,” I said.  “Cody, you can wait up here out of sight, and Carlos and I will be ready downstairs for whoever shows up.”  Cody was too injured to be useful, and the codeine had made him a little loopy.  He didn’t protest being left out of the fun.

“Let me see your cell phone,” I said.

He handed it over.  I found the voice recorder button.

“You know how to use the recording function?  If I get him to start talking, press record and see if we can get a confession on tape.”

Cody nodded solemnly and Carlos and I went back downstairs to look around.  I found the switch for the chandelier and turned it on.  On the wall opposite the entrance was a large black directory board listing the building’s occupants.  In addition to Jeff’s law firm, the directory listed a pair of psychologists, an insurance agency, and a number of other lawyers.  A commercial real estate agency seemed to occupy the entire basement floor.

“So they’ll think you have an office here?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then the first thing he’ll do is walk over to the directory to see what floor you’re on.”

I nodded.  “If we’re lucky, he’ll stand here for a few seconds scratching his ass while we sneak up on him.”

“All I need is two seconds,” Carlos said confidently.

We looked around the rest of the lobby.  Off to the right of the building’s entrance a hallway extended off of the lobby.  Carlos seemed to pick up on my thought.  He walked in that direction and eased himself into the hallway’s shadows.

“Can you see me from there?” he asked.

 “Yes, barely, but I know you’re there and I’m looking for you.  I think we’ll be fine.”  From the edge of the hallway he had a clear line of sight towards the entrance and the building directory.  There was a dim safety light at the far end of the hallway, but it didn’t expose Carlos too much.

“Two questions,” he said.  “One, what if this guy pulls on me and I have to shoot him?”

“Hopefully you’ll be able to sneak up on him and grab his gun before he has a chance,” I said.  “Assuming he even has a gun.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, unconvinced.  “And what if it’s more than one guy?”

“Let’s hope it’s not.  If they both show up, though, you’ll have to surprise them from across the lobby and convince them it would be fatal if either of them reached for a weapon.”

Carlos fixed me with a reproachful look.  “You don’t pay me enough to do this,” he said scoldingly.  “And isn’t it about time you got a damn gun of your own?”  He was probably right on both counts.

It was twenty after one now, and Carlos and I faded back into the shadows to watch for Holman or d’Angelo to show up.

One-thirty came and went without any sign of either of them.

Carlos was twitching impatiently.  “Where’s your buddy?”

“Be patient.”

“This is crazy, you know.  I’m hoping they don’t show and we won’t have to put this half-assed plan to the test.”

I was beginning to agree.  Maybe we could all go out and have a few pints to wash away our pent-up nervous energy.  It was possible, I admitted, that Holman had better things to do in the middle of the night than think about my whereabouts and a three-year-old murder.  Cody had said Holman only grunted when he told him he was meeting with me.

“At least one of them has got to show up,” I said.

After another ten minutes of waiting in suspended silence, Carlos had had enough.  As the minutes had ticked by, he had managed to inch closer and closer to me.  He was now literally breathing down my neck, and I could smell his cologne.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.  His hand had found its way to my bare waist.

“Just passing the time,” he pleaded.  He pressed himself gently against my ass.

“Is that your gun?”

“You tell me.”

I sighed.  “When I was a kid, we had a dog named Tex that my dad refused to have fixed.  The dog was so horny that he would try to have sex with himself in the mirror.  A lot of the kids in the neighborhood thought it was hilarious to let Tex hump their legs.”

“This was before PlayStations existed?”

“Hell, we didn’t even have Nintendo.  The point, though, is: Tex was a good dog.  We let him have his fun.”

“And?”

“If you were a dog, we’d have put you to sleep by now.
 
This isn’t exactly the best time to make a move on me.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.  It wasn’t a reaction to being shot down but to the two strikingly bright beams of light now streaming into the lobby from the parking lot.  The car’s headlights illuminated the entire space with an eerie halogen glow, and the hum of its engine whirred audibly as it idled outside.  We couldn’t see the car from our position, but as the seconds ticked by it seemed like the driver was reluctant to get out.  Was he waiting for someone?  Was he scoping out the place?  The last thing I wanted was someone who suspected a trap.

After a few seconds the car’s engine revved loudly and the headlights swung around to the left as the car backed up and turned around.  Was he leaving or was he just positioning the car for an easy getaway?  Carlos looked at me and shrugged.  We waited another minute, listening for the tell-tale sound of a car door closing, but that sound never came.

From our vantage point we could see the inside of the lobby doors but not anything outside, and the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows next to the glass doors ensured we’d be spotted if we tried to peek.  We stayed put.

“Sounds like he left,” Carlos said.

“Hold on.”  I secretly hoped Carlos was right.

Carlos nudged me.  The left-hand lobby door had swung outward silently, in slow motion.  A man’s leg stepped tentatively across the threshold.  Carlos and I both instinctively crouched even lower in the shadows.  The man closed the door without making a noise.  For a split second I worried he would look to his right and see us, but he stood there looking straight ahead.  He seemed to have zeroed-in on the building directory on the other side of the lobby, just as Carlos had predicted.  As he moved into the center of the dimly lit lobby, I finally recognized the tall bulky figure with white hair.

Carlos looked at me.

Holman
, I mouthed.

He nodded.  I think we were both relieved that Holman was alone.

As we’d hoped, Holman had his back towards us as he studied the directory in search of my office, and Carlos wasted no time in creeping towards him silently.  I followed behind, but kept my distance.  Holman was wearing an untucked black polo shirt and jeans, but I was more interested in the gun he wore in an open holster under his right arm.

Holman was searching to find my name on the building directory.  It took him ten or fifteen seconds to realize I wasn’t on the directory, and he let out a curse of frustration under his breath.  That was Carlos’ green light.  Before Holman knew what hit him, Carlos sprung on his back and laced his arms underneath Holman’s, holding him in a kind of three-quarter nelson grip.  Holman began swearing and flailing around wildly, trying to throw Carlos off.

I took my cue and tried to center a punch right at Holman’s nose, but he spun away and I caught him full in his right ear.  I hadn’t punched anyone since sixth grade, but it was enough to stun him.  He stopped spinning long enough for me to grab his gun away from him while Carlos had him immobilized.  I punched him full in the face again for good measure.

“What the fuck?” he sputtered.  He hadn’t recognized me yet.

“Shut up,” I said.  I tucked the gun into my waistband, hoping I didn’t look too ridiculous.  Carlos jumped off Holman’s back and shoved him against the wall. While Holman staggered to stand up, Carlos drew his Glock and pointed it at Holman’s head, which was now spattered with his own blood.

His body heaved as he tried to catch his breath.  “Fuck you,” he hissed.

“Real original.  I suppose you’re here to kill me the same way you killed George Hannity.”

“I never killed anybody,” he spit.

“Right.  So why show up here in the middle of the night with a loaded handgun?” I asked.  Carlos cocked his Glock suggestively, and I hoped the sound of ready steel would get Holman in a more talkative mood.

“None of your business,” he grunted.  “Who’s your gangster boyfriend here?”  He sneered at Carlos.  A Mona Lisa smile appeared on Carlos’ face.  He cocked his head to one side and suddenly pulled the trigger.  The unexpected explosion of brick and lead was deafening, and shards of crushed brick flew in every direction.  When the dust settled, a crater in the wall appeared about a foot from Holman’s left ear.  Holman looked at me beseechingly, as though I would protect him.

“My boyfriend here is an illegal with nothing to lose,” I lied.  “He can be very violent, unfortunately,” I said with mock sadness.  “Now why don’t you tell us how you murdered George Hannity.”  That was the cue for Cody to begin recording with his cell phone.

A thin mist of brick dust cast a haze throughout the lobby, and the pungent smell of fresh gunpowder wafted through the air.  Holman lifted his mangled face up again.  “I told you, I never killed anybody.  Just let me go and I swear I will leave you alone forever.”

Carlos and I shared a brief chuckle at that suggestion, at which point Carlos pointed the gun directly at Holman’s head.   I had hoped that the combination of a physical assault and a loaded gun would get Holman to talk, but that didn’t seem to be working.  At this point I wasn’t sure what the next step was.  It was tempting, but I wasn’t going to let Carlos to shoot Holman’s face off.

It turned out the next step wasn’t up to me.  As Carlos re-cocked his gun, the throaty rumble of a truck engine began roaring towards us from the front of the building.  Before I could react, a high-pitched crash pierced the air and the lobby became a cyclone of flying broken glass.  Instinctively, I covered my head and bolted out of the way of the massive white SUV that had plowed through the front doors and was now barreling right at us.  In the confusion, Holman managed to knock the gun out of Carlos’ hand.  Carlos recovered quickly, and the two men began wrestling on the floor for the gun before Carlos kicked it into a corner, where it got lost in all the glass and rubble.

In my tumble I must have cracked a rib, and I stood up slowly and half-dazed from the corner of the lobby.  I began reaching for the gun in my waistband when a figure emerged from in front of Holman’s white Escalade.

“Don’t even think about it,” the voice shrieked at me.  It was Amy Masterson, and she was pointing a gun directly at my head.

I was stunned, frozen.  The Escalade was still running, and its halogen headlights were piercing icy bright beams through the dusty air.  My first thought was that Amy looked like a crazed wreck—either drunk or on drugs, or both.  Her nipples were showing through a thin white camisole, and her gray shorts were way too short.  Her pajamas, probably.  The gun she was pointing at me seemed wholly out of place.

Apparently the sight of Amy wildly brandishing a gun had created a temporary truce between Carlos and Holman, and Carlos shot me a quizzical look as he eased away from Holman.

Amy kept one eye on me and turned slightly to face Holman.  “Can’t you do
anything
right?”  She asked him.  She was beyond pissed.

“Amy,” I said softly, trying to keep her calm.  My mind raced, trying to find some explanation for the incongruous scene I was now a part of.  Amy continued to point the gun directly at me, but she didn’t say anything.  It was obvious she hadn’t planned what to do next.  I decided my only hope was to seize the initiative.

“You got greedy,” I found myself saying.  Things were finally falling into place.  She remained silent, just gaping at me, her eyes wide and jaw set.  She clung tightly to the gun with both hands, and licked her lips nervously.  She kept the gun aimed directly at the bridge of my nose.

“You could have just bumped off your brother George and gotten the whole casino for yourself.  Nothing novel about that—they did that kind of thing back in biblical times,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.  I was stalling for time, and I hoped that my monologue might keep her distracted.  “But you decided that wasn’t enough.  Once you learned your husband wasn’t really interested in you, you wanted to get rid of him, too.  The problem was that you were stuck with him—he’d clean you out if you divorced him.”  I hoped Cody wouldn’t stand up and protest.  If Amy suddenly saw him, there was no telling what she’d do with that gun.