Temptation Town (5 page)

"Honey,
are you okay?"

She
nodded. Fear remained in the front of her eyes.

All of a
sudden, it was 1992 again, and Lyla stood in front of me, her soul sliding into
the abyss, sucked down by her inner demons. All my money and all my love
couldn't bring her back to me.

Lyla, please! Please don't!

I said,
"Emily, I'm on your side. I know about this mess you're in. And I want to
help you get out of it."

"Cassandra
…" she began. She stopped, then began again. "Cassandra was supposed
to come. She said she would bring me money."

"Her
real name's Patty," I said.

"Patty?"

"That's right. Now I have money right here. I
brought it for you." I dug into my pocket for the rest of Lansdorf's
money. I gave it all to her. "Now, we've got to get you out of here."

"No!"
she cried, as she stepped quickly away from me, cramming the money into her
jeans at the same time. "No!" She moved back even farther, her hands
now in front of her in a defensive posture.

"Emily,
listen. It's not safe here. You've got to come with me. Beck's looking for
you."

I stood
still. I didn't want to do anything that looked like an aggressive move.

"No!"
There was no doubt that she meant it.

I thought
about calling the police. But Beck was mob-connected, and North Las Vegas, a
relatively little burg, undoubtedly had their own way of doing things. Once it
got out the cops up here had her, there was no telling what could happen. I
felt she would be vulnerable. Plus, I was carrying my piece, so naturally, I
didn't want to open myself up to that kind of trouble.

I thought
about taking her away myself, but in her hyped-up state, she would probably
resist. I didn't want to be seen dragging a screaming girl out of a house and
into a car in broad daylight. That could lead straight back to the local cops.
My options were narrowing fast.

I spoke
softly. "All right. What's your plan. You've got the money. Now what are
you going to do?"

"There's
a bus leaving tonight. I'm going to be on it. And you can't stop me."

"Where's
it going?"

"None
of your business!"

"Emily,
I — I have to tell you, I'm a private investigator and your father sent
me here. That's his money I just gave you. He wants to make sure you're
safe."

"He
can go to hell! And you with him. Now
get out
of here."

"At
least let me take you to the bus station."

"Get
out!" Her voice rose to shouting pitch. I didn't want to attract any
attention from neighbors or, God forbid, anyone else who might be in the house.

I left.
As soon as I got in my car, I punched up Patty's number on my cell. She
answered on the first ring.

"Patty,
this's Jack. Listen, I just saw Emily. I gave her the money … yeah, she's all right.
For now, anyway … yeah, but look, she's going to be taking a bus out of town
and she won't let me take her to the terminal. I didn't want to force her, so I
need you to call and tell her you'll take her. Then get over here right
away."

Five
minutes later, Patty called me back.

"Jack,
Sonny was right there when you called. I think he suspects something about
Emily."

"Where
are you now?"

"I
just left his office. I'm on my way there. But Jack …"

"What
is it, honey?"

"I'm
worried. I think he might follow me. Or he might send Bobby and Clyde."

"Who?"

"Bobby
and Clyde. These two guys he's got working for him. They kind of look alike.
They both have blond hair."

I
remembered them from Beck's booth at the Golden Nugget sports book.
"Listen, Patty. Just get here as quick as you can. Emily needs you to take
her to the bus station right away. I'll be parked out front. And Patty."

"What."

"Bring
that videotape and let me keep it. It'll be safe. Out of your hands."

"It'll
take me an extra fifteen minutes or so to swing by and get it."

"Just
do it. I'll be here."

≈≈≈

Patty pulled up inside of forty minutes. Traffic around downtown
must've been exceptionally light.

She
parked in the driveway, leaving the engine running, and I approached her on
foot. We walked together to the back door. On the way, she slipped me the
videotape. Damn thing was the size of a matchbook. I remembered now, I'd used a
MicroMV camera on a couple of stakeouts during my PI days back in LA, but I'd
forgotten the tapes were so tiny.

"She's
still inside," I said. "But you've got to get her to the bus station
right now. I'll follow in my car."

Emily
opened the door, allowing Patty inside, but not me. In a minute or two, they came
out. Emily, carrying a duffel bag, wore the UNLV hoodie pulled up over her
head.

As we
went around to the driveway, a black Chrysler suddenly whipped into it,
blocking Patty's exit. Two men jumped out, both young and with blond hair. They
rushed Emily. One of them grabbed her, the other shoved Patty out of the way.
As I swung him around, he caught me with a left to the jaw, sending me down.

The other
one pushed Emily toward him, shouting, "Clyde! Take her!" He reached
inside his windbreaker as I scrambled to my feet. Ducking behind Patty's car, I
knew the shooting was about to start.

I pulled
my .357 out faster than I thought I could, and came up firing. Bobby was lucky
to get one shot off, which ricocheted off the side view mirror, while I put
three rounds in his chest. Clyde had thrown Emily to the ground, reaching for
his own piece in his waistband rig. By the time he got it out, he took two of
my bullets, one in the stomach, one in the head. I gave his head a solid kick
as I passed by him, but he was beyond feeling it.

The girls
were hysterical. I hustled them into Patty's car, but I had to slap Patty a
time or two to get her in shape to drive. I quickly scanned the street. No
people, no cars. But it wouldn't be that way for long.

"Pull
your car around theirs and over the curb! When you get to the bus station, park
in the lot across the street. I'll meet you there. Do it!
Now!
"

I ran to
my car and pulled away, while shoving a fresh clip into my weapon. I didn't
turn my lights on for two blocks.

THE
drive to the
bus terminal took a little longer than it should have because of a wreck on
Main and Washington. It looked like it just occurred, because I couldn't see
any flashing lights up ahead. The inevitable big jam-up was taking shape, so we
had to turn around and go back the long way, taking Las Vegas Boulevard to
Bonanza, then back over to Main, then on to the bus station.

The girls
were waiting for me in Patty's car, parked across the street from the station.
They looked like they had calmed a little, but only a little. Emily,
especially, looked like she might lose it any second, wobbling on her feet as I
got them out of the car, and moaning beneath her sweatshirt hood. Patty's arm
was around her, and even though Patty was still shaking, she was much more in
control of herself, and of Emily.

I very
carefully led them across Main Street. My hand was inside my jacket, gripping
my weapon every step of the way, as I threw quick, hard looks up and down the
street.

Inside
the terminal, we walked rapidly to the ticket counter. My eyes flicked around
the room several times for any signs of trouble, but everything looked normal.
Emily bought her ticket. It said Miami, but I knew better. She was going to get
off somewhere along the way. I also knew there was no point in asking her
where.

Soon they
called down the Miami passengers. People began filing onto the bus. Emily and
Patty hugged several times, as tears flowed between them. I said a few kind
words to Emily, but she didn't respond. I watched her get on the bus, taking a
window seat on the door side, near the front. She pulled the hood back from her
head.

As the
bus backed out of its long space and rolled down Main Street, beginning its
journey to Florida, Emily waved through the window, but I saw blankness in her
eyes. And no wonder. She was leaping into the unknown, with death in hot
pursuit. That kind of apprehension and anxiety will put that look on a person's
face.

My body
quivered. I'd seen that look before, years ago, back in LA. On Lyla's face.
Through the driver's side window of her car, right before I let her drive away
from my apartment. They found what was left of her a month later. And I had
fucking let her go.

I ran
after the bus shouting something, I can't remember what. The Greyhound wound
upward through the gears and beyond the green light on Main Street. Still I
chased it, hoping I could catch it, pound on the side of it until the driver
stopped, maybe coax Emily off and save her, but the big bus picked up too much
speed and left me sucking its exhaust. I watched it vanish around a distant
corner toward the freeway ramp.

Patty
rushed to my side, dragging me out of traffic.

"Jack,
Jack. Are you all right? What were you doing?"

A little
short of breath and gasping from inhaling the exhaust, I just gazed at her
while she pulled me to the sidewalk.

She
propped me up against a building while I got my breath back.

"What
is it?" she said. "What's wrong?"

Finally,
I said, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Just some memories coming back to fuck
with my head."

I
straightened up as best I could and took Patty's hands in mine.
"Look," I said, "call Emily tomorrow. Try to find out where
she's going, then let me know. Whatever you do, of course, don't let on to Beck
about any of this."

She said
she would let me know, then we hugged. I was going to hold off on contacting
Lansdorf until she got back to me … I really wanted to be able to tell him
where Emily was.

Patty and
I got into our respective cars and drove off in different directions.

≈≈≈

Later that night, I finished up some bill-paying and turned on the
11:00 news. It was nearly half over. They were just concluding a story on how
there was no end in sight to the booming Las Vegas real estate market.

Then
Patty's picture came up on the screen behind the female anchor, who said,
"A local prostitute was found murdered earlier tonight in an apartment
complex just off the Strip. Patricia Ann Dahlgren, 25, was found beaten to
death in her home at the Arrowhead Apartments on Sierra Vista Drive, near
Maryland Parkway. According to police, a neighbor heard a commotion around
eight o'clock this evening, and looked out his door to see a man in a leather
jacket running from her apartment. The neighbor then went in and found her
body. He could not provide any further description.

"Police
say Dahlgren, originally from Bismarck, North Dakota, had a record of arrests
in Las Vegas for prostitution dating back to 1997. Police also speculate the
murder was the result of either a violent trick or a drug deal gone bad. There
are no suspects at this time."

The
anchor turned to her right, pasting a big TV smile on her face. "So, Chip,
got any letup from this cold weather?"

My heart
felt like it stopped. My insides suddenly turned to ice. I don't think I
breathed for a long time.

I
stayed drunk for
two days, never leaving my apartment. Finally, on the second night, I felt I
could keep something in my stomach. I pulled myself together, then went out. I
decided to go downtown to Magnolia's, the coffee shop in the Four Queens.

The meal
went down well. I needed it. After paying the check, I walked outside to
Fremont Street.

It had
warmed up over the last couple of days, with the temperature now feeling almost
comfortable. The downtown light show was just beginning. Crowds of tourists
with cameras were furiously snapping pictures of the overhead spectacle, while
its thundering sound effects boomed through more speakers than you could count.
I sauntered over toward Binion's, knowing there would be a poker game.

As I
crossed Fremont, I gathered my thoughts. Beck undoubtedly got to Patty, beating
her senseless to make her tell where Emily was, but, of course, she didn't
know. By the time Beck realized that, Patty was quite likely almost dead, so he
probably just finished her off out of principle. He'll get away with it, I'm
sure. Nobody cares when a hooker dies.