“Barnaby's working tonight, right?”
“Is he in trouble?”
“No, just some questions.”
“He's new.”
“Started two weeks ago Wednesday,” said Milo.
Giovanne looked up, taking in Milo's face, then down to the green poly shirt hanging over tan chinos. Looking for the gun-bulge.
“No problems?” he said.
“None. Where's Barnaby?”
“Did you check in with the tribal police?”
“No.”
“Then technically you have no jurisdiction.”
Milo smiled. “Technically, I can walk around the room til I find Barnaby, sit down at his table, play real slow, keep spilling my drink, ask stupid questions. Keep following him when he moves tables.”
Giovanne gave a tiny headshake. “What do you want with him?”
“His girlfriend was murdered half a year ago. He's not a suspect but I want to ask him a few questions.”
“We're new, too,” said Giovanne. “Three months since we opened and we don't want to break up the flow if you know what I mean.”
“Okay,” said Milo. “How about this- send him out when he goes on break and I'll stay out of the way.”
Giovanne shot French cuffs and looked at a gold watch. “The dealers do thirty-minute shifts at each table. Barnaby's set to change in five, break in an hour. If you don't cause problems, I'll give him his break early. Fair enough?”
“More than fair. Thanks.”
“Five minutes, then. Want to play in the meantime?”
Milo smiled. “Not tonight.”
“Okay, then go outside, over by the Camaro, and I'll send him out to you. How 'bout some drinks, peanuts?”
“No, thanks. Give any cars away lately?”
“Three so far- after you're finished with him, come back and try your luck.”
“If I had some, I'd try it.”
“What's your game?”
“Cops and robbers,” said Milo.
A microdress girl brought out two beers anyway and we drank them standing against the cool block wall of the casino, waiting behind the purple car, watching the in-and-out, able to feel and hear the gambling inside. The outdoor lot seemed to stretch for miles, bleeding into black space and star-painted sky. Motor drone and headlights defined a distant road but for the most part all the movement was here.
Just as we emptied our glasses, a tall, thin, red-shirted man came out and looked from side to side, long fingers curling and straightening.
Barely thirty, with thick blond hair, he wore flint-colored bullhide boots under his pressed black slacks. Thin but knotted arms. A turquoise-and-silver bracelet circled a hairless wrist, and a gold chain seemed to constrict a long neck with a kinetic Adam's apple. Handsome features, but his skin was a ruin, so acne-scarred it made Milo's look polished. A couple of active blemishes stood out in the light, most conspicuously an angry swelling on his right temple. Small, round Band-Aid under his left ear. Deep pits ran down his neck.
Milo put his glass down and came out from behind the car. “Mr. Barnaby.”
Barnaby stiffened and his hands closed into fists. Milo's ID in his face made him step back.
Milo extended a hand and Barnaby took it with the reluctance of a man with wet palms. Milo started to draw him out of the light but Barnaby resisted. Then he saw the valet approaching and came along.
Back at the purple car, he looked at me and the glass in my hand. “What the hell is this all about? You just got me fired.”
“Mandy Wright.”
Hazel eyes stopped moving. “What do the L.A. cops have to do with that?”
Milo put a foot on the Camaro's bumper.
“Careful,” said Barnaby. “That's new.”
“So you're not too torn-up over Mandy.”
“Sure I'm torn-up. But what am I supposed to do about it after all this time? And why should I get fired over it?”
“I'll talk to Giovanne.”
“Gee, thanks. Shit. Why'd you have to come here? Why couldn't you just call me at home?”
“Why'd Giovanne boot you?”
“He didn't but he gave me the look. I know the look. They're bending over backward not to have problems and you just made me a problem.”
He touched the Band-Aid, pressed down, winced. “Damn. Just signed a lease on a place in Cathedral City.”
Milo cocked his head toward the casino entrance. “This ain't exactly Caesar's, Ted. Why'd you leave Vegas after Mandy was killed?”
“I got… I was bummed, didn't want to deal with people.”
“So you took off?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“To Reno.”
“After that?”
“Utah.”
“Why Utah?”
“It's where I'm from.”
“Mormon?”
“Once upon a time- listen, I already told those Vegas cops everything I knew. Which is nothing. Some customer probably killed her. I never liked what she did, but I was heavily into her, so I stuck around. Now what am I supposed to tell you? And why are the L.A. cops interested?”
“Why didn't you return to Vegas, Ted?”
“Bad memories.”
“That the only reason?”
“That's enough. I was the one identified her body, man.” He shook his head and licked his lips.
“You weren't avoiding anyone?”
“Who should I avoid?”
“Mandy's killer.”
“A customer? Why would I avoid him?”
“How do you know he was a customer?”
“I don't, I'm guessing. But what else? Working girls get messed up all the time- who'm I telling? You know. Occupational risk. I warned her.”
“She'd been roughed up before?”
“A mark here and there. Nothing serious. Until.” He touched the Band-Aid again, rubbed his pitted neck.
“Any idea who roughed her up before?”
“Nah. She never gave me names- that was our arrangement.”
“What was?”
“I stayed out of her face and she gave me her spare time.” Twisted smile. “I was into her a lot more than she was into me. Ever seen a picture of her? From before, I mean.”
“Uh-huh,” said Milo.
“Gorgeous, right?”
“The two of you ever live together?”
“Never. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She wanted her own place, her own space.”
“Her own place for work.”
“Yeah,” said Barnaby, louder. Cracking his knuckles, he looked at his fingers sadly. “She was unbelievable. Part Hawaiian, part Polynesian. They're the finest-looking people in the world. At first, I was totally nuts over her, wanted her out of the life, the whole bit. I told her, babe, learn how to deal, the way you look you'll clean up on tips. She laughed, said she had to be her own boss. She loved money, was really into stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Clothes, jewelry, cars. She used to buy a new car every few months, sell it, get another one. Corvettes, Firebirds, BMWs. The last one was a used Ferrari convertible, she got it at one of those car lots outside of town where the losers dump wheels for cash. She used to tool around the Strip in it. I told her you're the first girl I know so into cars. She laughed, said I'm into big engines, Teddy. That's why I like you.”
The hands started moving again. “So look where it got her.”
A vanload of buzz-cut GIs was disgorged into the casino, laughing like schoolkids. Barnaby stood straighter and stared at the swinging glass door.
“That's all I know, okay? You had to come out here because the same fuckhead did some girl in L.A., right? Same way Mandy was done.”
Milo didn't answer.
“One of those serial killers, right?” said Barnaby. “Figures.”
“What does?”
“They always go after hookers.” Frowning. “Which is what Mandy was, even though she thought of herself as an actress.”
“She tell you she was an actress?”
“Yeah, but half-kidding.” Barnaby looked down at the pavement, bounced one sharp toe against the other.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, I pretend to be what the customer wants, Teddy. I'm an actress.”
“She ever do porn movies?”
“Not that I know.”
“No?”
“No!”
“She ever get specific about what kind of pretending?”
“No.”