THE MOOSE, DELEON JOHNSON, would say, uh-huh; say, unh-unh; say, umh-humh; nod, nod some more. While Jackie Garbo walked back and forth in front of his desk, fat little curly-haired Hymie pleading his case.
“What’s happening to me? I been paying attention. Haven’t I been paying attention? I don’t get out a bed in the morning I know what I got on for the day. I got the fucking printout next to my bed, I open my eyes I know whose ass I’m gonna kiss, exactly what it looks like. I know the guy’s credit line to the dollar, what kind a scotch he drinks. I know if he wants one a the showgirls or he wants a midget with big tits, I know his taste. You pick me up, I come out a the house, what’ve I got in my hand? I got the fucking printout in my hand, right? I’m not paying attention? I grew up doing this. I can do it no-handed with my eyes closed. Our first year we’re gonna gross two hundred fifty million, I guarantee-highest gross per square foot of any casino in town outside a Resorts and maybe the Nugget, this cunt infers I’m drinking I don’t know what’s going on. ‘Oh, is that a martini?’ No, it’s a cream soda with a fucking olive in it. Twenty-five years I’m in Vegas, right? I think it was Johnny Carson, very dear friend of mine. He says, ‘You ever drive in Vegas? It’s terrible, it’s unbelievable.’ He says, ‘I put my hand out to make a turn and somebody grabbed my martini, took it right out a my hand.’ I could tell her that one she’d go, ‘Yeah?’ waiting for the punch line. You know what I’m saying? It’s a gag, but it’s Vegas. She doesn’t comprehend that. Tommy, he doesn’t know Come from Don’t Come. He starts talking, using words, not knowing shit and walks right into it. Pow, she lets him have it. She’s right, he’s in the fucking bag half the time. I don’t know for the life of me how he ever got where he is. Comes out a Fordham Law, the guy, I think what he is he’s a real estate salesman happen to be at the right place the right time. He’s not on the juice he can bullshit his way right into your heart, right? He sold me. I thought, fuck, the guy’s a natural. He must a sold her too, Nancy. But now she sees, Christ, he doesn’t know half a what she does. What’s she need this asshole for? So she’s swiping at his balls with anything she can lay her hands on”-DeLeon nodding, yeah, that’s right, yeah-“and I’m standing next to the schmuck, I could lose mine in the same swipe. For what? Do I need this shit?”
“You’re the man here,” DeLeon said. “They don’t have but a hotel, some restaurants without you.”
“We’re in the deli-listen to this.”
DeLeon, on the couch, glanced away from Jackie to Rosemary, Jackie’s secretary, fine red-headed woman, standing in the doorway waiting to cut in.
“We’re in there having a quick sandwich, I’m telling him all the heat I’m getting outside, these guinea fucks want a bring all their pals in here, let us comp ’em, we don’t even break even. The manager, listen to this, the manager happens to stroll by, Tommy says, ‘Irv, I notice those salamis hanging over there behind the counter’re wrinkled.’ He’s serious. Irv goes, ‘Yeah? Those’re aged, Mr. Donovan, that’s how they look.’ I’m telling him about a situation could put him out a business, he’s worried about the fucking salami. You want a hear some more?”
DeLeon held up his hand, nodded toward the doorway.
“There’s a gentleman in the lobby, Mr. Vincent Mora,” Rosemary said. “You want to see him?”
Jackie looked at DeLeon. “What’d I tell you? They put him off on me.” He said to Rosemary, “Sure, I’m not doing nothing. Bring him in, see if he wants a drink.”
DeLeon waited; Rosemary left and he said, “You want me here or where I can be reached?”
“I’ll see him alone,” Jackie said. “I buzz, you come in, quick. I nod, don’t be polite, I want him carried out.”
They shook hands. Mr. Garbo? Yeah. Mr. Mora? Standing, facing each other across the desk, Vincent with the blue canvas carry-on bag hanging from his shoulder. Drink? No thanks. Please, sit down. What can I do for you? Pleasant, to this point.
Vincent got comfortable, placed the canvas bag next to his chair. He said, “Let’s talk about Iris Ruiz.”
Now Jackie got comfortable, sat back in his leather chair.
“We could,” Jackie said. “Except I don’t see where I have to say one fucking word, sitting here in Atlantic City, to a cop twelve hundred miles out of his jurisdiction. Which happens to be Miami Beach. Gotcha.” Jackie grinned. “Twenty-five years looking at stone-faced dealers I see just a twitch, a blink, I can tell when I caught ’em by surprise. Are we straight so far? You’re a dick, or I understand you say you are, and you’re a friend of Iris or you know her. Okay, and then I say I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you want. Though I got a good idea what it is. What else?”
Vincent liked the way Jackie came right at him. Fat little guy with his pinky ring, his pictures of stars-wanting to sound tough, hip-with lifts in his alligator shoes. He made assumptions and liked to talk. And Vincent liked to listen. He had known many Jackie Garbos in Miami Beach; they were fun. You could act just a little naive and they’d perform for you.
He said, “The way I understand it, you were with Iris the night before.”
“The night before what?”
“She died. There was also a guy there by the name of”-Vincent dug into his jacket for a slip of notepaper, opened it-“is it Benavides?”
“You asking me or telling me?”
“It looks like Benavides,” Vincent said. “Anyway, he was there too. I think he stayed at this hotel.”
“You’re not sure?” Jackie came forward in his chair, reached for the phone. “You want to call Reservations and check? Come on, what kind a shit is this?”
“You flew him to Miami yesterday and he went out of there on Avianca, flight seven to Bogotá.”
“Wait a minute,” Jackie said. “You Drug Enforcement?”
Vincent shook his head. “I know some DEA guys though.” He looked at the sheet of notepaper. “Also present was DeLeon Johnson, formerly of the Miami Dolphins.”
“And still mean and aggressive,” Jackie said. “You want to meet him?”
“I understand he works for you?”
“Guards my body, does whatever he’s told. Who else you got? Let’s see where we’re going here.”
Vincent said, “I’ve got a LaDonna Padgett?”
“Very dear friend of mine.”
“How about Frank Cingoro? Is he a friend too?”
Jackie didn’t answer. His eyelids seemed heavier as he stared at Vincent. He brought his hands slowly from the desk to his lap.
Vincent said, “Frank Cingoro… No comment? How about Ricky Catalina? Ricky a friend or just one of the many assholes you associate with?”
“Maybe I been misinformed,” Jackie said. “You’re with the Miami Beach Police…”
“You asking me or telling me?” Vincent waited a moment, then smiled.
So did Jackie. “You’re not here in any official capacity.”
“You mean, like I’m on loan to the police here?” Vincent shook his head. “Hardly ever happens.”
“So you’re on your own. Is that correct?”
“You could say that.”
“Okay, you come here, you’re a city cop, you know your way around. Am I correct? Back home you got a car and a boat, nice house. Find it tough to send the kids to college? On a cop’s pay…”
Vincent shrugged.
“It’s funny,” Jackie said, “I first saw you I put you down as a narc, the beard, the grubby raincoat. Now, you look very presentable. You don’t look like a narc at all. You look like a blackjack counter, fucking math teacher from Minneapolis. I get ’em coming from every direction, all the hotshots think they can beat the house, make a fortune. I get the card counters, all kinds a cheats, guys that stick wires down the slots. Or they try and run a con on me, which sounds like what you’re doing, my friend. All the dope traffic in Miami, you don’t score enough off a that? You got to come and lean on me, for Christ sake?” Jackie placed his elbow on the desk, raised a limp hand, diamond winking, and pointed a finger at Vincent. “Lemme see if I can make the connection, okay? You got time? I’m not keeping you from any skim deals you got going?”