Getting to it now. DeLeon seeing the man look at him, about to lay it on, get snippy, sarcastic, treated bad by the help. But all he said, factual, was, “I’ve been asked to leave.”
DeLeon got ready as Mrs. Donovan gave him an executive stare, serious business, man. “What’s the trouble?”
“I’m suppose to escort this gentleman out. See, but now he tells me the reason he came in, he wants to do some business with the casino.”
Lady acted patient, a little cool, pulled her nice blond hair away from her face; very queenly now.
“Who asked Mr. Mora to leave?”
“Was Mr. Garbo. Just now.”
The man Vincent surprised him. He said, “Somebody must’ve told Mr. Garbo I was coming.” Said it with a little bit of a grin looking at Mrs. Donovan, like to see what she would have to say to that. Cat was sly. DeLeon liked him. Mrs. Donovan hung in, didn’t change her expression, frowning some, innocent; like she was thinking, My, who could it be? The man said, “I think Mr. Garbo, somehow he got the wrong idea about me.”
DeLeon thinking, Misjudged you. Ten to one that’s what the little show-off Hymie did.
Mrs. Donovan saying now, “Well, let’s not worry about Mr. Garbo. I’ll speak to him.”
Meaning-DeLeon smiled just a little-she was going to cut his curly head off.
Mrs. Donovan saying, “We’ll get you checked in. Okay? And I’ll see that you get a line of credit. I’m sure it can be arranged.”
The man Vincent brought the canvas bag off the counter saying, “I don’t need credit, I brought some money with me. Right here.”
Mrs. Donovan said, “Oh,” and nodded. “Fine.” Very polite. The gracious lady married to the man that owned the place. “How much would you like to deposit?”
Vincent held the bag in front of him, looked in it, looked up. “I guess about twelve thousand.”
Nothing to it, like he carried that much around. Beautiful. Man had style. Knew his timing, saying to the lady now, “Do I have to pay for the room or do I get comped?”
Beautiful.
And give Mrs. Donovan a hand. Cool, not blinking an eye. Coming right back to say, “For twelve thousand, Mr. Mora, you’re not in a room. You have a suite.”
DeLeon said, “Here, let me take your bag, my man.”
“IT’S LIKE YOU’RE IN A HOTEL in Star Trek,” Vincent said. “You know what I mean? It’s so modern you don’t know how to open anything or turn the lights on.”
Dixie said, “They comped you to a suite? Come on.”
“They like me,” Vincent said. “Or they want to keep an eye on me.”
He sat with the telephone in a corner of the gold sectional sofa, wrapped in a king-size gold towel. Dixie Davies was home in Brigantine, in the kitchen.
“Everything’s either green or gold.”
“The color of money. Keep you reminded.”
“With white walls, means they’re honest. I don’t know what the paintings mean. I’ve got a bar, stocked. I’ve got a phone in the bathroom. Three phones, one in each room. The bathtub, you could get four people in it. You walk down steps.”
“I’m about to eat supper,” Dixie said. “You want to know what we’re having? Meatloaf.”
“I got shot at,” Vincent said.
There was a slight pause. “I believe it. Ricky?”
“I was hoping, but it wasn’t.”
“Say you got good reason to think it was and I’ll get a warrant. Give me a chance to go through his house.”
Vincent told him about it and said, “Does that sound like those guys? It wasn’t set up right. One guy, takes a wild shot and runs. He didn’t even have a driver… You might check stolen vehicles for a yellow Monte Carlo at least five years old.”
“The hotel report it, the shooting?”
“Nobody heard a thing. I ran outside in my underwear, got my gun, I’m coming back in a drunk is standing there on the sidewalk looking at me, weaving. You know what he said?”
“Atlantic City, three o’clock in the morning,” Dixie said, “Resorts International across the street, he told you don’t do it, it ain’t worth it. Think of your wife and kids.”
“He said, ‘You should a bet your underwear. You never know when your luck’ll change.’ I checked out, I said I want to pay for the window too. They said, what window? Miami Beach, a hundred old ladies would’ve called it in, seen the whole thing.”
“I’d still like to pick up Ricky,” Dixie said.
“You could keep an eye on him,” Vincent said. “He’s supposed to meet me tomorrow, but it wouldn’t surprise me he’s gonna go see Frank Cingoro first. You know what I mean? Call Frank up and if there’s no answer he could be lying on the floor. The way those guys are doing each other-and I bet Ricky thinks he’s got every reason. Would you like to see that?”
Dixie said, “Would I like to see it, I’d buy tickets. You kidding? Jesus, bring Ricky up for doing the Ching and send his ass to Trenton. I’m getting excited thinking about it.”
“The thing is,” Vincent said, “I’m pretty sure none of those people had anything to do with Iris.”
“I have to agree with you,” Dixie said. “On the one hand it’s no help with the girl, but on the other… You never know, do you?”
“Wonderful things can happen,” Vincent said, “when you plant seeds of distrust in a garden of assholes.”
“Wait, I want to write that down.”
“I talked to Jackie Garbo. Very entertaining guy. I think he used to get beat up a lot when he was a kid. He’s on shaky ground, running games outside the casino. You can tell he’s nervous and you could use it to grab him by the balls. Except he doesn’t know anything. I mean about Iris. I’m pretty sure.” Vincent said, “This’s some town. You got a lot going.”
“You ever want to work here,” Dixie said, “I could probably fix it.”
“Leave my suite, my phones?… How about the autopsy report?”
“Be another week or so.”
“What’s the hurry, uh?”
“You want to complain, call Newark.”
“In the meantime,” Vincent said, “ask Jimmy Dunne about a delivery, some sandwiches…”
“From the White House Sub Shop. We checked,” Dixie said, “they don’t have a record of it. We talked to Jimmy again, he said it must’ve been from some other place.”
“He describe the delivery boy?”
“White male, thirties, blond hair, suede jacket. Could be anybody.”
When Linda came Vincent made drinks and they got in the bathtub and played.
“You realize,” he said, “you could get away with this for at least a month? Go from hotel to hotel, deposit the same twelve grand?” Linda smiling as she listened. “Soon as they find out you’re not gonna spend it you move on. Do all the hotels here and then go out to Las Vegas.”
“You’re in the wrong business,” Linda said. “You should be a crook. You are a crook.”
“I may gamble, if I have time.”
“When you’re not taking baths.”
She got out of the tub to make fresh drinks and light cigarettes. Vincent watched her-waited on by a good-looking naked woman he felt at home with in a $500-a-day hotel suite. She wasn’t the least bit self-conscious, looking at the bath oils and lotions on the marble vanity. She was the first woman he had ever seen without tan lines, her white skin making her appear more genuinely naked and appealing to him. He said, “What’re you doing? Get back in here.”
“I have to go to work soon,” Linda said. “I’m opening tonight, kid, at Bally’s.” She threw her arms out and struck a pose. “Linda Moon, Now Appearing…”
“You sure are. But you didn’t tell me.”
She let her arms drop. “That’s what I’m doing, telling you. Why’re you so surprised?”
“I thought it was down the road, a couple weeks off if you got it.”
“I had to get it. Vincent, I work, I don’t sit around.”
“But right now…” He hesitated. “Whoever it was last night, he finds out you’re at Bally’s… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”