“What happened last night?” Jasper asked, closing the slider behind him.

Scalzo grasped the balcony’s metal railing and stared at the mountains. He hated when people questioned him, hated it more when he had to answer. The mountains seemed close, and he tried to guess their distance.

“We had a problem,” he said quietly.

Jasper edged up beside him, bumping shoulders, his voice a whisper. “A problem? You hire two goons to snuff Valentine, and they end up dead in the hotel stairwell. I’d call that a catastrophe.”

Scalzo kept staring ahead. “You want to know what really happened?”

“Of course I want to know. We’re partners, aren’t we?”

“Valentine killed them.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I picked them up, brought them to the hotel, and sent them to Valentine’s room. Twenty minutes later, one of them called my cell, said that Valentine and the cowboy had fought back. I waited by the elevators for them to come down. I heard two shots from the stairwell. I went and opened the door, saw them lying dead on the floor. I heard footsteps and looked up. Valentine was running up the stairs holding a gun.”

Jasper swallowed hard, then opened and shut his eyes several times. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“So what do we? We can’t have Valentine screwing things up for us.”

A hundred miles,Scalzo decided. The mountains were one hundred miles away.He turned from the balcony and leaned against the railing, staring through the slider into the living room of the suite. Skipper hadn’t come out yet. Still preening two inches in front of the vanity, he guessed.

“I already made arrangements for Valentine to be taken care of,” Scalzo said.

“That was fast.”

“I have a flag in every state.”

A flag in every state meant Scalzo knew a mob guy in every state who would do him a favor. In this case, the favor came from a mob guy who had connections with the warden of a local prison. This warden had an inmate doing a life stretch, courtesy of Tony Valentine. By noon, that inmate would be on his way to Las Vegas.

“This man won’t screw up,” Scalzo added.

“How can you be sure?”

“He and Valentine have a history.”

Through the slider Scalzo saw Skipper come in. His nephew had switched into a shiny gold shirt and looked like a fag. This bullshit has to stop,he thought.

“I sure hope you’re right,” Jasper said.

Scalzo shifted his gaze, and stared into Jasper’s face. It was a look meant to inspire fear. He saw Jasper’s lower lip tremble, and knew that it had worked.

“Don’t ever question me again,” Scalzo said. “Now, I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to forget it. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Jasper said.

“If you ever force your way into my suite again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Jasper stepped backward and nearly fell over the railing. He quickly righted himself. “I understand,” he said.

Scalzo opened the slider, and went into the suite.

14

Bill Higgins dropped Valentine at Celebrity at a few minutes before nine. As Valentine walked through the front doors, he remembered his breakfast date with Gloria Curtis, and hurried through the lobby toward the restaurant. A concierge dressed like Jungle Jim hurried toward him.

“Mr. Valentine?”

“What’s up?” he said, not slowing down.

“I have a message from Ms. Gloria Curtis.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s a written message.”

The concierge whipped a small white envelope from his outer breast pocket and presented it to him. Valentine dug for his wallet to tip the guy.

“No need, Mr. Valentine. My compliments.”

The concierge walked away. The help got paid garbage in Las Vegas, and he chased the guy down and stuck a twenty in his hand, then walked to the elevators reading Gloria’s note.

Tony, I heard what happened last night! I’m in my room. Please call me.

He found a house phone, and when an operator came on, asked for Gloria’s room. She picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Tony, is that you?”

“Hello, Miss Curtis,” he said, knowing that hotel operators often listened to calls.

“Where are you?”

“I just walked through the front doors.”

“Zack called me earlier. He said you and Rufus Steele were attacked in your suite last night, and the men who did it were found dead in the stairwell.”

“That’s the Reader’s Digestversion,” he said.

“Were you beat up? Did they damage that beautiful face?”

His cheeks burned. Never before had anyone called his face beautiful. “The face is fine. My neck is sore, but it will heal.”

“Please come up to my room,” Gloria said. “I’m in 842.”

Valentine hesitated. The older he’d gotten, the more important mealtime had become, and he’d been looking forward to eating breakfast.

“Do you still want to eat?” he heard himself ask.

“I ordered breakfast through room service. I hope you like your eggs scrambled with cheese in them.”

“That’s exactly how I like them,” he said.

“You’ve got a neck like a bull,” Gloria said, examining the bruises on the back of Valentine’s neck while he sat on the couch in her living room.

“I should. I stand on my head ten minutes every day.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“About twenty-five years.”

She sat down beside him with a funny look on her face. She wore a powder blue suit, white blouse, and a Hermès scarf wrapped around her neck. She’d told him a few days ago that her network was putting her out to pasture because she was getting older, but to him, she looked just right.

“It’s one of my judo exercises,” he explained. “I took judo up when I started policing casinos. My boss didn’t want us using our guns on the casino floor, so I got involved in the martial arts.”

“Let me guess. Shootings are bad for business.”

“Yes. It seems gamblers see it as a sign of bad luck, and stay away in droves.”

“So you still practice?”

He stretched his neck and nodded. Normally he went to judo class three times a week, and could still throw around guys half his age. Telling her would only sound like bragging, so he kept quiet. Breakfast sat on a trestle tray in an alcove off the living room and smelled delicious. Gloria saw his eyes drift toward the food, and she brought her hand beneath his chin. She raised his face an inch and held his gaze.

“If I were to ask you a question, would you give me an honest answer?”

“I’d try,” he said.

“Come on. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Did you shoot those two men in the stairwell last night? Everyone says you did.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Please answer me,” she said.

You couldn’t be a television announcer for as long as Gloria and not have great eyes. Hers were a soft aqua that could melt your heart if you looked into them too long.

“No, I didn’t shoot them,” he said.

“Do you know who did?”

“No idea,” he said.

Gloria stared deeply into his eyes. After a few intense moments, her face softened, and he guessed she believed him. She gave him a soft kiss on the lips, then led him to the food.

He pulled a chair out for her, then sat down to break fast. He’d known Gloria four full days, and their relationship seemed to be forging ahead at warp speed. He liked her, she liked him, and they never ran out of things to talk about.

Below a metal tray a Bunsen burner kept the food warm. Everyday scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, hash browns. She loaded up his plate, and as he bit into a strip of bacon, she gave him a look.

“Something wrong?”

“I was wondering about your sports jacket,” she said, serving herself half the amount of food she’d served him. “You’ve worn it every day, yet it always looks fresh. No wrinkles or stains. Do you get it dry-cleaned each night?”

“I have several,” he admitted.