Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (11 page)

With the time change, and it being an early game in the Midwest, I figured the game would be over by now.

Central Iowa eighty-three, Norhtwestern fifty-four. CIU easily covered the point spread. Raymond Joseph had a career-high game.

Just as I’d predicted. And I not only didn’t clean up in that game, but was now into Vince for twenty-four k. Probably an eighty thousand dollar swing.
 

Not in my favor.

I turned the television off and pulled the comforter up over my head.

Chapter Eight

“Y
ou’ve got two weeks,” Vince said to me later that night.

When I woke up late in the afternoon, Lorelei and Ben were out, so I’d called Paulie to find out where—or if—I could find Vince. Vince Santini didn’t have many face-to-face meetings; Paulie was his man of action. And meeting with Vince was never a good thing.

I was kind of surprised when Paulie’d called back five minutes later and said Vince would meet me at the gelato stand at the Bellagio.

Which was where we now sat, on the little wrought iron chairs in front, a cute café style table between us. Vince eating an ice, me having my morning coffee—at seven o’clock at night.

I nodded to him. “I’m going to need at least that,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a dead-beat gambler begging for time.

Which, of course, was exactly what I was.

“Yeah, I heard about Danny. That’s not right. Killing an old man like that. What’s happening in this world?”

Maybe he owed somebody money, I thought, but had the good sense not to say it out loud to Vince.
 

I was kidding, but maybe I wasn’t that far off base. Maybe Danny was into somebody for big numbers. I wouldn’t have thought it, but I didn’t think the boys knew about my occasional “jobs” for Vince.

The one thing I’ve learned about life is you never really know anybody’s money situation. You might think you do, but you’d probably be surprised. People lived beyond their means, people lived below.

I suppose Jack Schiller had already thought of that—Danny owing money. Gambling was probably at the root of a lot of homicides in Vegas. We’d probably find out if the investigation led anywhere.

Finding out things about someone that they’d never want you to know—the idea didn’t appeal to me, but the idea of whoever had done that to Danny being out there, on the loose, was something I couldn’t bear to think about.

“Yeah,” I said to Vince. “It’s horrible.”

“How’s Ben taking it? And the rest of The Corporation?”

“Not very well,” I said, and Vince just nodded. “So, anyway…”

Vince put up a hand to stop me. “You get one week, no vig, for Danny and the boys. Next week the clock starts ticking.”

I looked at him, flabbergasted. Vince never gave anybody interest-free time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had an hourly chart on his office wall. If he had an office.

 
But a whole week? Totally unheard of.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said. I looked closely at him. Vince, on the surface, was not your stereotypical wise guy. Nice suits, but not at all flashy. He wore an expensive, but under-stated watch. His Italian heritage showed with his black hair that he wore perfectly trimmed and pushed back from his olive-complected face.

 
A nice face. A very handsome face. Until you owed it money.

But Vince, to my knowledge, wasn’t connected to anyone; he ran his own show. With his own muscle. He respected the old ways, but embraced the way things were now.

He’d accomplished a lot in his nearly forty-five years.

And Vince loved books. He always had a different one with him, always non-fiction, and usually some massive tome with an impressive title with lots of colons in it.
 

Vince loved books about historical leaders. The greats—Washington, Jefferson, Churchill. And the not-so-greats—Hitler, Mussolini.

I suppose he was learning what worked, and what didn’t. As a frequent customer, I hoped he was taking inspiration from the right leaders.

Lately, the books Vince had been reading were about DaVinci, Michaelangelo and other famous artists.

A real Renaissance man, my loan shark.

“No catch?” I repeated.

He shook his head. “I know you’re going to be busy this week taking care of things, seeing to Ben. The clock starts a week from today. Regular rates.”

I nodded my understanding. “Thanks, Vince. That’s really generous of you.”

He shrugged. “I have a lot of respect for The Corporation. And everybody loved Danny.”

That was true. And also reminded me how small Vegas really was, for such a huge city.

“Vince, do you know if Danny…if he…”

“He didn’t owe me, if that’s what you want to know,” Vince said, a little disappointment in his voice that I could—albeit it inadvertently—think that Vince would off Danny.

Though I know of at least two people who’d owed Vince, took a drive into the desert with Paulie and were never heard from again.

Maybe they were living in Barbados, but I doubted it.

“Maybe somebody else?”

“Not that I know of,” he said.
 

“Would you tell me if you did?”

He thought on that for a couple of seconds. “Yes. I would.”

“Fair enough,” I said and started to rise. Vince put his hand on my arm keeping me in place.

“I’ll ask around,” he said.

“Thanks, that would be great.”

“If I find anything out…you want Ben to know?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Just me.”

Vince nodded, agreeing with my decision. He took his hand off my arm, and not wanting to press my luck—still not believing the gift Vince had given me—I rose to leave.

I pushed in my chair, wincing at the scraping noise the iron made against the marble floor. “Thanks, again, Vince.”

He nodded. “I know you’re good for it, Anna,” he said in a low, ominous voice, then took a bite of his ice.

My foot, where the bone had been smashed years ago, ached as I placed weight on it after sitting. It was an almost Pavlovian response to Vince’s voice when it turned loan shark.

“Besides,” Vince added, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I know where you live.”

I nodded, started to turn away but my step faltered as Vince said, “And
who
you live
with
.”

“G
od, I forgot how much I hate wearing fucking ties,” Jimmy said to me, tugging at said neckwear two days later at Danny’s funeral.

We were standing in the anteroom of the church, watching the service through the windows. I’d gotten Ben situated with the rest of The Corporation in a pew and then retreated to safety behind the glass. Lorelei was sitting behind the boys, her hand rising to wipe the tears from her face every so often.

Yes, definitely safer back here.

Jimmy had escaped their row and snuck back to stand with me during the most recent hymn.

“Didn’t you have to wear one every day at the Stardust?” I asked, sympathizing. I was in my own private hell having to don panty hose and heels.
 

Usually the only thing that got heels on my feet was a final table television appearance.

“Yeah, and I hated it. The only part of my job I didn’t love.” He pulled at the wide, broadly-striped tie again. It looked like Jimmy hadn’t bought a new tie since the day he’d retired over fifteen years ago.

Jimmy had set the odds at the Stardust for over thirty years. During his tenure, the Stardust was known as the best book in town. A fact that Jimmy basked in, and secretly irked the other members of The Corporation.

Ben said the day they imploded the Stardust, Jimmy had stood like a stone and watched. Then stood for another hour after everyone had left. Not saying a word the entire time.
 

He stood next to me now, dry-eyed. But there was a haunting in his eyes that I’d seen in Ben’s earlier.

It was probably in the eyes of every member of The Corporation.

It was probably in mine.

I turned to Jimmy, brushed his hands aside and straightened his tie, slightly tightening it, careful not to catch one of his many jowls. I patted the tie in place over his barrel chest and he placed his hand over mine, held it there for just a fraction of a second then let it go.

Big time emotion for Jimmy.

The crowd rose again—joining in another Catholic ritual of some kind that I didn’t know.

Jimmy and I both sighed at the same time.
 

“You in withdrawal yet?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said.

“From the bets or the cards?”

I thought about it for a minute. “Bets.”

He nodded his head knowingly.

“You too?” I asked. He nodded again. “Why do you suppose that is?”
 

He shrugged, that fabulous Jimmy shrug. “You’re a gambling junkie.”

“I don’t mean that,” I said, deciding not to address the accuracy of his label for me. “I mean, why do you suppose it’s bets that I miss, and not so much poker.”

“Cock squeeze,” he said.

I looked around the anteroom, but nobody had joined us. Thank God. “What’d you say?”

“Cock squeeze,” he repeated.

“That’s what I thought. Dare I ask?”

He shrugged again. “That feeling you get. You know it, Anna. When you put down large change on a bet, knowing you’re going to win. Watching the game. The clench in your gut when some pimply-faced kid misses a free throw. The adrenaline when some doofus off the bench hits one at the buzzer to be the hero.”

“Oh. A hummer,” I said, saying the word out loud for the first time. It’d always just been in my head, not thinking anyone else could understand.
 

Naïve of me.

“Hummer. Cock squeeze. Po-tay-to. Po-taht-toe.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, so, why do you suppose I have more of a hummer from sports betting than poker? I’m
good
at poker. Really good. I make a very nice living at it.”

He nodded, seemingly agreeing with my self-assessment. “It has nothing to do with skill. In poker, you have control. Sure, you play the cards your dealt, and lady luck can be as much a bitch in poker as anywhere else, but ultimately either you bet or you fold. Your call.

“But with sports, you got no control. The minute you place that bet, it’s all in the hands of someone else. Bunches of someone elses.”

I nodded, understanding.

“Total cock squeeze,” he summed up.

“Did he just call you a cock tease?” a warm, deep voice whispered in my ear.

I knew who it was even before Jack Schiller stepped from behind me and stood on my other side.
 

“Do I need to defend your honor?” he asked with a small smile on his weathered face.

“Not necessary,” I said.

“Because you weren’t offended, or because you have no honor?”

“Both,” I said, staring straight ahead. I heard Jimmy give a small snort of laughter.

“Mr. Mancino, good to see you again, although I’m sorry for the circumstances.” He stuck his arm across me, grazing the tip of my boobs, his hand out for Jimmy to shake.
 

I gave him a sideways look, but his eyes were on Jimmy. But…there was just a hint of some deviousness in his brown eyes.

Jimmy shook his hand. “Detective,” he said in greeting, his tone cool. Which normally wouldn’t mean anything, but it was cool even for Jimmy. “Any word yet on who done this to Danny?”

And just like that, any playfulness that I might have imagined on Jack’s face was gone. Cop face was back. He shook his head. “No, sir, we’re still looking into it.”

Jimmy snorted at that and faced forward again. I stared at Jack Schiller while he studied Jimmy. “Mr. O’Hern owe anybody money that you know of, sir? Gambling debts unpaid?”

I turned my head to Jimmy, who stared straight ahead for a moment. “No.”

“No, you know for sure, or none that you know of?”

“Both,” Jimmy said.

Jack sighed, ran his hand over his face in a movement I was beginning to recognize. “Mr. Mancino, if you know anything that would help in our investigation, I think you owe it to Mr. O’Hern to—”

Jimmy turned toward Jack and me. He thrust his meaty hand out and pointed a finger at Jack. “You don’t know the first thing about what I owe to Danny O’Hern, Detective. Don’t think I don’t know why you brought us all to the morgue separately the other night. Didn’t let on the others were there till the end. You was watching us. Watching our reactions to the news. You like one of us for Danny’s killing, don’t you?”

I looked at Jack, but his face was unreadable.

If I’ve been around somebody for as long as I’ve been around Jack Schiller—granted, not a ton of time, but on three separate occasions now—I can usually read them pretty well.