Casualties (18 page)

The woman reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. In a minute she had all her credit cards on the table. Five of them, for Christ's sake, plus her bank cards laid out in front of her like a hand for seven-card stud. She barely looked up when the waitress brought their drinks.

“You said two thousand, right?” She'd stopped shaking, finally, and her voice was flat. Not mad. Not rushed. She just didn't give a damn. Like she had bigger things to think about than a few thousand bucks.

Lenny nodded and took a long swig of his beer. Casey noticed the waitress still standing there. They didn't need an audience for this. He handed her one of the credit cards.

“Start a tab, honey.” He didn't know her. Must be new. “We'll call you when we're ready for some more drinks.”

“How much do you want? I've got to get back to my car.” The Nolan woman spoke to him now in the same flat voice. This time he was the one staring into the huge dark lenses. Was she hiding a black eye? Was he trying to fleece a battered woman? He tried to imagine himself getting up, walking away.

“Well?” She started to pick up the cards in front of her, one by one.

He couldn't look at her. “I'll take a couple of thousand, too.”

“Fine.” The woman picked up each of the cards with a crisp, precise movement, like a dealer. She slid out of the booth and stood up. “I'll start at the cash machine. Then I'll have to see someone about a cash advance or a bank transfer.”

No. They did not want to call attention to this any more than they already had. Besides, he'd had enough crazy and enough guilt for one afternoon. He scrambled out of his side of the booth and pulled himself up.

“The cash'll be fine. We'll go with you. C'mon, Len.” He would take whatever she got out of the cash machine and call it good. If it wasn't enough for Lenny, then fuck him. He needed to get some money in his hand, some Camels in his mouth, and then he needed to hit the blackjack tables. He needed to get away from this woman. When she crashed into Lenny's truck, he thought he'd struck a vein of good luck. But nothing, not even luck, came without a price. He ought to know that by now.

—

The two men took every dollar Ruth extracted from the ATM, a thousand dollars each, and seemed to vanish into the din caused by the roller coaster and the relentless dinging and buzzing of electronic gambling machines. Just before she lost sight of them altogether, the younger man stopped, turned, and opened his mouth as if to say something. Maybe he wanted more money after all. He
just shook his head, as if to rid himself of a nagging thought, and raised his hand in a brief, final wave. Then he disappeared.

The gesture dove into the well of Ruth's memory and brought back with it the echo of abandonment. She closed her eyes, unshielded now by sunglasses, and leaned back against the wall next to the ATM. What time was it? She'd lost track. She was so tired. Maybe she should get gas and just drive to Vegas. Once she got a little sleep and a place where she could soak in a bath, she'd be all right. She could make a plan. When she opened her eyes, though, she saw the sign blinking over the bar not far away. She would sit a while, cool off, and then head to Vegas.

The bar seemed a mile away. People, shouting and laughing, brushed past, without seeing her: fat fathers and tired mothers, tiny Asian women with grim mouths, sticky children screaming for another ride, men in cowboy boots and dirty hats. The noise rasped at her ears; her throat stung. She wouldn't stay long, just one drink, and go.

She sat down at the same table, now cleared of the earlier order, and signaled to the waitress. “Another margarita.”

“Like some company?” A bearded face leaned over hers. A blast of bourbon and fruity dipping tobacco hit her. A woman's voice laughed from behind the man.

“If she does, it won't be you, Asa. Shove off.”

The waitress smiled at Ruth and set down the drink. “You want me to keep the tab open?”

Ruth nodded.

“Watch out for that guy,” the woman whispered as she set down the drink. “He's horny and lonely and he's a mean son of a bitch.”

“Now don't go tellin' her lies,” the man said.

Ruth wanted both of them to go away. She pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes and stared straight in front of her.

“Can I get you anything else right now?” the waitress asked. “No? Well, just wave when you're ready for a refill.” As they retreated,
Ruth forgot about them. She let the drink do its work. Each sip released her a little more from herself. There was no rush to get to Las Vegas. It wasn't as if she had a plan. Just before she emptied her glass, the waitress was back with a fresh one that Ruth could not remember asking for. The man at the bar was looking at her. He raised his glass in salute.

—

I'm outta here, Case. You'll have to find another way home.” Lenny pushed himself back from the blackjack table. A ponytailed blonde twice as big as Lenny took his place.

Casey sensed rather than saw Lenny walk away. Tommy, the dealer, was already laying out the cards. King and queen for Casey, six up for himself. Good. The woman giggled. She showed Casey her cards, a ten and a three. “Should I hit?”

Shit.
He rolled his eyes at Tommy, who said nothing, and then he shook his head at the woman, just to get her moving.

“Case.” Lenny was back, breathing bourbon in his ear.

“Jesus, I'm on a roll. If you're going, get the fuck out of here already.”

The woman scrunched up her eyes, pouted. Then she slapped the table. “Hit me.”

A ten, bust. Served her right. He glanced at Tommy. He busted. Yes! The dealer pushed Casey's chips toward him. Casey shook his head and slid them back. He had a good feeling.

“C'mon, Case, pay attention.”

Irritated, he glanced sideways at Len. “What?”

“Don't want these,” Lenny said. A set of keys with the Jaguar insignia appeared next to Casey's beer.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with them?”

Lenny shrugged. “Not my problem. Later, Case.”

Casey looked up and started to call Lenny back, but the old man moved fast. Shit. Casey glanced at his watch. They'd left the Nolan
woman by the ATM four hours ago. She hadn't missed her keys yet? His conscience began to itch again. A small irritation. Tommy was already dealing. Fuck it. Ruth Nolan had waited this long; a little longer wouldn't matter.

—

Ruth was in the parking lot. The sun had gone, though; it was dark except for the light shed at intervals by the lamps. She was not sure how she'd gotten here. She could feel her legs but had forgotten how to operate them. She heard a man's laugh from somewhere behind her.

“Time to go, Red,” he said. Someone grabbed Ruth's arm and nearly yanked it out of its socket.

Hurts
, she thought, but all that came out was a grunt of pain.

Then her arm was looped around her back, under her armpits, and she felt herself being dragged. Ruth wanted to grab the hands that held her and push them back, but her own hands didn't seem to work. Nothing seemed to work. “Let go.”

“We are goin'.”

“No.”

“Yep.” A hand gripped her left breast and clamped down.

Ruth cried out.

“What you got there, Asa?” A man's voice laughing.

“Just a little something I picked up inside.”

“Only way you can get 'em, right? So blind drunk they can't see your ugly face.” She heard the crunch of shoes on grit. The voice disappeared. The man was pulling her, harder now. Her bladder leaked.

“Let me go. Have to . . . ladies' room.”

“Jesus Christ.” They were next to something big. A wheel. A truck. “There's your fuckin' ladies' room. All the privacy you need right there.” Ruth's legs started to give way again. “Don't lean on me, you cunt.” He shoved her against the truck and Ruth leaned
against it, sinking into a squat she could not sustain. As she fell, hot liquid jetted out of her.

“Aww, Christ, you're pissin' all over yourself . . . you got it on my boots! Goddamn whore, you're ruinin' my five-hundred-dollar boots!”

The words ran together in Ruth's ears; all she heard was the man's rage. Then something sharp slammed her hip. She keeled onto her side and it slammed her again, this time in her buttocks. His boot. The pointed toe, sharp, rippled with snakeskin, was poised to strike within inches of her nose. Ruth closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. Instead she heard a woman's voice. She'd heard it before, in the bar.

“For Chrissakes, Asa! We don't have time for that. Just get her wallet. I've got to get home.”

Ruth struggled to get away but she felt hands on her, yanking her back, prying open her fist. She heard the woman again.

“No cash. Shit. You can have the credit cards. I'm taking the ring.”

“She owes me for these boots.”

“Whatever, I'm outta here.”

Ruth heard a rustle, then the hiss of a zipper. He had her by the hair again, pulled her face to his crotch. She turned her head, but he twisted her by the hair and slapped her. Ruth couldn't breathe. She began to thrash, looking for escape. He pulled her head back and began to thrust himself into her mouth. She bit. He yelled and the grip on her head loosened. Her gorge rose and she vomited. Everything went black.

When Tommy went off shift, Casey rose from the table, trying to hold the whoop of glee inside. He was up nearly three grand. Shit, if he totaled everything from the minute Belva wiped him out in his trailer this morning to now, he was up nearly four grand. What a day. What a fucking incredible day. His head hurt, his leg hurt—but he could send a fat envelope to Emily and still have more than enough to keep himself going for a while.

He passed the restaurant on his way to cash in his chips. The smell of roasted meat got his juices going. As soon as he cashed in, he'd come back here and have himself a king-sized prime rib, bloody, and a pile of fat greasy fries.

“You all done, Casey? The night's still young,” the man behind the counter said as Casey plunked down his box of chips.

“Yep. All done.” He grinned. “You're not getting any of this back.”

As Casey dug for his wallet, his fingers hit the Jaguar keys. Shit, he'd forgotten all about that woman. Where the hell was she?

He limped toward the bar. Every booth was filled, but the Jaguar
lady wasn't in any of them. The tables were busy but she wasn't there either. He waved to the meaty blond woman working the bar.

“Hey, Case. A nice cold one?”

“Not right now, Kit. I'm lookin' for a woman.”

“Look no further, darlin'.” Laughter danced in Kitty's brown eyes.

Casey grinned back. “Now why would I want to piss off that husband of yours?”

“You might not, but I wouldn't mind—it'd get him off the couch.” Her eyes flicked up the bar to where a man was signaling for a drink. She nodded at him and reached for a shot glass.

“I'm looking for a particular woman. Red hair, thin. Big sunglasses. She was wearing a dungaree jacket and a black skirt.”

The easy grin fell from Kitty's face. “That's your girlfriend?”

“No. Nothing like that. Got something of hers.”

Kitty had lost interest. She inclined her head toward the exit and started to turn away. “Walked out of here a while ago with some trucker. If you could call what she was doing walking.”

A few minutes later, Casey stood outside the casino entrance surveying the dark parking lot, counting the reasons he should just go back in, drop the keys in the lost and found, and eat his dinner. He was hungry. What Ruth Nolan did was none of his business. But the bills in his pocket bulged against his thigh, and his conscience squirmed. All the things he'd ignored earlier came back to him: her shaky hands, the carelessness in the bar, laying all her credit cards out for the world to see, the way she'd slumped against the cash machine when he and Lenny walked away with wads of her cash.

“Shit, lady, where the hell are you?” he muttered into the dusty heat that settled over the parked cars, semis, and giant blue bison. Screams of laughter split through the roof of the casino and roared behind him as the roller coaster completed its loop. A couple brushed past him and headed, hands entwined and laughing, to a car parked near the line of semis. Casey shrugged and turned to go back in.
Then a scream, the girl's, jerked him back. Half sorry he'd heard her, he limped in the direction of the couple's voices, now raised in argument, over by the line of cars closest to the semis.

“She's drunk, is all,” said the man.

“We can't leave her like that. What if she's hurt?”

“Well, I'm not touchin' her.”

Casey came up behind them as the woman kneeled down to get a closer look at the heap on the pavement. He knew it would be Ruth Nolan even before he saw the thin white legs and short red hair in a shaft of light cast by a nearby lamppost.

“Jesus Christ.”

“You know her?” The man, a thickset guy with a goatee and a mouthful of brown teeth, twisted his face in disgust.

“Kind of . . .”

The words were out of Casey's mouth before he knew he was going to say them. The rest of his body, in fact, was half turned toward the casino, away from the stink of puke, piss, and sweat rising from the woman at their feet.

“Great. She's all yours.” The man grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her, but she twisted away.

“Do you want some help? Should we go get help inside?”

Casey liked the girl for that, for giving a shit. She looked like a million other girls, bare belly slipping over the sides of her jeans, tattoos on one of the tits squeezing out of her tank top, but her eyes were soft under all the makeup. Getting help would only complicate things, though. The security folks would want explanations: how he knew her, where his money had come from all of a sudden, nothing he wanted to get into. He shook his head at the girl.

“That's okay. Thanks.”

The man grabbed his girlfriend around the shoulders and pulled her away. “It's all yours, man.”

“Now what, Jaguar lady?”

Her skirt was ripped and soaking, and she'd lost a shoe and her
sunglasses somewhere along the line, but she still wore the denim jacket. He squatted and pushed the hair away from Ruth's face. A fresh bruise was rising on her cheekbone; blood mixed with vomit still leaked from the corner of her mouth. Gingerly, he touched her shoulder and squeezed. “C'mon, wake up.”

Nothing.

How bad was she hurt? He leaned closer and felt her breath on his hand. He squeezed the shoulder again and shook it gently. “C'mon.” A low moan slipped from her mouth, and her body curled into the fetal position. The faker wobbled. He pulled himself up, leaned against the lamppost. He'd have a hell of a time picking her up. Dead weight. Slippery too.

What a fucking mess. His fingers itched to drop the keys and walk away, but it would be just his luck if she woke up remembering his face instead of the asshole who actually left her here. Everyone here knew him. Besides, what if some idiot drove right over her? Ruth had nearly run him down just hours before not a hundred feet away. Because of her, his pockets were loaded with money. Casey sighed. No steak for him tonight.

He'd seen guys in worse shape. Hell,
he'd
been in worse shape. She'd be heavy, though. He unbuckled his belt, leaned down, and looped the leather strap around Ruth's belly. Then he leaned back against the lamppost for balance and pulled, lifting her up and toward him. Her hands flayed out wildly and she began to retch. He tipped forward and almost fell on top of her but jerked back just in time. He wrapped both arms around her chest to keep her from sliding down and struggled to breathe.

“C'mon, lady. Help me out here.”

Somehow he held on and turned them slowly in the direction of the Jaguar, parked clear across the parking lot somewhere near the buffalo, if he remembered right. Ruth's head slumped to his shoulder and she half moaned, half mumbled something he couldn't
understand, but at least she was vertical. He cast his eye around for her purse, not really expecting to find it. Casey heaved another sigh.

“Okay, lady. Let's take it one step at time.”

An hour later, the Jaguar shuddered to a halt in front of Casey's trailer and the rusted-out El Camino parked next to it.

“We're here,” Casey said. There was no response from the passenger side of the car where Ruth slumped, unconscious.

He sighed and pushed open the door on the driver's side. A long, crazy, goddamned day and it wasn't over yet. He paused, half in, half out of the Jaguar. Maybe he should get Lenny to help. He glanced in the direction of the old man's trailer and caught sight of Belva's huge green double-wide, flanked by her beat-up brown Lincoln. Shit. Belva. How was he going to explain the Jag? How was he going to explain Ruth? Belva could smell cash a hundred miles away. He cupped his hand over the money bulging in his pocket, thinking of the way Belva had swooped down that morning and emptied his wallet. No way he'd let her near this.

“No . . . no . . . Robbie . . .” He saw Ruth's mouth moving, but her eyes were still closed. He stretched to her shoulder, shaking it gently.

“You awake over there?”

Ruth erupted. She flung her body against the door with a strangled cry, half sob, half scream. Her eyes were open now and her fingers scrabbled against the door.

“Hang on, hang on.” Casey pushed himself up and limped as quickly as he could around the car to the passenger side. When he reached for Ruth, she kicked out her legs and thrashed, now diving for the other side of the car and kicking the faker practically out from underneath him. He stifled the groan of pain and frustration that rose up inside. Yelling wouldn't help. She was already scared enough.

“It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.” The words did not have to mean anything. She wasn't listening to the words. She had to trust his voice. He kept speaking, low and calm, stooping to
peer into the car but not reaching for her. Her body finally loosened and she stopped thrashing.

“Let's try again, okay? I'm going to help you. Can you hold on to my arm?” Her head sank to the driver's seat. “No, don't pass out, babe. Ruth, right? Ruth, stay awake for me now, just till we get inside.” He reached in and tugged gently on her arm until she was sitting upright once again in the passenger seat, her head tilted back, eyes closing again.

“Just a little more,” Casey said, reaching down and pulling her legs around until her bare feet hung out the side of the car. Gripping the top of the car for balance, he guided her out. He glanced at the steps to the trailer and then back at Ruth. For a skinny woman, she was pretty heavy.

“Work with me, lady,” he said. Limping, he half carried, half dragged Ruth through the sand to the trailer door.