Hallowed Ground (27 page)

We marched single file around the cashier’s cage, past the empty card tables with the empty-eyed dealers, and up the narrow wooden staircase marked “Employees Only.”

I sauntered past several closed doors, trying like hell not to think about what had happened to Rondelle up here.

Reggie paused at the end of a long carpeted hallway and waited. Knocked on a door with knuckles deeply scarred from multiple rounds with a heavy bag.

How had I missed that little detail?

The door swung inward; a bony, bespectacled chap clutching a briefcase hustled out, then another beefy man resembling Reggie.

Yikes.

Except at second glance, this guy was about twenty years younger, two inches taller, and a hundred times better looking. The clincher? He had excellent taste in clothes.

He stopped, did a double take. “Whoa. You here to see me, dollface?”

And . . . he blew it. Men never failed to disillusion me.

Reggie not so subtly maneuvered Mr. Charming away. “Go play in the sandbox, Junior. She’s here to see your pops.”

My turn to do a double take.
This
was Little Joe Carlucci? Holy crap. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead.

Big Joe couldn’t possibly be bigger than this grape ape—could he?

“Have fun,” Little Joe said to Reggie. “He’s in a lousy fuckin’ mood. Let you get your flabby ass chewed for a change.” He allowed me one last creepy leer. “I’ll be in the bar if you need me.”

“Big fuckin’ surprise.” Reggie warned, “Stay outta Big Joe’s private stock.”

“Or what?”

Reggie’s glare could’ve peeled off the top layer of skin. I shuddered. Little Joe laughed.

“Right. That’s what I thought you’d say.” Little Joe strutted off.

“Douche bag,” Reggie muttered before he ushered me inside the space that smelled like boiled corn and old newspapers.

Not an impressive office for a mob Don. Unlike the attempt at elegance downstairs, cramped was the decorating style up here. A window air conditioner dripped water on one of the five gray filing cabinets ringing the room. An oversized black chair behind the colossal desk faced the bank of windows covered with condensation.

I slid into the wingback chair opposite the desk and waited for my first glimpse of Big Joe.

Wheels scraped plastic as he revolved, giving me a second to brace myself.

Again, my imagination—helped along with years of TV stereotypes—had led me astray. I’d expected Big Joe to look like . . . well, Brando in
The Godfather
. Or Gandolfini, from
The
Sopranos
. Or Sinatra.

Wrong on all accounts. This wisp of a man was a ringer for the guy who played Arvin Sloan on
Alias
, from the grayish-black stubble on his chin to the wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his patrician nose. He looked about as Italian as I did.

He snapped his cuffs before he set his elbows on the desk. Smiled wanly. “Ah. Ms. Collins. So nice to finally meet you.”

I noticed he didn’t offer his hand for me to shake. Chauvinistic? Or a germ phobic?

“Likewise.” I managed not to make it a smart retort.

“You’re a private investigator?”

I nodded.

“I’ve got a couple companies on my payroll back east. Very handy. Of course, I could always use a local company.”

I wanted to say
, I can recommend a couple
, but I refrained, lest he cut my tongue out.

“Naturally, you’d have to prove your investigative skills are adequate.”

“Naturally.”

“How is your latest case coming along? Any luck in locating Ms. Eagle Tail’s daughter?”

At least he didn’t mince words.

I offered a polite smile. “As I’m sure you’re aware, with your extensive experience with private investigators, Mr. Carlucci, that is privileged, confidential client information that I cannot share with you.”

“True. But as I’m sure you’re aware, Ms. Collins, we’ve got a particular interest in this case.

When was the last time you saw Ms. Eagle Tail?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Since we both know you were having Rondelle followed.” Dammit. So much for keeping smart comments to myself.

Big Joe studied me, probably devising new torture techniques.

Reggie shifted in the chair next to mine, probably in anticipation of executing those techniques.

Or was it from nerves?

And then it hit me: Reggie hadn’t actually been following Rondelle, someone else had. And she’d given them the slip.

That was a possible explanation on why Tommy had been in that cabin. He’d been following her and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and wound up dead.

If they didn’t know about Tommy’s murder, then they didn’t know about hers either. Which put me at a slight—albeit unwanted—advantage in this situation.

“Answer the question,” Reggie said.

“Last time I saw Rondelle was in Fat Bob’s parking lot.”

Reggie snorted disbelief.

“So, she hasn’t contacted you since?”

“No.”

“Have you contacted her?”

I shook my head.

Big Joe sighed, and reclined back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “Then we’ve got a bit of a dilemma, Ms. Collins.”

“I fail to see how your dilemma concerns me.”

His benign smile sent shivers from my nape to my tailbone. “Surely, you don’t believe that.”

I shrugged.

“I can ensure your cooperation, but I’d much rather have it willingly. You choose.”

Painful, talking around the sudden fear lumped in my throat. “I honestly don’t know how I can help.”

“I do. When you find her daughter, you’ll call me.”

Imagining Chloe Black Dog in this guy’s hands kicked my gag reflex. “And what are you going to do with her?”

“Propose a trade. I’ll have something Rondelle wants; she has something I want.”

“Which is?”

Those squinty black eyes zeroed in on me again. I didn’t look away. However, I think my eyeballs were actually sweating from the effort it took.

“Fine, Ms. Collins, we’ll play it your way. I want the hundred and fifty thousand dollars she stole from me.”

ROGER RABBIT HAD NOTHING ON ME; MY EYES BULGED out of the sockets. “What?”

“Rondelle managed to walk out of here with one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash.”

“When?”

“We’re guessing a week ago.”

Bull. What kind of businessman didn’t know exactly when he’d been ripped off?

Unless he hadn’t been ripped off at all.

“Mmm,” he said over the rolling
tap tap tap
of his fingers on the plastic arm of his chair.

“Appears you don’t believe it.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t get why you’re telling
me.
”

“Isn’t she your client?”

“In a manner of speaking.” I angled my head toward Reggie. “Didn’t your goombah tell you Tony Martinez is footing the bill?”

He didn’t spare Reggie a glance.

Hah. Take that Reggie.

Furrowing my brow in confusion added a nice dramatic touch. “So how did Rondelle get her hands on so much money? Especially when she claimed she didn’t have enough to hire me? Did she take it from the cage?”

Big Joe watched me closely before he shook his head. “There’s another vault upstairs. Which was opened at the end of Rondelle’s shift.”

“Who opened the vault?”

“The bookkeeper.”

“So ask her.”

“We did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She wasn’t the only one involved. An upper level manager has to be present whenever the safe is unlocked and the money from downstairs is transferred.”

“Who was supposed to be overseeing the money transfer that day?” I asked, even when I suspected the answer.

“My son. Little Joe.”

“Who else besides the bookkeeper has the combination to the vault?”

“No one.” At my puzzlement, he clarified, “The upstairs vault is on a random time release. There is no set schedule for it to be opened.”

This time I didn’t have to feign confusion. “Why? Don’t you need access to that money for change for the cage or whatever?”

When he didn’t answer, I realized if he did, he’d be giving away too much information on the amount of cash on hand. In all likelihood, the upstairs safe held the big bills, but I found it hard to swallow that only one person had control over that much money.

Unless that money wasn’t even supposed to be there.

As a South Dakota girl I didn’t know the first thing about money laundering. Skimming didn’t make sense because I doubted there’d be any benefit in the Carluccis skimming from themselves.

Big Joe continued, “He did handle the transfer, according to Betty. But before she made sure he reset the safe, Rondelle showed up half naked, caused a ruckus, and he kicked Betty back downstairs.”

Yeah, so he could drag Rondelle into another room and rape her, the bastard.

My blood boiled. “So it’s his word against hers.”

“I’m fully aware my son neglected his responsibilities for a quick tumble, Ms. Collins. Little Joe made a mistake.”

“Doesn’t sound like you blame him for the missing money.”

Those long, thin fingers rolled a slow, steady drum-beat. “Should I? Especially since in the interim Rondelle has vanished?”

“That automatically makes her guilty?”

“In my experience, yes.”

I chewed on that for a second. “Okay, let’s assume you’re right. Tell me: How did Rondelle manage to sneak away from Little Joe? If they were doing the nasty, wouldn’t he notice if she’d disappeared?”

A pained expression creased Big Joe’s forehead. “You’d think so. Unfortunately my son has . . .

shall we say,
eclectic
appetites when it comes to sex? Apparently Rondelle has taken advantage of these appetites on many occasions, none more so than that afternoon.”

What lie had Little Joe created for his father to cover up the truth that he’d raped Rondelle? In the next room? While he’d left the damn safe open? It had to be something that would paint Rondelle as a sneaky, controlling, money-grubbing bitch.

“How?”

“Evidently Rondelle rendered him incapable of escape.”

I made my eyes widen. I even let out a little shocked gasp—mostly because I knew it was total bullshit.

“Little Joe
let
her tie him up?”

Reggie snickered.

Venom shot from Big Joe’s eyes, ending Reggie’s hilarity.

“Her idea, according to my son. He swears she left him alone for at least ten minutes. Plenty of time for her to skulk back into the office and grab money out of the safe, don’t you think?”

The indignation I’d been holding back exploded.

“Let me see if I’ve got this scenario right: Rondelle, half naked, ties up poor, helpless, horny Little Joe. She would’ve had to gag him to keep him from hollering since the tying up was
her
idea, right? Leaving him with his dick flapping in the wind, she manages to run down the hallway—again, half naked, and sneaks into the office unseen, spies the open safe and starts grabbing piles of cash?

“Where does she put the money? Couldn’t stuff it in her bra. Could she even fit 150K in her purse? I’m assuming the safe holds big bills, let’s say hundred dollar bills, and supposing they’d been bundled into stacks equaling 5000 bucks each, she would’ve had thirty stacks to hide.

“So, she would’ve had to stash them in a backpack or briefcase that would’ve been conveniently located nearby. Oh, on a
random
day the safe is opened. Wouldn’t Little Joe be curious if she sauntered back in with a briefcase? Sure, she might’ve told him it contained sex toys to throw him off, but, being a man of ‘eclectic’ appetites, he’d want her to open it. If she didn’t? Well, we’re back to him getting suspicious.

“The other alternative is she put the bag containing the money someplace else. You really think she’d take a chance and leave it unattended in the hallway after going to all that trouble to steal it?

“Then once she’s had her wicked, wicked way with him, she unties him, kisses his cheek, grabs the money and skips off into the sunset?”

I didn’t bother to hide my revulsion.

“Wrong. I’m not that stupid. I’ll give it to Little Joe for his imagination. But no way in hell did that happen. Someone else took the money.”

If there even was any money missing. This might’ve all been an elaborate lie on the Carlucci’s behalf to justify tracking down Rondelle because of the disk.

Tension soaked the air.

Big Joe stared at me inscrutably. Was he figuring out where to dig the hole to have me buried in?

Reggie huffed, hands curled into fists. All Big Joe had to do was give the word and Reggie would feed me lunch in the form of a knuckle sandwich.

“Is there something else you’d like to share?”

I glanced up at Big Joe. “Of course, I could be wrong.”

I lifted my hand and pointed to the camera in the corner.

“What about security cameras? From what I’ve seen you’ve got every inch of this place covered.

Does the disk from that day show her actually stealing the money?”

More sticky silence.

“Interestingly enough, the disk from that day is missing.”

“Don’t you have copies archived within your security system?”

Reggie cleared his throat.

Big Joe’s mouth turned dark, prune-like. “When Little Joe took over this casino, I urged him to update the surveillance system. He did. By upgrading to encoded disks.”

“That’s it?”

“To say the current system is antiquated is putting it mildly. Since we don’t often use the rooms up here, these cameras are on a separate feed from the ones in the main casino.”

Hence, the separate, lone disk. “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

“Why bother without the evidence?”

Point taken. Then again, missing disk and missing money gave them a great motive for wanting her dead.

Yes, Rondelle had taken the disk, but not because she’d stolen the money.

But in reviewing that disk, she saw who did.

His fingers stopped moving. “Can you see our dilemma now?”

An intercom on the desk buzzed.

He scooted forward and punched a button. “Yes?”

“Sir, I hate to bother you, but your son insists on opening the Jack Daniels reserve. He’s, umm, very insistent and several customers have already left—”