Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (28 page)

"I
think we need to talk to that guy. I just think he knows something."
Callie nodded toward Brownlee.

One
thing was for sure, I couldn't get his face out of my mind, the way it looked
when the man bet on number fourteen, like somehow he disapproved or that it was
the wrong number. The expression on his face had stuck with me. The number of
players around the table was sparse. I pulled some money out of my pocket.

"This
gig is costing me a fortune. Every time I want to talk to a dealer, I lose
about twenty bucks!" I slid onto the black tufted leather bar stool in
front of his table and fooled around in my wallet to delay the transaction.

"Too
bad about that young kid that got beaten up out here," I said. The dealer
didn't respond, but the woman next to me did.

"Terrible!
There's a rumor that he came to the hotel as a male hooker!" the woman
said.
I just got lucky. A perfect stranger saying all the things I need
said.

"Can
you imagine?" she said in indignation. "And he was only
fourteen!"

I
looked straight into Brownlee's eyes.
Fourteen, he was only fourteen! I was
right! The man bet ten thousand on fourteen. Brownlee knew Mr. Emerson well and
most likely got his boys to him in short order, but maybe not that young. Maybe
fourteen turned even Brownlee’s stomach.
The woman lost her money, cooed
over Elmo, and left like an angel, having been planted there to help me.

"So
Mr. Emerson and even the famous Sterling Hackett get their chicken from
you?" I glanced down at the bird on his pinkie ring. "But this time
the chicken was a little too tender even for your taste," I said flatly.
"But, of course, you went ahead and sent Joey Winters up there anyway,
because business is business, right, Mr. Brownlee?"

"I'll
call security," he said.

"And
I will turn you over to the FBI so fucking fast it will make your Gambler Boy
Name Tag pop off your three-dollar tux! Tell me right now, who has Rose
Ross?"

He
blinked at the sound of Rose's name.

I
put my money down and he slid some chips across the table, putting them on red.
The house took my money, and I didn't care. I bet again as he spoke, his lips
barely moving. "Get away from my table and don't come back," he
threatened.

"Where
is Rose Ross?"

"Don't
know her."

Another
dealer relieved Brownlee on a shift change, allowing Brownlee to escape out
through the back of the casino. I was certain there was a camera, or a button,
that had allowed him to signal someone and get the brilliantly timed change of
dealers just as I was boring in on him. I signaled Callie to follow me, and we
tracked Brownlee to the backside of the casino and into an alcove where he was
on his cell phone.

"They're
asking questions," he told the person on the other end of the phone.

I
stepped into his line of sight and pulled my gun and placed it under his chin.

"Hang
up," I said quietly, and he made an excuse for having to go.

"That
was so fucking stupid. Now I have to do something really unpleasant to
you," I said, and he began to beg. "And why should I save you? You
were willing to get Joey killed; you're willing to have someone kill Rose Ross;
why is it killers are such cowards? All I want to do to you is maybe blow off
your hand so you can't work..." and I put the gun into his palm.

"Please,
please, listen. You don't know what you're dealing with," he said in an
unintentional play on words.

"Who
runs the ring?" I demanded.

"People
say Mo Black still runs it from the grave. The money from the transactions goes
into a small vault in the back of the casino through the tunnel."
So
there is a tunnel; Callie was right!
"Everybody says it's the ghost who
takes it out. Look, I won't tell anyone about you."

"But
you just did. Who was on the phone with you?" I grabbed his cell phone and
hit redial, wanting to know who he'd talk to about us. A voice answered saying,
"Welcome to the Desert Star Casino. How may I direct your call?'"

"Brownlee
wants to talk to her again," I said quickly, taking a fifty-fifty chance
it was a her, and I was right. There was a click, and hold, and then Ms. Loomis
came on the line. I hung up. "So Loomis is here, on duty, in the hotel and
hiding from me, or someone wants me to think she's gone," I said to
Brownlee.

"Please
just get away from me and leave me out of this. I'm just trying to make a
living. Traugh. He knows everything. The Rose girl, she knows too much, is all
I hear."

"Who's
got her?" I asked.

But
Brownlee either didn't know or wasn't telling. Despite my gun pointed at him,
he yanked free and ran, apparently having decided that being head-shot was
preferable to what awaited someone who squealed on the ring. Elmo growled and
lunged after him, but I held the fearless basset in check.

With
Elmo in tow, we headed for the theater to find Elliot Traugh.

"I
know your legs hurt, Elmo, but we don't have time to take you back to the
room," Callie told the hapless hound, and I could have sworn he groaned.
We proceeded down the long corridor under the arches and to the theater door.
It was unlocked and no one was inside. The stage was empty. I looped Elmo's
leash lightly over a stair rail and asked him to wait for us; it was dark in the
theater, and I didn't want to trip over him. Callie and I worked our way down
the long aisle. A man's voice rang out over the PA system, asking us if he
could help us. Callie informed him that we were looking for Elliot Traugh.

"Right
here," he said and a single light bulb came on overhead, illuminating an
A-frame ladder and Elliot Traugh standing beside it in what I thought was a
very clever and dramatic entrance. "My theater wannabe friends,"
Elliot lightly mocked us.

"Brownlee
said you know everything, and I don't think he's referring to the meaning of
life."

"You're
beginning to bore me," Elliot said.

"How
boring would it be if I told you that rumor has it that you killed Joanie
Burr?" I said, cutting through his B.S.

"That's
the problem with rumors. They're so...rumor-ish."

"Stellium
in Scorpio is this hotel's chart," Callie interjected. "A Stellium in
Scorpio has great intensity, and the potential for extreme good or evil."

"So
which is it?" he asked, and then answered his own question. "Depends
on which side of the sod you're on, I suppose. If you're dead, you probably
think this place has great potential for evil. Mo Black most likely thinks
so."

"Mo
committed suicide?" Callie's voice was a question mark.

"That's
what Karla told you, didn't she? The truth is that Mo Black and Giovanni were
partners in this boy business, and Gio tried to shut it down. Mo threatened to
blackmail Gio—not good to be a macho, Italian mafia type who likes boys better
than hookers. So, in retaliation, Mo...committed suicide? That doesn't sound
right." He paused for dramatic effect. "Or was it that Gio murdered
Mo? Or was it that Karla killed Mo? You see the dilemma. Of course, the police
could never prove anything. The police in Las Vegas don't try to prove much
related to the mafia."

"And
why are you telling us all this?" I asked.

"Because
like me, the ghost has got you, the ghost has hung you... isn't that what they
chant at the ghoul pool gathering?"

"I
wouldn't know. I haven't been there," I said.

"Well,
to the precise point, Gio and I were lovers once. Then he decided he liked his
boys younger and queerer." Traugh looked off in another dark direction of
the theater, as if delivering his lines to a different audience, and he raised
his voice as if playing to the balcony.

"So,
he has them now. Of course, they're dying on him at a great rate, but he has
them nonetheless."

"Where's
Rose Ross, Elliot?" Callie asked.

"I'm
afraid she's offended everyone by befriending someone who's been sharing our
little secrets. Sometimes one of the boys can get away with that. All they have
to do is fuck their way back into someone's good graces. Unfortunately for
girls, there's no road back home. Your friend is in trouble," Traugh said,
"and if I were you, I would pray for her." He reached up, clicked his
fingers, and disappeared into blackness.

"Where'd
he go?"

"Someone
else is here," Callie said.

I
grabbed her by the arm, swooped up Elmo by his leash, and dragged them both
from the theater through a side door into the alley, not wanting to find out
who, if anyone, was in the theater besides Elliot. Although as I left, I
smelled cologne I recognized but couldn't place.

People
on the street were going about their business oblivious to our fears. I
suddenly realized, what a brilliant place for a murder. Orchestral tympani,
explosives, every sound imaginable could be heard on these stages. Why would
anyone think it was anything more than a rehearsal going on?

"He
said pray for her. I feel that means she's at the chapel," Callie said.

Still
clutching Callie and Elmo, I headed for our car. Outside, leaning up against
the wall of the theater, Sophia was apparently awaiting our arrival, because
she ran toward us the moment we hit the cement.

"Rose
is missing, and I've got to find her. She left me a note saying she was going
to meet Gio at the chapel. He wanted her to help him with a fundraiser there,
but I phoned and there was no fundraiser, and she didn't come back. That was
yesterday."

The
three of us circled around to the parking lot and got into the car without
exchanging another word. Elmo hunkered down in the backseat, staying firmly on
his side of the car, refusing to cuddle up to the distraught stranger beside
him. He let out a couple of short, high squeaks, which he only did under
extreme stress, clearly indicating to me that he felt things were completely
out of control.

"It'll
be okay, buddy," I tried to reassure
him, but he squeaked again, clearly not believing it.

As
we drove, I quizzed Sophia. I was long past the elementary interrogation and
was zeroing in on details.

"Who
did Joanie Burr say attacked her?" I asked.

"She
was dead when I got there," Sophia said.

"Who
told you we were in the theater just now?"

"The
theater community is pretty tight knit and cautious. We look out for each
other—"

"Who?"
I demanded tersely.

"I
got a call on my cell phone saying you were in the theater," she answered
me.

"From
who?" I dragged the word out to illustrate my impatience and there was a
long pause.

"Elliot,"
she finally replied.

Callie
shot me a look that indicated that it couldn't be Elliot. From the moment he
knew we were in the theater, we'd seen his every move—a fact that Sophia could
not have known.

"Hey,
everybody's fingering Elliot Traugh. Must be an unpopular guy," I said.

"Loomis,"
she came clean. "Loomis called me."

"Why?"
I asked, but Sophia was silent, the wheels in her head turning.

Why
would Loomis warn Sophia about anything? Sophia is just an insignificant
showgirl, a little fish in a very dangerous big pond.

"How
did you know about the Stellium in Scorpio chart and that it was supposed to be
sent to Callie if the hotel was in trouble?"

There
was a long pause. "Talk or walk," I said, suddenly slamming on the
brakes.

"I
knew Mo Black's daughter years ago. She gave it to me and she told me what it
meant."

Of
course! The photo of Mo and his first wife on Karla’s mantel. She mentioned he
had children from his first marriage.

"So
you must have known the daughter pretty well," I probed. Sophia clamped
her jaw tightly shut. Conversation over. Even I knew that.

We
pulled the car onto the hilltop road that curved around the bell tower, ending
in the dirt parking lot of the chapel. It was dark now and there was no one
around. The wind swirled the dirt into the air of the courtyard and snapped the
bell rope in strict warning to the penitent. There was no one visible: no
priest, no parishioners, and no maintenance people. It was as if God had left
for the holidays, leaving the doors open and no one at home. I cracked the car
window a quarter of an inch and locked Elmo inside, telling him we'd be back
and to stay quiet.

Leading
the way into the darkened chapel, I found a light switch and turned on the
overhead lights, waiting expectantly for someone to enter from the side doors
behind the altar and ask what we needed. No one appeared. We walked to the
front of the chapel and I crossed myself out of habit as I passed the crucifix.

"Never
cross yourself. That's why the world is so burdened. A Grand Cross in astrology
is the intersection of four squares, and people with that in their chart feel
crucified and—" Callie lectured.