Restless City — Chapter 5

by R.Hooker on October 2, 2009

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By John L. Smith

Brady looked around the room. Suddenly everything was becoming clear. Why hadn’t he noticed it sooner? He’d seen rooms like this on occasion during his days as a Gaming Control Board agent.

A seething anger boiled inside him, but for the moment he measured his breathing. The room was far filthier than its occupants. Creamer the lawyer hadn’t been there long.

Juliet didn’t fit the place, either. Her makeup was too perfect. Not the heavy slap most dancers use out of habit, but the kind of detail around the eyes and cheekbones that takes time. She also was wearing a wig to make her look like more like the photo of Ilene.

Most of all, her emotions didn’t fit the moment. It was a dead tell.

“I need to get some air,” Brady said, making no eye contact and palming Juliet’s car keys.

In two minutes Brady was pulling into a 7-Eleven and dropping a quarter into the pay phone. The recorded voice operator from NV Energy came on the line. He punched in a four-digit code.

“This is Roy Harris.”

“It’s Brady.”

“Hey, brother. What’s happening? I’m about to head home for the night.”

“Everything in a hurry. I’ll tell you about it when I can. Right now I need some help. I need the turn-on date and background on two apartments.” He read the addresses to his friend, a twenty-five-year power company employee.

“When do you need it?”

“Yesterday.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Everything all right?

“Getting punked and not liking it. I’ll call you. Don’t use my cell today.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thanks.”

Another quarter, another number.

“Sonny’s Southside.”

“Dominic. It’s Brady.”

“My man. Long time no see.”

“I don’t hang in the bars much anymore.”

“You could stop by a friend’s place for a cup of coffee once in a while. We got a dayside bartender so sweet she makes the old men cry in their beer.”

“I’ll take you up on it sometime. But now I need something.”

“Name it, baby. I owe you big, you know that. Since you caught those stringers who were robbing me blind, business is good even with that fucking smoking ban. Imagine, a smoking ban in Vegas bars. Figlio di puttana.”

“Knowing you, you don’t pay too much attention to that one.”

“Yeah, not too much. We keep an eye out for FBI agents with smoke detectors.”

“Your cousin. You know, the one with the auto fetish?”

Silence on the line as Dominic registered the message. Brady would never mention his cousin, Little Vic Paduano, on any phone line. Little Vic was a connected guy who owned chop shops from Las Vegas to Mexicali.

“I don’t see him much,” Dominic said.

“I know you don’t. But I have a donation for him. It’s a beater. I can’t fix it. It’s got some kind of bug that’s beyond me. He can have it. What I want is for him to show me the problem and give me his expert opinion before he Siegfried & Roys it. It’s got to be done very quickly. I’ll leave the keys in it at the 7-Eleven at 3051 E. Charleston.”

“I’ll take care of it, baby. Hang tight.”

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Tagged as: John L. Smith, Las Vegas Writes, Resltess City