And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) by Warren Murphy

said.
    Chico giggled and said, “Come on, big boy. You can buy me a drink.”
    Trace knew that meant soda. Some Oriental gene, common among Japanese, had made it impossible for Chico to drink alcohol. Any liquor at all brought on a flushed face, a quickened pulse, and if the drink was strong enough, a pass-out.
    Trace got them both tonic waters so they could at least look like drinkers, and they stood in a corner of the bar room by themselves.
    “Remember you thought that Marks was up to something?” he said.
    “Yup. Congratulations by the way on not drinking.”
    “Don’t remind me. Anyway, Groucho’s waiting for me to fall on my face. There’s some big insurance detective in town to check out the jewel robbery.”
    “Do you know him?” she asked.
    “Nope. Nobody does. He’s a big mystery man. Wears a mask and a cloak when he works, I think.”
    “How’d you find out?”
    “Bob found out from one of his drunken cronies and told me.”
    Chico nodded. “That must be what Marks was talking about last night. Remember, I told you, he said something about enough rope to hang himself. He was talking about you. Oh, Trace, it’d be wonderful if you could figure this one out. What a kick in the ass for that surly little Munchkin.”
    “Did you see him abusing that other guy inside?” Trace asked.
    “What guy?”
    “Willie. Your boyfriend’s assistant.”
    “Yeah. I was watching. Don’t give a small person power,” Chico said.
    “Not a chance,” Trace said. “I gave you power and look what it’s gotten me. A sober, dull, ill-tempered miserable life.”
    “Speaking of which, here’s your mother. You’ll forgive me. I’m going forth to commit seppuku .”
    “And leave me to suffer through by myself? Not a chance. Stay alive.” He grabbed Chico’s arm and held her by his side.
    “Hello, Mother. You remember Michiko? The woman I live with?”
    “Devlin, I played the machines by the casino door just like you told me. I lost another ten dollars.”
    “Maybe it wasn’t your lucky day. Where’s Sarge?”
    “Maybe everything in this casino is crooked,” she said, finally looking at Chico. “You work here, Miss Manzano. Would you think so?’
    “Mangini’s the name,” Chico said. “Actually, I wouldn’t know. I deal blackjack and a lot of people win at blackjack. We don’t really think about slot-machine players because there’s a saying in casinos.”
    “Oh? What’s that saying?”
    “People who play slot machines are imbeciles,” Chico said. “Excuse me, Trace.” She walked away.
    “Really,” his mother said. “I don’t know how you can stand that woman.”
    “She makes good shrimp tempura. Where’s Sarge?”
    “He had a drink in his hand. He went out there, I think. I swear, he’s enough to make me crazy. Every time I turn around, he’s vanished.”
    “I can’t imagine why, Mother. Except maybe he doesn’t like watching you lose your inheritance in the slot machines.”
    “What else would he do except get into trouble?” she said.
    “Walter Marks is inside,” Trace said. “He asked me if you were coming tonight. Why don’t you go say hello? He’s with a real baron.”
    “Oh. Well, of course.”
    Trace found his father sitting in the first room on a sofa, holding a glass of liquor in his outsized mitt, staring at the floor, looking glum.
    “I never saw anybody in Las Vegas look that forlorn,” Trace said.
    “It’s that woman,” his father said. “I never realized how comfortable my house is. Somehow, when we’re there, I tune her out. She goes to the bedroom, I go to the kitchen. She goes to the kitchen, I go to the cellar. She goes to sleep and I go to the saloon. Here, I can’t get out of her sight.”
    “You vanished long enough today to get to police headquarters,” Trace said.
    “Oh, you heard. Well, I just wanted to look around and see how they work. Nice fellow, that Rosado.” He looked at Trace for a moment as if measuring his reaction. “Don’t