the hotel, to the parking garage. Near the garage entrance, in plain view, was a lineup of expensive cars. I’d seen hotels do this, displaying patron’s fancy cars to create an image of wealth and opulence. Between a Rolls Royce and a Maserati sedan was an orange Lamborghini with dealer plates. I drove us to an adjacent parking lot, and we began hiking back toward the garage.
“It’s got to be his car,” I said. “I’ll sneak over and attach the tracking unit. Sheila, hang behind me, and if you see an attendant coming, stop him, keep him delayed for a minute.”
“I’ll go watch the main entrance,” Cody said, his hand on Sheila’s arm. “If I see a valet guy heading out on foot, I’ll ring your cell once.”
Cody peeled off toward the front of the hotel while Sheila and I continued toward the garage. “You know, we have no way of knowing when Jimmy will return to Vegas,” I said. “It could be tomorrow, a week from now, or a couple weeks.”
“If you’re worried about your expenses, don’t. It will be taken care of. You just make sure you bring Jimmy to me as soon as he gets back in town.”
I stopped and turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me he won the Lotto?”
“That’s none of your concern,” she said and started walking away.
“Yeah, it is.” I grabbed her arm. “I know the only way you can pay me is if you get the money from Jimmy. How do you intend to do that?”
She moved closer and looked up into my eyes. “Trust me,” she purred.
“Lovely,” I said.
I left her on the walking path between the main entrance and the garage and watched a Mercedes pull out, a parking attendant behind the wheel. As soon as he was gone, I darted in and slid behind the Lamborghini. Reaching under the low-slung chassis, I felt around until I found a snug, secure place for the magnetized tracking device. When I walked back out, I saw Sheila talking with one of the valet runners.
Cody and Sheila met me at the rental car a few minutes later. I turned on my GPS transceiver, and it connected with the satellite and identified the Lamborghini on a street map with a flashing red arrow.
“Pretty slick,” Cody said.
“The tracker will remain in sleep mode until the car is moved. Then it will alert me on my cell phone, and I can track the car on the GPS. The battery on the tracker should last at least a week.”
“Did you intercept the attendant?” Cody said to Sheila.
“Yeah. He asked me if I wanted to go to a party tonight.”
“And?”
“I told him I’m having my own private party,” she said, and leaned over from the back seat and nuzzled Cody. He winked at me, but I could see his face turning red.
Back at the Nugget, the frisky couple headed straight for their room, and I headed straight for the bar. The Nugget was an older, less glamorous establishment than the new breed of casinos that drew hordes of tourists to Vegas. The bar I sat at was weathered and scarred with cigarette burns, and the red carpet beneath my boots was a blur of whiskey stains. The bartender, a full-figured woman, poured me an honest bourbon rocks and slid a bowl of popcorn and pretzels my direction.
Staying in Vegas for a week or more was not something I had planned, or wanted to do—especially since I wasn’t particularly confident I would get paid. If I didn’t, whatever expenses I rang up would just put me that much deeper in a hole. Sheila Majorie seemed to think I would hang around town for as long as it took to find Jimmy. She might learn otherwise. But the involvement of Cody Gibbons made things more complicated.
I gunned my drink and ordered another. Since Cody’s wife left him, his love life had been a boozy kaleidoscope of closing-time bimbos, broke divorcees, strippers, plus a sordid affair with his ex-boss’s wife thrown in for variety. Cody had always run on the ragged boundaries of civilian life, but his divorce, coupled with his losing his job as a San Jose PD detective, was no doubt pushing
“It’s got to be his car,” I said. “I’ll sneak over and attach the tracking unit. Sheila, hang behind me, and if you see an attendant coming, stop him, keep him delayed for a minute.”
“I’ll go watch the main entrance,” Cody said, his hand on Sheila’s arm. “If I see a valet guy heading out on foot, I’ll ring your cell once.”
Cody peeled off toward the front of the hotel while Sheila and I continued toward the garage. “You know, we have no way of knowing when Jimmy will return to Vegas,” I said. “It could be tomorrow, a week from now, or a couple weeks.”
“If you’re worried about your expenses, don’t. It will be taken care of. You just make sure you bring Jimmy to me as soon as he gets back in town.”
I stopped and turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me he won the Lotto?”
“That’s none of your concern,” she said and started walking away.
“Yeah, it is.” I grabbed her arm. “I know the only way you can pay me is if you get the money from Jimmy. How do you intend to do that?”
She moved closer and looked up into my eyes. “Trust me,” she purred.
“Lovely,” I said.
I left her on the walking path between the main entrance and the garage and watched a Mercedes pull out, a parking attendant behind the wheel. As soon as he was gone, I darted in and slid behind the Lamborghini. Reaching under the low-slung chassis, I felt around until I found a snug, secure place for the magnetized tracking device. When I walked back out, I saw Sheila talking with one of the valet runners.
Cody and Sheila met me at the rental car a few minutes later. I turned on my GPS transceiver, and it connected with the satellite and identified the Lamborghini on a street map with a flashing red arrow.
“Pretty slick,” Cody said.
“The tracker will remain in sleep mode until the car is moved. Then it will alert me on my cell phone, and I can track the car on the GPS. The battery on the tracker should last at least a week.”
“Did you intercept the attendant?” Cody said to Sheila.
“Yeah. He asked me if I wanted to go to a party tonight.”
“And?”
“I told him I’m having my own private party,” she said, and leaned over from the back seat and nuzzled Cody. He winked at me, but I could see his face turning red.
Back at the Nugget, the frisky couple headed straight for their room, and I headed straight for the bar. The Nugget was an older, less glamorous establishment than the new breed of casinos that drew hordes of tourists to Vegas. The bar I sat at was weathered and scarred with cigarette burns, and the red carpet beneath my boots was a blur of whiskey stains. The bartender, a full-figured woman, poured me an honest bourbon rocks and slid a bowl of popcorn and pretzels my direction.
Staying in Vegas for a week or more was not something I had planned, or wanted to do—especially since I wasn’t particularly confident I would get paid. If I didn’t, whatever expenses I rang up would just put me that much deeper in a hole. Sheila Majorie seemed to think I would hang around town for as long as it took to find Jimmy. She might learn otherwise. But the involvement of Cody Gibbons made things more complicated.
I gunned my drink and ordered another. Since Cody’s wife left him, his love life had been a boozy kaleidoscope of closing-time bimbos, broke divorcees, strippers, plus a sordid affair with his ex-boss’s wife thrown in for variety. Cody had always run on the ragged boundaries of civilian life, but his divorce, coupled with his losing his job as a San Jose PD detective, was no doubt pushing
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