you work at the Mirage?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Goddammit,” I said. “Get back in the car. I’m going to follow you back to the Mirage, and you’re going to park it. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”
Cody shook his head. “Don’t you think the owner would notice the mileage?”
“Probably not—he’s a drunk.”
Five minutes later we watched the kid park the Lamborghini back in its spot at the Mirage, and I started driving us toward the Nugget.
“How about finding a bar, Dirt?” Cody said.
“What’s wrong with the Nugget?”
“I could use a change of scenery.”
We spotted a small bar on the Strip tucked among the casinos. Somehow the narrow building had survived all the recent development in Las Vegas. I imagined the land the bar sat on would probably make the owner rich if he chose to sell out.
Cody ordered a shot and a beer and lit a cigarette. He scratched his beard and smoothed it down, staring at himself in the bar mirror.
“How is it with Sheila?” I said.
“She’s pretty amazing. But I needed a break.”
“Cody,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “A woman like her can make a man, well, irrational. Aren’t you curious why she would want two investigators working this case?”
“We talked about it. She just said she thought having us work as a team would result in finding Jimmy quicker. Two heads are better than one.”
“I guess it doesn’t bother her to pay double the fee.”
“I guess not.”
Cody swigged his beer and ordered another. Mine was still full.
“So what happens when we find Jimmy? And he tells his stepmom to get lost when she asks for a cut of his Lotto winnings?”
“Christ, Dan, you have a suspicious mind. Let’s just do our job, and we’ll get paid, okay?”
“Our job is to find Jimmy Homestead, not force him to give money to Sheila. Those are two entirely different things. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Dirt.”
“Don’t let her use you.”
“What, you mean I couldn’t get a classy woman like her unless she was using me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It sure sounded like it.”
I drank my beer and took a cigarette from Cody’s pack.
“I just don’t want to be sucked into any more than I signed up for,” I said.
“Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Maybe I left it at that stream last year, when we nearly froze to death.”
Cody laughed. “That was nothing, and you know it. You’re just being paranoid.”
He shouted at the bartender to bring me a shot. I stared into the brown liquor and raised it to my lips.
“Now, loosen up, let’s have a good time,” he said, his big mug shining in the light, his eyes laughing at a joke only he knew.
• • •
When we rolled into the Nugget, it was around midnight. “Damn, I hope Sheila is still awake,” Cody said. “I’m horny as a three-peckered billy goat.” He lumbered toward the elevator, and I went to the bar for a last drink, to contemplate the folly of men, the power women held over us, and my owned damned weakness.
I only saw Cody once in the next two days, when I ran into him and Sheila in the lobby. “We’re going shopping,” he told me. “Hold down the fort.”
I checked on the Lamborghini twice daily, worked out at the local gym each morning, and read most of a paperback novel about a Louisiana cop who saw ghosts from the civil war. Despite enjoying the book, I was bored shitless, but that’s an occupational hazard. Spending hours doing nothing but watching and waiting is a part of investigation work not realistically portrayed on TV or in the movies. It’s neither glamorous nor exciting, but it’s part of the job. No doubt the waiting was less tedious for Cody, sharing a bed with Sheila.
With too much time on my hands, I spent empty hours at the Nugget’s casino bar, nursing slow beers, trying not to think about anything. Of course, the opposite happened. My mind wandered to my past, to the day the phone
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Goddammit,” I said. “Get back in the car. I’m going to follow you back to the Mirage, and you’re going to park it. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”
Cody shook his head. “Don’t you think the owner would notice the mileage?”
“Probably not—he’s a drunk.”
Five minutes later we watched the kid park the Lamborghini back in its spot at the Mirage, and I started driving us toward the Nugget.
“How about finding a bar, Dirt?” Cody said.
“What’s wrong with the Nugget?”
“I could use a change of scenery.”
We spotted a small bar on the Strip tucked among the casinos. Somehow the narrow building had survived all the recent development in Las Vegas. I imagined the land the bar sat on would probably make the owner rich if he chose to sell out.
Cody ordered a shot and a beer and lit a cigarette. He scratched his beard and smoothed it down, staring at himself in the bar mirror.
“How is it with Sheila?” I said.
“She’s pretty amazing. But I needed a break.”
“Cody,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “A woman like her can make a man, well, irrational. Aren’t you curious why she would want two investigators working this case?”
“We talked about it. She just said she thought having us work as a team would result in finding Jimmy quicker. Two heads are better than one.”
“I guess it doesn’t bother her to pay double the fee.”
“I guess not.”
Cody swigged his beer and ordered another. Mine was still full.
“So what happens when we find Jimmy? And he tells his stepmom to get lost when she asks for a cut of his Lotto winnings?”
“Christ, Dan, you have a suspicious mind. Let’s just do our job, and we’ll get paid, okay?”
“Our job is to find Jimmy Homestead, not force him to give money to Sheila. Those are two entirely different things. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Dirt.”
“Don’t let her use you.”
“What, you mean I couldn’t get a classy woman like her unless she was using me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It sure sounded like it.”
I drank my beer and took a cigarette from Cody’s pack.
“I just don’t want to be sucked into any more than I signed up for,” I said.
“Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Maybe I left it at that stream last year, when we nearly froze to death.”
Cody laughed. “That was nothing, and you know it. You’re just being paranoid.”
He shouted at the bartender to bring me a shot. I stared into the brown liquor and raised it to my lips.
“Now, loosen up, let’s have a good time,” he said, his big mug shining in the light, his eyes laughing at a joke only he knew.
• • •
When we rolled into the Nugget, it was around midnight. “Damn, I hope Sheila is still awake,” Cody said. “I’m horny as a three-peckered billy goat.” He lumbered toward the elevator, and I went to the bar for a last drink, to contemplate the folly of men, the power women held over us, and my owned damned weakness.
I only saw Cody once in the next two days, when I ran into him and Sheila in the lobby. “We’re going shopping,” he told me. “Hold down the fort.”
I checked on the Lamborghini twice daily, worked out at the local gym each morning, and read most of a paperback novel about a Louisiana cop who saw ghosts from the civil war. Despite enjoying the book, I was bored shitless, but that’s an occupational hazard. Spending hours doing nothing but watching and waiting is a part of investigation work not realistically portrayed on TV or in the movies. It’s neither glamorous nor exciting, but it’s part of the job. No doubt the waiting was less tedious for Cody, sharing a bed with Sheila.
With too much time on my hands, I spent empty hours at the Nugget’s casino bar, nursing slow beers, trying not to think about anything. Of course, the opposite happened. My mind wandered to my past, to the day the phone
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