through a device next to her computer monitor.
“I’ll send it out and have his picture posted on our bulletin boards. If he’s spotted, I’ll contact the authorities.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d contact me directly, Ms. Wallace. I don’t believe there’s a warrant for him in Nevada yet, so the local police can’t do much.”
“Sure they can. A phone call to New Jersey is all it takes.”
“Maybe so, maybe not. Anyway, if I catch him, there will be no doubt to the conclusion—he’ll be on a plane back to the East Coast within twenty-four hours.”
“Whether you have to shoot him or not.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“Really? In your case, Mr. Reno, shooting seems like an occupational hazard.”
• • •
We left after I convinced her to at least call me along with the Nevada PD, should Jason Loohan show up in one of Harrah’s establishments.
“Sounds like you’re not exactly a local hero,” Cody said, as we crossed the street toward Pistol Pete’s.
“What else is new?”
“Not my patience, that’s for sure. Let’s say we give it a rest after this joint, huh? Go get some chow and have a drink or two.”
“All right. But after that I’m heading to Carson City.”
“My friend the workaholic,” he sighed.
We went through the street-side glass doors into Pistol Pete’s, a place I avoided after Cody and I were involved in a case last year that resulted in the death of a corrupt sheriff and the disappearance of Salvatore Tuma, a Mafioso and previous owner of the casino. I’d later learned the business was under new ownership, but I suspected there were still those at Pistol Pete’s who’d be less than happy to see me on the premises. To say that applied to Cody would be an understatement.
“Cody, why don’t you chill out at the bar while I take care of this? I shouldn’t be long.”
“What, you think I might start something if we run into one of Sal Tuma’s old buddies?”
“Tuma’s long gone. So is his crew. The Nevada Gaming Commission forced him to sell out.”
“Who’s the new owner?”
“Beats me. What does it matter?”
“I’m gonna play a few hands of blackjack,” Cody said. “Call my cell if you can’t find me.” He walked away, and I began searching for the security desk, without luck, until a janitor guided me to the opposite side of the casino, to an unattended counter near the sports book. I waited there for another few minutes before spotting a uniformed guard with a walkie-talkie.
“Can I talk to your head of security?” I said.
He looked at his watch. “He’s probably gone home for the day.”
“Anyone on duty I can talk to?”
“Try him.” He pointed at a fellow in a short-sleeved shirt coming out of the adjacent bar.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking over to intercept the man as he strode into the maw of the casino floor.
“Yes?”
His bald head shone under the lights, and the wrinkles on his face were those of a man in his fifties, but his flat stomach and the thick veins that ran up his forearms and oversized biceps belonged to someone younger. Steroids and human growth hormone were now being marketed as the fountain of youth. It looked like he’d bought into the dream.
I handed him a picture of Jason Loohan. “We think he’s in the area. He’s jumped bail and is considered armed and dangerous.”
He looked up from the picture, the lines across his forehead like rows of dry riverbeds. “Are you Nevada PD?”
“No. Private investigations.” I hesitated for a second, trying to place his accent, before handing him a business card. “If you see him, would you call me?”
I waited while he studied my card. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “No problem.” His eyes met mine, and there was a hint of levity there, as if we were sharing a joke.
“Thanks,” I said, and was about to walk away when I paused. “Your accent reminds me of someone I used to know. New York, right?”
He smiled thinly, his teeth
“I’ll send it out and have his picture posted on our bulletin boards. If he’s spotted, I’ll contact the authorities.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d contact me directly, Ms. Wallace. I don’t believe there’s a warrant for him in Nevada yet, so the local police can’t do much.”
“Sure they can. A phone call to New Jersey is all it takes.”
“Maybe so, maybe not. Anyway, if I catch him, there will be no doubt to the conclusion—he’ll be on a plane back to the East Coast within twenty-four hours.”
“Whether you have to shoot him or not.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“Really? In your case, Mr. Reno, shooting seems like an occupational hazard.”
• • •
We left after I convinced her to at least call me along with the Nevada PD, should Jason Loohan show up in one of Harrah’s establishments.
“Sounds like you’re not exactly a local hero,” Cody said, as we crossed the street toward Pistol Pete’s.
“What else is new?”
“Not my patience, that’s for sure. Let’s say we give it a rest after this joint, huh? Go get some chow and have a drink or two.”
“All right. But after that I’m heading to Carson City.”
“My friend the workaholic,” he sighed.
We went through the street-side glass doors into Pistol Pete’s, a place I avoided after Cody and I were involved in a case last year that resulted in the death of a corrupt sheriff and the disappearance of Salvatore Tuma, a Mafioso and previous owner of the casino. I’d later learned the business was under new ownership, but I suspected there were still those at Pistol Pete’s who’d be less than happy to see me on the premises. To say that applied to Cody would be an understatement.
“Cody, why don’t you chill out at the bar while I take care of this? I shouldn’t be long.”
“What, you think I might start something if we run into one of Sal Tuma’s old buddies?”
“Tuma’s long gone. So is his crew. The Nevada Gaming Commission forced him to sell out.”
“Who’s the new owner?”
“Beats me. What does it matter?”
“I’m gonna play a few hands of blackjack,” Cody said. “Call my cell if you can’t find me.” He walked away, and I began searching for the security desk, without luck, until a janitor guided me to the opposite side of the casino, to an unattended counter near the sports book. I waited there for another few minutes before spotting a uniformed guard with a walkie-talkie.
“Can I talk to your head of security?” I said.
He looked at his watch. “He’s probably gone home for the day.”
“Anyone on duty I can talk to?”
“Try him.” He pointed at a fellow in a short-sleeved shirt coming out of the adjacent bar.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking over to intercept the man as he strode into the maw of the casino floor.
“Yes?”
His bald head shone under the lights, and the wrinkles on his face were those of a man in his fifties, but his flat stomach and the thick veins that ran up his forearms and oversized biceps belonged to someone younger. Steroids and human growth hormone were now being marketed as the fountain of youth. It looked like he’d bought into the dream.
I handed him a picture of Jason Loohan. “We think he’s in the area. He’s jumped bail and is considered armed and dangerous.”
He looked up from the picture, the lines across his forehead like rows of dry riverbeds. “Are you Nevada PD?”
“No. Private investigations.” I hesitated for a second, trying to place his accent, before handing him a business card. “If you see him, would you call me?”
I waited while he studied my card. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “No problem.” His eyes met mine, and there was a hint of levity there, as if we were sharing a joke.
“Thanks,” I said, and was about to walk away when I paused. “Your accent reminds me of someone I used to know. New York, right?”
He smiled thinly, his teeth
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