“Where do you think it’s heading?”
“Gut instinct. Back to Las Vegas. In her search for Nick Papadopoulos.”
Chapter Six
The Trail Leads to Vegas
There is nothing pleasant about flying these days. Forget the friendly skies. Now it’s the pissed-off, you’re-being-stripped-searched-back-to-last-week’s-laundry skies. Bring on the long lines, pulling things out of carry-on, putting things back in carry-on, taking coats, jackets, hats, shoes, and belts off, putting them back on while you and your luggage bump to the end of the conveyor belt, throwing away your bottled water, cold cream, and anything else that’s liquid and weighs over four ounces. By the time you get to your gate, you’re usually a mere shell of your former self. If you still have everything you came to the airport with, it’s a miracle. I personally, am still missing a bra. I have yet to figure that one out.
This time, though, worrying about Tugger and Baba’s fate made the above travesties excruciating. Frank hadn’t any good news yet regarding the yellow Mercedes, and I found myself sending up a few prayers to St. Francis, the patron saint of animals. Anything I could do to help the cats, I was going to do.
Mom had left for Phoenix a few minutes earlier. I was booked on the five-thirty p.m. flight to Vegas. While waiting, I must have paced six years of pile off the terminal carpet. Right before I boarded, the cellphone rang, and it was Richard, so excited he didn’t even let me finish saying hello.
“Lee! Tío just told me Kelli took the cats in the cat carrier. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t see—”
“Don’t you remember a couple of months ago when I came up with this idea about making those identity chips they insert into an animal’s neck where you could not only identify the pet but track their whereabouts?”
“Richard, what are you droning on about? What you so laughingly call a chip was about the size of CD rom. You couldn’t put that into an animal under the size of a Tyrannosaurus Rex on steroids. Why are you bothering me with this? You can come up with more idiotic ideas—”
“Will you shut up and let me talk? Besides, the chip is not in the final stages. It’s just a rough prototype.”
“Get to it, Richard, before I hang up.”
“I tinkered with Tugger’s carrier.”
“What?”
“I put the chip in Tugger’s carrier.”
“You put a chip in Tugger’s carrier?”
“Are you going deaf? Yes, tracking device. Tugger’s carrier. About a month ago. Don’t you remember when Tío took Tugger to the vet for his checkup? You were out of town or something. Tío said I could,” Richard added defensively before I said anything. “He said you wouldn’t mind. I think we both forgot about it. I’ve got so much going on these days I only remembered when Tío said Kelli took the carrier and litter pan. Anyway, I tracked the carrier to the vets and back.”
“Don’t tell me it worked.”
“Well, it did for an under six-mile radius. I don’t know—”
“Does that mean you can find Tugger?” I practically screamed out. Nearby passengers looked up from newspapers, magazines, laptops, or conversations and stared at me. I shrank down into my chair. “Richard, can you?” I asked, containing the volume of my voice.
“First, I have to transfer information to a tracking system within a program then to a satellite. Then with a certain booster, maybe I can—”
“Never mind the yada yada. Can you do it or not?”
“Always the black and white,” my brother said with a sigh. “Lee, I’ll know in fifteen minutes. The satellite comes back in range, so I can test the theory.”
“Jesus, Richard. If you could save Tugger—” I broke off because I heard a noise. “What’s that?”
“Victoria is back. She’s been doing this mega-sale at the Obsessive Chapeau. Speaking of Victoria, we’ve got some news…”
Whatever Richard said got lost in the boarding call for the flight to Las Vegas. I interrupted him, even though I couldn’t hear a word.
“Richard, the flight is boarding in about five minutes. Should I go or not? I don’t want to go to Vegas if Tugger and Baba are still in the Bay Area.”
“It’s not scheduled to be within range for fourteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds. There’s nothing I can do before then, Lee.”
I chewed this over. “Okay, we’re not scheduled to take off for twenty-five minutes. I’ll get on, but if you find something here, and I should not be heading for Vegas, I’ll get off, if I have to knock down the crew to do it.”
I sat on the plane, listening to everyone board and watching the time. Late comers were still boarding when Richard called back.
“Lee! I’ve got it! It works. I’ve got to fine tune it, so I can get a more detailed scope. I—”
“You’ve found Tugger? And little Baba?” I broke in, so elated, my voice registered about an octave above a birdcall. “Where are they?”
“I found the carrier,” he clarified. “Somewhere between here and Fresno, probably on I-5, heading south. As I said, I’ve got to fine tune the system.”
“So we know she’s heading for Vegas for sure.” The steward came on over the loudspeaker telling us to buckle up and turn off all electrical apparatus.
“Seems so. I alerted Frank to look for a yellow Mercedes. If they find it, do you want them to apprehend her?”
I thought about this, weighing my options. “No. Let’s not do anything yet. I’ll stay on the plane. Richard, can you keep tabs on the carrier all the way to Vegas?” The plane began to taxi on the tarmac.
“I can but try. Gotta go. Victoria needs me. But call back when you land. When is that? About an hour and twenty-five minutes?”
“Yes. Thanks, Richard. Let’s hope this is one step closer to finding Tugger.”
I turned the cellphone off and tried to close my eyes during the short flight for what lay ahead of me. I must have dropped off because the next voice I heard was the captain telling us to prepare for landing.
The new night was crystal clear, hovering between twilight and darkness. The descent into Vegas was spectacular. Even in the fading light, I could see the glowing pyramid of the Luxor Hotel, which is so strong astronauts have commented on seeing it from space. The glowing lights of the Eiffel Tower of the Paris Hotel, a detailed, half size replica, and the rest of the dazzling, colored lights of the Strip became even brighter as daylight began to wane. It had been a couple of years since I’d been to Vegas, and I would have been more impressed if I hadn’t been so heartsick over the cats.
Flint was meeting me at the airport. With his help, my plan was to flush out Nick and use him as leverage to get the pets back. The bigger job was to find out what he had to do with the deaths of the runners, but I could concentrate better once I had Tugger and Baba in my care. I’d even staved off my anger and outrage at being bamboozled by Kelli, who took me in like a pro. I needed to think clearly and not let my emotions run away with me.
Flint had an extra gun waiting. I wasn’t sure what plane I’d be on, and firearms have to be left in baggage unless you’re working for the carrier. I hate borrowing and I don’t
like guns—mine or anyone else’s—but I had a feeling this could get pretty messy, and I wanted to be prepared. Besides, whatever I had to do to get the cats back, I was going to do.
The plane landed in an hour and fifteen, and the first thing I did was to check my messages. One from Flint said he had one of his best men watching Nick’s hotel, while he came to pick me up at the airport. Then I called Richard for an update, but his VM picked up. I didn’t panic. It usually means he has his proverbial nose to the grindstone and won’t allow himself to be distracted. I left a message, knowing he would call me back as soon as he could. By the time I walked outside to the arrivals pickup area, Flint was already waiting for me in his highly polished, black Jeep Wrangler.
“Nicky Boy’s holed up and hasn’t moved,” Flint said, as he pulled out into heavy traffic. We’re about ten minutes from the hotel.” McCarran International Airport was built in 1948, when Las Vegas was a sandy blip on the radar. The city has grown around the airfield, and it’s one of the few in the country only minutes from a downtown area.
“What did you bring me?” I asked.
Vague though the question was, Flint knew what I meant. “A nine millimeter Glock. It’s under the seat.”
I reached under, found a paper bag, and pulled it out. While I examined the Glock, larger than the one I’m used to, he went on. “I know you like your snub-nose detective thing because Nick and Nora Charles had one like that. Or was it Dick Tracy?”
“I like the grip of the Colt, but this will do.” I checked to see if it was loaded; then twisted and turned the gun in an effort to get used to it. It was bottom heavy. The balance of the
snub-nose special is mainly what makes the Colt work for me. It’s also easy to conceal, something I often have had to do in the skimpy, designer clothing Lila requires her agents to wear on the job. I shoved the Glock into the front zipper of my knapsack for easy access. “And Tracy used a Tommy Gun, smarty pants.”
“He did? Well, no wonder he got his man.”
“And anybody else within a two-block radius,” I added.
“Yeah, those things cover a lot of ground.”
We both laughed, me more out of nervousness than anything else. Flint glanced over at me from the corner of his eye. “I spoke to Richard. He told me he’s tracked the cat carrier to Bakersfield and on to 237. They should be here in a matter of hours. So what’s the plan?”
“We pay a visit to Nick, and he tells us what the hell is going on.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
“Or what? You going to shoot him over a couple of cats?” We stopped at a red light on Las Vegas Boulevard, and Flint turned and stared at me. “What’s the game plan, Lee?”
“Flint, seven people are dead that we know of. There may be more. I’m thinking Nick knows something about this, or he never would have called Stephen. And would I shoot him if it meant getting Tugger and Baba back? Probably.”
“Good ‘nuff.” The light changed, and Flint depressed the gas pedal. We lunged forward.
“Just wanted to know. From what I can tell, Nick Papadopoulos is the kind of man who gives the rest of us a bad name. If we have to shoot him, there’s no real loss there.”
“Well, his mother might not agree, so let’s try not to do it.” I laughed, uncomfortable with all this chitchat about shooting someone, even Nick The Jerk.
Minutes later, we pulled up to a narrow, seedy-looking hotel, wedged between a strip joint and a pawnshop. A peeling white and black painted sign hung over the door, announcing the Langford Hotel, which looked like it had seen better days, if only marginally.
Flint flung open his car door and dropped his feet to the ground in one svelte move. His were easy moves for a man so large. Standing six feet four or five in his cowboy boots, he had an enormous chest, massive arms and legs, and a neck like a tree trunk. He probably weighed in at two-forty, if an ounce. Reminiscent of a Kodiak bear I’d once seen from the safety of an Alaskan train, Flint was used to going through life pretty much like one of them, with all living things stepping aside.
Now he was standing up, I noticed the strap of a caramel-colored, buckskin leather pouch thrown over his neck, and crossing his mighty chest from left to right. Pinned to the strap, a glittering piece of metal caught my eye. Familiar, a flood of memories came back to me.
“Flint! You’ve still got that thing?” I looked at the large, fake U.S. Marshal’s badge I’d found in a thrift shop when I was nine-years old. I’d purchased the badge with my hard-earned allowance for fifteen dollars as a Christmas present for our family friend. Engraved on the thick brass were the words, ‘Nevada District U.S. Marshal.’ To the nine-year-old mind, it seemed like a perfect gift.
“I’m never without it, Papoose. It’s my lucky charm. I wear it all the time when I’m working a case.”
“And no one razzes you about it?”
Flint gave me an incredulous look.
“Right,” I said. “Lost my mind for a moment.”
He reached for his ten-gallon hat on the backseat, plopped it on a head of straight black hair, with silver strands intermittently running throughout. A leather thong deftly wrapped around a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. Flint straightened out his deerskin-fringed jacket with a shake and realigned himself. A rugged, sincere-looking man with coarse features, Flint always wore an easy smile and brandished the scent of an expensive lemony cologne. A lot of women who were into the wild west look fell hard for this Native American, and most men considered him a man’s man.
Leaning on a nearby parking meter, reading a paper, and chewing on a toothpick, a short, stocky middle-aged man looked up. He received a cursory nod from Flint, returned it, folded his paper and strolled away.
“The only exit in the back is blocked by about sixteen boxes loaded with DVDs and other stuff. I think the manager has a sideline of selling stolen goods,” Flint said, as he walked toward the open door of the hotel.
“Where is he?”
“Room 310. He paid in cash, two days in advance.”
“More of what a twenty will buy you?” I said, stepping over a cracked and filthy doorsill into an even filthier hallway. The smell of urine and rancid bacon assaulted my nostrils.
“A ten-spot,” he responded. “I told you, this place is even seedier than the last.”