“Don't freakin' move,” Connie yelled at the poor smushed guy in black.
From what I could see there wasn't much chance of him moving. I wasn't even sure he was still breathing.
Uniformed and plainclothes security instantly appeared and wrestled Lula off the guy in black.
“He was going for a gun,” Lula said. “He's a killer.”
The guy in black didn't move. He was still on his back, gasping for air. “I have identification in my inside jacket pocket,” he said. “And I think I have a broken back.”
“Can you move your toes?” one of the security guards asked him.
“Yeah.”
“How about your fingers?”
He wiggled the fingers on one hand. Connie was still standing on the other hand.
“Ow,” the guy in black said to Connie.
Connie stepped off his hand. “Sorry,” she said.
One of the plainclothes men lifted the identification. “Erik Salvatora. Looks like he's a rent-a-cop.”
“I'm a licensed private investigator and a security specialist,” Salvatora said. “I'm employed by RangeMan LLC and I was asked to protect Ms. Plum while she's in town. God only knows why when she's got Big Bertha and the Bonecrusher with her.”
He was Ranger's man. RangeMan was Ranger's corporate name.
“Hey,” Lula said. “Watch who you're calling Big Bertha. Nobody tolerates that political incorrectness anymore, you little candy ass.”
“This was a terrible misunderstanding,” I told everyone. “My friends and I didn't realize he was assigned to guard me. My usual bodyguard missed his flight.”
Now they were all wondering who the hell I was that I needed a bodyguard. And that was fine by me because I wanted this to go away. We were all carrying guns, probably illegally. I had no idea what the gun laws were in Nevada.
“I thought he was going for a gun,” Lula said.
Erik struggled to get up. “I was going for my wallet. I was going to buy her some chips. I was supposed to keep my distance, but I couldn't stand watching her play anymore. She's the worst blackjack player I've ever seen.”
“Really sorry,” I said. “Can we take you to a hospital or something?”
“No! I'll be okay. Probably just a slipped disc and possibly a broken bone or two in my hand.”
“Don't worry about six o'clock,” I called after him. “I might not be going to the airport.”
He looked at me blank faced. As if taking me to the airport was too terrible to contemplate right now. “Okay,” he said. And he limped away.
“Sorry,” I said to the security people. “I guess we'll be going now, too.”
“We'll see you out,” one of the uniforms said.
We were escorted out of Caesars, the doors closed behind us, and we stood blinking in the sun, waiting for our eyes to adjust to daylight.
“That was sort of embarrassing,” Lula said.
I whipped my phone out and I called Morelli. “Reporting in,” I told him. “Anything new?”
“I was just going to call you,” Morelli said. “I know a guy on the Vegas police force. I gave him a call when I got off the phone with you and asked him to keep his eyes open for Singh. I just got a call back from him. They found Singh in his car in the airport parking lot about an hour ago. Shot twice in the back of the head, close range. We're checking the passenger lists on all Vegas flights in and out of LaGuardia, Newark, and Philadelphia.”
I had a moment's pause where I didn't know what I felt. There was an emotion struggling around inside me. Relief that there was closure on the Singh hunt. Disappointment that I hadn't been able to save him. And dread. The killer's constant presence was wearing me down.
“The Cones?” I asked.
“All present and accounted for.”
“Too bad. That would have been so easy. At least I can leave Vegas now. And I'm bringing something home with me that might be helpful. . . Singh's laptop.”
Silence at the other end. “Susan Lu gave it to you?”
“I found it on the sidewalk. I think there might have been a break-in and the laptop got dropped and left behind somehow. And I found it.”
I wasn't sure what was going on at the other end of the connection. Either Morelli was smiling or else he was banging his head against his desk. I was going to go with smiling.
“I'll pick you up at the airport,” Morelli said. “Try to stay out of trouble. Do you need a police escort when you leave your hotel?”
“No. I've had enough police escorts for one day. Thanks anyway.” I disconnected and relayed the information about Singh. “The Vegas police found Singh at the airport an hour ago. Two bullet holes in the back of his head,” I told Connie and Lula.
“I was sort of hoping it was a bluff,” Lula said. “That the killer wasn't really here and he sent you the flowers to get you to go home. Not that I'm scared or anything.”
We all did some mental knuckle cracking and tried not to look nervous.
“We should go back to the hotel,” I said. “If we're going to make the plane we need to pack.”
Everyone agreed, so we flagged down a cab and we all piled in. I called Ranger on the way. I told him about Singh and then I told him about Salvatora.
“I already talked to Salvatora,” Ranger said. “His hand is okay, but he said he needs a chiropractor for his back.” Ranger paused and when he continued I could hear the laughter in his voice. “Salvatora said a fat woman in pink spandex and silver sequins fell on him.”
“That would be Lula. And she didn't fall on him. She tackled him.”
“She did a good job,” Ranger said. “I'm sorry I missed it. Salvatora's partner will take you to the airport.”
“How will I know him?”
“He looks like Salvatora . . . but more.”
Five minutes later we were walking through the hotel to the elevators and we were being very vigilant. We didn't know what the killer looked like. It didn't seem likely that he would strike in a public place, but there was no guarantee.
We took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, walked halfway down the hall, and Connie unlocked our room door. She stepped in and muffled a scream. Lula and I were directly behind her and we had the same reaction.
The dog had destroyed the room. Pillows were chewed. The blanket was shredded. A corner of the mattress was missing. Toilet paper was everywhere.
Connie closed and locked the door behind us. “Don't anybody panic. Its probably not as bad as it looks. Cheap mattress, cheap blanket, right? How much could a pillow cost?”
“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “I think he pissed on the cable wire and shorted the television. This here's like traveling with a metal band,” Lula said.
Boo was on the bed, tail wagging.
“But look at him,” I said. “He's so cute. And he looks sorry. Don't you think he looks sorry?”
“I think he looks happy,” Lula said. “I think he's smiling. I'm glad we saved this little guy. That bag of monkey doody Mrs. Apusenja deserves him.”
“We weren't gone that long,” Connie said. “How could such a little dog do all this damage?”
“Guess he was feeling anxiety,” Lula said. “Poor things been through a lot, what with getting dognapped and everything. And look at him, he's just a puppy. He might even be teething. At least he didn't eat the flowers. It's nice to come back to fresh flowers in the room.”
“They were sent by a serial killer! They're death flowers” I said.
“Well, yeah, but they're still nice,” Lula said.
I looked at my watch. I had to pack. “Not a lot of time to take care of this mess,” I said.
“Here's the plan,” Connie said. “We check out and it all goes on Vinnie's bill.”
“See that,” Lula said. “This dog's nothing but good luck. We get to stick it to Vinnie all because this dog was smart enough to eat the room. I think this here's been a positive experience. That's my new philosophy anyway. Nothing but positive experienc
es. That's why I'm driving home from here.”
“You've got to be kidding,” Connie said. “It'll take you days.”
“Don't matter. I'm not getting back on a plane. I'm done with planes. They aren't any fun. All that searching and starving and standing around in lines. I don't do lines. That's another part of my new philosophy. No lines. And I can take Boo with me if I drive. Me and Boo can have a road trip. I'm starting to get real excited about this. I always wanted to have a dog when I was a kid, but I never had the chance. I was dog deprived.”
“Works for me,” Connie said. “If you take Boo we don't have the hassle of crating him and getting him on the plane.”
I called valet parking and had the car brought around. I gave Lula the pepper spray and the stun gun and two hundred dollars. Connie contributed another hundred and fifty. It was all the money we had between us. We loaded Lula, Boo, and Lula's luggage into the car and waved good-bye.
“I'm not sure if she's the smart one or the dumb one,” Connie said.
There were only two of us now and we each had a loaded gun in our pockets. We stopped at the snack bar, got a bag of food, and returned to the room to finish packing.
My packing was simple. Take all the little complimentary soaps and shampoos from the bathroom and put them in my carry-on bag. Connie s packing was more complicated.
“Oh shit,” Connie said, “look at this.”
She was holding up the wedding photo. It had a few dog tooth marks in the lower left corner.
“Do you suppose you actually got married?” I asked her.
“I don't know. I don't remember.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “Sweet Jesus, please don't let me be married to an Elvis impersonator.”
“There must be some way you can find out,” I said. “There have to be records. Probably you can have it annulled.”
There was a rap on the door and Connie and I went into panic mode for fear it was the maid. I looked out the security peephole and recognized Erik's partner from Rangers description. The guy in the hall looked a lot like Erik, but bigger and weirder and scarier. He looked like a Vegas pit boss on steroids.
“It's our chauffeur,” I said.
I opened the door and invited the big scary guy in. He was dark-skinned with slicked-back black hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. He was wearing black cowboy boots, black leather pants, a black leather jacket, and a shiny black silk shirt that was unbuttoned half down his chest. He had a colorful crucifixion tattooed onto the back of his left hand. And he had a gun at the small of his back, under the jacket.
“I'm Miguel,” he said. “I'm Erik's partner.”
“Jeez,” I said. “We're all really sorry about Erik. I hope he's okay.”
Miguel gave a brief nod, which I took to mean that Erik had his back straightened out and was recovering nicely.
“I'm ready to go,” I told him, handing over the cuffs and shackles and guns. “My partner is driving back. She has the rest of the hardware.”
Another small nod. Fine by him.
Connie was packed, but she was in the middle of the room with the photo in her hand and she was looking conflicted. “I need to get this straightened out,” she said. “I'm going to stay and catch a later flight.”
“I can stay with you,” I said.
She shook her head. “Not necessary. You'll be safer in Trenton with Morelli.”
And Connie would be safer in Vegas without me. I gave her a hug and my room key. Miguel shouldered my bag, stepped aside, and followed me wordlessly to the elevator.
This is the thing about men who never talk. It's easier to assume that they're strong and that they have the sort of wily cunning a woman wants in a bodyguard. I try not to be judgmental, but in all honesty, I'd feel less secure if Miguel had rambled on about how difficult it was to find a decent silk shirt. So no conversation was okay by me because I needed some help being brave. I wanted to think this guy could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
I left the hotel and slipped into the air-conditioned security of a new black Mercedes. “Your car?” I asked Miguel.
“More or less.”
He walked me to the security check, waited watchfully while I went through. No hassle this time. And then I was on my own. In theory this was a safe zone. Still, I found a seat with my back to the wall and I boarded last, looking for familiar or suspicious faces.
I was in the last row with three empty seats next to me. Lula's seat, Connie's seat, and a seat reserved for Singh. If Singh had been with me, we would have boarded first and if at all possible through a side door. Walking a guy in chains down the aisle in front of the paying customers doesn't set the tone for a stress-free flight.
I was happy to once again have my back to the wall, but I felt naked without hardware. It was a creepy thought that the killer might be on the plane. He could be the preppy-looking guy across the aisle or the hairy guy three rows up. They'd watched me take my seat. Hard to tell if they wanted to kill me or if they just didn't have anything better to do than to stare.
By the time I deplaned in Newark I was too tired to be afraid. God bless those lucky souls who can sleep while flying. I've never been one of them.
I'd arranged to meet Morelli at baggage claim. I didn't have any baggage to claim, but it was the easiest pickup point. It was seven in the morning, Jersey time. My teeth felt furry and my eyes ached.
I searched the crowd for Morelli and felt my heart skip a beat when I found him. Morelli never blended. He was movie star handsome and looked like a man you'd avoid in a fight. Women always looked twice at Morelli, but seldom approached. With the possible exception of Terry Gilman.
Morelli's face softened when he saw me. He reached out and drew me to him, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my neck and held me close for a moment. “You look beat,” he said. He stepped back, took my bag, and smiled at me. “But pretty.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “You want something.”
“The computer for starters.”
“Always a cop.”
“Not always. It's Sunday. How tired are you?”
I was dog tired until I saw Morelli. Now that I was next to him I was having some non-sleeping thoughts. The non-sleeping thoughts lasted about thirty seconds into the ride home.
I opened my eyes and stared up at Morelli. He was out of the truck, trying to get me awake enough to get me into the house. He had my seat belt off and my bag slung over his shoulder.
“Jeez, Steph,” he said, “didn't you sleep on the plane?”
“I never sleep on a plane. I have to be ready in case it crashes.” I heaved myself off the seat and shuffled up the sidewalk. Morelli opened the door and I braced myself for the Bob attack. We heard him thundering through the house, coming from the kitchen. He reached the small foyer and Morelli held up a giant dog biscuit. Bob's eyes got wide, Morelli threw the biscuit over Bob's head down the hallway, and Bob turned in mid-gallop and followed the biscuit.
“Pretty smart,” I said.
“I should take him to obedience training, but I never seem to get to it.”