Charlie Opera (25 page)

“Took a shot at what?”

“Finding Mr. Curitan. If he drove straight through the state, it won’t make a difference, he’s gone by now. Sometimes guys like that panic and think they have to maneuver. They assume we have the jump on them. They get nervous and make mistakes.”

“What you said about the car dealers.”

“That and the junkyards. If this clown didn’t drive out of Nevada last night, he’s probably waiting to change his transportation. Lercasi has a long reach inside this state. The guy tries to do something with the car, there’s a chance he’ll get caught.”

“And why the fuck would Jerry Lercasi do that?”

“I offered him a carrot,” Iandolli said. “The DEA and Cuccia.”

“I don’t get it,” Charlie said.

“It has to do with mob protocol and leverage Lercasi might exert on his own behalf when the shit hits the fan,” Iandolli said. “And it will, the shit will hit the fan, sooner or later. The kind of action this town has seen the past few nights is off-putting to the average Joe, but it’s deadly to the casinos. If Lercasi can wave a deal Cuccia made with the DEA under New York’s nose, it’s a major coup for him. He’ll be owed on a pretty grand scale.”

Charlie shook his head. “I still don’t trust the guy,” he said. “What’ll he do, turn Beau Curitan over if he finds him?”

Iandolli winked at Charlie. “Beau wishes,” he said.

Charlie was still confused. “What?”

“Let’s put it this way: Beau probably won’t be going home for the holidays.”

“That wouldn’t upset me.”

“Me either. Then hopefully Lercasi calls New York and gets you a pass while he’s spilling his guts on Cuccia.”

Charlie wasn’t in the mood to hear about the virtues of wiseguys then. “A pass means I get to live?” he asked.

“Lercasi has the clout.”

“And what would happen to Cuccia? Isn’t that a little dangerous for your career, what you told this guy?”

“Only if I run for office.”

Minh was upset at seeing the detective and Charlie Pellecchia visiting with Jerry Lercasi. He wondered what their conversation had been about at the construction site. He wondered if the Italians were giving him up.

He let off the gas pedal as he followed the cop and Pellecchia back to the Bellagio. He called one of his men and instructed him to drive another car to meet him. He would exchange cars and retreat to a hideout for the rest of the day. He would leave one of his men behind to follow Pellecchia.

When his cell phone rang, Minh was surprised to hear Jerry Lercasi’s voice.

“Time to back down,” the Italian gangster said. “I don’t need —”

“Fuck you,” Minh said.

“Hey!” Lercasi yelled, but Minh killed the connection.

Beau knew he was a fugitive. Now he had to think like one.

He brought his car to an auto body shop in Laughlin. He asked for the car to be painted bright yellow over the original navy blue. He paid an extra hundred dollars for the garage to forget about the paperwork.

The big man behind the counter joked with Beau. “You rob a bank or something?”

Beau shook his head. “I got a wife chasing me for back alimony,” he said. “Crazy woman left me for another man and wants me to pay for it. Put a damn private dick on my ass. They chasin’ me from Alabama, if you can believe it.”

The man grunted. “How much you owe?”

“Six months,” Beau said. “But it’s not like she’s a cripple or nothin’. Damn woman works. So does her boyfriend. I don’t see why the hell I have to pay them.”

“I feel your pain, buddy. I’m paying alimony, it has to be eight years now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping the new color will throw her off the chase.”

The big man nodded. “I hear ya.”

Beau counted the money in his wallet. After the paint job, he would be down to fewer than seven hundred dollars. The last few weeks had been expensive. Beau had a credit card with him, but he was afraid to use the card while he was in Nevada.

Beau guessed he had more than enough cash to make it out of the state. He figured Canada was the best place to hide for a while. At least they could speak English in Canada.

“I’ll still need the registration,” the big man said. “I’ll leave it off the receipt, but I’ll need it for our records.”

“What, your boss against makin’ cash or somethin’?”

“I gotta have it. It won’t show on your paperwork, but I can lose my job, I don’t take it down for our records.”

Beau handed the big man his registration. “How long you think this’ll take? The paint job, to dry and all?”

“End of day,” the big man said. He copied the registration number onto an order form and handed the card back to Beau.

Cuccia examined his bruises in the mirror. He was a mess all over again. He touched his swollen lips with his fingertips. He touched his mouth where he felt the gap in his teeth. He sucked air from the pain.

He was obsessed with rage for Charlie Pellecchia. He remembered how Pellecchia had pushed his way into the hotel suite. He remembered how Pellecchia had spoken to him. He remembered how Pellecchia had kicked him in the face.

And now his jaw was broken again.

Cuccia splashed water on his face around his bruises. He combed his hair with his hands. He figured he had one last chance to kill Pellecchia, and he knew he would have to do it himself.

First he would have to escape the DEA agent on the other side of the bathroom door. Then he would have to find a gun. Then he would have to find Pellecchia.

He needed to move fast. He needed to get hold of some money. He needed to find Anthony Rizzi.

Samantha set the flowers on top of the television in the living room as she read the card.

“From work,” she told Carol over the telephone. “Which may not be for much longer.”

Carol said, “I don’t think they would dare do anything about your job after what happened.”

“It’s policy,” Samantha said. “We’re not supposed to get involved with guests staying at the hotel. I know girls who were fired for it.”

“Duh, you were shot,” Carol said.

“How are you doing?” Samantha asked. She lowered herself onto the couch, felt something hard under her leg, and moved to one side. She started to reach between the couch pillows when she was distracted by Carol’s sniffling.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Carol said. “I should’ve known Beau would find me there sooner or later. I tried to get him to follow me. I found him online, I think.”

“Forget it,” Samantha said. “He’s probably hiding in Canada someplace now. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m in California,” Carol said. “I’m heading to San Diego tomorrow and then I’ll decide whether to move farther north.”

“I want you to stay in touch.”

“Of course I will. Any word from Charlie?”

“Please, I feel like an ass about that.”

“You shouldn’t,” Carol said. “He’ll call as soon as he feels it’s safe.”

“Unless that was his excuse to blow me off.”

“I’m sure he was just concerned about getting you more involved. He’s trying to protect you.”

“And maybe I moved too fast,” Samantha said.

“You did what comes natural,” Carol said. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I’m not so sure,” Samantha said.

“He would’ve run away before he got involved with you, baby.”

“Maybe,” Samantha said. “And maybe I’m what he’s running from.”

Beau grew tired of waiting for his car. He checked his watch and saw it was close to half an hour since he last saw anybody in the shop. He started his way around the garage when Beau spotted two men heading his way.

“Hey, either of you guys seen that big fella was working the counter before?” he yelled.

The two men didn’t answer. They continued walking toward Beau.

“Fellas?” Beau said. “Either of you see —”

A large hand suddenly muffled Beau’s mouth. He turned his head to the left as a kick knocked the air from his lungs. He rolled up on the ground as the two men tied his legs and hands with a rope.

“What the fuck?” Beau whispered just before a dirty cloth was jammed inside his mouth.

Jerry Lercasi was back with his girlfriend in the apartment above Vive la Body. He was getting head while he waited for an important telephone call. Things were getting out of control in Las Vegas. He was hoping something outside the city might help his upcoming situation with the law.

When the phone finally rang, Lercasi pushed Brenda away as he stood up to take the call. It was a message from associates in Laughlin about a package that had been delivered.

Brenda crawled to where Lercasi was standing and tried to keep him hard. He was distracted and lost his erection.

Brenda stood up in frustration. When he was finished with the call, she told Lercasi to blow himself.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “I had to take that call.”

She was half naked. She grabbed a black Vive la Body T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

“It was important,” Lercasi repeated. He was still holding the receiver in his right hand.

She lit a cigarette and pointed at the phone. “Why don’t you call back whoever was so important and ask them to take care of it. Because I’m not starting over now. No way.”

Lercasi remembered a call he had to make and started to dial. He paged the organized crime detective Iandolli as Brenda stormed out of the apartment.

Charlie checked out of the Bellagio as soon as the detective dropped him off. He read a map of Las Vegas in the back of a taxi as he headed south on the Strip. He stopped at a Hertz, where he rented a Buick Le Sabre for sixty-five dollars with unlimited mileage for two days.

He looked for a cheap motel in a tour book at the Hertz. He would stay in Las Vegas another few nights. He wasn’t sure yet whether he could involve Samantha in his life. He wanted to. He missed her already.

He found a small place in the tour book and called the South of Vegas Motel to book the room for two days. It would cost him twenty-five dollars per night, he learned. Cable was extra. So were the pay-per-view movies the motel offered.

Twenty-five minutes later, he signed the register. He grabbed a Diet Coke from a soda machine in the office and hurried out to his car. He drove the Buick to the far end of the lot, closer to his room. He grabbed his suitcase from the backseat and hustled up the stairs. When he was inside the tiny room, he felt the heat of the afternoon desert sun.

Charlie looked at himself in the small cracked mirror across from the bed. He had lost weight the past few days. He looked tired and disheveled. He looked crazy, he thought.

At sunset, Lercasi discussed helping his friends back East with his attorney at a law office in Spring Valley. The two men sat across a coffee table in the office with a ceiling-to-floor view of the mountains. Lercasi’s lawyer was well tanned. He wore an expensive Italian suit and lots of gold. Lercasi was dressed in a red-and-white workout suit.

“I don’t know that I should be having this conversation with you,” Lercasi’s lawyer said.

“The fuck does that mean? You’re my lawyer.”

“Because I can be disqualified from any future representation of you. The same as what happened in New York. The government had somebody they couldn’t beat, they found reasons to disqualify him from litigation. They can call it conflict of interest or whatever they want. They’re the government.”

“They can disqualify you for having a vowel in your name,” Lercasi said. “It ever comes to that, they don’t need a reason.”

Lercasi’s lawyer was fidgety in his chair. “Well, there is something else,” he said. “About me representing you in that way. What happened to Mr. Fein, specifically?”

Lercasi nodded. “I can respect that,” he said.

“Well?”

“Mr. Fein was involved in my day-to-day business. Accounting, real estate. Business parties. He represented my business, some of it. You represent me. Therein is the difference.”

His lawyer thought about it a moment. “What is it you want?”

“I need a courier to go see another lawyer back East. It doesn’t have to be you, but it should be somebody from this office, to give it some weight.”

“What is it that needs weight?”

Lercasi leaned forward to speak. “One of Angelo Vignieri’s captains has a deal with the DEA,” he said. “Put it however diplomatically you want, but that’s the message has to get to this other lawyer back East. For his client’s best interest, of course.”

“Of course,” his lawyer said.

Cuccia considered running. Agent Thomas was busy arguing with two other agents in the hospital parking lot. He would have about an eighty-yard head start before Thomas and the other agents would give chase. Two busy intersections at the corner might provide him with enough cover to escape, but there wasn’t much he could do from the hospital without a car and some money.

He waited for Thomas while he searched for escape routes. The sun was setting. He guessed it would be another half hour before dark.

“I’m out of here in two hours,” Marshall Thomas told FBI Special Agent In Charge Dale Walsh.

Walsh combed a wave of hair from his forehead. “And what if we need to see him?”

“Uh-uh, no way. You’re not pulling this bullshit now. No fucking way. What possible reason could you have to detain Cuccia? This is a DEA case from New York. You already said the guy you needed to lean on Lercasi is dead.”

“For questioning,” a tall man said. He was standing alongside Walsh. He adjusted his sunglasses with both hands.

“Bullshit,” Thomas told the tall man. He turned to Walsh again. “No way. This is horseshit. Nickel-and-dime horseshit.”

Walsh held up his cellular telephone. “I can call Washington if you really need to hear this from somebody higher than myself.”

“I’m wasting time I don’t have to waste,” Thomas said. “I’m taking him back to the Bellagio to try and salvage an operation. Then I’m taking him back to New York, in or out of handcuffs. Unless you intend to shoot me in the back, I’m going to wish you two guys good luck.”

“Thomas!” Walsh yelled. “Goddamn it!”

Thomas flipped Walsh the finger as he crossed the parking lot.

“He’s never going to do this over a telephone,” Cuccia told Thomas.