Chapter 42

     It was 6:30p.m. and Nic was restless. The talk with his new friend Yaritza had only gained him an invitation to her apartment the next morning to discuss specifics of their plan. Had they not spent so much time together at Les Lez, he would have begun searching banks. Instead, they parted ways shortly after six, and he went about looking around the Belgian, where Mark Robertson had worked. There was no real reason for the visit, since Yaritza had brought him up to speed about all she had done on the case. Somehow, he felt the need to check it out anyway. Though he boasted that he lacked restrictions on how to find people, he lacked a good starting place, and anything involving Mark Robertson sounded good.

   Nic leaned on one of the many bars. A young bartender ambled up to him immediately….no other customers were present. “What do you need?”

  “Many things. For now, I will take a beer.”

  “Preference?”

  “Pick something on tap. I’m not picky.”

   A minute later, the bartender brought him a mug of some unusually bitter ale. Nic sipped and grinned at the boy. “You’ve gained my trust, it’s a miracle.”

  “You’re welcome.”

   Nic took a few more sips, looking around the casino. Lots of slot players, some table players, few drinkers. He hated it all, but it was necessary to tolerate, he felt. He looked back at the kid, who tried to make himself busy polishing mugs. “Your have a name?”

  “Dean.”

  “Dean, did you ever know a guy who worked here named Mark?”

  “I did. Mark Robertson. He was all right.”

  “Just all right?”

  “I didn’t know him well. He worked at one of the bars on the other side of the room.”

  “The bartenders here don’t really hang out?”

  “Nah, our shifts are usually pretty long and we have our own stations.”

  “Never shared a station?”

  “Once. He cracked some jokes, but seemed inward, like he had a lot on the plate, you know?”

  “I do know.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, but I’ve been hearing a lot about Mark. His killer might still be loose, and someone asked me to look into finding him…or her.”

  “You a private eye?”

  “I’m a hunter, close enough.”

  “Well, I remember the cops were here looking into it, the detective talked to my boss.”

  “Not to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Felt left out?”

  “Considering my parking tickets, I wasn’t anxious to talk to police.”

   Nic chuckled and sipped more of his beer.  As he finished it off, the kid grabbed his glass for a refill. While he did so, someone in a dark suit walked by and handed him an envelope.

   Nic regarded the document. “Pay day?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Decent pay here?”

  “They try to keep the employees happy.” He looked at his pay stub and grimaced. “I just wish they didn’t take out some of the little stuff. It adds up.”

  “Can’t avoid the Feds, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure. And social security doesn’t really bother me much, it’s life. It’s the health insurance and the fund that kills me.”

   Nic grinned. “Health costs up?”

  “I pay $100 out of each check for it.”

  “A little high if you’re single.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the fund?”

  “Something they call the youth fund, we learned about it in orientation. Anyone who didn’t want it taken out was taken out of the job. It was a condition of working here.”

  “Ah, the involuntary charity.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like helping and all, but I need to live, too.”

  “Sure. What does this fund do?”

  “From what I remember, it helps kids in single-parent families who don’t get child-support from the deadbeat dads or moms.”

  “Usually dads,” Nic commented.

  “Probably.”

   Nic held a hand out. “Can I see the check? I promise I won’t memorize your personal stuff.”

   Dean handed it over. Nic looked at all of it carefully. For the most part, it was a simple employee’s paycheck. He looked for the corporate logo. Sure enough, at the lower right-hand corner was “Belgian Corporation”. Underneath in very small print were the words, “Affiliate of JB and Hughes LTD”.

   Nic looked at the kid again. “Who are JB and Hughes?”

  “I think Hughes is British, they’re the big owners of this place. JB is a law firm, I think.”

   Nic nodded slowly. “Jefferson-Brown.”

  “What?”

   Nic quickly finished his drink and handed the check back. “Thanks for the beers, Dean.” He left the casino in a hurry.

Chapter 41

   Yaritza stared at her newly-refilled drink in thought. Nic noticed, but said nothing. She had enough on her mind, and his probing would not help at the moment. He looked around the bar. What little of the clientele there was in the bar was giving him evil stares. Any other man might have cringed. Nic simply sipped his beverage.

   Finally, Yaritza looked at him and said, “There’s someone else to think about here.”

  “Who?”

  “A man named James Plank. He works at Jefferson-Brown.”

  “What about him?”

   “I don’t know. I went to talk with him about the case. Plank and his ex-wife and Mark Robertson had an unusual triangle of a relationship. Plank was pretty defensive about his work, I haven’t really thought about it until now, everything’s been so Nikea-centered.”

   Nic shrugged. “What makes you suspicious?”

  “Right now, everything.”

  “All right. Did you happen to meet Ted Clayton while you visited Plank?”

  “No. But I did read that when Brown retired, Ted Clayton assumed control of the firm.”

   Nic sat back and rested his head on his intertwined fingers. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “Until now, I’d assumed that Clayton was a naughty boy at the associate level. If he has that much control, then I underestimated him.”

   Yaritza shrugged. “At the moment I don’t think we have anything solid to go on.”

  “I did come to you with leads, you know.”

  “The key.”

  “Should be easy to find a bank where it fits.”

  “What else?”

  “Well, the assassin angle is what really has me thinking.”

  “How so?”

  “A family law firm hiring assassins?”

  “Or just Ted Clayton hiring them.”

  “Maybe. But I think it’s something we should check out.”

   Yaritza slowly shook her head. “This has to be on the QT, Nic. One thing’s for certain: when I’m back on the job, Corday will put me on smaller cases for a little while. He won’t even hear of me getting back on Nikea’s case.”

   Nic nodded. “And they haven’t had any success finding her.”

  “None. APBs were out, and she’s officially wanted for questioning.”

  “And that’s not enough to get whatever departments are asked to get a full team on it.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, let me start on her.”

   Yaritza blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll start looking for her.”

  “But the police can’t find her. What makes you think you can?”

  “Because I’m not a cop…therefore I have no limits on authority.”

  “You have resources to search?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you want to do this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why? Finding her might not help in your search.”

  “True, she may be a dead end. However, I might need you for official authority down the road, and if the Nikea matter is done with, then you can move on and be stable.”

   A small grin. “You’re saying I’m not stable?”

  “I’m saying you’re good, but you’re also lost right now. I can do this because I have no emotional ties to you or Nikea.”

   Yaritza shrugged. “I feel like I’m not doing much for you.”

  “Let me ask you, what do you know about this Jefferson-Brown firm?”

  “I have a load of research in my apartment. I look at it sometimes, but nothing jumps at me.”

   Nic smirked a bit, just enough to show confidence, but not enough to be cocky. “You just don’t know what to look for yet.”

  “And you’re a new eye for me?”

  “It looks both ways before crossing the street.”

  “Funny.”

  “Hey, a new president for my fan club!”

  “You have one?”

  “Sure, with 1 president and 1 member, all the same person.”

  “I’m flattered to death.”

  “You should be. You pay dues to yourself. Quite economical.”

Chapter 40

   Nic pointed to the folder he had brought into the bar. Yaritza looked at it for the first time. “What do we have here?” she asked.

  “So far, three deaths. I’m clear on two of them, but fuzzy on the third, which was apparently the first.”

  “How are you clear on the others?”

  “I investigated one, caused the other.”

  “Indirectly or directly?”

  “Well, I pointed my gun at him, shot him, he tried to get in a rebound shot, and I fired again. I’d say it was my best position: direct.”

   Yaritza still hadn’t looked in the folder. She seemed to prefer Nic’s directness to paper.  “Which death are you fuzzy on?”

  “Mark Robertson.”

   Yaritza did a double-take. “Really! I didn’t know our business got as far as Reno.”

  “Apparently his murderer did.”

   Yaritza froze, her eyes took on a chilly glaze that Nic could grow to fear if he looked at it long enough. “Nikea!”

  “Who?”

  “Nikea Robertson. Mark Robertson’s murderer.”

   Nic shook his head. “I don’t think so. Like Corday said, there’s nothing solid.”

  “Not yet. She disappeared, but we have other evidence that places her at the crime scene….or at least her car.”

   Nic nodded slowly. “I see. Let me tell you what I have, and believe me, most of it is as flimsy as what you have.”

  “All right.”

  “A couple weeks ago, a body was found on a yacht on Lake Tahoe. We ID’d him as Oscar DeBartolo. My partner did a little digging and found out he was really Damien Tyler, a former mob guy who turned freelance in assassinations. While investigating him, a hitman buddy of his named Roman Wells contacted us. Big mistake, because we managed to link him to Tyler’s murder. Before he killed my partner and I killed him in return, he was offering us some information on something he considered pretty big. A piece of this puzzle, according to Wells, was Tyler killing this Robertson fellow. Now tell me, Yaritza, how did he know about it unless Tyler was involved?”

   Yaritza sat back and shook her head slowly. “Nothing makes sense here to me. Can I look at the file?”

  “That’s why I brought it.”

  “Did you steal it from the RPD?”

  “No, they’re copies that weren’t quite authorized.”

   Yaritza make a small tsk sound, half-smiled, then dug into the file. About ten minutes later, she closed the file and rubbed her eyes. “I think you’re telling the truth, and I think this guy Wells was being honest, also. But…”

  “But?”

  “But Nikea Robertson’s sudden departure makes her a suspect.” Her voice had gone cold again.

   Nic looked long and hard at Yaritza. Every time she mentioned Nikea, an icy shield formed over her, he could almost see it. “You speak of this Nikea lady like she’s the devil herself.”

  “She is, Nic.”

   Nic wanted to ask why, but he saw her eyes, they were close to coming apart. Judging from what he had picked up so far, however little, he could see that Nikea was a personal issue, not just a professional one. He didn’t need to ask, he knew. “Yaritza, how long ago was the Robertson investigation?”

  “Almost a month ago,” she whispered. Her voice couldn’t go any higher without breaking.

   He nodded. “You started investigating, and part of it was informing the widow.”

  “Ex-wife, actually.”

  “And she began to fuck with you.”

   Yaritza said nothing, but nodded.

  “Yaritza, are you a good cop?”

  “Check my record, its damn good.”

  “I believe you. You’re a good cop, and I assume you don’t stop until you catch the bastard that did it, no matter what it is, right?” Nic smiled.

   Yaritza looked at him and managed a small smile back. “Yeah.”

  “So you’re put on this case. Your name has made papers in the past, I’m sure.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Nikea probably had seen it as well. For whatever reason, either she’s guilty or protecting someone, she finds something to put you out of commission mentally.”

   Once again, Yaritza was silent.

   Nic continued. “Look, if you’re gay, fine. If not, fine. I really don’t think it should matter. The way I see it, Nikea Robertson is a predator, and I really hate those types. She busted one of your wings then ran off, knowing full well that she waylaid you long enough for her and whomever else to escape your radar.”

   Yaritza nodded again, this time more rapidly. There was some renewed life in the eyes as she looked at Nic. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “It did at the time.”

   She nodded some more, thinking about that, then cocked her head in wonder. “Can I get back on track?”

   Nic shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Professionally?”

  “Of course.”

  “If I can, I will. I was actually here to ask for your help.”

  “Nic, I want you to help me track down Nikea.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Remember, I’m not a cop.”

  “What are you?”

  “A bounty hunter.”

  “Licensed?”

  “Owning and operating.”

   Yaritza smiled. It was like she had found a new best friend. Maybe she had. “How can I help you?”

  “Did you look at the whole file?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The word stalk come up in there?”

  “Yes, but it didn’t make much sense.”

  “I want help in making it make sense.”

  “How?”

  “You play authority figure and I play tracker.”

  “I need to see the therapist a few times before Corday agrees to give me my badge back.”

  “Fine. While you do that, we can get things set up.”

   Yaritza shrugged. “Where do we start?”

  “Well, I have a key to a box that I need to find the location of. I can dig into that myself. There’s an element that didn’t fit into the report, though.”

   Yaritza finished her drink. “What’s that?” she asked eagerly.

  “A guy named Ted Clayton.”

  “It sounds familiar, but I don’t know why.”

  “He apparently works for a law firm here in town.”

   Yaritza looked puzzled at first, then looked to the side as if remembering something. Her eyes closed as if remembering a painful experience. “Jefferson-Brown.”

  “That’s it!”

  “How is he involved?”

  “He borrowed the yacht from a business associate, then in turn lent the key to Roman Wells. Wells set up the yacht excursion, then made an excuse not to go. Later, he lent some bullets to Tyler, only the delivery was fatal.”

   Yaritza shrugged. “It’s thin.”

  “So far it is. But to me it looks like this: a member of a prominent law firm is involved with hitmen. Is it prominent?”

  “It is, and they’re supposed to be a family firm.”

  “Supposed to be. I always knew family values were going down the tubes, but a law firm helping that downfall is just bad taste. Also, I have other information about Clayton, from an anonymous source.”

  “Anonymous?”

  “I know who he is, but I chose to protect him.”

  “Damaging information?”

  “Right now it’s hearsay, and I suspect it will remain so, but at least the info puts Clayton in a very bad light. Would you say it might be useful later, proof or no proof?”

  “It might.”

  “So what do you say? I scratch your back you scratch mine?”

  “My itch is elsewhere.”

  “Mine, too. But, I’ll settle for back.”

  “Deal.”

Chapter 39

   Nic almost gagged when he walked into Les Lez, a lesbian bar on Industrial, just west of The Strip, surrounded by several gentlemen’s clubs that adorned the busy back street. The inside looked as though it were still being renovated after a failure at being a country bar. There was even a mechanical bull sitting inside a ring. The music was terrible, with some out-of-place Bread song playing when he walked in. The neon was typical of Vegas: gawdy, and trying to disguise a potential imagination on the proprietor’s part. All around the central bar, and other tables were females, many of them on the butch side. There was not much physical action going. Only one couple was making out, and Nic was discreet in his observation of it. The rest of the clientele was just hanging about, looking slightly embarrassed. For the life of him, Nic couldn’t see why anyone, straight or gay, would hang out in a place like this.

   Remembering her description according to Corday, Nic slowly made his way to a corner of the bar where Yaritza Esteban sat. He took a long look at her from afar first, and thought her to be quite beautiful. She was definitely not on the butch. He sat down next to her and took off his Stetson. “Detective Esteban?”

   Yaritza smiled a lopsided smile. “Well, right now I’m just Yaritza, but you have the right person.”

  “I’m Nic Viernes.”

  “No cop title with your name?”

  “None to give. I’m not a cop.”

  “Corday told me you had information on one of my cases, so I assumed you were a cop.”

  “No. I just kind of posed as one, but officially.”

   She looked at Nic with narrow but amused eyes. “How the hell did you get away with that?”

  Nic shrugged. “I can track people, so solving simple cases made the department look good. Had a friend in there.”

  “I see. Care for a drink, Nic?”

  “I’ll take a ginger ale.”

  “Not a drinking man?”

  “No offense, Ms. Esteban, but I don’t feel good in this place.”

   The bartender, a woman dressed like a male 1980s yuppie, walked up to them and Yaritza gave Nic’s order. The bartender looked him over for a moment, disapproving of his presence but seeing he was harmless, nodded and went to get his drink.

   Nic looked around some more while waiting. Yaritza was quiet, staring into what looked like a sea breeze. Nic knew something wasn’t right with the picture, but did not know exactly what yet. When he got his drink, he raised his glass to hers. “Cheers!”

   She raised her glass and iterated.

   After a long pull on the short glass, Nic turned to Yaritza. “I don’t buy it.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t buy your being a dyke.”

   She scowled at him. “And you know this how? A powerful sexual tension between us?”

  “Nope. I can tell you look out of place here, that’s all.”

   She so wanted to argue that point, but she couldn’t. It was true. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Figured what out?”

  “How to be a lesbian.”

   Nic suppressed a grin. “Well, having seen a few skin flicks in my life, I know the mechanics of the physical side.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Nic.”

  “I know. I imagine the art of picking up women is different for women than it is for guys. Women don’t do the pick-up lines as well, or as badly, as we do. They tend to be more direct. That is what you’re here to do, right? Try to pick up?”

   Yaritza looked at Nic a moment. It sounded as he understood, to a point anyway, what was going on. What was better, he wasn’t being too judgmental about it. “I really don’t know what I’m here for.”

  “How many times have you come in here?”

  “This is the second time, actually.”

  “When was the first time?”

  “Yesterday, same time.”

   Nic nodded. “Maybe you should try a later time, when the place is more full, or try a bar that looks more personable.”

  “I’ve been to other bars, Nic. They’re not much different.”

  “But the others don’t have the ambience of a mechanical bull, either.”

   Yaritza giggled quietly, reluctantly. “You’re funny, Nic.”

   Nic noticed how informal she was with him, despite only knowing each other for a few minutes. She was nice, and he felt that if they were to join forces on anything regarding his mission, he should be honest with her. “Yaritza, I need to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Your boss thinks I can change you.”

   A dark look came over her face. “Change me?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “You mean, change me back into a straight woman.”

  “That’s what I think he meant.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I don’t.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t intend to change you, much less propose.”

   The dark look disappeared. “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “Thank you. I am having enough trouble discovering who I am these days without people trying to help me out.”

   Nic sipped at his ginger ale for a moment before continuing. “How long?”

  “How long what, Nic?”

  “How long have you felt this way about yourself?”

  “A few weeks.”

   Nic shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Huh?”

  “My sister came out of the closet when she was 24, and she’d been hiding for fifteen of those years. One of her friends kissed her at a slumber party when she was in the fifth grade, and she’d been trying new things with her for years after. The only person who knew was me, and I read up on it, thinking I could somehow ‘cure’ her before the folks found out. There is no cure, because it’s not a disease.”

   Yaritza shook her head. “I’m not following.”

  “I mean, she went through years of discovery, joy, fun, and pure hell before she came to grips with who she was. You’re telling me you discovered you were gay a few weeks ago. You’re in what, your early 30s?”

  “I’m close, yes.”

  “Yaritza, something there just doesn’t seem right.”

   She looked back at her drink. “It’s not something I want to discuss, Nic. Not right now.”

   Nic considered pursuing it. He wondered why he even cared, this wasn’t why he came to town, but decided to drop it for the time being. “All right, then let’s discuss the closing of one of your cases, and maybe the opening of a new one.”

  “That, I’ll listen to.”

Chapter 38

   For some reason, Nic Viernes just hated Las Vegas.

   He had only been to the town a few times, always to capture a bounty. Once had been in one of the sleazier casinos west of The Strip. Once had been at a motel on Boulder Highway. The last time had been in a residence in the eastern part of North Las Vegas, which Nic dubbed The Barrio. Each visit had taken place in a bad part of town, and he had begun to wonder if there was a good part of Las Vegas at all.

   Also on each visit, he had had to report to the police regarding his capture, so that there would be no hassle at McCarran or at the bus station if necessary. Therefore, he had no problem finding the police department. Upon entering, he walked up to the desk sergeant. “I want to see your captain.”

   The sergeant looked unimpressed. “He’s probably too busy to see you.”

  “Well I’ll just go ahead in. I have information on a case.”

  “You can leave it with me, sir.” He used the word sir quite condescendingly.

   Nic grinned. “No, it would bother you too much, and quite frankly I think you’d ignore it.”

  “What case is it?”

  “The Jimmy Hoffa murder.”

  “Thirty years later and you have evidence?”

  “My mom kept it, and when she decided I was old enough, like yesterday, she gave it to me and told me to take it to the captain of detectives.”

   The sergeant looked as though he were trying to think of a clever retort, but he couldn’t, so he picked up the phone. “Captain, there’s something here to see you….I don’t know, he’s got jeans, a suede jacket and lord knows what else….all right, I’ll send him in.” He hung up. “He said you have five minutes, no matter what you are. Through the double doors, all the way to the back.”

   Nic nodded, then followed the directions. Captain Corday was standing at his door. “I’m Corday, the captain here. Who are you?”

   Nic pulled out his ID and gave it to Corday, who studied it. “I was hoping for at least six minutes.”

  “Hope in one hand, shit in the other. Meanwhile, make this fast, bounty hunter.”

  “All right. I’ve been working for the Reno police for a couple years now, and recently a case that might concern you came to our attention.”

  “What case?”

  “A Mark Robertson.”

   Corday nodded and beckoned for Nic to enter. “I’m curious as to how you heard about it.”

  “Through a case we were working, we think we’ve found Robertson’s murderer.”

   Corday narrowed his eyes. “Male or female?”

  “Male.”

   Corday frowned. “Our chief suspect is a female. She went missing weeks ago.”

  “From what we learned, the murderer was actually a hired assassin who used to do mob work. His name was Damien Tyler, but recently took to a pet name: Oscar DeBartolo.”

  “An assassin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any hard evidence, like DNA or fingerprints?”

  “No, just verbal testimony.”

   Corday sighed. “Well, our evidence is circumstantial also. Where is Mr. DeBartolo, or Tyler?”

  “Six feet under.”

  “As in fertilizer or the TV show?”

  “Fertilizer.”

  “I see.”

  “Just thought I’d pass on the information as a courtesy.”

   Corday nodded. He looked thoughtfully at Nic for a moment. “You know, I think you need to talk to the detective in charge of the case, or was in charge.”

  “You’ll do.”

  “No, I want you to discuss it with her. This case, which should have been a no-stresser, has taken quite a toll on her. Maybe your information will help her out.”

  “A toll?”

  “Mr. Viernes, she went from being my best, most tenacious detective to being an emotional wreck, and therefore useless. She’s been on vacation for a few weeks.”

  “Ok, it doesn’t make sense to me, but then I’m new in town. Also, I have another question.”

  “I’ll answer if you promise to talk to Detective Esteban.”

  “I promise.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “Are you familiar with a law firm called Jefferson-Brown?”

   Corday’s eyebrows narrowed suspiciously. “Yes, why?”

  “Well, during the investigation, the name kept popping up and I’m just tying up loose ends, making sure the case is airtight.”

   Corday nodded. “Then you’re definitely talking to Yaritza!”

   Nic cocked his head. “Yaritza Esteban? Nice name. Pretty.”

  “So’s she…most of the time. Hang on.” Corday picked up the phone, appeared to talk to Esteban and wrote something down. He hung up and gave a card to Nic. “Meet her there at 5:00p.m.”

   Nic looked at the card. “Les Lez?”

  “Dyke bar.”

  “She a dyke?”

  “She thinks so.”

  “You think so?”

  “No, and neither will you.”

  “I have nothing against them. A lot of the movies in my romance DVD section have them.”

  “I think you can straighten her out, Viernes.”

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, you don’t put up with shit from my desk sergeant. Second, you’re a wiseass. She likes that.”

  “So do I.”

Chapter 37

   The police memorial service took place for Dwayne a week later. Most of the available force was at the church to pay their respects. After the service, Dwayne’s family was to bring him back to Las Vegas for the family viewing and services.

   The week leading to the memorial had been quite busy. Nic had not gotten any sleep the night of Dwayne’s and Roman Wells’s deaths. He had had many questions to answer, most of which involved why Dwayne had been visiting someone they knew to be a professional assassin, and what it had to do with Damien Tyler’s, aka Oscar Debartolo’s, murder. Nic admitted it would have been easier if he’d brought a tape recorder to document Wells’s confession.

   The snotty desk clerk at the hotel had filed a complaint of harassment against Nic. However, when Nic countered that the slightest delay may have resulted in him not getting there in time to save Dwayne, the clerk immediately backed down.

   Three days after the disastrous night, divers had indeed found the bullets that had entered and exited Damien Tyler’s body, and the case was declared officially closed at that point, with the bullets and the marina manager’s testimony as evidence.

   Nic stood at the back of the church during the service. Any other officer would have sat in the pews with their colleagues. Nic, however, did not feel like a colleague, and never had the entire time he had been in Reno. Besides, in the preceding week, there were mixed feelings about him. Some regarded him as a hero for taking down Wells, while others regarded him as reckless for letting Dwayne carry things too far. He was an outcast, a role he had been used to for most of his adult life.

   The captain appeared beside him near the end of the service. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “He was my partner, of course I was going to show. After this, though, I’m gone.”

  “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

  “I do. Something else came up in this case, and I can’t solve it here.”

  “Take your badge with you and call it a vacation. At least you’ll have some authority.”

  “I checked my hunting license, it’s all renewed as of yesterday.”

  “That’s no authority unless you’re after a bail-jumper.”

  “Not a bail-jumper…not yet, anyway.”

   The captain glared, but looked more like a dried grapefruit. “What the hell are you trying to prove?”

  “Look, the kid pushed and pushed and we ended up uncovering something. If it hadn’t been for him, the boat shooting wouldn’t have been solved. I owe him this much.”

  “What is ‘this’, exactly?”

  “Look, an assassin kills another assassin, offers us a piece of a strange puzzle, then kills Dwayne after giving the piece.”

  “Wells was a scumbag! Makes sense to me.”

  “No, assassins don’t work independently like that. I need to find out what it all means.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Las Vegas.”

   The captain sighed. “I can’t change your mind?”

  “No. Besides, apparently my old enemies have other problems now. I got a call that said I was in the clear. The trick is to keep it that way.” He pulled out his badge. “Here. I never had a service revolver, my own gun worked better.”

  “Nic, you did good with this. I know you’re in a bad spot now, but it’ll pass.”

  “I know so, too, but take the badge. I’m no cop, never will be for real. Let’s just leave it at that.”

   The boss took it, looked at Nic for a moment, then walked away. The crowd began to file out of the church. Most of the officers regarded Nic with a nod or a pat on the shoulder. None offered any words, either out of respect or contempt.

   At the end of the line was Dwayne’s father. He looked only slightly older than Dwayne, but certainly less wide-eyed and idealistic. The man approached Nic and extended his hand. “I’m Brock.”

   Nic shook the hand firmly. “Brock, I’m Nic, Dwayne’s partner.”

  “Maybe you can tell me what happened. Nobody else seems to know or want to say anything.”

  “Do you have to take Dwayne to Las Vegas today?”

  “No, that’s already been taken care of. I go home tomorrow.”

  “Have time for a cup of coffee? I’d feel better not talking here.”

  “Certainly.”

   An hour later, the two men were sitting in a diner not far from the church. Brock Behrens wanted to get right to the point. “How did my son die?”

  “A professional assassin took him out. It was supposed to be a business deal to get facts on a case I’m still not clear on.”

   Brock sighed. “Nic, none of it makes sense.”

  “It doesn’t to me, either. I will say, though, that if it hadn’t been for Dwayne, I would have let the case we were working on die.”

  “And if you’d convinced him to drop it, he’d still be alive.”

  “I’d say so, yes.”

   The men were silent for a minute. Then Brock said, “I don’t blame you, Nic. My boy was stubborn, and nobody could talk him out of anything he wanted to do, including becoming a cop. Understand, though, that I must explain this to his mother and sister and old girlfriend, who was coming here to visit him soon.”

   Nic smiled. “He didn’t mention the girlfriend.”

  “Well, it ended when Dwayne went to the police academy. She was afraid of him getting killed, understandably. A few weeks ago, she called and asked about him and told us she wanted to pay him a surprise visit. We still don’t know why, the breakup had been bitter for both.”

   Nic sipped his coffee for a moment in thought, then said, “Brock, I’m coming to Vegas.”

  “Why?”

  “This new case, whatever it is, seems to be centered there. I owe it to Dwayne to see it through.”

  “But you’re a cop here.”

  “Not really. My time here was, you might say, a cover. My real career is bounty-hunting.”

  “I see. Were you successful at it?”

  “Which career do you mean?”

  “Either.”

  “I was good at hunting, almost too good, that’s why I was hiding out here. As a cop, well, I filled a quota for the department in arrests. My tracking skills came in useful. Being a cop involves too many rules and procedures for me, though. I like independent work.”

  “Loner in life?”

  “Pretty much the lone wolf, yeah. I have a son out there somewhere, but his mom and I had a bad falling out years ago.  I don’t even know where they are.”

   Brock pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got this, Nic. I feel better knowing something now. When you get to Vegas, give my office a call. I’ll fix you up at one of our condo units. Hotels there are much too expensive.” Brock handed Nic a business card.

   Nic looked it over. “Desert Springs Condominiums.”

  “Furnished, too. Take care, Nic. See you in Vegas, hopefully.” Brock walked away after leaving some bills on the table.

Chapter 36

   Nic Viernes nearly ran over five people in the garage of the Silver Legacy Hotel and Casino. He needed to have a space on the floor that connected directly to the casino. The damn elevators were always too packed with morons who held the door for at least twenty people, a false idea of civility in Reno. The faster he made access to the casino, the sooner he’d find the elevator that counted.

   After driving down two lanes, he found a spot…right next to Dwayne’s Honda! Nic got out and felt Dwayne’s hood. It was cold. The kid had arrived long before. Nic cursed himself for not getting things done sooner that evening. He rushed through the several parking lanes that stood between him and the casino walkway. Inside was much worse…slow-walking people!

   Taking several shortcuts through slot and video poker machine alleys, Nic made his way eventually to the hotel check-in desk, where there was a long line of people. It was Friday, after all, and the morons from California were cramming in for the weekend. He checked the clock. It was 11:50p.m.

   Pulling out his badge, Nic rushed to a window that was marked closed. “Police business! I need help!”

   A short, curly-haired clerk walked slowly to him, letting Nic know he was not to be rushed. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to know which elevator will take me to the 35^th floor.”

   The clerk’s eyebrows went up in disbelief. “The penthouse suites?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you expected?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then I expect you to move away from this desk, sir.”

   Nic flashed his badge, which didn’t impress the little shit. “Should we try again?”

  “No. The last person who asked for that suite also flashed one of those, but, lucky for him, he was expected. Now go away!”

   Nic grabbed the shit’s jacket lapel. “Look, junior, the man in that suite is a murderer. If you don’t let me up there, you’ll be an accessory to murder. Am I fucking clear?”

  “You’re wrinkling my jacket.”

  “And if the court doesn’t find you guilty of obstructing justice, I’ll hunt you down. Nobody will convict me, because I’m a nice guy. Nobody would believe that a nice guy like me would hunt a pencil-dick like you to the grave. Now, where’s the fucking elevator?”

   Within a minute, one of the casino officials escorted Nic to an elevator, and then placed a key into the control panel. Without a word, the man walked out and the door closed. The elevator started moving quickly. Nic looked at the control panel. Only floors 20 through 34 were listed…..35 was not even mentioned.

   Finally, the door opened and Nic stepped into a short hallway. There was only one door and it was at the end: 3500. Nic pulled out his gun and slowly walked toward the door. It was slightly ajar…not a good sign. He slowly pushed it open, revealing a quite spacious foyer and living area. A kitchen was off to the left, with an attached bar. The whole place was either wallpapered or expertly painted with white dice, all ones or sixes. The couches and chairs in the living room were white vinyl. Between the two couches lay the body of Dwayne Behrens, a single shot through the chest. Nic turned around, saw a bottle of scotch near the bar, grabbed it and threw it against the wall. How could I let him go this alone? he thought. This whole damn deal was too good to be true! He looked down at Dwayne and then knelt down, patting the Dwayne’s shoulder. “My fault, kid. But I’ll make it right. Yeah, but in my style, not the police.

   Dwayne looked surprised in his death stare. He most likely did not see it coming. Wells had probably let him in, even chatted him up a little, offering a drink and telling his life story. Then, without warning, Wells got up, seeming to get a refill of what had been in his glass, then turned around with a silenced weapon and shot Behrens dead on. Yes, that seemed to be a likely scenario.

   Nic started pacing. This one would be hard to explain to the boss. The guy knew Nic was coming after Wells, but was a bit in the dark about Dwayne’s role. The issue that was on Nic’s mind was not the boss’s reaction. It was where to find Wells.

   He went to the hotel phone in the kitchen. All he needed to do was pick it up. A voice soon answered, and it didn’t sound like the pencil dick. “Yes?”

  “This is the guest of the guest in room 3500. I seem to have missed him. Has he come down this evening?”

  “No, sir. Only 2 people have been let up since 11. Mr. Wells returned at 6:30 this evening.”

  “Thank you.” As Nic hung up, he heard a noise…..a motor! A chirruping motor sound from outside. A helicopter! No wonder the man wanted a penthouse suite, probably the most expensive one: it gave access to a helipad.

   Nic found the door to the outside and saw it immediately. He pulled out his gun. Not the service revolver, but his own special Glock. He aimed carefully and shot 2 slugs into the center of the rear rotor. The mechanism sparked and hissed, then went dead.

   As he moved forward, he saw Roman Wells, dressed as he had been for dinner, rush out of the now-useless mode of transportation. He had his own gun and aimed it at Nic. Nic aimed for him, too. Wells smiled. It wasn’t a desperate escape for him, it was all part of the plan.

   The helicopter finally went dead. As the rotors slowed down, Wells spoke first. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Why did you make a deal with us and then shoot him?”

  “I had to. It was part of my contract.”

  “Your contract was to shoot Dwayne?”

  “My contract is to shoot anyone who comes into contact with the key. No, I stand corrected. My contract is to shoot anyone who comes into contact with the files I am giving you access to.”

   Nic shook his head. “You make no sense to me.”

  “My employer-no, my client believes that the files have escaped his town. He knows nothing of the key which, if you’ll search your partner’s body, is in his shirt pocket. He more than earned it, and truly did not deserve his fate.”

  “No, he didn’t. So, when I come into contact with the files, you’ll kill me?”

   Wells looked down and closed his eyes. The rotor had come to a complete stop, so he lowered his voice. “Tonight marks the end of my contract. You must believe that.”

  “You reneged on our deal, I have no reason to trust you.”

  “Of course you do. The money was paid and you got your key. He had to die because the client made the unfortunate mistake of calling while Dwayne was with me. He is paranoid, and wanted the death. It was an act of reluctance on my part.”

  “Like the death of Damien Tyler?”

   Roman Wells smiled sadly. “You’re good.”

  “Just playing a part.”

  “Damien knew he was going to die.”

  “You were at least good enough to not shoot him in the back.”

  “I never do that, detective. In fact, I make sure my marks are looking right at me. It may sound crazy, but I consider it an act of respect to the people I kill.”

  “Damien knew you were his killer?”

  “Yes. He was probably surprised it happened so soon, but I think he was relieved that I did it instead of some goon from New York. He was a man under pressure from all sides.”

  “And you let the pressure bleed out.”

  “So to speak, yes.” Wells cocked his head. “You said you were playing a part.”

  “I’m not a true cop.”

   Wells stared at Nic for a long moment before breaking into a smile. “Nicolas Viernes! You’ve brought a few of our members in over the years. When you disappeared we assumed you were dead.”

  “Reno can be death.”

  “It has been for your partner. Did you know there’s a price on your head?”

  “I’m sure there is. But you won’t collect on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “For some reason you want me to use that key to nail your client.”

  “Nicolas, the world is full of evil people. I am not one of them. These people, however, are scary. That’s why I am disappearing tonight.” Roman turned to look at the helicopter. “Just later than expected.”

  “Ted Clayton scares you?”

  “It’s his backers. There seems to be a whole league of people that he controls, and another league that controls him. He may be the most untouchable man you try to get at. Incidentally, watch your celery intake.”

  “What?”

  “If you dig, you’ll learn.”

   Nic kept his gun on Wells. “Whatever. You’re under arrest.”

   Wells nodded a solemn nod, one that spelled of a strange certainty. “So it’s this way.” He raised his gun again, a fraction too late. Nic’s bullet caught him between the eyes. Wells staggered back, and almost seemed to be raising his gun again, but Nic fired again. The bullet pounded against Wells’s chest, which most likely was padded with armor. The force knocked Wells over the railing and down the 35 floors to the street.

   Nic didn’t look down. He shook his head and walked to the helicopter. The pilot was in shock. “What just happened?”

  “Some other way, I guess.” Nic looked toward the railing. “What other way did he think it would end? Walk into the sunset?”

Chapter 35

   Nicolas Viernes, happy to be almost rid of the Nik Friday façade, walked from the marina parking lot down to the marina itself. Since it was a very clear night, most of the yachts and other seacraft were out on Tahoe. Luckily, the marina was well-lit, so Nic could find his way around. It did not take him long to find the spot where Faraday’s yacht was moored.

   In his mind, Nic pictured the yacht sailing out toward the lake, with Damien Tyler at the helm unaware. As the yacht sailed away, a man or woman hid among the rocks between the parking lot and marina, pulled out a sniper rifle, aimed carefully, and put a bullet into Tyler. The assassin had to wait, though, until Tyler turned around. Even professional assassins, it seemed, had ethics about their marks.

   Viernes looked around for a minute at the marina, admiring the few moored craft, almost wishing he could own one…almost. He hated the water. He walked around for a while before heading for the marina office.

   The manager was just getting ready to leave when Nic knocked on the door. The manager was clearly annoyed at the disturbance. “Yes?”

   Nic entered without an invitation. “Good evening. Got a minute for a cop?”

   The man’s face paled. “Uh…I guess.” The annoyed countenance dissolved immediately.

  “Relax, man. What’s your name?”

  “Bud Reitz.”

  “Well, Bud, my name is Nik Friday. I’m a detective from Reno. Got time for a couple of questions?”

  “Are they related to me?”

  “Not unless you point me in that direction.”

   Bud smiled nervously. “Fine then.” He ran his hand along his thinning white hair as he sat at his desk. “What do you need to know?”

  “A few days ago we retrieved a body from the yacht in section 12, space A. Know the one I mean?”

   Bud pulled out a book, presumably the boat register. “That would be Mr. Faraday’s?”

  “It sure as hell is.”

  “What about it? Need to board it?”

  “No, it’s been picked over with a fine-tooth comb. The body we found was shot almost a week ago. Have you been here every night?”

  “Yes, except Sunday.”

  “Can you remember anyone lurking around here around that period? It most likely would have been at night.”

    Bud scratched his peeling chin. It looked as though he never used sunscreen. The peeling layer revealed a very raw second layer of skin. “I don’t remember anyone lurking around, so to speak. I do remember the man who asked for the keys, and I know it wasn’t Mr. Faraday.”

   Nic gave his description of Damien Tyler, but Bud shook his head. “He gave his name as Oscar something. The description you gave me doesn’t match who I saw.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Kind of tall, in a brown polo shirt, bald, wore some cologne that just about gave me a headache. I was glad when he left, I’ll tell you.”

   Roman Wells! “What time was this?”

  “About 4p.m.”

   Nic grinned. “Thanks, Bud. You didn’t incriminate yourself one bit. But I do have some advice.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wear sunscreen.”

   As Bud continued to lock up, Nic walked back to his car, pulling out his cell phone. He called Ben Whitney first. “Ben? It’s Nic.”

  “You find out where the yacht was?”

  “Not only that, I know who killed Damien Tyler, aka Oscar DeBartolo.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You might want to get the diving team out there again to find more slugs. It’s not an airtight case by far, and we’ll need all the evidence we can get.”

  “Tell me what you have.”

  “I just interviewed the marina manager. From him, I got that our new friend Roman Wells used our victim’s name to get the keys.”

  “The guy you had dinner with?”

  “Right. Here’s how I see it. Wells and Tyler were comrades-in-arms so to speak. Wells was going to get on the yacht with Tyler, then made up an excuse to not go. Then when the yacht was out just a bit and it was dark enough, Wells pulled out his rifle and put some slugs into Tyler.”

   Ben whistled. “That’s a helluva theory.”

  “And if your boys search a little closer to shore, I think they’ll find the ammo.”

  “Will do. Tomorrow should prove fruitful, if you’re right.”

  “Leave the sea fruit alone and get the bullets. I don’t even have time to get an arrest warrant. I have to go grab this guy right away.”

  “Why? You think he’ll leave town?”

  “Maybe, but I also think Dwayne needs backup. See ya.” As he hung up, Nic had a sinking feeling that Dwayne was walking without looking both ways. He pulled out and sped back to Reno.