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.”