Chapter 50

   The call came at about 1:50. Nic was driving down The Strip, just taking it easy for a while. He still did not know what to make of the situation. Nothing really added up. There were several puzzle pieces to work with, but nothing fit. He still had not heard from his private detective friend from Colorado, so there was that to wonder about, also.

   As he passed the Bellagio, he began to reconstruct what he knew. Mark Robertson had been killed by Damien Tyler, aka Oscar DeBartolo, who was in turn murdered by Roman Wells, who also killed Dwayne Behrens. Wells had passed onto Nic a key which had been given to Wells by Tyler. Wells also had a sample of what the key led to. An executive from the law firm Jefferson-Brown named Ted Clayton was apparently the paymaster behind Tyler’s death. On a side note, Clayton appeared to also be involved in a black market adoption arrangement with Max Faraday in Reno. So far, Clayton was the number one suspect behind everything. What Nic needed to do was figure out how to meet the man who had so many henchmen do his dirty work.

   As he passed Excalibur, he noticed a dark Chevy sedan that had been behind him for roughly a mile. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it yet, so thinking about it would be a waste before the facts were in.

   As he passed Treasure Island, his cell phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Viernes?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Maxwell Faraday, from Reno.”

  “Hey! How are ya?”

  “I’m fine. I just wanted to alert you.”

  “To?”

  “I have had a tail for about a week now. It is quite disturbing. My sister has had one also. I do not quite know why.”

   Smart, Nic thought. Cell phones are bad forums to disclose dirty laundry. “The local paper here had a very small mention of Mark Robertson’s murderer. My guess is that someone had an allergic reaction.”

  “I see. Should I worry?”

  “No. Consider it a paralyzed appendage you don’t even use. Ignore your escort until he bears looking into. Oh, one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Wash yourself off as soon as possible. Clay can spread germs.”

   Faraday paused, then chuckled once he got it. “Yes, Mr. Viernes.” Faraday clicked off.

   Less than a minute later, the phone buzzed again. Once again, an unknown number. “What?”

  “Is this Nic?”

  “It sure as hell ain’t Jessica.”

  “This is Ted Clayton.”

   This voice sounds so familiar! Nic whistled. “At long last.”

  “You’ve wanted to meet me?”

  “More than you know. By the way, nice tail you have on me.”

  “You are a nuisance.”

  So much for small talk!  “I am. But let’s start with the criticisms first.”

  “I would very much like to meet you. Now.”

   Nic made sure he was packing. “Where?”

  “Top of the Stratosphere parking lot.”

  “No, I hate that place.” He looked around, he was downtown. “In front of the Golden Nugget on Fremont. Nice and crowded there.”

  “As you wish. Twenty minutes?”

  “Yeah.” Nic clicked off first, then pulled into Fitzgerald’s valet parking area. He got out before the valet could open his door, then took the ticket and made his way through the casino. Outside, he looked around. Even in the afternoon the street was busy. There was a juggler, a woman blowing what seemed like thousands of bubbles in one breath, a saxophonist, a violinist, and probably the worst stand-up comedian all in one area, all trying to make street money. For what? Nic wondered. Drinks? Slot or table money? Food?

   He looked around for a few minutes, getting the feel of the street. He was almost positive the Chevy was being driven by another Clayton crony. The man couldn’t be far away.  It was at the twenty-minute mark, and no sign of anyone.

   Someone shouted, “Nic!” and there was a popping sound. Nic fell to the pavement.