I couldn’t put a name to the emotions buffeting me as we turned off the highway into the Flamingo. Fear was at the forefront, but it was tempered by the thought of finally confronting him again; no more time spent wondering.
The buzz of the construction site was a counterpoint to the foreboding that had filled me. A place of business, crawling with regular men – witnesses – didn’t have the same hold over me as the back room at Ciglio’s. I peeled off to one side of the site, stopping the car next to a swimming pool that stood empty.
The main building looked almost complete, but through the glass frontage, I could see it was a facade. Crews were swarming around the inside, and the sound of hammering and sawing rang out through the uncovered entranceways. Around the outside, palm trees had been planted in a grid pattern, but most of the grounds were still bare dirt, waiting to be landscaped.
Lizzie was surveying it the same as I was. ‘It doesn’t look even nearly finished.’
I stepped out and stuffed my hands in my pockets, looking around. No sign of him.
Lizzie slipped out and stood beside me. ‘Don’t think to say it. I’m coming with you.’
‘I’d prefer it. I’d rather you not be out of my sight here.’
She squeezed my elbow and let it go. ‘Likewise.’
A flatbed carrying lumber pulled off the highway and crawled to a stop. A foreman in an aluminium hardhat who’d been making his way towards us doubled back to meet it. We crossed close to where he stood giving directions to the trucker. Finished, he waved the driver on and stepped back as it pulled away, kicking up a swirl of dust. He turned around and waited for the engine noise to fade before he called out.
‘You folks lost?’
‘Name’s Yates, I’m looking for Henry Booker. He one of your men?’
The foreman started to nod then stopped, looking at each of us in turn. ‘Mind telling me your business here?’
‘I owe him money,’ I said.
The foreman half-smiled. ‘That’s a first.’
‘I’m a reporter, he helped me out with a story.’
The foreman came over serious. ‘About Mr Siegel?’
‘Nothing like that.’
The man’s face relaxed again. ‘Good. Mr Siegel’s got no time for you men, the things you write. The other owners must be all over you.’
He said it without looking around and I got an inkling Siegel wasn’t there. ‘Mr Siegel on the site today?’ I asked.
‘I thought you wanted Booker?’
‘I’m star-spotting,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d love to have a photograph with Benjamin Siegel.’
The man rolled his eyes. ‘You’re out of luck on both counts.’
The straps around my chest seemed to loosen a notch even as disappointment filtered through me. ‘When’s he expected back? Booker, I mean?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘He quit showing up?’
‘He’s not here now, I know that much.’
‘When’s the last time you saw him?’
‘Two days ago?’
I looked over at the tower bearing the hotel’s name, the word Flamingo and an image of the bird displayed in unlit pink neon. ‘Anyone talked to him?’
‘Look, mister, I got to get on. You catch up with Henry, you tell him there’s plenty other men can swing a hammer for a paycheck, he don’t want it.’
‘What about Siegel? When’s he due here?’ My voice withered at the end.
The foreman shrugged. ‘You honestly think he runs his diary by me?’ He turned and set off towards the main building.
Lizzie watched him go and then turned to me. ‘I think we should get away from here.’
I nodded, distracted, and slowly started moving.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
I walked a few paces before I could voice an answer. ‘It took us a matter of hours to turn up the name Henry Booker. If someone local was looking for him, it would’ve taken them no time at all.’
We carried on walking, Lizzie’s brisker pace telling me she understood my meaning. ‘If he knew more than he let on to Mr Newland …’
‘I think it would be best if we find him first.’
If he was still for finding.