Jimmy woke the next morning with a headache. It only took a few moments to realize the headache’s name was Paulie and no amount of aspirin or Tylenol was going to help. He would have to figure something out, but first he had to make a call.
“Jimmy!” Harold Landrigan said happily, as he came on the line. “How’s my little girl doing?”
“She’s fine, Harold,” Jimmy said. “Still in the hunt after the first day.”
“That’s my girl.”
“On the other hand, I’m pissed.”
“Uh-oh,” Landrigan said. “At me?”
“At somebody,” Jimmy said. “Let’s find out if it should be you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“An old friend of ours showed up in Las Vegas yesterday. Guess who?”
“I can’t,” Landrigan said. “I assume you mean somebody from prison, and I didn’t have any friends there except you.”
“I’m flattered,” Jimmy said drily. “Remember Paulie DiCicca?”
“DiCicca,” Landrigan said. “That little annoying guy?”
“That’s him.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants me to introduce him to some high rollers.”
“So what’s the problem?” Landrigan asked. “Introduce him.”
“It’s not that easy, Harold,” Jimmy said. “He’s got some kind of scam in mind, and I don’t want him undermining my credibility.”
“Then don’t introduce him,” Landrigan said. “I’m still not seeing the problem, Jimmy.”
“The problem is he’s trying to blackmail me into helping him.”
“What’s he got on you?”
“On us, Harold,” Jimmy corrected him. “It’s what he’s got on us.”
“What could he possibly have—” Landrigan started.
“That’s right,” Jimmy said. “He knows about our little arrangement.”
“And he’s threatening to tell Kat?”
“He is.”
“Well, can’t you do something?” Landrigan asked. “I mean . . . have somebody get rid of him?” The man lowered his voice, and Jimmy imagined him touching his finger to his nose.
“You want me to have him whacked, Harold?” Jimmy asked. “Is that what you want me to do? ’Cause I don’t do that kind of thing, you know? I’m not a gangster. Didn’t you get that when we were in prison?”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” Landrigan said. “I just thought . . . the reason you were inside . . .”
“I did kill somebody,” Jimmy said, “but I didn’t whack him. Do you understand the difference? It’s called self-defense.” Even though the court had called it manslaughter.
“Sure, Jimmy, sure I do. . . . Maybe we can pay him off? I’ll send you some money—”
“That’s not why I called, Harold,” Jimmy said. “I’ll figure out how to handle Paulie. If I need more money, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, then what can I do?”
“Tell me who you talked to.”
“What?”
“There’s got to be somebody else you told about our arrangement,” Jimmy said. “Somebody else knows. Who did you tell?”
“I didn’t tell anyone, Jimmy,” Landrigan said. “Honest.”
“Harold, you thought this arrangement was very clever,” Jimmy said. “It’s been my experience that whenever somebody does something clever, he likes to talk about it, brag about it. Who did you brag to? A woman? Another suit at your club?”
“Jimmy, I didn’t—” Landrigan stopped short.
“What? Come on, Harold. What’d you just think of?” Jimmy pushed him.
“I’m not sure. . . . Let me look into it.”
“You do that, Harold,” Jimmy said. “You do what you have to do to find out who Paulie got his information from, and then you plug that leak. I don’t want anybody else getting out and hitting me up for a favor. You got it?”
“I’ve got it, Jimmy.”
“And get back to me soon,” Jimmy said, “by tonight.”
“You got that cell phone I gave you?”
Jimmy made a face. He had it, but he never turned it on.
“I’ve got it,” Jimmy said.
“Can I call you during the game? I mean, how long are you playing? I don’t want to interrupt—”
“We play from noon to midnight. I’ll call you when I break for dinner.”
“Okay,” Landrigan said. “Hopefully I’ll have this figured out by then.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, “hopefully.”
Jimmy hung up. He thought Landrigan had it figured out already. What he probably had to do was figure out a way to tell Jimmy what happened without sounding like a complete idiot.
Though they had met for breakfast the previous morning Jimmy and Kat did not intend to meet for breakfast every day, so when Jimmy went downstairs at 9 A.M. he was on his own. He went to Palio for coffee and a pastry, preferring that to a full breakfast. Paulie was not only giving him a headache but also a sour stomach.
As much as he missed the old Vegas and disliked this new version, he still felt the lure of some of the new casinos. After breakfast he decided to go up the Strip and take a look at a few of the newer ones. He stopped at the New York-New York, the Luxor, and ended up at the Mandalay Bay. He wandered around the casino for a while, watching tourists pour their hard-earned coins into slot machines or trying out foolproof systems at blackjack or roulette. He stayed away from the strange table games that had popped up while he was inside—variations of poker like pai gow, Carribean stud, let it ride, and three-card poker didn’t interest him. Red dog, a game he knew from old Vegas, was nowhere to be found. About the only part of classic Vegas he still saw in the casinos was the wheel of fortune. Just put your money down and watch to see if the big wheel stopped on the one-, two-, five-, ten-, twenty-, or forty-dollar slot. He enjoyed the crowds gathered around the table, shouting at the poor sap who was only doing his job by spinning the wheel. Mandalay Bay, being new Vegas, did not have one.
He wandered by the House of Blues and over to the Sports Book, where there was already some action from the East Coast tracks going on. He stopped at the door to watch the horses on one of the big screens mounted on the walls. All around him were odds posted in neon red figures for horses, ball games, fights, and other sporting events. On one screen there were some greyhounds running on a Florida track. He was about to walk away when he heard his name called. He turned and saw a very familiar face, one that made him smile. The smile slipped, though, when it hit him that the man was in a wheelchair.
“Francisco?” he said.
“Jimmy, my friend.”
Francisco Remigio Pareira grabbed Jimmy’s hand and crushed it in his. His laugh was as loud as his booming voice and almost left a ringing in Jimmy’s ears.
“It is so good to see you,” Francisco said.
“And you, Francisco,” Jimmy said. He didn’t know why it hadn’t dawned on him that he’d probably see Francisco in Caesar’s. It was the Panamanian’s home, after all. It was here Jimmy had last seen Francisco over thirteen years ago, and he swore the man—though always a sharp dresser—was wearing the same suit and the same cologne.
“Don’t you usually hold court at Caesar’s?”
“Ah, but look at this facility,” Francisco said, spreading his arms. “It is beautiful, no? I could not resist relocating.”
“I can’t say I blame you.”
“I have not seen you in Las Vegas in many years, my friend,” Francisco said. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“I’ve been busy, Francisco,” Jimmy said. Behind the man Jimmy could see Francisco’s entourage. He always had four or five cronies hovering around him to run errands for him or make bets, as Francisco rarely left his seat in Caesar’s—or, rather, the Mandalay Bay—Sports Book.
“Ha! ‘I’ve been busy,’ he says.” Francisco turned and looked at his friends, who all nodded and laughed as if he’d said something funny or interesting. Whenever Francisco spoke it was in a voice that could only be described as booming. “I, the Great Francisco, have also been busy!”
Francisco’s family had money, and he received a regular stipend every year that kept him in gambling funds. The amount of one million dollars had been mentioned many times in reference to Francisco. It was said that was the amount he got each year from home. It was also said that he once bet a million on the World Series, when a million dollars was a million dollars. Jimmy didn’t know if either statement was true, but he’d never asked and he never would. You had to take what Francisco said with a grain of salt, but there was no denying the man’s charm. Wherever his money came from, or whatever he said, he was a larger-than-life figure in Vegas; and in a town specializing in larger-than-life figures he stood out. He made his bets—good or bad—with supreme confidence, and he was a man with honor. He always paid his debts—eventually.
His dark hair and beard were peppered with gray, and Jimmy put his age at about fifty, but other than that he looked much the same as Jimmy remembered him. Jimmy knew he had been an athlete in his native Panama in his younger years, and even in the wheelchair he looked remarkably fit.
“What are you doing here now?” Francisco asked.
“I’m playing in the WPT tournament.”
“Ah, the contest at the Bellagio? That is good. They need talent like you.” The big man made a face, shook his head. “So many amateurs these days.”
“A lot has changed,” Jimmy said, and he found himself staring at the chair.
“Ah, this,” Francisco said, bouncing his hands on the arms of the chair. “My own fault. When you make a bet, you must have the money to pay when you lose, eh? Some people have no patience. They did not trust the Great Francisco!” He lowered his voice. “They came in with baseball bats. Oh, the pain.”
Jimmy winced. “That’s awful luck, Francisco. Something like that should never have happened.”
“Ah, forget it!” Francisco said. “Do not be sad, my friend. The Great Francisco is still Francisco, eh?”
“I can see that. So no longer playing poker?”
“I play, my friend, I play,” Francisco said, “but in real games—you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean.”
Unlike Jimmy, Francisco was a gambler rather than a poker player. He liked cards, horses, sports, anything he could get a bet down on. He was the ultimate action guy.
“Now if you will excuse me, I must get back to my place in time for the next race, my friend,” Francisco said to him, “but it has been so very good seeing you again. Stop by before you leave, eh?”
“I will,” Jimmy said, shaking the man’s big hand. “I promise. Oh, Francisco, it’s been so long I forget. Don’t I owe you money?”
“Oh, my friend Jimmy, you have no memory. It is the Great Francisco who owes you money. Remember those football bets?”
“Oh yeah,” Jimmy said. “I guess I did win those two. What was that, four grand?”
“No, eight thousand dollars. Remember we bet the Super Bowl future bet? You won that, too? But, of course, you had relocated by that time.”
Jimmy looked at him. He admired the man’s memory and honor. And it was just like the Great Francisco to know exactly where he’d spent the last years.
Francisco moved closer.
“Unfortunately, my friend, the Great Francisco is a little short right now. He has not had a good season. But you know Francisco is good for it.”
“You give it to me when it feels right, Francisco. I trust you.”
“?‘I’ve been busy,’?” the man quoted again, and returned to his position, shaking his head and laughing loudly. Jimmy could still hear it echoing behind him as he walked across the Mandalay Bay floor.