Jimmy gave Vic his room number in the hotel before the two men separated outside the Buffet.
“What are you going to tell Detective Cooper if he finds out you’re nosing around?” he asked.
“Just what I told you,” Vic said. “I’m bored. In fact, maybe I’ll offer him my services as an outside consultant. I know we’ve done that in Philly.”
Jimmy couldn’t see a downside to that, as long as Cooper didn’t find out he was the one who’d called in Vic in the first place.
He went back to the game and tried like hell to focus on the cards and players for the rest of the evening. Having located Kat’s table, he looked up from time to time to see how she was doing. From his seat he could also see Sabine Chevalier’s table. Both women seemed to be holding their own. He thought it was amazing that either of them were still around, given the circumstances. He reminded himself to tell them what Vic Porcelli had said—that the cops were not that intent on proving that a woman had murdered Tim Bennett.
Unless, of course, there were two killers.
Jimmy hadn’t given Paulie DiCicca much thought, but he had barely left the elevator court when Paulie came bearing down on him.
“You probably forgot all about me with all this excitement goin’ on, Jimbo,” Paulie said, as if reading Jimmy’s mind.
“You got that right, Paulie.”
“Well, I ain’t goin’ away, ya know.”
“Even with the hotel and casino crawling with cops?” Jimmy asked.
“Naw,” Paulie said bravely. “They got nuttin’ on me. I did my time.”
“So you heard about the murders.”
“I heard somethin’ about a guy takin’ a header inta the pool. What’s your connection?”
“I was there,” Jimmy said. “I saw him hit the water. Plus, he’s a poker player. So as a witness, and a poker player, I’ve got cops crawling all over me.”
“That a fact?” Paulie looked all around him while Jimmy took in today’s turtleneck. It was a horrible mustard color and made him look like he had no neck at all.
“Yep, even more so because there have been two poker players murdered.”
“Don’t sound like a very safe occupation.”
“Not over the last couple of days.”
Paulie suddenly narrowed his eyes and stared at Jimmy suspiciously.
“Say, your ol’ man used ta be a cop, right?”
“That’s right.”
“That why the cops are askin’ you questions?”
“I guess as a poker player and a son of a cop they think I’ll have some insight.”
Now Paulie looked around a little more nervously.
“Hey, Paulie, I’ve got to ask.”
“What?”
“What’s with the turtlenecks, man? This is Vegas. It’s hot!”
“Outside, yeah,” Paulie said, “but I stay inside where the action is, and that air-conditioning’ll kill ya!”
Paulie’s feral little eyes darted around. “Even though they got nuttin’ on me, I hate cops.”
“Then you better get going, Paulie, because here comes the detective in charge.”
“Where?” Paulie looked around wildly.
“The black guy in the suit.”
“Fuck!” Paulie swore, spotting the guy. He pointed a diminutive index finger at Jimmy. “We ain’t finished. We gotta talk.”
“Sure, Paulie,” Jimmy said. “Later.”
Paulie looked back as the black man got closer, then swore again and took off, almost running across the casino floor.
As the black man reached him, Jimmy said, “Excuse me, can you tell me the way to the pool?”
“I don’t really know,” the man said with a Jamaican accent, “but I don’ think you really wan’ to go there, mon. I heard there are cops all over de place.”
“I see,” Jimmy said. “Well, thanks for the warning.”
“No worries, mon.”
The black man went into the elevator court, and Jimmy started across the casino floor to the poker room, laughing to himself.
Jimmy tried to get his head back in the game. Two murders in two days should take precedence over a poker game, but as he looked around the table and the room he realized hardly anyone was giving the two dead men any thought—except maybe the other posse members.
He noticed that players were being called away from the game, most likely to be interviewed by the police. He wondered if the cops would ever come to the decision that the tournament should be stopped.
Every so often, when a player was eliminated, his or her name would circulate around the room, especially if they were a name player. You’d hear whispers that Hellmuth is gone or Negreanu just went broke. It was worth the huge fifteen-thousand-dollar entry fee just to be around to hear that. Others simply got knocked out of the game and went slinking away. He wondered how many of the other posse members were among the players who had been eliminated. Or if they might have been yanked from the game in his absence for their own good.
He got involved in some hands when his cards warranted it, won more than he lost, and with an hour to go in the day’s play he was safely on his way to the fourth day. That’s why, when he saw Kat during a table break going into the rest room, he followed her. With fifteen minutes to return he figured it was long enough for a short talk.
“Hey, Jimmy,” she said when she came out. From the look in her eyes he could tell she was exhausted.
“How you doing, kid?”
“Holdin’ my own,” she said. “I feel like I’m all in, though.”
He let her get away with the poker lingo this time.
“A good night’s rest will do you good.”
“Dude, how can I rest when I’m a suspect in a murder?” she asked. “And now there’s been another one.”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” he said, and went on to explain why she most likely was not a suspect anymore.
“So they think the same person killed them both?”
“It’s probable,” he said. “Look, have you seen what’s been going on with the other posse members? Any of them been eliminated?” He realized how that sounded and added, “From the game, I mean.”
“As a matter of fact, I saw Eddie Brouchet get knocked off a couple of hours ago—um, I mean, knocked out of the game.”
“Did you see where he went?”
“No, dude, I didn’t.”
“Okay,” he said. “Better get back and finish strong. Then go straight to your room and get some sleep.”
“You don’t have to tell this lady twice,” she said.
“Lady?”
“Did I say that? Okay . . . sometimes your ideas aren’t half bad. Cloney Gowan does get a lot of attention.”
Jimmy studied her: lip gloss, eye shadow, miniskirt, and silk blouse. He had been so preoccupied with the murders he hadn’t noticed the changes she was going through.
“You look nice.”
“Don’t say ‘nice,’” she said. “That dates you. At least say ‘hot.’”
“Okay, you look hot.”
She studied him for a beat.
“Maybe not. By the way, how are you holdin’ up, old man?”
“This old man is doing better than you, kiddo,” he said. “I’ve had lots of late nights in my time.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” she said. Abruptly, she grabbed his tie, pulled it loose, and took it off.
“What are you doing?”
“If I’m gonna be more like a lady, you gotta loosen up some. Stop wearin’ a tie every day.”
She gave it to him, and he put it in his pocket. “That sounds fair.”
“Have you been nosin’ around like you said?” she asked.
“Some.”
“Find out anything?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I’m not much of a detective.”