“What do you know?” I asked Jimmy as soon as I could get him alone after breakfast.
I’d driven home from The Orleans in a daze, flipping through all my radio stations trying to find out anything I could, but they’d already moved on to different stories. Ben and Gus were waiting for me when I got home, so I didn’t get a chance to get on the Internet.
Jimmy wisely hadn’t mentioned it during breakfast, but now I had him alone while Gus and Ben went into the book room at The Barbary so Gus could place bets on tonight’s games.
He shrugged. “Not much yet. The kid went looking for someone to stake him if he delivered under the point spread.”
“What?” I gasped.
Jimmy nodded. “I don’t think this has anything to do with…anyone in Vegas.”
“He went looking for a backer?”
“That’s what I’m hearing,” Jimmy said.
I shook my head in disbelief. “He’s so much smarter than that.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe he was desperate.”
Because he had no way of contacting JoJo. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Whatever. I guess he went to the wrong guy.”
“I guess so. You still know guys in Dubuque?”
He looked at me as if I’d insulted him. I probably had. “Right. Of course you do. And Chicago, too?” I asked, thinking of Raymond’s mother and sister. He snorted his response. “Can you have them keep an ear out for me? Anything at all.”
“Sure, Anna.” He patted my shoulder with his huge paw, a very un-Jimmy like sentiment, which only drove home to me how fucked up this whole situation was.
The drive home was quiet. After we parked, I walked slowly with Ben into the house, Gus ahead of us and already inside. “Is everything all right, Hannah, darling?”
“Sure. Everything’s fine. Just tired from playing.”
He ran his shrewd brown eyes over me, even opened his mouth to say more, but he thought better of it and just kept pushing his walker across the paved walkway.
I intended to head straight to the office and a computer to see if there was anything new about Raymond, but Lorelei met me at the door, the NPR tote bag in her hand. She waited until Ben had passed into the living room, then handed me the tote bag and some papers. “Here’s the MapQuest directions to the place. It’s in Henderson.” She pointed to the papers I now held. “Also their form on the information we’re looking for.” I nodded. She then handed me an envelope. “A check. You need to sign it, but don’t look too closely, their prices are astronomical for a rush job.” I nodded again, tucked the envelope into my cargo pants pocket and turned around to exit.
“Thanks, Lor,” I called over my shoulder as I passed through the doorway. I’d just put my foot outdoors when I stopped. “Wait,” I called to her, and she came out to me. I pulled out my wad of cash and handed it to her. “Keep it handy. I’ll probably play tomorrow,” I said as I handed it to her.
Her brows furrowed at my unusual request. I always gave her my extra cash, but kept my playing bankroll myself. “If you’re going to play tomorrow, don’t you just want to keep it?”
I thought of my close call at The Orleans. “No.”
I had no trouble finding the place; Lor’s directions – as always – were dead on. There must be good money in DNA testing because the lobby of this place was lovely with lots of marble and huge, white leather chairs in the waiting area. The place was bright and spotless, but not sterile, instead conveying a very warm feeling. I suppose when dealing with skin and saliva samples all day, you’d like to have nice surroundings.
“Oh, yes, we spoke on the phone,” the woman at the front desk said when I handed her my paperwork. She was maybe thirty, very tastefully dressed in a dark suit. Polished. A female Vince in some ways. “I’m Jennifer.”
“Uh, no, you spoke with my…someone else,” I said, deciding not to even try to explain what all Lorelei was to me to a stranger who could probably care less.
“Okay, well, it looks like everything is in order,” she said as she stamped my paperwork and had me sign a couple of forms. “I’m going to label your samples in your presence and have you sign each label.”
I nodded and started to pull out the bags from the tote. I put the bags with Jack’s glass and hair sample in one pile, Ben’s toothbrush and the bag with his gray hair in another pile. And lastly, the baggie with Saul’s ash-covered bone slivers.
“Are those from cremains?” the receptionist asked with absolutely no inflection in her voice. Business as usual for her, while I stood dumbfounded that I had DNA samples from three men I – at various times – thought so highly of.
“Yes.”
She brought out a different label for that bag, an orange one. “Just a flag for our techs,” she explained.
“Oh.”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “First time?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “From what the woman I spoke with said, and your forms, we have samples from three different people, is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said, indicating the three piles I’d separated my booty into.
“We’ll call them Subject A, B and C,” she said placing a white label with an A on it onto each of the bags in Jack’s pile. She turned the label around and pointed to two blank lines. “If you’d like to put in something more personal for you, like the subject’s name, or a date, or something like that, it would go in the first line. Then you sign the second line.”
I wrote “Jack” on the first line and signed the second, then did the same for Ben and Saul’s bags.
“And we’re looking for possible familial connections between two of the subjects?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes, between Jack – Subject A – and either Subject B or C.”
“But not both?” Jennifer clarified.
“No, not both.”
She nodded. “That’s all I need. Once we receive payment…”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, reaching into my pants pocket for the envelope Lorelei had sent with me. I took out the check, borrowed Jennifer’s pen to sign it, and handed it to her.
Jennifer gave me an understanding smile. “Thank you. I’ll just get you a receipt.”
“You can just put it back into the envelope,” I said, taking Lor’s advice not to know what this probable wild goose chase was costing me.
Jennifer handed me back the closed envelope. “We’ll call as soon as the results are in. We can also e-mail and FedEx results, but I understand you live in the area?”
“Yes. Summerlin.”
“Then you’d probably like to pick up the results in person when they’re ready?”
“Yes,” I answered.
Jennifer nodded. “Very good. We’ll call you when they’re ready. Is there anyone else at your residence that you’d like us to leave the message with in case you’re not available?”
These people knew discretion, part of their stock and trade. “Yes. You can tell Lorelei that the results are ready.”
“Okay.”
“But please don’t tell her what the results are. I’d like to know first.” Selfish of me, seeing as Lor had helped get the samples and did all the leg work with this firm, but I needed to know what I was dealing with before I could share with Lorelei. At the very least, we’d find out the results together.
“Your name is the one on the order and the check, so that’s how we’ll handle it.”
I thanked Jennifer, took my receipt and my empty tote bag and headed for home.
There wasn’t anything new online when I checked in my office. I went into the book room and turned on all the sports news channels, my eyes constantly scanning the bottom tickers for anything new, but there wasn’t anything that I hadn’t seen earlier. I called Jimmy, but he said his sources didn’t know anything more yet, either.
I tried to get a nap, not wanting to look like a zombie when I went to Vince’s for dinner, but sleep evaded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw first Raymond’s huge smile as he’d take the floor for his team, and then the haunted look in his eyes as he’d tell me yet again that he was done with JoJo.
I should probably be worried about Feds knocking on my door, that Raymond would lead them back to me, but I wasn’t. Somehow I knew Raymond was going down alone.
I wasn’t sure how yet, but I knew it was time to make my amends to Raymond Joseph.
Vince met me at the door of his high-rise condo wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. The jeans were designer – and creased! – and the buttoned shirt he wore untucked was made of some very expensive material, but still, Vince in anything besides a suit was a sight to remember.
And he did look good. The shirt was a dark plum color, which highlighted his olive skin. He wore the top two buttons undone, and his black chest hair peeked out just a bit at the top.
I hadn’t really thought about what I envisioned Vince’s condo would look like, but I was surprised by what I saw when he ushered me inside. I knew it would be tasteful, elegant and expensive, like Vince himself. But I hadn’t expected it to be so warm and inviting, which it definitely was. Earth-toned walls, hardwood floors with a gorgeous area rug in the sunken living room. His furniture was comfortable looking and in dark, solid colors. Jewel-toned pillows accented the sofa.
He had some interesting art pieces on the walls, which I admired as he took my coat and brought me a glass of wine.
“I should probably know these artists, but I don’t,” I admitted, taking the glass of red from him.
He shrugged. “An investment. It might prove fruitful, it might not.”
“But they’re pretty to look at,” I said, my ignorance showing.
“They’re pretty to look at,” he agreed. I turned to see him smiling down at me. “Now come with me while I get the sauce going.” He took my free hand in his and led me to the kitchen.
He set me up at the granite bar that looked into the kitchen area and set about work. I offered to help, but he could probably sense the half-heartedness in my offer. “Do you cook?” he asked, the surprise in his voice.
I guess I should have been offended, but hey, he was right. “No, but I could cut the veggies or something.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Sit. Relax. More wine?”
It was good wine, and it was giving me the nicest glow. “Hmmm, I’d better not,” I said, taking another small sip from my glass. “I pulled an all-nighter at the tables last night. I’d be asleep before dinner was served.” And judging from the delicious smells coming from Vince’s kitchen, this was not a meal I’d want to sleep through.
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“No,” I agreed. I didn’t want to fall asleep on what I believed would be a big night with Vince. But I also couldn’t shake my guilt that I was going to have a lovely night when Raymond Joseph was probably going through hell.
A hell I had created.
Or JoJo. Hell, even I couldn’t keep them straight anymore.
Instead of dwelling on something I couldn’t do anything about – for now – I concentrated on Vince. I watched his tall, lean body as he moved comfortably in his kitchen. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked.
“I learned out of necessity. But later, when I didn’t have to, I found I missed it. So, I learned to do it well.”
“How?”
“I took a class, bought some books.”
The thought of loan shark Vince Santini taking a cooking class brought forth a laugh from me that made him turn from the stove. “Sorry, I just…I can’t picture you in a cooking class.”
“It’s the best class offered in Vegas,” he said almost defensively.
“I’m sure it was,” I teased. He grinned and turned back to the stove, throwing in some other spice to his sauce. “And you’re always reading biographies of famous leaders or artists.”
“So?”
“So, nothing. Just an observation, that’s all.”
He turned from the stove and leaned his hips against the counter facing me. “Ask me what you want, Anna, I’ll tell you.”
I took a gulp of wine then leaned forward, placing my arms on the bar. “Who are you, Vince Santini?”
His eyes never left mine as he reached beside himself and grasped his wine glass, raised it to his lips, and took a sip. He swirled the wine in his glass. “A kid who grew up on the streets. Who knew that he had the brains to make something of himself. But even when I did, I knew I’d always be seen as a hood, a punk, so…” He shrugged.
I waved to the kitchen. “Cooking lessons.”
He nodded. “And books, and good clothes, and the best wines.” He took another sip.
“And yet, you kept Paulie with you all the way through. And Carla, too. She grew up with you guys, right?”
He gave a small nod. “And?”
“Nothing. Carla has seemed to adjust to her new station. Or at least she tries, seems to get that there is a new station. But Paulie?” I shrugged, not wanting to be unkind. Especially to a dead man. “It’s just he didn’t quite fit the mold of the new Vince Santini.”
“The new Vince is all on the outside. The old Vince is still there. The one who knows the value of a dollar. How to get it. And more importantly, keep it. And…”
“Yes?”
He put his glass down, stepped across to the bar and put his arms down on either side of mine, his hands grazing my elbows. “That Vince Santini, the old one, the new one, the real one, holds loyalty higher than anything.”
“And Paulie was loyal to you,” I finished his thoughts.
“Until the day he died,” he said quietly.
I turned my hands to the outside, to slide them down his arms. I gave a gentle squeeze, which he returned with a sad smile. “You miss him,” I stated the obvious.
“I miss him,” he said, then turned back to the stove. He took a spoon from a drawer and dipped it into his sauce. He took a taste before bringing the spoon over for me to try. It was a tomato sauce, not quite marinara, and better than I’d ever tasted. “Yum. Those classes paid off.”
He smiled. “Let’s eat.”
He did let me help with the clean up, or at least clearing the dining room table while he put away the food. “Leave it,” he waved when all the perishables were taken care of and the dishes sat soaking in the sink.
He grabbed the second bottle of wine we’d opened during dinner and both our glasses and led the way across the living area to the glass doors leading to the balcony. There was a wrought-iron café table and two chairs outside and in the center of the table a candle, which Vince lit.
“It’s too cool to stay out here for very long, but I thought you might like some fresh air.”
“Yes, to clear my head. Too much good food. Too much good wine,” I said.
He grabbed a fleece blanket from the back of one of the chairs and wrapped it around my shoulders, keeping his hands there and my back to his chest. “Not worried about falling asleep anymore?” he said as he nuzzled into my neck.
“No, not falling asleep, but driving might be questionable.”
He put his hand gently under my chin and turned my face toward him. “Were you planning on driving home tonight?” His voice was low, soft.
“No.”
He nodded, released my chin. I turned back around. “The view is amazing,” I said, soaking it in. Vince’s condo was on the twenty-fifth floor. Vegas didn’t have many high-rises, and most of them were casino hotels, none of which I stayed in. I was in them for Vince’s games, but if I was there, it was because I wanted to place a bet and had no stake, so the view was the last thing on my mind.
“A lot of people wanted the east side, looking toward the strip, but I liked the northeast corner better. You can still see the best part of the strip, but you also can see the mountains.”
“These condos aren’t cheap,” I said.
I could feel his shrug behind me. “A good investment.”
“Like the art. Yet, pretty to look at. You like to surround yourself with beautiful things,” I stated, but it sounded more like a question. It was a question of sorts.
“Yes?”
“And I’m not fishing here…” I said, turning around to face him. His hands slid from my shoulders to my waist. He motioned with a small movement of his head for me to go on. “But I wonder why you’re seeing me. Pursuing me.”
“You don’t think you’re beautiful, Anna?” There was no tease in his voice.
I held his gaze, not flinching, not putting up any womanly facades. “I know I can be pretty if I put the effort in. Which I rarely do.” He didn’t nod, didn’t even acknowledge my statement. “But this town is full of truly beautiful women. Women who would fit into the world of Vince Santini that you’ve created much more easily than me.” He started to answer, but I rushed to finish my thought. “Women with a lot less baggage than I have.”
“That’s certainly true,” he agreed.
“So, why me?” I asked.
He looked beyond me toward the Rio across the way, the lights from the casino flashing in his eyes. He took a deep breath, let it out. He moved his hands from my waist around to my back and pulled me closer to him.
He dipped his head and just before his lips met mine he whispered, “Maybe I think you’re a good investment.”