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Beth’s journey to Vegas made her feel even more disengaged. For brief stretches, she was the only car within the voluminous darkness of the desert. She’d been expecting to travel through the classic American panorama – layers of deep blue sky, red mountains, grey scrub and blacktop. However, the cabby’s brother-in-law had advised her to avoid the traffic and drive at night. She’d been glad of the suggestion, as when he’d shown her around the SUVs, she’d felt dead on her feet.
The smallest model on the forecourt had been the ‘Atlantis Blue’ Chevrolet Equinox she was now seated in. She felt dwarfed by its cabin, but the elevation made her feel safer. It was like guiding a bus along a monotonous reflective chain.
He’d recommended a stop off at the Barstow station and had told her to try the Cuban snacks there, but hunger was the last thing on her mind. The only clothing store she’d spotted en route to the freeway was a Timberland. She’d quickly stopped off and had bought a tan leather jacket, some plaid shirts, jeans and Chelsea boots.
The yellow line to her left and the white to her right illuminated by the car’s lights became hypnotic. Her brain skimmed sleep. Luc was beside her in the passenger seat. She turned but he didn’t, just stared intently ahead before his profile addressed her.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his lips motionless and features impassive.
Beth blinked him away and hit the button for the window. The icy breeze buffeted her left eardrum as she drove with the window half down. The side of her face was soon numb but it kept her awake. She wondered if the gunman was sharing the same highway as her, peered in the mirror and scrutinised every driver that passed.
The sun rose just as she reached Vegas, the city silhouetted and spread out in a thin band of lights beneath strata of sky shades: cerulean blue, pink and yellow. She’d expected to see a conglomeration of the major Strip hotels spring up in front of her, but it looked more like a crouching desert encampment. As she approached, its coloured neon started to wink at her from within the glitter ribbon, delineating its different buildings. She remembered once joking with Luc about them getting a quickie Elvis wedding here. But other than seeing it in the movies, it had never really been on her radar.
It wasn’t a place she’d ever wanted to come to. Heading towards such an unfamiliar environment in the rented vehicle, Beth felt like the last of the girl who had got into the car with Luc had trickled away.
She waggled her buttocks in her seat and sat up in readiness to negotiate the traffic. Quickly checking her messages, she found none from Ramiro’s fellow trainee. Beth switched off her iPhone again and knew exactly where to head first.
She used the satnav to negotiate her way to the sandstone façade of Spring Valley Hospital and parked. From the plaque on the wall in reception, Beth could see it had recently celebrated its tenth anniversary. She followed the signs in the pristine air-conditioned corridors to the radiology department, but none of the blue-smocked staff on duty knew where Ramiro Casales or his temporary apartment was.
In the absence of any other place to go, Beth drove to Fremont Street and found the gilded canopies of the Golden Nugget. She walked in and waited in line, detecting the faint aroma of steak and looking up at the ornate chandeliers before checking into a Carson Tower room.
The bed there looked like it could sleep six and probably had. Beth collapsed onto it and painfully wrenched off her boots. It felt like they’d grafted themselves to her feet. She lay back on the soft mattress and stared upwards, her mind as blank as the plastered ceiling. Her eyes half closed, and the weight of sleep drove them the rest of the way. When Beth sat up again, she realised she’d been out for over four hours.
It was just before midday. Beth felt panicky, didn’t know what window of opportunity she had with the gunman. She wasn’t about to use her iPhone to contact him and decided against using the hotel Internet. Electing to find a café and try to establish a dialogue, Beth considered exactly what she was going to do when she did.
She quickly showered and put on her new clothes. Leaving her room, she made her way over the garish carpets, past the rows of pensioners feeding gaming machines and onto Fremont Street. A canopy of tiny lights switched off for daytime and a zip wire awaiting its first passenger ran the length of it. A sign for it demanded a passport for each rider. For identification in case of death? Hers was still in her pocket and felt as if it was about to serve the same purpose. The go-go bars were being wiped down, and she recognised the famous waving cowboy cut-out at the far end.
*
Beth found an Internet café with a gaudy Aztec theme further along.
You’re here?
Beth could almost sense incredulity in the response to her Facebook message. It was almost immediate, which she assumed was because his alerts went straight through to his phone.
I don’t want to interfere with your schedule. Am happy to exchange dialogue here. Beth waited and imagined the gritted smile he’d given her in the alleyway on his face as he deliberately delayed a reply.
I still feel a face 2 face dialogue would be better.
She typed quickly. That would certainly be convenient for you. Have your unfinished work follow you here so you can kill two birds with one stone.
It’s a risk you’ll have to take.
Beth bit her lip and looked instinctively around, as if expecting to find him seated nearby. She didn’t want to remain in the café any longer than she had to.
I’m meeting Allegro at three o’clock by the concierge desk in the lobby of the Luxor. It’s nice and populated.
He logged out.
