—
Slythe put on a dress shirt and a suit and tie. He combed his long hair back and tucked it into the neck of his shirt. He took twenty thousand dollars’ petty cash out of Sammy Candelosi’s safe, hired a limousine, and had it drop him at the front door of Pete Genaro’s New Desert Inn and Casino. He stepped out of the limo, slipped two hundred dollars into the hand of the concierge, and said, “I want a seat at the no-limit hold ’em table, and I don’t like to wait. Can you make that happen?”
The concierge beamed. “You know I can.”
Five minutes later Slythe was seated at the table with five thousand dollars’ worth of chips in front of him, which he bet carelessly and often. After a half hour, during which he’d lost all his chips and bought in again twice, he called the pit boss over and palmed him a hundred-dollar bill.
“Could you see if Bambi’s working?”
* * *
—
Marsha Quickly was doing well. With more and more bar girls defecting, there were fewer per shift, which meant more customers and more cash for her. Bambi was earning tips like she never had before, and even counting for inflation it was remarkably good. She rented a nice apartment outside of town and leased a modest American car.
The only thing she didn’t have was a man. Oh, the customers hit on her, but the customers were suckers. She wouldn’t date one of them in a million years. A high roller, maybe, but high rollers weren’t waited on by bar girls, they were served by high-class girls in stylish gowns who catered to their every whim, which sometimes included getting a five-thousand-dollar Vera Wang ripped down the front.
Marsha was just filling a tray with drinks when the pit boss tapped her on the shoulder.
“There’s a high roller looking for you.”
* * *
—
Marsha flashed her hundred-watt smile across the dinner table. It wasn’t often a high roller asked for her, and when one did he usually turned out to be a pig. This man was nicely dressed, and though there was something about him that gave the impression of a coiled snake, he was polite and their meal was pleasant. Of course, two cocktails and a bottle of champagne might have something to do with her opinion. Or perhaps it was the rack of lamb she was contemplating.
Just the idea of being served instead of serving had a great deal to do with her mood. She allowed her high roller to fill her glass and took a healthy sip.
“So,” he said, “you’re an actress?”
Something dinged in the back of Marsha’s alcohol-addled brain. Actress was a red flag. Next he’d claim to be a producer, and hint at what he could do for her in the industry, in return for certain favors, of course. He seemed to be leading into it.
“Yes, I am.”
“You work in pictures?”
“I have.”
He smiled. “That’s wonderful. I don’t know a thing about making movies, but I’ve always found them fascinating. You must tell me all about it.”
* * *
—
Slythe was smug. “Jake missed one small detail.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Sammy said. “What is it?”
“Billy Barnett is working as a stuntman, but under the name Mark Weldon.”
Sammy rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“That’s why no one can find him. Billy Barnett isn’t around, but Mark Weldon is. He’s working on the picture, and he can’t kill you until the movie’s done shooting.”
“When is that?”
“This is the last week. They’re supposed to finish Friday. I can’t find out if Mark Weldon’s working that day, because I can’t get ahold of a shooting schedule, but I will. If he’s working on Friday, we’ve got until then. Not that I plan to wait. I don’t know where he lives, but I know where he works. I’ll find him on the set.”
“You’ll have a hundred witnesses.”
“I’m not going to walk up and shoot him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I won’t know until I know the terrain.”
“You’re going to L.A.?”
“I already booked the flight.”
65
Gerard Cardigan closed the door with more than his usual force.
Mason Kimble looked up from his desk. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t find Billy Barnett.”
“That’s not surprising. Someone burned down his house.”
“And he bought another house, but he isn’t in it. He isn’t anywhere. All anyone will say is he’s on vacation.”
“Maybe he’s on vacation.”
“Someone burned down his house. You don’t go on vacation when your house burns down.”
“Why are you so concerned with finding Billy Barnett?”
“We don’t want him at the stockholders’ meeting.”
“He’s not going to be there.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I read Tessa Bacchetti the riot act. She knows what will happen if he shows up.”
“And what is that? What are you going to do if he shows up? Post the video online? If you do that, you lose your leverage and you’ll never get the studio. Is smearing the girl enough?”
“It’s something. Revenge on Ben Bacchetti at the very least.”
“Yes, and if that was all you wanted to do, you could have done it a long time ago. You’ve got a lot invested in this.”
“You’re looking for Billy Barnett so you can kill him?”
“It would certainly make life easier.”
“It would if we had nothing to do with it.”
“You have absolutely nothing to do with it, and neither do I. No one’s going to ask us any questions. No one’s going to know we were involved.”
“Yes, if we’re not involved.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve been doing. What have you been doing?”
“Lining up investors. With all our stock purchases, our capital is spread pretty thin. I’ve been lining up people willing to invest in a PG-13 picture. There’s more of them than you’d think. I’ve secured commitments for more than two hundred thousand dollars in less than a week.”