Charlie Opera (13 page)

She turned to him. “Get it all in?”

He felt himself blush under his bruises. “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“Well?”

He looked down at a bruise on the top of his right hand. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Samantha said as she smiled.

He could fall in love with that smile.

When she brought him the glass, she sat on his lap and kissed him lightly on his lips. She removed his sunglasses and kissed him again, harder this time.

“Ouch,” he said.

They made love as soon as Carol was gone. They had stood at the door and waved to Carol as she pulled away from the curb. Then Samantha closed the door as Charlie took her into his arms. Their kisses were passionate. They never made it to the bedroom.

They did it on the couch the first time. Samantha was vocal during their lovemaking. Charlie was more focused. They each wanted the other too much to engage in foreplay. When they were finished, they lay exhausted on the floor at the foot of the couch. Samantha cuddled against his chest.

“I wanted to do that since last night,” she said.

“Me, too,” he said.

“It was nice.”

Charlie glanced down. He said, “We need more time before we can do it again.”

Samantha poked him. “What do you mean ‘we,’ Kimosabe?”

It was slower and more deliberate in the bedroom. Samantha guided Charlie to where she wanted him. She pulled at his hair when she was close. She moaned loudly when she reached climax. Then she took over and brought Charlie back so they could both enjoy each other a third time.

They napped in Samantha’s bed afterward. When they woke up, they were both hungry.

“How’s the Chinese food in Las Vegas?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “You want to order in?”

“That’s what I was thinking. My treat.”

“Big spender, huh?”

He kissed her on the forehead. “I have to check out tomorrow.”

Samantha frowned. “You going home?”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Detective Gold approached Officer Michael Wilkes in the parking lot of the Denny’s alongside the MGM Grand on Las Vegas Boulevard. Wilkes was out of uniform, on his way home after a ten-hour shift. Gold’s shift had hardly ended from the day before. Except for a few catnaps, the senior detective was living on caffeine one more time.

“Mike, we need to talk about something,” Gold told the officer after sipping black coffee from a container.

Wilkes was about to open the door of his car. He turned around and leaned against it instead. He took Gold’s right hand in his own to shake. “Sure, what’s up?” Wilkes asked.

“Jennifer Gentry,” Gold said, getting right to it.

Wilkes’s face turned to stone. “Who?”

“Detective Gentry’s wife. I know you’re seeing her. I watched you embrace half a block from her office. I know what it’s about, so let’s skip the denial part of this.”

Wilkes’s face showed defeat. He licked his bottom lip as he shook his head. “It’s one of those things,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not here to chastise you for falling in love or for getting a piece on the side,” Gold said. “That’s your business. And hers. But you gotta realize what you’re playing with here before it explodes in your face. In all our faces. Gentry is a detective. He’s a fellow cop. To go one further, not that it really makes a difference, but he’s also my ex-partner’s son. His marriage problems aren’t my concern except for what could happen if it gets out of hand. I don’t know how long you’re involved with his wife, but he’s aware of it. You should take this into consideration. He’s aware his wife is cheating. He might not know who you are yet, but he knows there’s somebody.”

“You gonna tell him?” Wilkes asked.

Wilkes’s concerns were justifiably selfish. Gold liked that. It was a good sign. Maybe it would deter some of what was going on. At least it might put a pause on the affair while the married couple separated or divorced.

“Not who you are, no. But I’m also going to talk to his wife now. Right from here. If she’s gonna leave Gentry, she should do it already.”

“She says she wants to.”

“What about you and your wife?”

“We’re split up already. Almost a year now.”

Gold nodded. “Well, I just thought you should be aware of what’s going on. And don’t think you’ll find friends inside the department this ever comes out the wrong way. There isn’t a good way to handle this, but there sure is a wrong way. Use your head, whatever you do.”

Half an hour later, Gold was at the home of Detective Donald Gentry, where he knew he would find the detective’s wife alone. He rang the bell twice before she answered. Her face told him she already knew what he was there for.

“I’m sure Mike Wilkes called you,” Gold said.

Jennifer Gentry didn’t answer.

“I’m not here to threaten you,” Gold said. “Your husband asked me to look into who’s having an affair with his wife. He knows about it. You weren’t careful with your diaphragm gel, for one thing.”

Gold waited for a response. When there wasn’t one, he said, “I won’t bullshit you, Jennifer. My concern is for your husband. You know who his father was. I’m advising you to either separate or divorce or get some counseling or whatever. But do something now, before something worse than a divorce happens. I’ve seen it before with cops. It can get ugly.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful about this?” she asked.

“No,” Gold said. “You’re supposed to smarten up.”

It was the kind of thing he hated, getting involved in a marital crisis, but he saw it as the best possible chance to keep the situation from becoming violent.

“I’ll talk to Donald,” Jennifer Gentry said.

Gold nodded and she closed the door on him.

Officer Michael Wilkes told Allen Fein they would have to make different arrangements to meet in the future. They were standing at a pay telephone in a minimall on the Strip. Fein made believe he was talking into the receiver. Wilkes made believe he was waiting for the phone.

“There’s another cop watching me,” Wilkes said. “About a woman I’m seeing. Some other cop’s wife. I have to lay low for a while.”

Fein turned away from Wilkes. He spoke loudly into the receiver. “That’s up to you, Officer,” he said. “Maybe the cop’s wife isn’t worth it. In the meantime, do you have anything on the blotter?”

Wilkes was still thinking about Jennifer Gentry. He was in love with her. He didn’t like it that Fein referred to her in so casual a manner.

“The name you gave me didn’t show,” he told Fein. “Not even at the Hertz in the airport.”

“You checked with the organized crime unit?”

“I’m not in the organized crime unit. I asked a friend with O.C. He said he never heard of this Lano.”

“You sure?”

“I couldn’t go in and ask like it was my business. I asked my friend about the name you gave me. Lano. I told him there was a guy from New York looking to sell something. I said I got it from a kid I picked up driving a stolen car yesterday. My friend never heard of him.”

Fein turned away from Wilkes. “What about that thing at the Palermo? There a police report or not?”

“Nothing.”

“And you’re sure about Lano?”

“The guy’s name hasn’t come up. How many times you want to hear me say it?”

Fein hung up. When he stepped away, Wilkes could see the familiar manila envelope. “That’s yours,” Fein said.

Wilkes looked around as he stepped up to the phone. He cradled the receiver against his neck as he tucked the envelope into his rear pants pocket. He fished change from his front pants pocket and dropped it in the coin slot. He dialed Jennifer Gentry’s home number as he watched Fein drive away in a black BMW convertible.

“Jenn?” he asked when someone picked up. “It’s me.”

Whoever picked up wasn’t answering.

Wilkes quickly hung up. He leaned into the phone until his head was touching the receiver. He closed his eyes tightly and felt a wave of panic rushing through his body.

It was nearly midnight before Agent Thomas could talk to Cuccia in private. The New York gangster was standing at a roulette table watching the action among a group of Asians playing a fifty-dollar-minimum game. Thomas noticed that Cuccia was shuffling two black chips in his hands.

“Those fakes, or you just afraid to bet them?” Thomas asked.

Cuccia smirked when he saw it was the agent. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

“What’s up?”

“You’d know, you were doing your job,” Cuccia said. He leaned over to watch a middle-aged Asian woman push five green chips onto the number fourteen.

Thomas watched the croupier spin the roulette wheel. “No more bets,” the croupier announced.

“I never understood that,” Thomas said. He pointed at the roulette wheel. “It’s like a bazaar. Everything is a long shot.”

“No guts, no glory,” Cuccia said.

Thomas waited until the ball was bouncing on the wheel before he leaned into Cuccia again. “I found out why you’re here.”

Cuccia ignored the remark.

Thomas spotted drool in the corner of Cuccia’s mouth. He dabbed at it with a napkin. “You’re dribbling.”

The gangster was startled. He stepped away from Thomas. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Who was the short guy with Francone this afternoon?”

“You tell me.”

“An emissary to Jerry Lercasi?”

“Who’s Jerry Lercasi?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Double zero, green,” the croupier announced as he set the marker on the number at the top of the board.

Both men watched the croupier take down the losing bets before paying the winners.

“I spoke to Charlie Pellecchia,” Thomas said.

Cuccia’s face tensed for a moment. “Who’s Charlie Pellecchia?”

“Charlie Opera. The guy broke your face for grabbing his wife’s ass.”

“Charlie who?”

“It’s what the organized crime unit nicknamed him. The guy cracked your jaw. Charlie Opera. O.C. was in the nightclub when you caught that beating.”

Cuccia forced a smirk. “Ever hear of Pearl Harbor? The guy japped me.”

Thomas took another glance around the casino. “I don’t know. I just met the guy. He’s a pretty big boy.”

“You’re needling me. What’s the point?”

“Nothing can happen to Mr. Pellecchia. I want to make that clear.”

“Please,” Cuccia said. “Trust me, I’ve got better things to do.” He pointed to his watch. “In ten minutes I have a date,” he said. “You should give it a try. It’s legal here in Nevada.”

“I’m serious, fuckwad,” Thomas said. “Or your deal gets flushed.”

“Fuckwad?”

“You understand me?”

Cuccia forced himself to chuckle. “Flushed?” he said. “Like down the same shitter where I was born?”

Charlie couldn’t sleep. He slipped on his pants and shirt and found his way back into the kitchen. He thought about calling his wife and her lover to see if the DEA agent had contacted them yet but decided to check for messages first.

When he called his room at Harrah’s, he found he had several messages, all hang-ups. He replayed them and counted fifteen in total.

A few days had passed since the assaults on him and his wife. If the mob really wanted him, Charlie figured he didn’t stand much of a chance, regardless of any promise the DEA agent had made.

He decided to find Nicholas Cuccia. He used a phone book and started with the most expensive hotels. When the operator at the Bellagio told him to hold for the connection, Charlie hung up.

This time Daria was wearing a white body suit with black high heels. She was racing from a line of cocaine she had just shared with Nicholas Cuccia. She told him that her usual partner, Kim, was recovering from a bachelor party at the Mirage the night before.

“How many guys?” he asked. He wiped a spill of drool from his chin.

“Ten,” she said. “But there’s always two or three more once you get there. The service knows it, but they let it slide. Especially when a girl is working solo.”

His condition required an extra moment to process the information. When it registered, Cuccia was impressed. “Solo? She gonna do ten guys by herself?”

Daria took a large gulp of vodka from a highball glass. Her eyes required a moment to focus. “Not all the guys will want to do anything,” she said as she shook her head. “Maybe half. Sometimes more. Hey, if it pays enough, why not? That’s the business.”

Cuccia sipped vodka from his own glass. “I guess so.”

She laid out another line of cocaine on a small mirror. “What you do is a few of these. And you work fast. It’s over before you know it.”

He wiped vodka from his chin.

“Is your mouth okay, honey?” she asked.

Cuccia didn’t hear her question. He was picturing the blonde, Kim, taking on a line of men at the bachelor party.

“You’re smart to call the service,” Daria said. “There’s been a lot of rollings going on.”

“Rolling? What, like joints?”

Daria giggled. “Like johns, silly. The girls cruising the casino bars. They put their johns to sleep and rip them off.”

He touched one of her nipples through the sheer body suit.

“Mmmmm,” Daria said. “You about ready, hon?”

The cocaine was numbing. “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t feel my dick.”

Daria giggled again. “I can help you with that,” she said as she reached down to fondle him. “You like that?”

His eyes were struggling to focus. “Like what?”

It was very early in the morning when Lano left his hotel room. He took a long glimpse of the sun rising over the mountains before heading for Valley Hospital, where he had located Lisa Pellecchia in room 2116.

He brought the weapons he had purchased at the gun show with him. Two of the guns remained in the car, along with the hand grenade. He had paid a total of twenty-six hundred dollars for the tiny arsenal. A Smith & Wesson .380 was well concealed in a tightly fitted ankle holster.

Lano felt a need to absolve himself for the assault of Lisa Pellecchia. It had been one more mistake in a life full of mistakes. Although the assault was something Lano never wanted any part of, he had allowed himself to go along with it. His conditions for taking part in the assault made him sick now. They were cheap.