Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D. (16 page)

Then, just like that, I drove out to La Guardia Airport and hopped the next flight to Vegas.

It was last-minute notice so they charged me through the eyeballs for a ticket. I paid eight hundred bucks for the round-trip flight, when it probably would have cost me half that much if I bought the ticket in advance or took one of those gambling junkets. Now I only had about four hundred bucks on me—I’d left five hundred at home—so if I didn’t hit something right away it was going to be a short trip.

The plane took off at around 6:30 in the morning. I switched planes in Detroit and arrived in Vegas at eleven o’clock, ready to rock and roll. I didn’t sleep a wink the whole flight, but I was wide awake anyway.

I took a cab to the strip, shocked how big the place was. For years people had been telling me, “You gotta see Vegas to believe it,” and now I knew what they meant.

I didn’t know where to go first so I had the cab driver drop me off at Bally’s. Sticking to the plan I’d made on the plane, I went to the first roulette wheel I saw and let three hundred bucks ride on black. The ball spun around, bounced out of a red slot, and landed in black. I let the six hundred ride and black came in again. I’d just won a free trip to Vegas.

At a blackjack table my hot streak continued. After about ten minutes I was up over a grand. I could do no wrong—splitting nines and pulling aces, hitting on fifteen and sixteen and pulling fives and sixes, sticking with single digits and watching the dealer bust. I tipped the dealer fifty bucks for his trouble and headed over to the racebook.

I bet on a couple of simulcast races from New York and Florida. I lost at Calder, but I hit an exacta and win bet at Aqueduct that put me up another G. I played slots for a while, breaking even, then I hit the blackjack tables again, winning another five hundred bucks. I had been in the casino for about an hour and a half and I was up about three grand. I was going to head over to another casino, maybe pick up a bite to eat, when I saw this blonde smiling at me.

I knew right away she was a pro, sizing me up as a john. Her lips were painted with bright pink fluorescent lipstick and she was fluttering her long eyelashes. She had a big curvy shape in a silver sequined dress. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—some nice, uncomplicated sex. I went over to her and asked her what she charged. She said two hundred an hour. I told her I’d meet her in the lobby outside the casino in ten minutes.

I cashed in my chips and rented a room. The hooker was waiting where she said she’d be and she was looking better and better.

In the elevator she asked me if I’d been to Vegas before and I said, “No, it’s my first time,” and she said, “So how do you like it so far?” I said, “Not too bad.” We didn’t say anything else to each other until we got to the room. Then, as soon as the door closed, she said, “So where do you want me?”

We did it once, fast, then I took my time. When we were through, I gave her that two hundred bucks, plus a fifty-dollar tip.

“Thanks,” she said. “That’s so sweet of you.”

She invited me to watch her “perform” later at some strip bar at the other end of town, but I told her I doubted I’d be able to make it.

A few minutes after she left the room, I went back down to the casino.

I wolfed down a couple of burgers at one of the hotel’s restaurants using a comp card, then I was ready for more action. I was planning to leave for New York early tomorrow morning and go to work tomorrow night. I probably could’ve used some rest, but there was no way I was going to miss out on any gambling time in Vegas—especially since I had about $2,600 burning a hole in my pocket.

I wanted to check out as many casinos as I could so I went across the street to The Flamingo. I bought two thousand bucks in chips and went right to a craps table, blowing a grand in fifteen minutes. Before things got really out of control, I got up and started playing blackjack again. I didn’t like the dealer at the table I was sitting at—he was smiling and joking around too much—so I walked around and found a table with an empty seat in the anchor slot. My chip pile was shrinking, but I guess my jet lag was starting to catch up with me because I was too tired to walk around anymore. So I stayed at the table and eventually I started to win again. After about two hours, I won back the grand I’d lost at craps, plus another seven hundred. I cashed in my chips and took my comp card and headed toward the restaurant, ready to pig out on a steak-and-potatoes dinner.

“Looking for a date, honey?”

I’d just left the casino when I looked over and saw the best-looking hooker I’d ever seen. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a tight black dress.

“How much?” I asked.

“Five for an hour you won’t forget.”

I guess I could’ve brought her to my room at Bally’s, but I was so tired I didn’t want to waste the energy crossing the street. Besides, I was rolling in dough so I just rented a two-hundred-dollar room at the Flamingo and took the hooker upstairs with me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get in two goes this time, but I got my money’s worth anyway.

Later on, I could barely get out of bed and I had to pace around my room for about fifteen minutes before I could make it downstairs. Two rare steaks and a side order of shrimp pumped me up enough to make it into a cab and head crosstown to Caesar’s Palace for some poker action. Forty-five minutes later I was broke.

I still don’t know how I managed to lose all my money so fast. It probably had something to do with being the worst poker player in the world and sitting down at a high-stakes table with blue balls on zero sleep. All I remember clearly is sitting across from two guys in cowboy hats, and next thing I knew I was sitting on a chair in the lobby with my head in my hands.

I only had about forty dollars left on me—enough to get a cab to the airport and to pay to pick up my car from the airport parking lot in New York. I thought about going back to one of my hotel rooms, but I knew there was no way I’d fall asleep so I decided to just head out to the terminal and wait for my flight tomorrow morning. I sat down near my gate, so tired I was dizzy. I noticed that people kept sitting down next to me then getting up and moving away. Then I remembered how the cab driver had opened all the windows and how people at the poker table had been giving me funny looks. I hadn’t showered since Monday morning —over two days ago—and I probably smelled as bad as Pete Logan.

I probably looked like shit too. I needed a shave and I was wearing the same outfit—jeans and a black sweatshirt with my black leather coat—that I’d left New York in. I had about five hours until my flight left but I couldn’t grab any shut-eye.

Finally, at around six in the morning my flight boarded. I was hoping to catch some Zs on the plane, but I couldn’t sleep. I was staring out the window, at some clouds, when I saw my father on the wing and my mother was next to him. They were both laughing, then my father pushed me and I was tumbling down a flight of stairs, screaming, trying to stop, but I was falling faster and faster.

“Excuse me, sir...sir?”

I looked up at the stewardess leaning over me.

“Sorry to wake you, but the pilot has put on the fasten seat belt sign.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking out the window, scratching the scar on the back of my head.

It was snowing in New York. It wasn’t coming down hard, but there were a few inches on the ground. I was so exhausted I thought I was going to pass out, but I somehow made it out to the parking lot. I brushed the snow off the windshield and the back windows with my hands, then I got into the car. Naturally, the piece of shit wouldn’t start. I asked the parking attendant for a boost and then I had to stand outside waiting for an hour, freezing my ass off. I was almost ready to just leave my car there, take the license off and ditch it. But then they got the car started and, going about thirty miles per hour the whole way, I made it into the city about an hour and a half later.

It was around three in the afternoon—an impossible time to find a parking space in Manhattan. After driving around for about twenty minutes, I gave up and left the car in front of a hydrant on my block. Let the cops tow the dung heap away—do me a favor.

Walking up the stairs in my building, I felt like I was climbing the Statue of Liberty. In my apartment, I went right to my couch, not even bothering to open the bed. Then I heard a funny squeaking sound. I thought it was the pipes or something so I tried to ignore it. But it was too damn annoying so I got up to find out where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen sink, maybe inside the pipes, then I looked down and saw the little mouse caught in a glue trap. I picked up the trap with the mouse stuck on it, opened the window, and flung it across the street like a frisbee.

Back on the couch, I started to dream. I was in the winner’s circle at Hollywood Park. My horse had just won a big race and Jack Nicholson and Robert Redford and Al Pacino were there, shaking my hand. Then an alarm went off and people started running and yelling, “Fire! Fire!” and I looked over and my horse was dead. I tried to run away, but I was stuck to a giant glue trap. I woke up, sweating, wondering why the noise wouldn’t stop. Then I realized what was going on. My fucking phone was ringing.

“Tommy? I didn’t wake you, did I?”

The voice sounded like somebody I knew, but I was so spaced it took a second or two before I matched it with a name—Debbie O’Reilley.

“No,” I said, wondering why the hell I didn’t just let my answering machine pick up. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that question. I’ve been trying to hunt you down for two days now. Either you’ve been screening your calls or you went away without telling me. Either way I’m very upset with you.”

As usual, she sounded drunk.

“I was in Vegas,” I said.

“Vegas?
Las
Vegas?”

“You calling me for any reason, because I was about to go to sleep.”

“Sleep? Don’t you have to work tonight?”

Shit, I forgot all about work. There was no way in hell I was going in feeling like this.

“I’m calling in sick,” I said.

“Really? Well, that’s convenient—and timely too. Because I’m feeling kind of lonely and I was hoping I could come over to visit.”

“What’s that?”

“I said I want to come over to your place.”

“Here?”

“Why not? You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?”

I was starting to fall asleep again.

“Look, I really gotta hang up now.”

“I’m coming over—I just got your address from Information.”

“Don’t come here,” I said, waking up. “I’m serious.”

“Why? You’re too tired? It’s all right—I’ll take a nap with you.”

“Wait,” I said. I remembered that Frank had hired a detective.

“Don’t come here,” I said. “That’s a shitty idea.”

“Don’t you want to see me again?” she said, trying to sound sexy.

“It’s just not a good time right now,” I said. “Trust me, all right?”

“I really want to see you again, Tommy. I don’t know what I did to upset you so much, but I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Maybe some other time,” I said. “I’m really not feeling too good right now.”

“Poor thing,” she said. “Are you sick? Should I bring you over some chicken soup?”

“No, the thing is there’s a detective watching you,” I said. “Frank told me about it the other day—”

“Oh,
that’s
why you’re so worried. You don’t have to worry about that, darling. That slob was following me around all day yesterday and I had no problem losing him. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be right there.”

“Come on, Debbie, don’t—”

She hung up. I said “hello” a couple of times then I put the receiver down, still feeling dazed. I closed my eyes, trying to go back to Hollywood Park, but I must’ve fallen asleep without dreaming because it seemed like a second later the buzzer was ringing. I got up to answer it, forgetting where I was. Then I heard Debbie’s voice on the intercom. Now I was really getting pissed off. Why the hell couldn’t she take no for an answer?

I buzzed her up, hoping the detective didn’t follow her. No matter what, I was going to tell her to get the hell away from me and to stay away.

She was wearing a fur coat and black boots. Her fake blond hair was done up like Ivana Trump and she had a load of makeup on. She looked better than she did the other day at her apartment, but she still disgusted me.

I noticed she was holding a white plastic shopping bag.

“It was quite a climb to get up here,” she said. “I can’t believe people actually
live
in these buildings.”

She moved in to kiss me with her glossy lips and I was too tired to turn my head. I picked up the Scotch odor right away. Then she backed away, making a face like she just stepped into a big pile of dog shit.

“What’s that smell?”

“Me,” I said.

“My God, you’re filthy...what
happened
to you?”

“I told you, I was in Vegas.”

“Don’t they have showers in Las Vegas?”

“Why did you have to come over here?” I said. “Why couldn’t you listen to me?”

“Because I was lonely and I wanted to see you. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“This was really stupid,” I said. “If that detective—”

“You don’t have to worry about
him
,” she said. “I saw that slob following me again when I left my building. I found a police officer on the corner and told him that a man was following me, then I got in a cab and came over here. Oh, but first I stopped at a Chinese restaurant and bought you a couple of containers of hot-and-sour soup. It always does wonders for me when I feel a cold coming on.”

“How do you know he didn’t follow you out of the restaurant?” I said. “Maybe you just didn’t see him.”

“My God, will you stop being so paranoid? The way you’re talking you’d think you
did
have something to hide.”

She passed by me and went toward the kitchen counter. I closed the door and bolted it.

“I hate to be so blunt,” she said, “but you really could use a shower
and
a maid.”