The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series) (25 page)

“So … they just met here at a VIP thing, followed him home,
and you expect they would still be there at his house?”  He eyed Kramer, trying
to get to the bottom of his secrets.  There was some subterfuge here. 
Kramer’s
hiding something, but what?

Kramer leaned back in his chair, looking off into the distance
through the window.  “Ahh, well, she works as an escort at times.  Perhaps I
failed to mention that.  As to why she’s still at his home, of that I can’t be
certain.  It’s the only start point I can give you.  Hopefully something will
turn up from there.  You’re the miracle worker.  Work me a miracle.”

Though the situation stunk funky as hell, he was intrigued. 
Definitely the most interesting thing going on in his life at the moment. 
“Okay … you know my rates, nothing’s changed.  Five thousand deposit up front
and a hundred fifty an hour plus expenses.  I’ll bill you weekly.  Is that
everything?”

“I don’t expect this to go on for weeks, or even days.  You
can keep that deposit if you find out what the hell happened to Demarco in the
next twelve hours.  I need you to start right away, if it’s not too much of an
inconvenience.”

He observed Kramer closely.  He’d already decided to do just
that.  “Sure.  For you I’ll do it.  You can count on me.” 
Guess I’m not
getting that free lunch after all
.

Kramer handed him the check he’d been holding for several
minutes.  They shook on it and he headed out into the scorching hot Vegas sun
to stake out Demarco’s house.

* * * *

Mike arrived at Demarco’s house at three in the afternoon,
parking his car across the street.  He set up a digital camcorder on the
driver’s side visor and sat back to wait.  He was accustomed to whittling away
the hours doing the waiting game.  Sometimes it seemed like he’d been waiting
all his life.  For what?  Who knew. 
This is why I make the big bucks.  Nobody
wants to sit out here for hours on end doing nothing, waiting for something
that may never happen.

As he sat listening to the quiet murmur of the radio, he
mulled over his conversation with Kramer.  His ability to discern the
undercurrents in people’s hidden lives was integral to this line of work. 
Kramer had some serious undercurrents going on. 
Desperate.
  Kramer had
seemed like a desperate man.

The security footage bothered him.  Aaron moved way too
fast.  And he had that look about him, a ferocity matching his speed and
force.  It brought to mind a quote from Shakespeare:  “Imitate the action of
the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.  Disguise fair nature with
hard-favored rage and lend the eye a terrible aspect.”

He had a hunch Aaron was probably a killer.  He decided
right then and there he’d never be foolish enough to face Aaron Pilan without
first stacking the situation in his favor. 
Fifty yards of distance and a
good sniper rifle oughta do the trick.
  Any closer and that kid would
surely get the best of him.

* * * *

Chapter 25

“I’m supposed to sit here and wait for you to get off work to
go see this cabron?  No.  We go now.  I want to know where the fuck he is and
what the fuck he’s doing with my money.”  Juan Carlos sat there tapping his
fingers in irritation on Kramer’s desk.

He had surprised Kramer, showing up at the Caesar’s Palace
unannounced at 4:30 in the afternoon, far earlier than expected.

“I got you covered on the other fifty.  Forget him.  Deal
with me.  I can have the other fifty thousand by tomorrow.  Fuck Demarco.” 
Kramer spoke boldly, but he had no balls to back it up. 
He thinks I’m lying
to him.  He doesn’t believe me.  I’m so screwed.

“You know what gringo.  I’m not worried about the money.  I
know you got money.  In your house.  In your Lexus.  In your retirement plan. 
I wanna know who dis estúpido cabron is buying from.  If I find out you playin
me, I’m gonna fuck you up gringo.”

His stomach flopped, butt-hole puckered. 
I’m gonna shit
myself.

Kramer flinched as Juan Carlos slammed his hand down on the
desk.  “Okay!  I believe you.  Come on.  We gonna go check his house, inside
and out.  See what we gonna find.  Vamos a ver!”

* * * *

Anastasia awoke an hour before sunset.  Her head pulsated
with a throbbing pain.  The slightest move pounded a tiny little hammer against
the insides of her temples.  As soon as she sat up  she broke into a cold sweat. 
I need to throw up
.  The punishing synergy of hang-over, extreme anemia,
and withdrawals was worse than any sickness she’d ever known.  It took her
several minutes to untangle from her lover’s limbs.  Moving presented an almost
insurmountable challenge.

After what seemed like an hour, she made it off the bed and
dragged her sorry ass to the kitchen.

Her eyes scanned the contents of the refrigerator. 
Apple
juice, yeah, that’s good. Now something to eat, maybe that cheese. 
She
rifled through the drawers looking for a knife to cut off a hunk of the cheddar
cheese, latching onto a short paring knife.  The stiff block of cheese resisted
the small blade.

Ouch! God damnit!
  She watched the blood well from
her slashed fingertip.  She giggled.  “Where’s a vampire when you need one?”

The food and drink settled her stomach, but now the aches
set in.  The very marrow of her bones radiated an ache throughout her whole
body.  She needed their bite.  NOW.  She stumbled to the bathroom, smearing
blood all over the medicine cabinet from her cut finger as she dug frantically
for the Oxycontin.

“Thank you God, oh thank you, thank you, thank you!”  She
tore open the bottle of Oxy’s and downed three forty mg. pills.  The effect of
withdrawals still strong as ever, she headed straight out to the back patio to
grab another bottle of merlot.  In minutes she had guzzled over half of it,
belching and smiling as the buzz overtook her jitters and anxiety.  The opiates
started kicking in nicely as well.  Bottle in hand, she sashayed back to check
on her lovers who were still out cold in bed.

She crawled in to cuddle up against her new husband’s cool,
naked body, feeling no pain, and quite happily sedated on Oxy’s.  Just as she
drifted off to sleep on the haze of strong drug and drink, a powerful hand seized
her foot and yanked her out of bed to fall on the floor in a thud.

“What the fuck?”

Two sets of hands jerked her to a standing position.  She
could barely see through her blurry focus.

“What the fuck is going on?  Who killed all these fuckin
people?”

The man had a thick Spanish accent, and he was very angry. 
He smacked her hard.  She squeaked.  Her head rocked back from the blow.  It
didn’t really hurt.  Her face felt like rubber.  She was way too high to feel
much pain.

She saw two faces.  
Whoopsie!  He looks so funny, angry
and stuff
.  She giggled.  “You like it rough tough guy?  So do I!”  She
laughed in his face.

“This fuckin puta is high!  Isidro––get her dressed.  Take
her out to la trocka.”

He handed her off to another short dark-haired Hispanic guy.

“Noooo.  I’m not going with you!”  She slurred, trying to
push him away as he dragged her off.

He tightened his grip, locking down on her wrists.  “You can
go nice, or you can go the hard way.  A mí no importa.”  She got the message.

* * * *

JC turned on Kramer with menace in his eyes.  “Who the hell
did this?  Esa chingadera está bien malo!  This is some fucked shit!  What the
hell you gettin’ me into?”

Kramer shook his head looking clueless.  JC pointed to the
bed where the two pale naked bodies lay, seemingly asleep.  “Those
motherfuckers are dead!  Some overdose or somethin, and you got them other two
in the garage!”

He stammered, “I don’t know!  Oh God, I don’t know
anything!  You gotta believe me.  I had nothing to do with this!  The whole
world has gone insane!”

“Are you settin’ me up?  You got the cops waitin for me
outside?”

“NO!  NO!  NO!”

“Cálmate guey! 
Tell me who could do
this.  Somebody into serious shit here.  You know something puto.  Tell me!”

“I don’t have a clue!  But I bet she does!”  He pointed to
Anastasia dressed in her navy blue Gucci dress from the night before.  “Those
two must have killed Demarco and Oso, and then she poisoned them or something,
I don’t know.  Maybe they overdosed.  I do not know!  We’ll get some answers
when she comes out of it.”  He kept pointing at Ana, who stuck her tongue out
at him.

“Fuck you too Kramer.”  She giggled at her own snarky reply.

JC grabbed Kramer to pull him up close nose to nose.  “Listen
to me pinche gringo motherfucker.  We gonna talk to this puta.  We gonna find
out what happened.  We gonna find out where the fuck my money is.  And if you
lyin to me, I’m gonna cut off your balls and shove em up your ass.”

He let him go, shoving him off and turned to yell at his other
sidekick Pedro.  “I want her purse, her cell phone, everything.  Vamos a ver!”

* * * *

Aaron awoke to the lingering scents of sweaty bodies, old
blood, and the familiar, noxious odor of ‘Nautica Oceans’ aftershave.  He and
Michelle looked at one another, “Kramer,” they said.  “Recently.”

Michelle spoke what he already suspected to be true,
“Anastasia’s gone.”

His jaw clenched, a grinding snap-pop sound.  He glared at
her and spoke what they both knew to be true.  “Someone’s with Kramer, and
they’ve taken her.”

“I promised I’d never leave her.  There’s no way she’d ever
leave me.  It’s not possible.”

“She will need you now.  Her withdrawals would be severe.” 
Michelle’s eyes held understanding.

She reassured, “We will find her.  Don’t worry.  She is your
bloodslave
and she cannot be hidden from you.  You have a very special
connection.”

He never realized the truth of it, but now that she said it,
he knew it to be so.  He did have a feeling.  “She’s still here in Las Vegas.”

He reached out with his mind, picturing Anastasia in all her
brilliant glory, her smile, her laughter.  She was there, not far away.  “They’re
moving north, heading out of town.”

He sensed her mind, a foggy haze.  “She’s heavily drugged,
but unhurt.”

“We will find her, I promise.”  Michelle hugged him close,
lending strength with her love and support.

He tensed up in her embrace.  “She is much more than a
bloodslave.  She’s my wife.  We’ll get her back tonight.  If I have to kill
every man in Vegas to find her, we’ll get her back!”

* * * *

Kramer’s cell phone buzzed.  “Hello?”

“
Bonjour.  Monsieur
Kramer?”

“Yes!  Michelle? 
Is that you?  You’re
alive?  We … I thought you were dead!”

“
Non
. 
I am very much alive and well.  What are you doing with Anastasia?”

“Uh …”  Juan Carlos snatched the phone out of his hand.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Michelle.”

“Chingao madre.  What the fuck is going on?  I want answers!
 We got a big problem.  I don’t get the truth, some people gonna get hurt real
bad.”

“I want Anastasia alive and unharmed.”

“Ala verga.  Dis bitch está bien brava!  
Everybody
wants something.  I want something too.  I want my money and I want some
answers.  If I don’t like the answers, I’m gonna start cutting little pieces
off dis bonita putita with the pretty black hair.  Me entiendes?”

“There is no need to make threats.  We will cooperate as you
say.  How much money?  Where?”

“Hay que bueno.  I want my fifty thousand, all of it.  Then
we gonna have a little talk about you, and the people you workin for.  We gonna
get dis shit straight or somebody’s gonna get real fucked up.  Meet me at the Truck
stop on Highway 15 and 93.”  He ended the call.

JC tossed the cell back at Kramer and turned around in the
front passenger seat to face Anastasia in the back seat.  He reached out and
brushed his fingers across her cheek softly.

“I know you got something to tell me.  You talk to me now,
and you can go home all nice and pretty.  You keep quiet … ain’t gonna be so
good for you.”

Anastasia looked him in the eye, her gaze dilated and glossy. 
“He’s coming for me.  He’ll be here soon.  You guys don’t even know.  You’re so
fucked.”

He smacked her across the face with a backhand.  Her head
snapped sideways, a trickle of blood sliding down her lip.  She licked it away
and smiled.  “I can forgive you, but he never will.”

* * * *

Aaron and Michelle arrived at the truck stop in Demarco’s
black Tahoe at precisely the appointed time.  An arm reached out the driver’s
side of a white extended cab truck, waving them to follow.

They followed the truck onto a dirt road turn-off until the
gravel path hit a dead end.  Like a scene from a gritty Hollywood film, Juan
Carlos stepped out of the white truck with a semi-automatic pistol held to
Anastasia’s head.  His two sidekicks Pedro and Isidro were heavily armed with
AK-47’s, standing to either side.  Kramer slinked out last, hiding behind JC
and Anastasia.

Michelle stepped out first, then Aaron.  They had dressed
simply, Michelle in a sleeveless top and cutoff shorts, he in a white t-shirt
and blue jeans.  They could have been a young couple out for a day at the
beach, surfers, tourists.  They had purposely dressed
not
to impress,
wolves in sheep’s clothing.

JC sent Pedro to frisk them.  Pedro shoved both of them
against the Tahoe.