“What the hell,” the man spat out, whirling around with fists balled. He stared up into the face of the towering Reuben Rhodes, who snatched the stick off the table and held it up.
Reuben said, “The man’s done playing, so I suggest you let him collect his chips and go on his way, before I take this stick and ram it right up your fat ass.”
CHAPTER 32
LATER, OVER A DRINK in a bar, Reuben scolded Milton. “Dammit, first blackjack and now craps. I told you to blend in, Milton, not stick out. You’re making our job a lot harder by turning into a casino shark.”
Milton looked chastened. “I’m sorry, Reuben, you’re right, of course. I guess I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
“And exactly how are you going to get your cash without revealing who you are? When you win big in a casino you have to fill out tax paperwork with your name, address and Social Security number. You want Bagger to have that info?”
“I read about that requirement, Reuben. I’m going to use a fake ID. They won’t know the difference.”
“What if they run the ID from here on some database?”
“My ID shows me to be a citizen of Great Britain; the U.S. has no taxing authority over me. And I highly doubt the casino is linked to any database in England.”
Sufficiently mollified, Reuben explained to Milton what he had learned from Angie.
“So if we can pin those crimes on Bagger, Susan will be home free,” Milton said.
“Easier said than done. A guy like Bagger knows how to cover his tracks.”
“Well, maybe I can start uncovering them.”
“How?”
“Oliver told us about this Anthony Wallace. Bagger found out about him and nearly killed him. Well, how did he find out about him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know it’s late but call Oliver and Susan. Ask her for any information about Wallace that she can think of. Where he was staying, doing, that sort of thing.”
Reuben made the call and then turned back to his friend.
“Oliver woke her up and asked her. Wallace was staying in the hotel right across the street from the Pompeii. He was using an alias, Robby Thomas, from Michigan. Five-eight, slender, dark hair, a real cute-boy type. He was staying in a room with a direct sight line onto Bagger’s office.”
“That’s what I needed to know.” Milton rose.
“Where are you going?” Reuben asked.
“Across the street. Because the probabilities are that Bagger figured out Wallace was spying on him. If so, he’d want to check it out. So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“How?”
“I haven’t been hanging around Susan for nothing. Sit tight.”
Milton’s nimble mind worked out the details on the way across the street.
At the front desk of the hotel he said, “I’m looking for a Mr. Robert Thomas. He goes by Robby. He’s supposed to be staying at this hotel. Could you ring his room for me?”
After a quick check on the computer the clerk shook his head. “We don’t have a guest by that name.”
Milton displayed a confused look. “That’s very odd. He and my son went to Michigan together. We were supposed to have dinner together.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Could I have gotten the date wrong? My secretary made the arrangements and she’s been known to mess up in the past. I’d feel just terrible if I stood him up.”
The clerk clicked a few keys. “We did have a Robert Thomas from Michigan staying with us, but that was some time back.”
“Oh my God, I am going to fire my secretary the minute I get back home. I wonder why Robby didn’t call me.”
“Who gave him your contact information?”
Milton let out a gasp. “My secretary! That idiot! Wrong date, probably wrong phone number if she bothered to give him one at all.”
The clerk gave him a sympathetic look.
“Well, I hope Robby had a good time while he was here.”
The clerk glanced at the screen. “Records show he had a massage. So if you missed dinner with him, at least he was relaxed.”
Milton laughed. “God, a massage, I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“We have a great staff.”
“Do you have to be a guest here?”
“Oh no, I can make an appointment for you right now if you’d like.”
“I tell you what, let me have the same masseuse Robby did. She and I can swap Robby stories. He’s quite a character and I’m sure the masseuse will remember him.”
The clerk smiled. “Right you are, sir. Let me make the call.”
The clerk dialed the spa, spoke for a couple minutes and then his face clouded. “Oh, right, I didn’t realize it was her. Okay, I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and turned to Milton.
“I’m afraid you can’t have the same masseuse, sir.”
“Oh, she no longer works here?”
“It’s not that.” The clerk dropped his voice. “She, well, she died.”
“Oh my God. Accident?”
“I really can’t say, sir.”
“I completely understand. So sad. Was she young?”
“Yes. And Cindy was a really nice person.”
“Well, that’s just awful.”
“Would you still like a massage with someone else? We actually have an opening for you now.”
“Yes, yes, I believe I will. Cindy, you said her name was?”
“That’s right. Cindy Johnson.”
“I’ll have to let Robby know.”
An hour later Milton had received a vigorous massage by a very enthusiastic woman named Helen. However, when he casually raised the issue of Cindy’s death, Helen became somber.
“It was awful. Here today, gone tomorrow sort of thing.”
“Accident I heard,” Milton said as he sat in the lounge wrapped in a robe and sipping a cup of spring water.
Helen snorted. “Accident?”
“You don’t think it was?”
“I’m not saying one way or another. None of my business really. But her poor mom’s busted up over it, I can tell you that.”
“Her mother? Poor woman? Did she have to come to town to ID the body?”
“What? No, Dolores lives right here. Works a craps table at the Pompeii.”
“Well, goodness gracious, I was just there.”
“Small world,” Helen said.
“Poor Mrs. Johnson,” Milton said. “To lose one’s daughter like that.”
“I know. And it’s Mrs. Radnor now, she remarried. Cin liked her stepdad all right, so she said.”
Milton finished his water. “Well, thank you for a great massage. I feel like a new man.”
“Anytime, sir, anytime.”
CHAPTER 33
ONCE BACK AT THE POMPEII, Milton filled Reuben in on what he’d discovered.
His friend looked impressed. “Damn, Milton, Susan has rubbed off on you.”
A few well-placed twenties later, the two men were directed to Dolores Radnor’s craps table. Milton bet on a hot shooter while he sized up the woman. She was thin and wrinkle-faced with a perpetually sad air about her. An hour later she took a break and Milton followed her to a