I frowned. He seemed so average, so regular, that it was surprising how utterly he controlled the conversation.
"Yes, actually. I could have sworn the boxer in the red shorts noticed those two men, and then almost right after he spotted them, he lost the match," I said.
"And?"
"And then, I saw lots of money changing hands," I continued.
Matt Smith nodded and polished a pair of wire rim glasses I had not noticed before. He said nothing and waited.
"I think they might have fixed the fight and told that poor boxer to lose. That way they can place bets and win big," I said.
He slipped his glasses on and pushed them up his nose. "And now, they're trying the same thing with Mr. Morris?"
"Oh my God," I said. "That's awful. We have to call the police."
"What would the police do?" Matt asked. "There is no proof. The men will deny threatening Mr. Morris. It would be his word against theirs. And, I doubt things will get better for him after they learn he has talked to the police."
I stood up and handed back the plain, tan sport coat. "There has to be something we can do. I'll talk to Fenton right away. Maybe you can get photographs of them doing what they just did?"
"People carry cash in Las Vegas, that's no crime," Matt pointed out.
I thought about the large wad the tall man had pulled from to buy my drink. "Oh my God, no wonder Fenton did not want me talking to that man. Of all the men in that bar, I managed to flirt with the one trying to strong-arm him into a throwing a fight. No wonder he hates me!"
"I think it’s possible that it’s the opposite of hate." He slipped back on the tan sport coat.
"I've got to go," I told him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith."
I turned around at the arena door and was not surprised when the nondescript man was already gone. He never answered what kind of work he did for Fenton. For such an average looking man, he was incredibly good at his job.
I rushed back over to the Tropicana and into the dark bar. In the time it took for my eyes to adjust, I groped my way to the empty booth. Fenton was gone. There was nothing there but a large shoebox and a pair of custom-made shoes with his name on them.
"Back to throw yourself at him again?" Alice Meadows asked as she came up behind me.
"Couldn't get him to keep the shoes on?" I asked. "That can't be a good sign."
She snatched the shoes out of my hands. "He had them on and he liked them. We'll have Fenton Morris signed by the morning."
"You and Bethany always work in tandem. At least, that's what people like to say you do. I mean, I guess I can't judge the way you get your results because you definitely get results, I just don't know how you can do it," I said.
"Don't be such a prude, Kya," she said. "Just because we're women doesn't mean we're not allowed to enjoy sex and have it just for fun."
There was a lump in my throat and I swallowed hard. "Is that where Bethany is? Having fun?"
"Why? Would that bother you? Is the Country Club Princess falling for a blue collar fighter?" Alice asked.
"Ooo, did she admit it?" Bethany asked as she joined Alice in the booth and handed her a large drink with two umbrellas sticking out of the top. "I bet Alice you'd fall for Fenton Morris. They say opposite attract, right?"
I shook my head. "I don't have time for junior high gossip. Where is Fenton?"
Alice sipped her drink and shrugged. "Beats me. One minute he was slamming tequila, and the next, he was gone. I thought he'd gone off to find you. Way he was looking at you all night. What a waste."
"When did he leave?" I asked.
"About twenty minutes ago," Bethany said.
I ran for the door and straight out to the cabstand. I had to find Fenton before something bad happened.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN