Rachel fed coins into the RHOLV slot machine as I watched Lake. He played for 20 more minutes, then stood from his stool, tipped the dealer, and headed for the cashier’s window. “Come on,” I said. “Unless you’ve got a gambling addiction you never told me about.”
She jumped up and punched the screen. “Stupid machine.”
Lake collected his money and stuffed it into a paper bag. He followed him outside. The sunlight was blinding after hours in the dark casino. We followed Lake at a distance, hoping I’d parked near the right Hyundai. I was unlucky at blackjack, but lucky with cars, and we pulled out just as Lake headed toward the street.
Another car backed out unexpectedly. We exchanged angry horn blasts, and I lost sight of the Hyundai for a moment. But Rachel was on him.
“He went right.” She pointed. “There’s a red light, I think he’s still up there.”
I got another blaring honk and the finger from a driver I cut off making the turn, and swerved out of my lane to cut in again two cars behind Hyundai. I was not popular among the drivers on this street.
“Who are you, Steve McQueen?” Rachel punched my shoulder. “Let’s not get in an accident two yards behind him!”
“I’m Starsky, you’re Hutch.” I stared at Lake’s car, hoping the commotion hadn’t attracted his attention.
“Who?” Rachel gaped at me.
“You’ve never watched classic TV? Wait until I get you home.” I nudged the accelerator as the light changed.
I didn’t have to do any fancy driving after that. I just had to stay close enough to Lake’s car without being obvious. After a few miles he got into the highway, which made things easier.
“How much money do you think he won?” I stayed a few car lengths behind. The hot desert sun gave our air conditioner a workout. At least the Nissan handled smoothly.
“A couple of hundred, maybe? You were watching him, not me.”
So where was he going?
We found out after about 40 miles, when he took an exit, drove for ten minutes, and pulled into the parking lot of a long building. It had two floors, no windows, and pink aluminum siding. A big sign on the roof read THE BUNNY HOLE in flashing neon in the daytime.
A bordello. Out in the legal zone.
“Okay.” I parked two cars away from the Hyundai. “This could explain a lot.”
Rachel sighed. “Men are scum.”
I wished I could argue, but years of trailing cheating husbands and boyfriends have led me to the same conclusion. I reached for the door handle. “Maybe I should go inside and—ow!” Rachel jabbed her elbow in my ribs.
I winced. “Okay, we’ll just wait out here.” I looked around and saw at least one security camera mounted on the roof. “Until they run us off.”
We sat for 10 minutes with the A/C running full blast in our faces. A man appeared from around the side of the building, walking fast. He was tall and bulky, like a retired linebacker, with a thin goatee, wearing jeans and a loose denim jacket. He stood beside a pickup truck for a minute, staring at the front door, then clambered into front seat and drove away. Another happy customer?
Five minutes later Lake marched out of the bordello. He slouched in his car for a moment, then turned the key and started up.
“That was quick.” I waited to start up until he was turning onto the road again, back toward the highway.
“That’s usually what the girl says.” Rachel crossed her arms.
“He barely had time to get his pants off.” I turned the wheel and hit the accelerator. “This is something else.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Back at the hotel I roamed the parking lot until I found Lake’s car. We picked up our bags and headed for our room. Rachel wanted to go to the pool, so I went down to look for Lake in the casino.
His reservation was for the whole weekend, Friday through Sunday. Would he spend three full days gambling? I found him at another blackjack table, but I didn’t join him this time, in case he recognized me. He played for half an hour, won a stack of chips, and cashed them in before picking up his bag from the luggage check and heading to an elevator.
I found Rachel by the pool in a zebra-striped bikini, and for a moment I forgot all about the case. She peered over her sunglasses at me. “So where is he now?”
“Up in his room, I guess.” I sat down. “I should probably stake out the lobby in case he heads out again.”
“Isn’t that him now?” She pointed. “Over there.”
I turned. Lake was in shorts and a T-shirt, carrying a towel and a book. He walked slowly to a deck chair fifty yards away and sat down, looking tired.
“That makes it easy.” I leaned back. “Except for the distraction of you.”
She smirked. “I’ll leave you alone for a while.” She stood up and walked to the pool for a swim.
I kept an eye on Lake, occasionally sneaking glances at Rachel as she swam. Lake read his book. I checked messages on my phone for a few minutes, then concentrated on Lake and tried not to look at Rachel.
Suddenly Lake stood up, dropping his book, his phone pressed to his ear. Leaving the book he walked, then ran through the row of chairs to the hotel, pushing between a young guy and his girlfriend on their way to the water.
I followed as fast as I could without drawing attention—past the casino, through the lobby, and out into the dazzling sunlight over the parking lot, but Lake was too fast. I saw his Hyundai heading toward the exit before I was halfway to my rented Nissan.
What the hell? I stood in the lot for a minute, then headed back inside. Out by the pool Rachel had toweled off. “What happened?”
“Looks like he got a phone call. He ran.” I shrugged. “Lost him.” It happens.
“Oops.” She wrapped herself in a terrycloth kimono. “Now what?”
“I’ll stake out the lobby. He’s got to come back.”
So she went up to the room to change, and I bought a paperback novel at the gift shop so I’d look like I was doing something while I waited for Lake to return. It turned out to be Stephen King’s latest, but I’ve seen enough supernatural monsters myself that it wouldn’t distract me. Or scare me. A cute waitress in tight shorts brought me a beer.
Then my phone buzzed. Rachel. “Find a bar or something where the news is on TV.” She sounded urgent. “There’s a fire at that whorehouse.”
The hotel bar had slot machines in every booth and at both ends of the polished bar. It also had a TV, tuned to the local news station. After a segment on some political scandal, the picture changed to show smoke billowing in the clear sky. The camera lowered to show fire trucks in front of the Bunny Hole.
People were talking and slot machines were ringing, but the TV had captioning on. “—say gunshots were heard but no injuries were reported, and everyone got out safely, employees and customers. Manager Crystal Hartwell—”
A busty middle-aged woman in a pink pantsuit, her curly blond hair scattered, came on the screen. “The smoke alarm came on, and we just evacuated. We run fire drills once a week, right? I was just making sure all my girls are fine—”
Back to the exterior, the smoke now gone, soot staining the aluminum siding, firefighters packing up. “—say the cause of the fire is not yet known. Since the structural damage is minimal, Hartwell says she plans to reopen tomorrow. Stay tuned for weather from—”
I already knew the weather. Hot.
Rachel sat down next to me. “So what do you think, Sherlock?”
I shrugged. “Could be a coincidence—nah,” I said before she could punch me. “I think I’d better go out there again. You hang out in the lobby and watch for Lake.” I handed her my Stephen King.
She snorted. “You’re just dying for an excuse to visit a whorehouse, aren’t you?”
“I walk the mean streets.” I stood up. “Call me if you see our target.”
She looked at the book. “Stephen King? Really?”
“Buy your own book. Just make sure it isn’t anything really want to read. And get a receipt.” I kissed her. “Wish me luck.”
“In a whorehouse? No way.”
Crystal Hartwell crossed her arms under her chest. “We’re closed. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”
I’d seen the sign and ignored it. I tried to ignore her chest too. Good thing Rachel wasn’t here.
I’d expected the Bunny Hole to look like a cross between a saloon in an old western movie, with a player piano in the corner and bottles of rotgut whiskey on the bar, and a modern-day strip joint with brass poles and flashing neon lights. Instead it was more like the lounge of a high-end hotel, with leather chairs and couches, TVs mounted on the walls—blank—and a long marble bar with taps of craft beers, bottles of high-end liquor, and boxes of cigars around a gurgling fountain in the back. Pink wallpaper lined the room, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
The place was empty. Apparently the working gals had gone home because of the fire. I showed her a picture on my phone of Gary Lake. “He was here right before the fire started—”
“Can’t talk about my customers.”
“I’m not sure he was a customer. His name’s Gary Lake. He was only here a few minutes—”
“Sorry.” She shook her head without looking at the phone.
A blonde woman walked out from a hallway in sweats and a sports bra. “Those guys are almost done pulling out the drywall. I’ve got fans going everywhere for the smoke.”
“Good. The company should show up to put in new drywall and paint soon.” She looked at me. “Get Tonya. Hey, any sign of Sara?”
The woman shrugged. “I figure she just left with her—”
“Just get Tonya.” Crystal folded her arms. “Anything else?”
I wondered who Tonya was. “Did you get a look at who started the fire? You’ve got security cameras—”
“We’re working on that.” Crystal turned her head as a tall Black woman in jeans and a tank top emerged from a door behind the bar. “Tonya, this guy was just leaving.”
Her tank top showed muscles in her arms and shoulders. Not that I’d fight her. I smiled at both of them. “Thanks. Good luck with the repairs.”
Another woman appeared from the hallway. Long black hair, she wore a short yellow sun dress, possibly without a bra. “Hey, Crystal, can I go home? Double-A is having some kind of a crisis. Jerk.”
“Whatever. We’ll be open tomorrow.” Crystal turned to me. “Come back then if you want to party.”
No heart of gold here. I went back out to my Nissan, cranked up the air conditioning but stayed in the lot. Two men lugged plastic garbage bags from a side door and dumped them in the back of a pickup truck. I took out my phone and called Rachel.
“No sign of him,” she said. “I did a walk through the casino too. What about you? Are they offering a fire sale discount there or something? I just hope you didn’t pick up something disgusting.”
“She wouldn’t let me through the door. Keep an eye out, I’ll be back soon.”
“Grab some extra condoms if you can.” She hung up.
I called Marcia Lake. “I’ve lost track of your husband,” I told her. “Nothing to worry about, but could you call him? Make up an excuse? Ask where he is?”
“Just a minute.” She left me on, and I heard four buzzes. Then: “Hi, this is Gary Lake. Please leave me a message and I’ll call you back soon.”
“Gary? It’s Marcy. Just wondering how you’re doing. Hope you’re having fun.” She paused. “Call me when you have time. Love you.” She cut the connection. “That’s kind of funny, he usually picks up when it’s me. What’s going on? How did you lose him?”
“He gambled in the hotel, won some money, and then he went to, well . . .” I hesitated, but she was the client. “A bordello. But he only stayed for a few minutes. Not enough time to, uh, do anything,” I added quickly. “Then later he was out at the pool and got a phone call, and left in a hurry. I couldn’t follow him.”
She was silent a moment. “I can’t believe—well, I hired you, obviously, but still—I don’t know. All right, let me know if you find him. I’ll call you if he calls me.”
We hung up.
I waited a few more minutes, trying to think of something to do. When one of the workmen came from the side door again carrying another garbage bag, I figured I could do what I do best—ask some questions.
“Hi.” I walked up to him. “Tom Jurgen. How’d the fire start?”
He gave me a skeptical look. “You a reporter?” He was Hispanic, young and muscular.
“Nah, I’m a detective. Not police. Just curious.”
He tossed the bag into the back of the pickup. “Looks like someone poured some gas inside over a bunch of trash. Clothes, cardboard, papers.”
I pointed to the roof. “They must have caught it on the camera, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just tearing out the drywall.”
The other guy came around the corner just then. “Hey, Hector! Stop talking and help me with this last piece!”
“Thanks.” I headed to my car.
Back on the road my phone buzzed. Marcia Lake. “He called back. He said—he said he just got kicked out of one place, but now he’s at someplace called the Empress. And he said—he said he might have to stay a few more days. This is weird. What’s going on?”
“Huh.” I didn’t know. “I’ll try to catch him at the Empress. Do you want me to contact him directly?”
“Y-yeah. I think so. He won’t tell me, but . . . I don’t know. This is so weird.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I pulled over onto the shoulder. The Nissan had GPS, and I found the Empress fast.
I called Rachel. “Take a cab to a casino called the Empress. It’s on the Strip. Look for Lake. Follow him if he leaves. I’ll meet you there.”
“You’re kind of sexy when you take command like this.” Rachel giggled. “Okay, ahead warp factor one.”
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