Dream Town, page 19
“He’s in Vegas now?”
Now Everett’s expression became more guarded. “Who wants to know?”
“Mrs. Green wanted me to fly up there to talk to him about one of his writers who’s gone missing.”
“What writer?”
“Eleanor Lamb.”
“Black hair, little, skinny number with glasses?”
“Yep. You know her?”
“She’s flown to Vegas with us before.”
“Really? Is she a gambler?”
“Don’t know. I just fly ’em there. I don’t party with them. I go to a bar, have a few beers, pull a few slot machine levers, check out the show gals.”
“So is Green still in Vegas?”
“He is. Was going to come back today, but I got a call pushing it back.”
“So what about flying me up there? Can you do that?”
“I’d have to get permission. This baby costs money to fly.”
“Why don’t you call Mrs. Green? Her husband doesn’t know me from Adam.”
“Okay, just sit tight and I’ll see. It’s a nice day to fly so I wouldn’t mind getting up there.”
He was gone a few minutes and when he came back he said, “Be ready to go in about an hour. Mrs. Green gave the okay on you.”
“Does she use the plane much?”
“Oh, yeah. But they never fly together. As I said, Mr. Green usually goes to Vegas and I don’t think Mrs. Green cares for the town much.”
“He have a regular place he stays out there?”
“Used to be the Desert Inn, then the Sahara, that opened about three months ago. But as of two weeks ago the Sands is his new favorite. Just opened in December. They got the Copa Room there. That’s where he’s staying now. Mr. Green likes all the new-new, if you get my meaning.”
“Does he gamble?”
“Oh, yeah, big roller. I hear he loses a lot more than he wins, but the guy is printing money in this town, so who cares?”
I do, thought Archer.
Chapter 40
AS THEY ROSE OFF THE TARMAC ARCHER gripped the armrest of his seat. He was directly behind Everett and could see out the front windscreen. The Beechcraft was surprisingly spacious, especially with only two people on board. The seats were comfortable and there was a small credenza which Everett had told him contained tumblers and a bottle of Bart Green’s favorite scotch.
As they climbed toward their cruising altitude he looked out the side window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The last time Archer had been on a plane was during the war. It was a troop transport. The flight was fairly short, around two hours, and there were fifty other fully geared-out grunts on board with him. As the plane was descending to land, they had taken unexpected enemy fire from a couple of German fighter planes. Archer had watched as rounds had pierced the fuselage and killed four of his comrades, including one man sitting beside him. The plane had crash-landed short of the runway, killing more men. And then Archer and the other survivors had dutifully marched off and gone straight back to fighting a war.
He hadn’t liked riding in planes much after that, but this was a breeze. Even when they hit some rough air and downdrafts and the Beechcraft bumped, swayed, and jostled some, Archer just kept looking out the window thinking of other things. He eyed the thermometer set in the ceiling of the plane and saw that they were already well into frostbite territory. When the plane reached its cruising altitude of nine thousand feet and leveled out, Everett said, “You want to sit up here? Nice ride and views at a hundred seventy knots.”
Archer changed seats and looked at the instrument panel. “Never could figure out how all this mumbo-jumbo works.”
Everett laughed. “The most important things in this plane are me and this here yoke. Either one of those gets screwed up none of that stuff will save your ass.”
“So, when was the last time Lamb flew up here with Bart Green?”
“Not exactly sure, but it’ll be in the passenger log. It’s in that compartment over there.”
Archer opened it and pulled out a leather-bound book. He flipped through the pages to the most recent flights and worked backward from there.
“A month ago tomorrow,” he said. “It was her, Green, and a guy named Tony Gleason.”
“Yeah, Little Tony. He’s Mr. Green’s bodyguard.”
“So exactly how little is Tony?”
“About four inches taller than you with about a hundred extra pounds and none of it fat that I ever saw, so of course he’s called Little Tony.”
“Why does Green need a bodyguard?”
“Man’s rich. Makes you a target.”
“Ever have any problems?”
“None that I heard of, but I wouldn’t necessarily.”
“You ever talk to Lamb?” asked Archer.
“Just to say hello. She didn’t strike me as a chatty Cathy.”
“Green talk to her while you guys were up here?”
“When the boss is on board I just do my job as the flying chauffeur and try not to listen. And he mostly reads scripts and drinks his scotch.”
“Anything between Lamb and Green?” asked Archer.
Everett laughed. “Don’t think they’re either one’s type, if you know what I mean.”
“He take anybody else up on the plane? A Cecily Ransome from his office?”
“Nope, never met her.” Everett looked at him slyly. “But he’d have some other gals. Gals a man, married or not, would love to hang out with for a good time.”
So was that why Bender was interested in the plane? Because Green was ferrying his honeys to Vegas on it?
He leafed through the pages of the flight log while Everett concentrated on his flying.
He was about to put the book back when he saw a name he recognized.
Simon Jacoby? He thought back. Alice Jacoby’s husband. He finances films, so it makes sense he’s pals with Bart Green.
“Simon Jacoby flew with Green?”
“Oh yeah. They’re good friends.”
“His wife ever fly with him?”
“No. But I have flown Mrs. Jacoby and Mrs. Mars with Mrs. Green to Lake Tahoe.”
“Just to confirm—Gloria Mars? Married to the director Danny Mars?”
“That’s right. Bart Green and Danny Mars are best pals.”
Archer had a hard time envisioning Gloria the warrior and Alice the dreamer getting along, but maybe the older and cynical Mallory Green was the glue that held them all together.
“What’s in Lake Tahoe? I’ve driven past it, but that’s all.”
“A lot of water surrounded by mountains. Part of it’s in California and part in Nevada. From the sky the lake sort of looks like a heart shape. It was pretty empty a few years ago, but it’s really getting built up, especially on the California side.”
“But why do you fly up there, is what I mean.”
“Oh, the Greens got a big house right on the water. It’s like what you call a chalet or something.”
“Does Simon Jacoby gamble, too?”
“Oh, yeah. I heard him and Mr. Green talking about what they were going to do this time.”
“Wait a minute. Jacoby flew here with Green on this trip?”
“Yeah. He’s staying at the Sands, too.” He eyed Archer, who was scanning the last filled-in page of the logbook. “He comes up with Mr. Green so often I just started putting his shorthand name in the logbook as SJ. That’s probably why you didn’t spot it.”
“What’s he look like?”
“About your height, early forties, brown hair, graying at the temples. Running to fat. Why your interest?”
“It’s a bad habit of mine. How about Danny Mars? He flies up, too?”
“Oh, yeah, all the time. He and Mr. Green are as thick as thieves.”
“I bet they are. Gambling, boozing, the ladies?”
“Yeah on the gambling, at least for both of them. The booze and the ladies are more Mars, at least what I’ve seen. Mr. Green isn’t really into that. Never seen the man gassed. But I’ve watched Jacoby and Mars get lit up like a pair of firecrackers.”
“Did Mars come up on this trip?”
“Nah, understand he’s shooting some movie.”
Archer put the logbook back and stared out the windscreen.
As they started their descent into Vegas a bit later, Everett pointed to his left. “About seventy miles north of Vegas they have the Nevada Proving Grounds.”
“Who’s trying to prove what?” asked Archer.
“You know atomic bombs?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Well, they drop ’em over there from a plane or else explode them underground. You can see the mushroom cloud all the way to Vegas. People come out for a look. It’s pretty neat.”
“Yeah, but is it safe?”
“Government says not to look directly at the detonation, but that’s about it. I was coming in for a landing once when it blew. Really surprised me. That mushroom cloud is something. But I really had to hold on to the stick because the Beechcraft was bucking all over the place with the wind coming out of that sucker. First time I was ever scared up here. Good thing I didn’t have any passengers on board. They would have been puking and screaming. Felt like I was back in the war with the Nazis in a dogfight.”
“I bet,” said Archer, looking around at the interior of the plane and hoping it would not suddenly disintegrate if a mushroom cloud appeared on the horizon.
As they landed smoothly and taxied to the terminal Everett said, “Short flight.”
“Beats driving,” said Archer. “And you’ve sort of restored my faith in air travel.”
“Anytime. Hey, you need a ride back later? The plane is equipped for night flying.”
“Not sure. Is there a number where I can contact you?”
Everett wrote on the back of a card and handed it to Archer. “Just leave word at the terminal. I can’t hang here overnight, though. I’m flying Mrs. Green to Lake Tahoe tomorrow.”
Archer walked to the terminal, hailed a cab, and headed to the Sands.
Chapter 41
ARCHER HAD BEEN TO VEGAS before to work on cases. The town was only skin deep in looks, but very serious about how it made a living. The mob had its felonious fingers in casinos, bars, lounges, prostitution rings, numbers rackets, and every other criminal and legal enterprise that made a buck off people’s weaknesses.
Archer knew that everyone from the Teamsters Union to nearby Mormon bankers had jumped aboard the Vegas train and had loaned money to put up more gambling dens. The Desert Inn, the Sahara, and the Sands had just been the latest wave, and it had forced existing casinos to up their game. Since coming here, Archer had seen the Last Frontier become the Silver Slipper, and the Eldorado transform into Binion’s Horseshoe Casino.
From the cab, he looked out at the forty-foot-tall cowboy neon sign that sat atop the Pioneer Club. Nicknamed Vegas Vic, the cowpoke could wink, light a cigarette with its dexterous mechanical hands, and blow smoke rings skyward with the same engineering. It also used to call out, “Howdy, pardner,” every fifteen minutes until enough people complained about the noise and the creepiness that Vic was now, thankfully, mute.
Once it was dark, doses of preening neon, like high-kicking stockinged legs seducing all comers, would flash on. The sign for the Sands was up on a lattice-style structure that also added the phrase, “A Place in the Sun.” Well, that’s what you get when building in a desert, thought Archer. And, perhaps symbolizing that, right across the street was just a pile of dirt.
In the spacious lobby, Bart Green’s photo and a ten spot paid over to a bellhop scored Archer the information that Bart Green was staying at the hotel.
Archer checked in, went to his room, took off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. On the spur of the moment, he called Dash long-distance and told him where he was and what he was planning to do.
“Okay, Archer, but Vegas can be a very dangerous place in unforeseen ways. Watch your back and your front.”
“Got it, Willie. Thanks.”
Archer found Bart Green at a poolside seating area ensconced with two ladies and a young man in a seersucker suit, the latter in deep conversation with the tubby Green. There was no one matching Simon Jacoby’s description. Bender’s reports that Green never went public with the ladies didn’t seem to apply here.
A man who could only be Little Tony was hovering near his boss. He was dressed in beige lightweight linen slacks and a brown-and-green-checked jacket. A hand-painted tie fronted his white shirt. His gaze swiveled as he kept his eyes on Green and everyone near him.
Archer sat at a poolside table, ordered a club soda, and smoked a cigarette while pretending to read a newspaper someone had left behind. The sun was starting to go down and, as the daytime temps had only reached the low sixties, Archer could sense that the evening temperatures were going to dip dramatically. The number of people around the pool was limited because of the cooler weather, and there were only two hardy souls in the water.
Green wore a Panama hat with a black band and had on a dark T-shirt under his crisp, monogrammed white shirt. His brown slacks were pleated and cuffed, and his shoes were shiny. He had a protruding belly that he seemed either proud or sick of because he kept rubbing it. He wore aviator reflector sunglasses, which was in keeping with a guy with his own plane. He had given up on the reedy mustache Archer had seen in the photo Mallory Green had provided him, and was now clean-shaven. A tall, cool drink sat next to him on a table.
The ladies were in their early twenties and dressed in matching two-piece bright blue swimsuits with open terrycloth robes that stopped right below their bottoms. One was blond, the other brunette. They were tanned and toned, and they sipped on drinks with umbrellas and looked vastly contented with their young lives so far. A bottle of suntan powder was on the table between them.
The seersucker man had a notepad and was writing things down as Green dictated. Next to him on a low table was a movie script open about halfway. Archer couldn’t hear Green’s words, but the young man was apparently taking them as seriously as Moses had with God.
The young man finally closed his notepad, picked up the script, rose, gave a comical salute to his boss, and walked away. Green said something to one of the girls and she laughed right on cue. Little Tony didn’t even crack a smile. He was staring at Archer as a potential threat, because Archer had risen and was walking directly over to them.
Little Tony barred his way while Green looked intrigued. The two girls studied Archer, giving each other a revealing look and then giggling.
“Keep moving, buddy, this is private real estate,” said Little Tony, whose voice was, counterintuitively, high-pitched and reedy. Maybe that was why he looked so pissed, thought Archer. He probably preferred going through life with his mouth shut and letting his impressive size do the talking for him.
Archer held up his license and said loudly enough for Green to hear. “Name’s Archer. I’m working with the LA County cops on a missing person’s case and a homicide.” He peered around Little Tony to eye Green. “The missing person works for you, Mr. Green. Eleanor Lamb?”
Green looked at him and said in a baritone voice that would have seemed more in keeping with the giant Tony, “Have a seat, Mr. Archer. Pick which fruit of the loin you wish to sit next to. Be careful, they both bite.”
The girls tittered on cue and began to look cute and batty-eyed.
Little Tony moved aside reluctantly.
Archer chose the brunette who let her robe fall fully open and curled her long brown legs up under her nice blue-clad bottom, where a sliver of enticing white skin peeked at him. She smiled while tugging provocatively on her straw with lips the color of cherries. She had gone overboard on the eyeliner and her eyelashes were long enough to catch flies. She looked a few seconds from jumping Archer.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Mitzi.”
“Archer, nice to meet you.”
“And I’m Gayle,” said the other. “We’re sisters.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” said Archer.
They both tittered over this until Green told them to take a hike back to their rooms and get fluffed up and decked out for dinner.
They reluctantly left, each still batting her eyes at Archer, while Little Tony just scowled.
“Little Tony, you can move a few feet away. I doubt Archer has anything dangerous planned.”
Little Tony moved exactly four feet away, Archer noted. He said to Green, “How’s Vegas? Casino treating you all right?”
“What casino treats any gambler all right?”
“I hear they tear up Sinatra’s chits so long as he keeps singing and bringing his buddies along.”
Green half lowered his sunglasses to reveal a pair of deep-set blue eyes. “They do. But I can’t sing like Sinatra.”
“I see you were working on a script.”
“Might as well. I’m writing this whole trip off to the business.” He took a long drink from his long glass. He wiped his lips with a paper napkin with the Sands logo on it and said, “Mind telling me how you knew I was here?”
“Confidential sources, but they turned out to be good ones.” Archer wasn’t about to tell him that he had used the man’s plane to get here. That might earn him a headlock and attempted drowning in the pool by Little Tony. “Lamb told me someone was trying to kill her. Then she vanished. I’ve been hired by your partner to find Lamb.”
“Cecily? Really?” Green didn’t seem to believe this. “So you’ve spoken to her?”
“I’ve spoken to a lot of people.”
“You mentioned a homicide?”
“Guy found at Lamb’s house. Somebody put a bullet in his brain. PI from Anaheim named Cedric Bender.”
Archer waited for a reaction to this. He didn’t expect the man to do what his wife had, but he was hoping for something. But he didn’t get it.
“If Ellie already had a PI why did she want to hire you?”
“I don’t think Bender was working for her.”
“Who then?”
“You’ve got no ideas on that?”
“Why should I? Sure, Ellie works for me. But we aren’t close friends.”
