Charlie used a pay phone near a men’s room in the casino to call Agent Thomas of the DEA. When the agent picked up on the second ring, Charlie said, “It’s Charlie Pellecchia. Your boy just took another shot at me. I was lucky. The punk they sent is on hiay to the hospital. I just wanted to thank you for all -”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” the DEA agent yelled. “Talk to me. I just observed -”
“Fuck you!” Charlie yelled. He hung up the receiver and juked his way through the lobby crowd. When he reached the driveway, he could see the flashing lights of an ambulance.
When he stood on the line for a taxi, Charlie spotted John Denton heading his way. Charlie clenched his teeth in anticipation of a confrontation.
“We need to talk,” Denton said. “I know this is weird, but we need to talk.”
Charlie searched the crowd behind him for the Asian kid he had spotted on the house telephone in the lobby earlier.
“Charlie?” Denton persisted. “We need to talk.”
Charlie pushed his wife’s lover to move up in the taxi line.
“I’m not asking you to come along,” he told Denton.
“Come along where? I came to you when the police didn’t show up at the hospital. I already called them.”
“You gave them the names?”
“No. I just called the detective I spoke with originally. I left a message for him to call me back. He didn’t call, so I came here. I didn’t know if you got my message or not.”
Charlie shoved his way past Denton as he sat inside a taxi. When Denton followed him, Charlie said, “I’m going there right now. I’m going to see this guy who’s trying to kill me.”
“That’s crazy,” Denton said. “This is the mob we’re dealing with. I’m a lawyer. I can lose my license if I don’t report this. I can’t hold back information.”
Charlie told the driver to take them to the Bellagio.
“It’s insane,” Denton continued. “I already called that detective. I’m just waiting for him to get back to me. I’m not even sure Lisa will want to go along with it, pressing charges. It’s the mob, damn it! You can’t fight them.”
“You’re right,” Charlie said. “You are a lawyer.”
“That’s a cheap shot.”
Charlie glared at Denton.
“Suppose this guy today is setting you up?” Denton asked.
“What guy?”
“The guy who came to the hospital. The one I called you about. Suppose he just wanted to find you. Maybe he already has. Maybe they’re following us right now.”
“Somebody already followed me. That’s what that ambulance was about back there. I was lucky. I’m not giving them a third chance.”
“Which is why you should go to the police with this.”
“I don’t have time to explain it now,” Charlie said. “Nicholas Cuccia, right? That’s one of the names.”
“And a Joey Francone.”
“And a Joey Francone. Fine. Nicky and Joey, welcome to my world.”
“What about Lisa?” Denton asked.
Charlie glared at his wife’s lover one more time.
“I feel like a nap,” Francone said. He was down to his royal blue bikini underwear and muscle T-shirt. He sat back against the pillows propped up against the headboard.
The hooker handed him a refill of his drink, a Stolichnaya screwdriver. “Have another sip,” she said. “It’ll help you relax. Then I can finish relaxing you.”
“I’ll bet you can,” Francone said before sippin the drink.
The hooker stroked his thigh near his crotch. He was stuck in a semierect stage but was too drugged to notice. The hooker sipped at her Sprite through a straw. Her lips formed a smile around the straw.
He had told her as much about his work as he could fit in a twenty-minute conversation. He was waiting to become a made man, he had told her. He was waiting for the mob books to open again back in New York. He was so close he could taste it.
The hooker wasn’t sure what mob books were. She had heard about made men and wiseguys and other gangsters, but she had also heard or read about how gangsters testified against each other once they were arrested. She had watched that special on Dateline or 20/20, or maybe it was on CNN, about one boss testifying against another boss. Or maybe it was the assistant to the boss testifying against the boss. It didn’t matter. It made her dizzy then and it made her dizzy now to think about it. Who cared about the mob or mob books? She had another sucker about to fall asleep right in front of her.
“So, are you really a gangster?” she asked as she watched him slide slowly toward unconsciousness.
“Yesssss,” he said as he started to slur his words. “But you shouldn’t be thcared. I ike you. I rearry rike yourrr.”
“I like you, too,” she said.
“You erra been to Rew Rork?”
“Sure,” the hooker said. “Lots of times.”
Francone’s eyes closed before he could register her answer.