Las Vegas Noir Read Online Free PDF Page B

new keys, he’d sat down on the bench beside her, launching in, some character named Jimmy.
    “He’s a stand-up guy,” Nick said. “Looker, too. You’ll like him.”
    “You pitching him as a customer, or a date?”
    Nick raised his hands, a coy smile, “All things are possible,” inflecting the words with that paisano thing he fell into sometimes.
    Natalie slept in her stroller, exhausted from an hour on the swings, the slide, the merry-go-round. Sam wondered about that, whether it was really good for kids to indulge that giddy instinct for dizziness. Where did it lead?
    “Tell me again how you met this guy.”
    “He wanted a wall safe, I installed it for him.”
    She squinted in the sun, shaded her eyes. “What’s he need a wall safe for?”
    “That’s not a question I ask. You want, I provide. That’s business, as you well know.”
    She suffered him a thin smile. With the gradual expansion of her clientele—no one but referrals, but even so her base had almost doubled—she’d watched herself pulling back from people, even old friends, a protective, judicious remove. And that was lonely-making. Worse, she’d gotten used to it, and that seemed a kind of living death. The only grace was Natalie, but even there, the oneness she’d felt those first incredible months, that had changed as well. She still adored the girl, loved her to pieces, that wasn’t the issue. Little girls grow up, their mothers get lonely, where’s the mystery? She just hadn’t expected it to start so soon.
    “He’s a contractor,” Nick went on, “works down in Hen-derson. I saw the blueprints and, you know, stuff in his place when I was there. Look, you don’t need the trade, forget about it. But I thought, I dunno, maybe you’d like the guy.”
    “I don’t need to like him.”
    “I meant ‘like’ as in ‘do business.’”
    Sam checked the stroller. Natalie had her thumb in her mouth, eyes closed, her free hand balled into a fist beneath her chin.
    “You know how this works,” Sam said. “He causes trouble, anything at all—I mean this, Nick—anything at all comes back at me, it’s on you, not just him.”
    They met at the Elephant Walk, and it turned out Nick was right, the guy turned heads—an easy grace, cowboy shoulders, lady-killer smile. He ordered Johnny Walker Black with a splash, and Sam remembered, from her days working cocktail, judging men by their drinks. He’d ordered wisely. And yet there were signs—a jitter in the hands, a slight head tic, the red in those killer blue eyes. Then again, if she worried that her customers looked like users, who would she sell to?
    “Nick says you’re a contractor.”
    He shook his head. “Project manager.”
    “There’s a difference?”
    “Sometimes. Not often enough.” He laughed, and the laugh was self-effacing, one more winning trait. “I buy materials, hire the subs, make sure the bonds are current and we’re all on time. But the contractor’s the one with his license on the line.”
    “Sounds demanding.”
    “Everything’s demanding. If it means anything.”
    She liked that answer. “And to relax, you …?”
    He shrugged. “I’ve got a bike, a Triumph, old bandit 350, gathering dust in my garage.” Another self-effacing smile. “Amazing how boring you can sound when stuff like that comes out.”
    Not boring, she thought. Just normal. “Ever been married?”
    A fierce little jolt shot through him. “Once. Yeah. High school sweetheart kind of thing. Didn’t work out.”
    She got the hint, and steered the conversation off in a different direction. They talked about Nick, the stories they’d heard him tell about his TV days, wondering which ones to believe. Sam asked about how the two men had met, got the same story she’d heard from Nick, embellished a little, not too much. Things were, basically, checking out.
    Sensing it was time, she signaled the bartender to settle up. “Well, it’s been very nice meeting you, Jimmy. I have to get