Cat In A White Tie And Tails

Now that we are home I will get back to pursuing evil weevils like the Viper and the Weasel all the live-long day. And night.

Evil Weevils is what I privately call the bad guys and girls, both of which I am hoping to foil and eradicate like bugs on the beautiful neon desert lily that is my native town of Las Vegas.

Now that I have taken down a couple of Chicago hoods I am ready for a no-holds-barred campaign against these Synth characters who have been messing up my compadres’ lives since day one.

Life would be dull without vile forces to battle, be they fleas or felons, however.

Chapter 30

Surprise Park

Cop cars often met at the far end of fast-food joint parking lots, pulling up to each other with the noses pointed opposite ways so the cops could speak through the driver’s side windows.

That was impractical in Las Vegas, given the usual heat and the vehicle’s air-conditioning blowing in the wind and burning expensive gas.

So Max left his Volkswagen well hidden behind a tall stand of pampas grass and hiked into the picnic area of Sunrise Park.

He passed Molina’s new Prius, a classic silver color ideal for the Vegas climate, unlike the heat-absorbing and apropos black of his Beetle. Still, it was low and easy to hide, especially at night.

Unlike Sunset Park, tucked under McCarran Airport on the south side of the city, Sunrise Park was smaller, less well kept, and tucked under Nellis Air Force Base on the city’s north side.

It was twelve miles north of McCarran and eight miles from the Strip. Meeting here was as far off the hustle, bustle, and recognition factor of the Strip as you could get and still be convenient.

In the early morning, both tennis courts were occupied, although the surfaces looked rugged.

Molina was sitting on a picnic table in one of her signature khaki summer pantsuits, her buckskin loafer-clad feet planted on the built-in seat.

Max broke into a lope to get there.

“No need to rush. You’re right on time,” she said, checking the serviceable watch on her wrist. Everything she wore was serviceable. On the job, for sure, and often off it.

The suit jacket pockets would contain a cell phone, but an overworked homicide lieutenant wanted faster access and the precision of the second hand.

Someone really needed to take this woman to the Bellagio shops and outfit her.

Max slowed, surprised he had to catch his breath a bit.

“Moving better, but still not in prime shape,” she noted, watching the lime green tennis balls lob back and forth over the nets through her drugstore sunglasses.

“It’ll take time.” Max planted a leg on the seat and pushed up to sit on the table, not too close, glad the leg accepted the pressure without buckling, although a quiver of pain ran up the thigh.

“What’s to report?” she asked.

“The Goliath murder is not a cold case.”

“Because?”

“Because someone is watching the old security camera access shafts.”

“You know this because?”

“I had to punch him out to escape once I’d reached the observation nest over the casino table where the DB was found a couple years ago.”

“DB. Dead body. Very CSI TV. You could have phoned that information in.”

“Yes, but I can’t plea-bargain long distance.”

“What did you do now?”

He laughed. “You sound like my mother.”

“You have one?”

“Had.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s past tense in the distance sense, not the death sense. As far as I know,” he added.

She frowned at the implication. Max realized he’d never heard a whisper about Molina’s family of origin. It was just mother and daughter, maybe too much so.

“How do you know anything about your family history, Mr. Amnesia Man?” she asked.

“Garry and I discussed it on our … European idyll.” The last two words came out far more acidic than he’d intended, like a tart lemon-rind twist in a glass of gin. It had been a fabulous road trip, except for the unearthed tragedy, pain and death, his own and others’.

“You were with Randolph from—?”

“Zurich to Dublin to Belfast.”

“Four days?”

“About that. I wasn’t counting.”

Her eyes left the lame tennis match to acknowledge his proximity for the first time. “Then you have more good times to remember than bad.”

Her moment of empathy was surprising. He’d often had to push past empathy to survive, as she must have often done too. With her, it was her job. With him, it had become his nature.

“Could you say the same about Rafi?” he asked. “More good memories than bad?”