hate to be crosswise with that fuckin’ Tremanty. So far, he’s made it a personal mission. If we went after him, though, and knocked him down, the whole FBI would be on our case. And they’d get us, too. Stay away from Davenport. Stay away from Tremanty. Fix our problem however you can, but don’t go blowing over any cops, federal or otherwise.”
* * *
—
AFTER PICKING UP the box of ammo, Santos continued south on Las Vegas Boulevard, then turned west on Warm Springs Road. A jetliner roared overhead as he made the turn, climbing straight into the hot blue sky to the southwest, on its way to Los Angeles.
He followed the car’s navigation system to a neighborhood of dun-colored concrete-block walls and gated housing developments, turned down a street that opened up a bit, with shabbier houses under palm trees that had never been pruned. The nav system brought him to the address that Smith had given him, another dirt-colored house with a tile roof, with a circular drive in front. He drove on past, stopped at the end of the block, took the Sig out from under the car seat, screwed on the suppressor, and shoved it under his belt at the small of his back. He did a U-turn and went back to the house.
The driveway was empty, but when he pulled in and killed the engine he saw the curtain twitch in the window next to the front door. He got carefully out of the car, the gun poking him in the back, and rang the doorbell; a moment later, the door cracked open and a blonde looked out at him.
“What?”
“I’m Santos.”
“You’re way early,” she said. “We didn’t think you’d get here until tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I got the last seat on a direct flight. So here I am. I feel like a boudin noir out here. Are you going to let me in or should I come back later?”
The blonde turned away from the door, and a man’s voice said, “Let him in.”
Santos reached back under his sport coat, as though tucking in his shirt, and touched the butt of the diminutive pistol. The blonde pulled the door fully open and said, “Come on in,” and turned away and let him push the door shut.
The house was compact and poorly furnished—it came with the place, Santos thought, and smelled like carpet cleaner. Beauchamps was standing behind a breakfast bar to his left; the blonde was wandering into the living room to his right. Santos asked, “Where’s Clayton?”
“Up in town. He likes them slot machines,” Beauchamps said.
“That’s crazy,” Santos said. “He knows there’s three marshals up there looking for him and that probably every cop in Vegas has a picture of his face?”
“Got a beard now, and he stays in the cheap places, goes to dive bars,” Beauchamps said. “And, yeah, he’s crazy.”
The blonde asked, “Did you bring the money?”
“Yes, it’s in the trunk of my car,” Santos said. “But, it’s for Clayton.”
She smiled at him. “Don’t suppose if we promised to give it to him . . .”
Santos smiled back. “No. That wouldn’t be good enough.”
Beauchamps asked, “What’s this boudin noir you were talking about? You don’t look like no coonass.”
“My parents were Cuban,” Santos said. “I’ve been in New Orleans long enough to dig the food. We Cubans have moranga. It’s all blood sausage, though I gotta say a real boudin noir is better than any moranga my old lady ever bought.”
“You’re making my mouth water,” Beauchamps said, flashing a smile. “Listen, you wanna bring the money in, or what?”
“Maybe come back later,” Santos said.
“Let me go in the bedroom, get my phone, call Clayton and see where he is, if he can come quick.”
“Okay.” Santos looked at the blonde and said, “You’re a beautiful woman. What’s your name?”
“Thank you,” she said, with a real smile. “It’s Geenie. You’re a pretty man yourself.”
* * *
—
BEAUCHAMPS TOOK his phone into a bedroom as Santos was laying a shine on Cox. He closed the door, dialed Deese’s new burner. When Deese came up, Beauchamps said, “The money is here.”
“You got it?”
“No, Santos says it’s out in the car.”
After a long silence, Deese said, “Listen, I had to think about it when Rog said he’d send the money with Santos. I mean, why Santos? I know how they move money. FedEx lets you call up and tell them to hold your delivery so you can pick it up there. They could have sent it direct to us and