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estate deal he
was working on here in town. Right as soon as he said that, he clammed up. I
don't think he was referring to his condo purchase. I think it may have had
something to do with that downtown land."
    Just
then, our food arrived, along with my second beer. As we dug in, I said,
"Tonight, I'm going to see Ryan Farrow. I think he might be able to fill
in some of the blanks. I'll let you know what I find out."
    "You
do that. I'd go see him right now, but we're caught up in that drive-by that
happened yesterday morning." I thought he was through talking, but his
teeth slowly clenched and he added, "Two street punks dead and a
seven-year-old girl shot while playing hopscotch on the sidewalk." He
twisted his napkin hard between big fists. He looked like he wanted to upend
the table.
    I
washed down a bite of my sandwich with some more beer to let Madden simmer down.
Then: "So, how'd you make out with Manny the Mexican last night? Was that
tell worthwhile?"
    His
whole body loosened up and a wide grin washed over his Irish face, while his pale
blue eyes twinkled. "I busted him on the first hand I played. Five hundred
smackolas on that one hand. Made nine for the night."

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
8

 
    T he wind hadn't died down any by the time I left the Four
Queens. My jacket wasn't much of a shield against it, while the darkening
afternoon skies promised a cold night ahead. I drove home and watched a little
TV, then finally got around to changing the bare light bulb in my bedroom.
    A few
minutes before six, I went out again, heading for Ryan Farrow's home in
Summerlin, a kind of semi-upscale suburban area northwest of the center of Las
Vegas. Since I wasn't anticipating any trouble from Farrow, I left my .357 SIG
behind in my dresser drawer. I didn't have a license to carry in Nevada, so I
didn't want to open myself up to any unnecessary hassles.
    The
autumn wind was strong, dancing furiously across the streets of the twilit
city. Unusually light traffic made the crosstown trip a lot easier. As I swung
onto the 95 freeway, I unwound and turned on my car radio.
    I
found a jazz station, or at least, that's what it sounded like. I'm not really
big on jazz, but this sweaty alto sax came oozing out of the speakers, talking directly
to me. It stole my complete attention, though I didn't even know the song.
Before I knew it, I was exiting the freeway onto the empty streets of
Summerlin.
    I had
snapped myself out of the musical trance by the time I arrived at Farrow's
home. The sun had gone down, and it took the temperature with it. When I got
out of the car, I had to zip up my jacket. Heavy cloud cover made it a
starless, moonless night.
    The
house was big and dark, set back from the street behind a circular driveway. A
BMW sedan loomed in front of the garage. I recognized it as the one I put
Farrow and his brother into at Sandra Blake's house. I parked on the street,
then approached the house on foot. As I moved silently across the lush,
landscaped yard, the enchanting scent of night-blooming jasmine found its way
into my nostrils and my head. I recognized it from my years in Los Angeles and
was surprised to find it here in Nevada. The seductive fragrance held me still
for a sweet moment.
    The
long, vertical window by the front door was curtained, as were all the windows
in the front of the house. An uneasy feeling crept over me, slowing me down and
causing a sharp tingling on the back of my neck. I tried the door, slowly
twisting the knob. It opened.
    Car in
the driveway, no lights in the house, door unlocked … I didn't like anything
about this. I considered leaving, but decided against it. Quietly stepping
inside, I wished I had brought my weapon after all.
    After
a few moments, my eyes adjusted to the black interior of the house. Soon, I
found a light switch. I flipped it on, illuminating the foyer and sending trails
of light into a couple of the adjacent rooms. I heard a slight thump, sounding
like it came from the