6

Once a vibrant center, the Old Strip now stood as a faded relic of bygone days. A part of Vegas that was exciting back when the city was ruled by the mob rather than corporations.

Lazarus drove his black Chrysler 300 through the streets of the Old Strip with Piper in the passenger seat. The car was clean and empty, almost like no one drove it regularly. Soft bluegrass played through the speakers, and his car smelled like sandalwood or cedar, something woodsy. A rabbit’s foot hung from the rearview on a strip of leather.

While Lazarus was on a call, Piper discreetly googled him. The search yielded scant details, mainly linking him to an old murder case involving sex workers, and the crime beat reporter noted his reluctance to speak to any media. His digital presence was almost nonexistent: no social media, no dating profiles.

Piper reflected on their interactions. Unlike other cops she’d worked with, Lazarus seemed driven by something deeper, as if policing was merely a conduit to something else. It intrigued her, and she wondered if it should have unsettled her instead.

“Who are we seeing?” she asked.

“Followin’ up on a call that might be relevant.”

“You mind telling me what that is?”

He glanced at her. “Two years ago when I was with Homicide, I caught a case at Ember Lake. Triple murder. One of the vics, Ava Mitchell, was chased through the woods and found torn apart in a tent.” He paused and took a hit off a black vape pen. “Her throat had been ripped out by a screwdriver, just like the Graces’.”

“So you think the Graces weren’t his first?”

“Could be a coincidence. Stranger things have happened. But a quarter mile away in the woods were some German tourists out camping. They said they saw a hiker five days before the killings heading toward the cabin. They couldn’t describe much, but they noticed a tattoo on him. A pig on his calf, covered in blood and with an apple in its mouth.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe sometimes a pig is just a pig?”

They pulled into an old casino, Black Diamond, and Lazarus parked in front of the valet. The valet came up and exchanged a few words with Lazarus while Piper got out of the car. As a GAL, she did some investigation, mostly follow-ups and hole-filling of things the police missed that impacted her ward, but she rarely worked with confidential informants and she never met them at shady casinos.

Lazarus started going into the building, and she caught up to him. The casino was filled with gray-blue smoke from the cigarettes at everybody’s lips. Some casinos had banned smoking, and so the smokers congregated in the places that allowed it.

They threaded through a casino floor of jingling slots and the roulette wheel’s clatter. Piper scanned the early-morning gamblers. Some looked newly awake, their disheveled appearances hinting at a quick transition from sleep to booze and gambling. Others had gambled through the night and just looked tired.

They went to a bar and stood waiting for the bartender to finish serving a few customers on the other end. She wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed the myriad tattoos on her arms, and had a looped piercing on her lower lip. When she came over, she gave them a rushed smile and said, “What can I get ya?”

“Not thirsty,” he said, motioning to the badge clipped to his belt. “You Misty Gomez?”

She glanced over to the other bartender and said, “Be right back.” She turned to Lazarus and Piper and said, “Not here.”

They followed her around the bar and through an employee entrance to the kitchen. Another door through the kitchen led outside to the garbage bins. Two employees were outside talking. They gave Lazarus a few glares and then went inside.

She took a package of cigarettes from her pocket, crumpled and smashed, and pulled one out. Lazarus retrieved a small silver lighter on his key chain and lit it for her. She inhaled a long pull, holding the cigarette between her fingers.

“I’m so pissed at Josh for calling you.”

“Why’s that?” he said.

“He didn’t ask me before he told the cops what I seen.”

“He owes me. Just tell us what happened, and we’ll be outta your hair,” Lazarus said.

She nodded. “Just a guy a few nights ago. He was at the bar and we hit it off, and we went up to the room and I told him my prices and he was fine with it. Then he asked for some things I didn’t want to do. I said no and he got pissed, but he calmed down and left. That’s all that happened. No reason no cops need to be involved.”

“What things did he ask you to do?”

“He said he wanted to pretend ... to eat me.”

“Eat you?”

She nodded. “He had like a knife and fork and other stuff with him and when I saw that I was like no way.”

“He said he wanted to physically eat you?” Lazarus said again, trying to clarify.

“Yeah, whatever. Pretending to eat me like food. He said he wouldn’t hurt me, just pretend. I’ve had tricks ask for all sorts a’ crazy things. Probably woulda said yes except for the knife.”

“What happened after you said no?” Lazarus said.

She blew out another puff of smoke. “I got a deal with one of the security guards. If a trick’s in my room and I don’t text him when they get there and when they leave, he comes up to check on me.”

“Smart.”

“He takes fifty bucks a night to do it. He’s no knight in shining armor.”

“No one is. What happened next?”

“I told him a security guard was coming up and he needs to leave. Then he left and that was it.”

“You know his name?”

“He said his name was J. J.”

“What time did you meet him?”

“Like ten.”

Lazarus glanced at an employee who came through a door and dumped a bucket full of something heavy and wet into the dumpster. “I don’t care what you do on your own time, Misty. I’m not that type of police. I just want the information on the tattoo. That’s what I’m here for.”

“It was nothin’. It was some stupid thing he probably picked off a wall.”

“How ’bout you tell me anyway.”

She blew out a stream of smoke. “It was a smiley face. You know those yellow smiling faces you see on like shirts and bumpers stickers and stuff? It was like that. Except it had teeth and blood on its mouth. And it had one of those chef hats. His other calf had a pig.”

“Describe it.”

“It had an apple in its mouth and I think had like blood on it.”

Lazarus took out his phone and pulled up photos he had saved in a folder. Piper caught a glimpse and saw a circular cartoon face with sharp, somewhat hidden teeth and a red-stained mouth. A white chef’s hat sat tilted slightly on the head. Another photo was of a pig’s face with an apple in its mouth.

“This?” Lazarus said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He took his card and held it out to her. “You call me if you see him again.”

She took it. “What the tats mean that got the police up here?”

“It means I don’t think he wanted to pretend.”