The stretch hooked west. The stretch stopped quick. There--the Honey Bunny Casino.

Peavy got out. Peavy walked in. Pete idled back. Pete scoped the window.

Peavy hit the chip cage. Peavy bought play chips. The cage man filled a sack. Peavy walked out. Peavy jumped in the stretch. The stretch pulled out fast.

Pete tailed it. It cut west. It stopped mucho quick. There--Sugar Bear Liquor.

Five whores ran out--darkies all--prom gowns and heels.

They piled in the stretch. They huffed hard. The windows fogged up. The stretch wiggled and bounced.

Said whores worked.

The axle scraped. The shocks creaked. The undercarriage shimmied. Two hubcaps popped off and rolled.

Pete laughed. Pete fucking roared.

The whores piled out. The whores giggled and wiped their lips. The whores waved sawbucks.

Pete flashed on the dead whore. Pete smelled the torched trailer.

The stretch pulled out. Pete tailed it. They cut west. They hit West Vegas. They went in waay deep. There--Monroe High School.

The back gate was down. The bleachers were packed. A banner read: Welcome Champ!

Full house: Colored kids--two hundred strong--this big schoolday treat.

The stretch parked on the football field. Pete idled by the gate. Pete kicked his seat back.

Sonny got out.

He weaved. He waved the chip sack. He faced the kids and swayed blotto. The kids cheered. The kids chanted "Sonny!" Some geek teachers watched.

The kids yelled. The kids banged their seats. The teachers guuulped. Sonny smiled. Sonny swayed. Sonny said, "Pipe down."

The kids cheered. Sonny swayed. Sonny yelled: "Shut up, you punk motherfuckers!"

The kids shut up. The teachers cringed. Sonny dished inspiration.

Study hard. Learn good. Don't rob no liquor stores. Play to win and go to church. Use Sheik-brand rubbers. Watch me whup Cassius Clay. Watch me kick his punk Muslim ass back to Mecca.

Sonny stopped. Sonny bowed. Sonny pulled a flask. The kids cheered. The teachers clapped demure.

Sonny waved his sack. Sonny grabbed play chips. Sonny tossed them wide.

The kids snatched them. The kids snared them. Kids bumped kids. Kids reached short. Kids fell on kids below.

Sonny tossed chips--big wads--dollar chips all. Kids reached high. Kids toppled. Kids engaged in fistfights.

Sonny raised his flask. Sonny waved bye-bye. Sonny jumped in the stretch.

The stretch pulled out. Pete U-turned and tailed it. Kids shrieked Champ bye-bye!

The stretch hauled. Pete hauled up close. They tore speed limits. They cut east and south. They hit downtown Vegas.

Traffic snarled. The stretch looped Fremont. The stretch braked and stopped.

There-- A parking lot. An army-navy store--Sid the Surplus Sergeant.

The crew piled out. The crew yukked and huddled. The crew piled in the backdoor. The driver waved--adios, Mau-Maus--the stretch vamoosed.

Pete parked. Pete locked his car. Pete dawdled and ambled up. Pete braced the backdoor.

He ambled in. He cut through a storeroom. He pushed through peacoats on racks. He saw crates/cartons/trench tools. He caught a cosmoline stench.

He hit a hallway. He heard sounds. He followed titters and love grunts--aaooooo!

He ambled. He tracked the noise. He crouched and crept. He saw a cracked door and peeked in.

Stag-flick time. A bedsheet screen and a projector. Lez antics--young girls entwined.

The Mau-Maus tittered. Peavy yawned. The girls ran fourteen tops. Sonny cracked a red devil. Sonny powdered a palm. Sonny sniffed the shit up.

The girls strapped on dildoes. A donkey appeared. El Burro wore diablo horns.

Pete walked outside. Pete found a pay phone. Pete called the Stardust book. He placed a bet--forty grand--Clay over Liston.

The Deuce rolled low--nickel slots/bingo/shots-and-beer.

The dealers wore sidearms. The bar served jar brew. The cocktail chicks whored. The Deuce pandered low. You had oldsters and wetbacks. You had more spooks than Ramar of the Jungle.

The lounge supplied a floor view. Pete lounged and sipped club soda. Pete watched the floor show.

A geez pulls his air tube. He's ninety-plus. He smokes a Camel. He hacks blood. He sucks oxygen. Two fruits lock eyes. Said fruits strut green shirts. Green shirts are fruit semaphore.

Two jigs lurk. They're snatch-and-run guys. Dig their gym shorts and sneakers. Wayne walks up. Wayne wears a belt sap. Wayne wears handcuffs.

He taps the jigs. They share a look--woe-is-f uckin'-me.

Wayne slaps them. Wayne kicks them. Wayne grabs their conk napes and shoves them. They get the picture. They evict themselves--We Shall Not Overcome.

Pete clapped. Pete whistled. Wayne turned and saw him. He walked up. He swiveled a chair. He nailed a floor view.

Pete said, "I didn't find him. I think he's down in Mexico."

"How hard did you look?"

"Not that hard. I was looking for a guy in Florida, mostly."

Wayne flexed his hands. Knuckle cuts oozed.

"We could teletype the federales. They could put out their own APB. We could pay them to hold him for me."

Pete lit a cigarette. "They'd kill him themselves. They'd lure you down there, steal your money, and kill you."

Wayne watched the floor. Pete tracked his eyes. There--one coon/one whore/unruly shit pending-- Wayne stood up. Pete grabbed his belt. Pete yanked him back down.

"Let it go. We're having a conversation."

Wayne shrugged. Wayne looked aggrieved. Wayne looked fucking deprived.

Pete glanced around. "Does your father own this place?"

"No, it's Outfit. Santo Trafficante has points."

Pete blew smoke rings. "I know Santo."

"I'm sure you do. I know who you work for, so I've put that much of Dallas together."

Pete smiled. "Nothing happened in Dallas."

A whore walked by. Wayne drifted. Wayne watched the floor. Pete grabbed his chair. Pete jerked it and centered it. Pete killed the floor view.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

Wayne made fists. His knuckles popped. His knuckles seeped.

Pete said, "Don't use your hands. Use your sap if you have to."

"Like Duane Hint--"

"Can it, all right? I've had dead women up to here."

Wayne coughed. "Durfee's good. That's the part that gets me. He's stayed ahead of everyone since Dallas."

Pete chained cigarettes. "He's not good, he's lucky. He came to Vegas like a dumb bunny, and moves like that will get him dropped."

Wayne shook his head. "He's better than that."

"No, he's not."

"He can give me up for Moore."

"Bullshit. It's his word versus yours and no body."

"He's good. That's the part . . ."

A spook walked by. Wayne eyeballed him. He saw Wayne and blinked.

Pete coughed. "Who owns Sid the Surplus Sergeant?"

Wayne said, "A clown named Eldon Peavy. He named it after some queer buddy of his who died from the syph."

Pete laughed. "He's showing smut films there. Underaged kids, the whole shot. How big a bust is that on his end?"

Wayne shrugged. "The State Code's soft on possession. He'd have to manufacture and sell the films, or coerce and suborn the kids."

Pete smiled. "Ask me why I care."

"I know why. You want to buy out Monarch and relive your fucking Miami adventures."

Pete laughed. "You've been talking to Ward Littell."

"Sure, client to lawyer. I asked him why you take so much shit from me, but he wouldn't give me an answer."

Pete cracked his knuckles. "Bet on Clay. Your boy Sonny needs more time in the gym."

Wayne flexed his hands. "There's a Sheriff's Vice guy named Farlan Moss. He investigates businessmen for people who want to take over their action. He won't fabricate, but if he gets incriminating evidence, he'll turn it over to you and let you use it any way you like. It's an old Vegas strategy."

Pete grabbed a napkin. Pete wrote it down: "Farlan Moss/CCSD."

Wayne twirled his sap. "You've got this weird thing for me."

"I had a kid brother once. Someday I'll tell you the story."

The Bondsmen vamped. Barb grabbed the mike. She curtsied. Her gown hiked. Her nylons stretched.

Pete sat ringside. A geek had Wayne's seat. Wayne worked late now. Wayne caught Barb haphazard.

Ward said he talked to Wayne Senior. Senior ragged on Junior. Ward passed it on.

Junior was a hider. Junior was a watcher. Junior lit flames. Junior torched. Junior lived in his head.

Barb blew a kiss. Pete caught it. Pete covered his heart. He made two T's--their private signal--do "Twilight Time."

Barb caught it. Barb cued the Bondsmen. Barb kicked the tune off.

He missed her for days on. They kept diverse hours and slept diverse shifts. They stashed a cot backstage. They made love between shows.

It worked. They worked. It wrecked him. It scared him.

Barb watched the news. Barb tracked the Warren thing. Barb nursed Dallas. Barb nursed her link to Jack.

She never said it. He just knew. it wasn't sex. It wasn't love. "Awe" said it all. You killed him. The fix held. You killed him and walked.