Show Business Is Murder by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online

thirteen times a night.”
    â€œHow about after you knock off at midnight?”
    She looked him over more closely. He was probably in his early forties, about her age, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
    â€œSam Dole. I’m here often. You maybe noticed me in the crowd.”
    â€œMaybe,” she agreed, wondering what he wanted. Maybe he just liked the way the black and red cat suit fitted her body.
    â€œSo how about that drink?”
    â€œWhy not? It’s Friday.”
    â€œI’ll meet you in the parking garage right after midnight.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with the bar here?” she asked.
    â€œThey probably don’t like you drinking with the customers.”
    She thought about that and decided Judd Franklyn might find cause for complaint. “OK, the parking garage it is.”
    The next number she hit was a zero.
    BY TEN AFTER twelve she was out of the hotel, walking toward her car in the garage. Her hood was down and her costume covered by the cloak. She wasn’t looking for Sam Dole but she knew he’d be around.
    â€œWanda?” a voice spoke her name, quite close.
    â€œHi, Sam. I thought maybe you found something better to do.”
    â€œNot a chance. Want to go in my car or follow me?”
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œI know a little bar outside of town.”
    â€œI’ll follow.”
    He avoided the Strip, where the midnight traffic made it seem like high noon, and headed instead out the route 15 expressway to Enterprise, just south of the airport. The bar he chose was called the Landing Strip, a small place by Vegas standards with only a dozen slot machines along one wall. At this hour there were just a few customers at the bar and the tables were empty. Wanda had never been there before.When the bartender brought their drinks Sam Dole came right to the point. “How’d you like to make some money?”
    Wanda smiled at him. “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve heard those words in my life. Look, Sam, I’m no call girl. If you’re looking for one, you’re in the right town but I’m not one of them. I’m a performance artist, period.”
    He reached across the table to touch her hand. “I’m not talking about sex. Just listen to me, will you?”
    Glancing around to make sure they were out of the bartender’s line of vision, he took something from his pocket. “Put this on.”
    It was a blindfold with an elastic band that went around the back of the head, just like the one she wore in her performance. “What’s this all about?” she asked, but slipped on the blindfold as he requested. She realized at once that part of the inner padding had been cut away, leaving only a black gauze covering over her eyes. From the front she appeared blindfolded, but in actuality she could see quite clearly through the gauze. She took it off almost at once. “If you think I’m going to spot certain numbers for you, you’re crazy. It wouldn’t even work. When I land on that padding and stretch out my hands to a winning slot, there are only a few within reach.”
    â€œNot a certain number, just a certain color. The colors alternate from black to red around the wheel, except for the zero and double zero spots. So no matter where you land and reach out your hands, you’re never more than one—or two at most—away from a red number. With this blindfold you could pick red every time, or black.”
    Wanda snorted. “And end up buried out in the desert somewhere. Judd Franklyn is no dope, you know.”
    â€œI’m not talking about winning fifty grand a night or anything like that. Franklyn has a five hundred dollar limit anyway, except for your midnight appearance. But if you picked blacks or reds in a pre-arranged rotation for your thirteen spins, at even money that would mean winnings ofsix thousand for the first twelve and five thousand for the