At my desk, I dial the photographer's number.
"A Pair of Aces," says a woman's voice.
"Hi, I'm Jill Price, calling from Doc's Place. I understand you've done work for the magazine, Doc's Talks?"
"Yes, Jill, I'm glad you called. I'm Penny, one of the Aces."
"Hi Penny. Were you expecting my call?"
"Reno may be a city, but it's still small. Word gets around quickly," she says, "Would you like to see samples of our work?"
"Yes I would," I tell her.
"How about my husband Tom and I pick you up for lunch and then we'll stop by our studio?"
"I have another stop after I leave your studio, Penny, so let's meet at the restaurant."
She tells me where it is and that she and Tom will be there in a few minutes. Grab copies of the publication plan and my curriculum vitae, my keys and boogie for the door.
"Excuse me, Jill," says Annette, holding the phone. "A Detective Locaccio for you."
Take the receiver and say, "Yeah, Don."
"Be a good idea to stop by the police station as soon as possible, Jill. The captain's getting nervous and the feds will be here about one."
"Take `em to lunch, Don. I'll come by before two but I only have an hour. You have your own office?"
"Are you kidding? I have my own locker and a desk drawer. They can get their own goddamn lunch."
"Then let's meet in your captain's office. I assume he has one."
"Yeah, it's the one with the brooms and mops. Before two, you say?"
"See you then, Don." Hand the phone to Annette.
Pausing, I ask, "May I leave messages with you, Annette?"
"Yes, of course, Jill."
"If anyone is looking for me, I'll be at lunch and then with the photographers. I'll call in from there." Smile as I walk away. "Be back before four."
"Bye-bye," she says as she writes.
Lunch with Penny and Tom is fun. They have worked all over the world but settled here so they can live at Tahoe. Most of their work comes out of Los Angeles or New York, so they have plenty of chances to indulge their love of movies. Their lives revolve around attending screenings and first releases.
Back at their studio on Matley, near the fitness center, they show me not only their published work but also a small part of their video collection. Let them read the publication plan and then take it back. They are so excited by the possibility of having their work reprinted in the national historical foundation's magazine that both begin talking.
"Don't tell anyone about that plan I just showed you," I tell them. "I'm not showing it to your competitors."
"I'm not sure we can win a bid," says Tom. "Casinos are notoriously cheap on employee publications."
"Look, I want you two to win the bid but I know you're expensive for the area. The request for quote covers eight issues. You bid on six," I tell them. "We'll finish the shooting by then. You win when your attributed work appears in the foundation's magazine."
Tom asks, "How do we know they'll publish our work?"
"We don't, Tom, but as I told the foundation researcher, I'm already published in there. Sure, it's only two paragraphs, but it's a shot." Hand Tom a copy of my curriculum vitae. "Here, keep this. I'm in the foundation's magazine and I have executive approval at Ferro. Now what do you say?"
They look at one another. "It's a risk," says Tom.
"Yes, but it's worth it," says Penny. "You know once we get our work published in there, they'll call us again. Look at Ivan." Penny turns to me and says, "Ivan is a friend of ours whose work was published by the foundation two years ago and they've called him four times since then."
Tom says, "Ivan doubled his hourly rate and then doubled it again."
"We could buy the apartment in New York, Tom," says Penny.
That seems to swing him over. "Okay, we'll do it," he says, extending his hand. "We'll have our quote to you by five today." Shake his hand and return Penny's hug. "Can you start shooting next week?"
"We're loaded up all week, but maybe. . . . Damn," says Penny after looking at the appointment log. "I'm sorry, Jill but we have the Baron Ranch shoot Monday through Sunday."
"What are you shooting out there? Their landscaping hasn't even begun and it's October, for Christ's sake. Who shoots a development in October?"
"All interiors," says Penny. "We start shooting landscapes in the spring."
"Hand me that phone," I tell her.
Dial Mei's office and get Margaret, the receptionist.
"Hi, Margaret."
"Hello, Jill," says Margaret. "What can I do for you?"
"Give me the boss."
"Hey Jill," says Chen Mei.
"Are you photographing Baron Ranch next week?"
"How did you know about the photo shoot?" asks Mei.
"I'm at A Pair of Aces," I tell her.
"You want our time slot?"
"Yeah."
"The project's on hold until further notice. The contractor will formally notify them tomorrow."
Hang up. "Your Baron Ranch shoot is on indefinite hold. The contractor will notify you tomorrow."
"Wow," says Penny, glancing at Tom and then looking at me. "You just moved to Reno and you're connected all over town."
"Fire your clients who don't pay well, guys," I tell them. "I'll take every half day you can spare." As I leave, I glance at my watch. It's one-forty.
Ten minutes later, I tell the desk sergeant, a formidable-looking woman, that I'm Jill Price to see the captain.
"Have an appointment, ma'am?"
"Yes."
"Please wait, ma'am. I'll call you in a moment."
Walk to the pay phone, call Doc's Place and ask for Annette. "Anybody yelling for me?"
"Louise."
"Put me through, please."
"Yes?"
"Louise, this is Jill. I just left one photographer; couple more to see. Be back by four o'clock or so."
"Thank you for calling, Jill. Sorry, but I'm so out of it, I'm going home. Will you stop by the office tomorrow?"
The desk sergeant is waving me over. "Sure, boss. Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you, Jill. See you tomorrow."
Hang up and walk over as Don comes strolling down the stairs, his hands in his pockets. "Detective Locaccio," I say in greeting, "Nice to see you again."
"You too," he says, turns and leads me up the stairs.
"How ya doin', Price?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Never mind," he says as we enter the crowded and noisy squad room. A lot of suits are standing around outside an office door across the room. "Usually like a tomb in here but not today. Any idea why?" he asks.
"Mandatory daily showers for detectives," I tell him as I scan the crowd of suits, recognizing two of them from Salt Lake City. Federal agents look like aging Mormon missionaries. "Captain posted the bulletin this morning."
"Smart ass," growls Don.
"Jill Price," says one of the agents, walking over. "Body count's up by five. More notches this year than the history of the combined Western field offices. How do you account for that?"
"Just lucky, Agent George," I tell him. That's his name, Tony George—a handsome man, but he has a lizard's dead eyes. "Hello, Jack," I say to his partner, Jack Kinnear.
"Jill. How are you?" he asks, taking my hand and pressing it warmly. The two of us genuinely like each other but we don't meet unless I kill some people. This is our third meeting this year.
"Keeping fit," I tell him.
"Good thing," he says.
Takes a half-hour to describe this morning's events twice. I'm sitting against the edge of the captain's desk, surrounded by men standing around the walls. It's crowded with bodies and odors—the tangy scent of interest and the coppery odor of fear. Jack, the special agent in charge, insists on my walking them through the actual scene.
"No problem but I'm due back at work this afternoon. How about tomorrow morning first light at the back gate? That way, I can walk you through from first shot to last under the same light conditions."
"Excuse me," says fat Joe, who threatened to detain me this morning. "Who says they won't try again next time you walk out there?"
Glance at Tony George, who is staring at me, apparently aware of what I'm thinking.
"You can run it with her, Detective," says a young agent I don't know. Muted laughter rolls through the room.
"Laugh," says Joe, "What if I'm right?"
"Bring body bags," says Agent George. No one laughs at that. Tony asks, "Your next regular run is Friday morning, right? Takes a couple hours?"
"Right. Walk out of the woods at five," I say, looking at him. Pretty sure I know what he's planning: cold-blooded bastard wants to deploy snipers, each with a night scope. It could work.
"This is not a good idea," says Don. "You should lay low for a few days, Jill."
"No, Don. They'll either try or they won't."
"And they'll either kill you or they won't," he says. The room goes quiet.
Jack looks up from jotting notes and says, "Everybody step out except Jill, Agent George and me, please."
"Now just a goddamned minute," says Don, stepping toward me as the others shuffle through the doorway.
"Don," I say, "It's okay."
"This is bullshit and you know it," he growls and stalks out, closing the door.
Once the three of us are alone in the room, Jack closes the door, looks at me and says softly, "Up to you Jill."
Glancing from Tony to Jack, I ask, "If you snag them, you'll make them tell you who's behind this and end it, right?"
Jack nods and says softly, "That's right."
Standing, I approach Agent George. Staring into the death mask that is Agent Tony George's face, I say, "Tell me they'll talk."
Tony's lifeless eyes watch me for a moment before he whispers, "They'll talk."
"Then I'll do it," I tell them.
Jack says, "We'll finish at the scene this afternoon then strip out the markers and tape so you can run Friday morning."
"Need tell-tales for me and the guy with me," I say to Tony. "So the guys with the scopes can see it's us."
"Our guys will tag your outer layer themselves, front and back," says Tony. "Friday morning, just stick to your routine."
Nod, glance at the clock—three-fifteen—and walk out slowly, pushing my way past cops and a couple feds, all quiet, watching me. Don walks with me out the back door to my car. No one else is out there so I hug him. Not saying anything, I hold him—my friend, Bruno's friend. Then I pat him on the shoulder, slide into the Buick and drive off as he stands watching me.
Visit two more photo studios and request their price quotations by Friday. Back at Doc's, Annette hands me a couple messages. Tom and Penny are sending the price quotation by courier. Ask Annette to place the envelope on my desk when it arrives. The other message is from Jack Kinnear who says call him at the hotel if I want to have dinner with him tonight. Dinner with a federal lifer? I don't think so.
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