I woke up in a puddle of piss in an alley in North Vegas. I’m not sure whose piss it was, mine, or the dead Asian busboy lying next to me. I felt bad for Chang, but worse for myself, I had the worst hangover of my life, and I’m pretty sure my pinky toe was broken. Never broke that one before, but I guess there's a first time for everything. I sat up and noticed it was daytime and Chang and I were surrounded by a small group of jerk kids. I thought about shooting one, but I learned a long time ago you don't fuck around in North Vegas. I stood up, brushed the urine off my coat and walked off to find my car. There was really just one person I could go to for help, Denise Deville, or Double D. She was a porn star back in the ‘90s, but she retired to Vegas and opened a nail salon. Denise was someone I trusted, someone I could count on. Plus, she was always good for a screw if you bought her a couple of drinks.
Two blocks over I found my Buick. The front end was a good deal more smashed up than usual, but she's a tough old broad and she got me to Denise's salon. This is literally the third time in two weeks I've stumbled into this poor woman's place of business smelling like a barnyard animal. It's a good thing she's crazy about me.
“Gene, you sonofabitch! I told you the last time, I never wanted to see you again!” she yelled at me. I honestly had no idea why she was mad. I’d been high on oxycontin and bourbon the last time I saw her, and it was all a little fuzzy. I paused a moment to try and recall what we’d done together. Something about a family heirloom and a pedicurist named Milly... Damn my boyish charm.
She took some convincing, but eventually, Denise came around and agreed to help me out. I needed a place to stay while I worked things out. Chang had been giving me tips on the local Chinese Mafia before he’d been killed, and they’d already be looking for me at my office. I knew lying low would only keep me alive for so long. The Chinese are a vengeful and stinky bunch of unwiped assholes and they sure can... kill a guy. I think I might have a concussion. Anyway, Double D and I were going to have to get out of town for at least a weekend if we didn't want to die in this salon.
I started packing our stuff and loading it into the Buick. Then I had to convince the lady to run away with me. I told her I was taking her out for a night on the town (I didn’t say which town). She caught on around the time we crossed the Arizona border, and she was none too happy. I knew it wasn’t the time to ask for road head, so we stopped off at a diner for a bite to eat. I figured I owed her that much.
"Gene every goddamn day with you its something crazy!"
"That's not true. What about that Halloween party last year? We had fun, didn't we?"
"That was eight months ago! Plus you still owe me three grand from that night and another two grand from various other nights of crazy bullshit you put me through in between!"
I was going to say something suave, probably and sweep her off her feet, but just then group of Chinese teenagers walked in and looked at us a little queer. I couldn’t tell if they were squinting at us, or just Chinese. As they walked towards our booth, I reached into my coat and felt the reassuring feel of gun metal. There were three of them, I’d need to be quick. But then the one in the King Kong T-shirt pointed, but not at me, at Double D.
“Were you in Cock Your Rocks Off 14?” he asked. Denise smiled and nodded and started reminiscing about her porn days. I zoned out, like I always do when women talk for too long. I found myself staring at the King Kong shirt, and suddenly realized something crucial about the case. The Chinese mafia had been smuggling prostitutes into Vegas dressed as horses, two to a costume, one might assume. This, of course pissed off the local penis repository who hired yours truly to see what weaknesses could be dug up on these bastards.
It was already known that they were bringing in new whores every Wednesday, and it is also well-known that the horses are trucked over to that side of town for the races every Wednesday. I just need a smoking gun and some rash cream and I’ve got this case licked.
It was Monday so we had two nights to lay low, but first thing Wednesday morning we were on the road back to Vegas. We didn’t talk much on the way home. Nothing sours a relationship more than a couple of nights in Kingman Arizona.
I dropped Double D off at her salon and headed to the track. I got there early so that I could examine the racing forms. I’d stolen forty bucks from Denise’s purse, and I figured after I solved the case I might stick around and pick a winner. I was debating between Lucky Flower and Who Shot the Sheriff, when a truck and trailer pulled up driven by Lu Pang Heng, an enforcer for the local triad boss, Kong Rui Bao. I laughed to myself at Lu's haircut and made my way to the stables.
Sure enough, there were hookers in there and used horse costumes on the floor. Lu came around the corner, surprising us both, and I got the drop on him, knocking him unconscious with a karate chop from my rod. I took his cell phone so Chang could translate whatever gobbledygook was hidden inside, then I remembered Chang's untimely death at the hands of Lu himself. There was poetic justice in peeing on him.
With nowhere to turn to decipher this Chinese thing, I decided to put the forty bucks on Lucky Flower to win. But first, I chased the hookers out of there with a riding crop. By the time Lucky Flower was done crushing my dreams, the gaggle of hookers-run-a-muck had drawn the attention of the police. The cops found Lu and arrested him, and I caught one of the stray hookers and headed home.
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