The Bookie and Mrs. Banning

The heat was getting to me, so I opened a window. I knew it wouldn't be long before the fresh air proved she didn't much like me either. Damn the weather and damn this sweat. I don't normally sweat like the underside of a fat chick's titty, but today the mercury went up to 120. I think it was hotter than that in my office, but that's as high as the thermometer goes. I sat there, watching my sandwich get moldy when suddenly, the phone rang. "Hello," I said a little too excitedly.

"Mr. Monroe?" The voice was unfamiliar, a man, old I think. What could he want?

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Banning, Charles Banning. I hear you work discretely. I'd like to set up a meeting."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Six AM. 818 Flamingo Blvd."

"You got it, Chief."

He hung up without saying goodbye, I find that rude, but it he's willing to pay, I'm there.

The next day I pulled up at 818 Flamingo Blvd. in my '86 Buick Skylark. The place was a run down house that looked perfect for the enterprising crystal meth cook. I slipped my 1911 Colt into my coat pocket and headed to the door. I knocked and counted to three. No answer. I pulled out the gun and hopped the fence into the back yard. The I heard the lock on the front door starting to jiggle. I scrambled back over the fence and landed in some bushes. Banning gave my a once over, then invited me in.

His story was like this: his wife had been kidnapped, but he couldn't go to the police because he was pretty sure she'd been taken by a bookie he owed money to. "How can you be so sure?" I asked questioningly. He showed me the ransom note. It said, "Charles, send the money you owe, or your wife dies. Sincerely, Gregory the Bookie."

"What do you need a detective for? The case is solved!"

"I'm into this guy for $300,000. I'll pay you $30,000 to get my wife back and erase my debt."

"Any ideas how I might do that?"

"He has a weakness. His son is addicted to pain pills. Exploit this however you want. Just don't get my wife killed in the process."

I told him I'd need $3,000 up front. He paid in cash.

I spent the rest of the day at the Rio playing blackjack. By the end of the day I owed the house $1,200. "Shit!" I said as I went to sleep that night, "I better find this asshole's wife."

I woke up at six PM. I splashed some water on my face. I think the thought occurred to me in my sleep, and it was just starting to sink in. A Bookie in Vegas? Either Banning was setting me up, or he was betting on horse cock-fights or something. I'd better ask around about this Gregory guy. I called Tommy the Tooth, he knows everything there is to know about Vegas, he even has a day job as a tour guide. Tommy the Tooth confirmed that Gregory the Bookie dealt in horse cock-fights. "Shit," I said, "I hate horse cock-fights."

I showed up at Greg's around midnight. Peeking in through the window, I saw Gregory and Mrs. Banning. The latter was tied to a chair. On the table was about $500,000 in cash. I thought for a moment, then I kicked the door open and shot the bookie in the chest. Then I pulled out my throwaway piece and shot Mrs. Banning. I made it look like they'd shot each other, took the cash and went home. "Mr. Banning can go fuck himself," I said. "That's what he gets for gambling."