Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alphabet Endgame

“He will. I’ll tell him. He may huff and puff a bit, but ultimately he’ll be okay with it, yes, because he’s my beloved. He knows in his heart and his bones that you’re no threat to him.”

“As well he should. He brought down Jack the Hammer. I would never mess with a guy like that. He’s really come into his own, hasn’t he?” Max said seriously. “You have that effect on people, Temple. I have yet to say that about myself, but I’m working on it.”

“Max, I was so sorry to hear you lost your house, and all your history. I loved that place.” The thought of both Max and Louie feeling homeless nagged at Temple like a hangnail you keep picking at.

“You’ve obviously been talking to Molina. That home had been tainted already. Kathleen attacked us all in that place. Threatened you. Shot Matt. Gave my noggin another memory-blasting blow. At least I remember that.”

“Are you really so…resigned?”

“No. The house being destroyed was a blow,” Max said, sitting on the sofa arm. “Don’t we all cringe when we hear the vast toll of innocent flesh ISIS takes and then it destroys the architectural legacy of all peoples of times gone by?”

Ordinarily, Max admitted to no vulnerabilities, but this was a new, more philosophical Max.

“Kathleen did it?” Temple asked, wincing.

“Who else? She never had any home, any history but a hidden and destroyed…and destroying…past. I guess she thought she was owed to do that to someone else.”

“Not ‘someone’. You. I hate her for what she did.”

“Me too. But for her acts, not for the small stubborn part of humanity she clings to.”

“That’s generous.”

“That’s what I learned from you, and Matt did too. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been working on the maze that is the Effinger murder, the IRA donations, the Synth magicians and the Ophiuchus constellation puzzle.”

“All that and getting married too?”

“Matt’s quest is ended.”

Max’s laugh was rich. “He’s the accidental hero, isn’t he? Uncovering a treasure hunt far more sinister than the mystery we’ve all been following. My God, he’s got the angels on his side for having the guts to go up against the nastiest secret killer in Vegas. You do know he was on top of it at the end like mob-buster Elliott Ness, and isn’t ’fessing up to that because it would be awkward for you and Molina?”

“Yes, all that. And I’m very proud. But my latest insight can’t wait. I’ve moved the crude Cliff Effinger drawing of the hero fighting a giant serpent that supposedly represents the thirteenth Zodiac sign of Ophiuchus, and the “house” shape of the major stars in the Ophiuchus constellation over each other on tracing paper and have had a breakthrough.”

“Can’t this wait until we can summon our Round Table to discuss our Table of Crime Elements like we used to? Matt deserves to be in on the end of the puzzle if you’ve found it. As you say, he’s way too secure to resent me anymore. Especially since I was diplomatically absent at your wedding.”

“And you could spot any brewing trouble better from up there. Did Molina know she had hidden backup?”

“You must stop thinking she knows everything.”

“She knows Kathleen burned your house down, and I didn’t know about that.” Temple frowned a little frown. “Have you been consorting with the enemy?”

“I wouldn’t call it consorting.” Max looked uneasy, not a Max Look Temple had seen before.

“Well, well, well,” Temple said. “Did Kathleen pay dearly for erasing your history like you were ancient ruins and she was ISIS when you tracked her down in Ireland?”

“Ruins! I’m not so newly humble to admit to that. All I can say is that Kathleen is not to be found in Ireland anymore.”

“You didn’t find her? I don’t believe that.”

Max shrugged. “I couldn’t say I found her peace of mind, but I found the daughter she gave up shortly after birth.”

“Daughter? Born in the Magdalene institution? Taken away from her? Oh, Hoover Dam and double damn! The poor woman. No wonder she was a crazy witch.”

“Poor girl . She escaped with her infant daughter while yet a girl herself and found a nice agnostic family to rear her. Not an easy thing to do in Ireland, believe me, to find people who are not undiluted true believers.”

“She found a UU family!”

“What passes for that over there, yes.”

“Maybe I’ll have to reevaluate her.”

“And that would be your reconciliation moment.”

Temple nodded. “Don’t judge until you walk in another woman’s…Stuart Weitzman’s.”

“For you. For her, the way Kathleen walked was thorny beyond shoes.”

“Darn it, Max. You’re making me cry for Kathleen. She stole one shoe of my best pair of heels, yet she returned it. Everything was a taunt for her.”

“Don’t cry for Kathleen. She’d hate that, and you won’t be able to show me what you found.”

All right. I want to demonstrate another radically different imposition of the Ophiuchus stars on the Las Vegas map.”

“And why not wait for your devoted spouse?”

“Because true inspiration strikes rarely and soon fades. I thought of you for that 3-D visualization a magician has. And for what I realized I saw on the marvelous altar front, and saw echoed in the nave of Our Lady of Guadalupe church.”

“So your getting married got you a glimpse of a treasure buried for three generations and clued you in on the equally long-missing IRA funds? Ironic, but the loot in the church was Ted Binions’, not IRA connected.”

“I do realize that. And Matt will be happy to come home and collect his Giacco Petrocelli memorial jackhammer and come along with me to find out, if you don’t want to.”

“Actually,” he admitted, “Binion’s stash being unearthed gave me another idea on the IRA puzzle.”

“That settles it. Max. We need one last rendezvous at the Neon Nightmare.” She stood up. “I’m wearing my capris and deck shoes, and carrying my tote for the papers. So I’m ready for a treasure hunt in a pyramid.”

His expression turned cautious, closed again. He obviously didn’t want to go there. “That place is out of business.”

“But I’m not.”

“That’s comforting, but it’s a deserted venue.”

“The best kind for kinky criminal doings. To be discreet, you can drive and meet me there.”

“Is this town still big enough for the two of us?”

“The three of us. Don’t forget Midnight Louie.”

“The three of us.”

“It’s Vegas, baby.”

34

Midnight Magic

Things have changed, changed utterly.

Along the Las Vegas Strip. Among my favorite people and places.

Yet some things will never change.

My Miss Temple—(forget Missus, an ugly word, totally not French, and Madam has connotations. In my book, ladies are always Miss, but I will grudgingly use Mrs. on occasion)—is a known vintage clothing lover.

I have long realized the addiction went beyond suits and shoes to such finds as the snazzy chrome nineteen-twenties toaster that holds any snail mail she still gets. Sadly, she buys cat carriers new; at least until I get my paws and claws to work on them.

The biggest objects of her vintage obsession are the cluster of modest motel-casinos in the nineteen-forties that grew into the dazzling skyline of higher and higher hotel-casinos…whose grandeur faded one by one as they became “gut jobs” and fell to make way for ever grander and higher replacements.

I find myself musing on how the Strip itself mirrors more than half the twentieth century and a bit of the twenty-first. And how change and rebirth is impossible without death, whether it is the death of the body or an idea or a vision.