Stuart Kaminsky - Show Business is Murder

“Wanda?” a voice spoke her name, quite close.

“Hi, Sam. I thought maybe you found something better to do.”

“Not a chance. Want to go in my car or follow me?”

“Where to?”

“I know a little bar outside of town.”

“I’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.”

“Not 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.”

“I’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 of six thousand for the first twelve and five thousand for the last spin. That’s eleven thousand for the night. We’d give you three thousand a night, nine thousand a week.”

“Who’s we?”

“I can’t win it all myself. I’d need a partner making some of the bets. If it works out we can keep at it.”

“In Vegas that’s small change.”

“It adds up.”

Wanda shook her head. “Not me. Get someone else.”

“Someone else? There is no one else. It’s your act!”

“Look, Sam, I don’t know you. I never saw you before tonight. Why should I trust you and go along with this harebrained scheme?”

“Think of it as another performance. It would even top what you’re doing now.”

“No.”

“Here’s my phone number. At least think about it over the weekend and give me a call.”

FOR SOME REASONshe kept the card and did think about it. On Saturday night she went to see the Blue Man Group at one of the casinos on the strip. They were the best known of the performance artists and sometimes she envied them for their success. Maybe she needed some partners. Thinking about Sam Dole, she finally decided that what he’d said about another performance was right. It was still her creation, whether or not she could see through the blindfold. “Just one night,” she told him over the phone. “This Wednesday. I‘m nervous about it.”

“Beats spending the day in a birdcage.”

“But it’s a lot riskier if Franklyn finds out. Make sure he doesn’t.”

“Don’t worry. We’d better not talk or see each other again until afterward. This is what I want you to do. Just colors, because they’re easier than numbers to see accurately through the blindfold. Forget the zero and double zero because you may not land near enough to them. Pick the colored slots in this order for your thirteen appearances. You’d better write them down. Red, red, black, black, red, black, red, black, black, red, black, black, red. That’s seven black, six red. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t see you Wednesday night. Thursday night I’ll be in my car behind the Landing Strip at midnight to give you your cut and talk about the next show.”

“I don’t work Thursday,” she reminded him. “We can make it earlier if you want.”

“No, midnight’s best for me. I’ll see you then.”

Wanda hung up, wondering what she was getting herself into.

ON WEDNESDAY JUDDFranklyn greeted her at the door as he always did. “Good to see you, Wanda. Feeling lucky tonight?”

He’d never asked her that before. “What good does it do me to feel lucky? I don’t bet.”

When she mounted the turntable at the center of the wheel at nine o’clock, she glanced casually around at the faces in the crowd. At first she didn’t see Sam Dole, but after she donned the doctored blindfold she spotted him with a short young woman who was making a bet. Then she crouched down as the turntable started to spin. She rolled off the padded wheel and stretched out her joined hands. Just ahead of her was eighteen red. She didn’t even have to cheat.

There were the usual cheers and groans from the players, and then applause as she took her bow and promised to return in fifteen minutes. She didn’t see Dole, but she assumed he or his friend had collected their winnings. The evening went along routinely after that. Once around eleven o’clock, between performances, she went to the bar for some tonic water and found herself standing next to the young woman who’d been with Dole.

“Having any luck?” she asked casually.

“Off and on,” the young woman replied. “You do this for a living?”

“I’ve had some Off-Broadway gigs and I was at the Brooklyn Museum last year. Performance art is hard to define sometimes. This is my first experience as a human roulette ball. I suggested it to Judd and he bought it.” She drank a bit of the tonic water. “What’s your name?”

“Minnie Brewer. And no jokes about a short beer. I’ve heard them all.”

Wanda chuckled. “Do you come here a lot?”

“This is my first time. I heard about your performance and I had to see it for myself.”

“Well, I’m on again in a few minutes. Good luck with your betting.”

This time she had to slide a few inches to hit the proper color, but it was hardly noticeable. By midnight when it was time for the five thousand dollar limit, she didn’t see Minnie at all. But Dole was in the front row of bettors, looking pleasantly surprised when thirty-six red came up. It had been a good night for them both.

On the way out she saw the reporter, Rick Dodson, lingering at the bar. “When’s the story running?” she called over to him.

“Soon as I can get a good angle,” he told her. “My editor was hoping for something a bit sexier.”

“I’ll perform nude next week if it’ll help,” she said and kept on walking.

She slept late on Thursday morning and woke up remembering she had to meet Dole that night. For a few minutes she considered forgetting about the whole thing, letting him keep all the money. But she’d earned her part of it, why not collect? Driving out to the Landing Strip a little before midnight she decided she’d take the money this one time and give him back the blindfold. She’d experienced the rush of it and needed no more.