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“My brother didn’t kill himself,” he said, and he let that settle. Eddie was nodding.
“You think he was murdered?” I asked. It sure as hell didn’t sound like it could have been an accident.
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“Did the police tell you something?”
“The police told me nothing. They don’t believe me. They claim they have no evidence it was anything but a suicide.”
Eddie was sipping a club soda. Mary had asked if I’d wanted anything when I arrived, but I had passed. Now my mouth was dry. “Are you suggesting they’re inept or there’s a coverup?”
“First of all, I would have known if he was so depressed he was ready to shoot himself. He wasn’t.”
One article I’d read that morning, after Yevgeny had left, suggested that the BP’s fiscal fortunes were grim, and that was a possible motivation for the suicide. The BP was one of the city’s few remaining “family-owned” casinos, so the reporter was alleging more than she was proving. She didn’t have annual reports, but she had an unnamed source—a banker—who suggested bankruptcy was a possibility. I thought it would be impolitic to bring that up, so I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt him?”
Eddie chuckled, but it was morose. “This town will eat its own when it’s hungry,” he said.
Artie nodded. “Eddie’s right.”
“So…who?”
Instead of answering, he said, “They want to kill me, too. And they’ll try. I haven’t been home since Richie was executed. Too risky. People are bringing me my clothes and what I need. This casino is now my fortress. It will be here that I make my last stand.”
“It won’t be your last stand,” said Eddie.
Artie stared at him with a thin-lipped smile. “Eddie, I love you. You’re the sort of gold-medal bullshitter who keeps this neon cow town from drying up like a turtle without a pond.”
“You’ll be okay. I promise.”
“Honestly: you like my odds?”
“You’re the house, Artie. In the end, the house always wins.”
“Thank you,” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t convinced. He turned to me. “So, Crissy.”
I waited.
“Two new pals of mine were in the showroom last night to see Diana. They loved it,” he told me.
“I’m glad.”
“You look relieved.”
“I’d say I’m rather in shock. You just told me your brother was murdered, and now you think someone wants to—what’s the Vegas colloquialism?—whack you next,” I admitted.
“That’s not just a Vegas expression,” Eddie corrected me.
“I know it’s a good show,” I went on. “I’m glad your friends enjoyed it, Artie. But I wasn’t sure why you summoned me, and this is all a lot to absorb.”
“Why did you think I called you in?”
On the spur of the moment, I decided to admit the angst I had been feeling. “The casino CFO had just died and so I was expecting the worst.”
“Which would be what?” Artie asked.
I looked at both men. Canceling my residency, I would have said, if I were honest, but Artie was grieving and even I’m not that selfish. “Some sort of bad news about the casino’s future,” I murmured instead.
“Well, no one’s canceling your residency,” Eddie said, as if he had read my mind.
