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THE LOBBY WAS relatively empty. No one checking in or out. Two older women talking to the concierge. He gave them a map and they walked away. A service elevator to the side of the concierge desk opened, and six men in regulation military uniforms stepped out, followed by a man in a more elaborate uniform.
“General Semov,” Ranger said.
Semov looked fit. Ranger had already briefed me on him, so I knew that he was fifty-three years old and had been married for twenty-three years. His inner circle knew he was unfaithful in a way usually seen in rock stars and NBA players. FBI intelligence knew that his more talkative girlfriends suffered unfortunate and fatal accidents. People who were close to him suspected regular Botox injections and an occasional peel. His face was said to be as smooth as vanilla custard. Personally, from this distance I thought he looked a little scary.
The seven men crossed the lobby to the guest elevators, where an elevator was being held with the door open. The men got into the elevator, the door closed, and presumably the elevator whooshed Semov up to the tenth floor.
“So much for the Semov experience,” I said to Ranger. “Was the FBI able to get onto the floor to check his air handler?”
“Yes.”
We traded the lobby level for the casino level and wandered around. I didn’t expect to see Vlatko here, but we checked anyway.
Morelli called at five o’clock.
“It’s hell here,” he said. “It’s started to rain and we’re all locked in the house with the kids running around screaming about Transformer zombies. And Bella is on a rant about your grandmother. I can’t tell if Bella’s overmedicated or under-medicated. Where are you? What’s with all the bells and gongs going off in the background?”
“I’m in a casino in Atlantic City with Ranger.”
“This must be Torture Joe Day.”
“It’s business. We’re looking for Vlatko.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” There were some fumbling sounds from the phone and I could hear Morelli yelling, “Anthony junior, don’t feed him any more candy.”
“Is Anthony junior feeding candy to Bob?” I asked Morelli.
“No. He’s feeding it to Uncle Manny. You remember Manny, right?”
“A hundred years old, no teeth, drools, smells like canned peas.”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“We found a guy who’s missing a heart.”
“Only one?”
“So far.”
“Let me talk to Ranger,” Morelli said.
“No. You’re going to yell at him.”
“I’m not going to yell at him. I’m going to threaten him with police brutality and dismemberment Italian style.”
“That’s sort of yelling.”
More phone fumbling noise. “Bob, drop it!” Morelli shouted.
“Now what?”
“He’s got my Aunt Momo’s dentures. She takes them out when she eats. I have to go. He ran upstairs with them.”
I disconnected and put my phone back into my pocket.
“Everything okay in Trenton?” Ranger asked.
“Yep. Same old, same old.”
