Wolf's Deal: A Nick Lupo Novella (The Nick Lupo Series) by W.D. Gagliani

mirthlessly. “Drugs and alcohol. The occasional breakdown.”
    She touched
his arm, serious. “Must be hard.”
    “You get
used to it on the one hand,” he said. “But on the other, not really. We’ll get
this guy, though. It’s just… well, he’s got a streak going, and the question is
how many more he’ll target before we close in.” He passed a hand over his hair,
smoothing it from its pillow shape. “Nick told me about your ideas. Good call.
He seems convinced you’re on the right track. We never thought about people who
got rejected before being hired…”
    “You would
have, eventually,” she said, touching his arm again. “I mean, it just came to
me, maybe because I’m looking at it from the outside.”
    “No, that’s
good psychology. You’re a doctor, you know how people think.”
    “If I did…
I’d have a lot easier time up on the rez.”
    DiSanto
turned to scan a knot of security guys at the far end of the aisle. “I’d better
check in with those guys. I’ll tell Nick you’re around if I see him before you
do. I think he’s here somewhere in this maze. He called me back, so his ass had
better be here!”
    “Thanks,”
she said. She really liked DiSanto. She was happy that he watched Nick’s back.
She sensed he was a lot more efficient than his surface persona. The one
persona Nick was always teasing.
    He grinned
his boyish grin, but the lack of sleep was making his face sag at the corners
and his eyes seemed nearly glazed.
    She watched
him walk away.
    Then she
sensed eyes on her and turned, expecting to catch a glimpse of Lupo striding
toward her. But instead it was another tired-looking guy shuffling past. He
didn’t look like a gambler type at all. He seemed watchful. Another cop, she
guessed, dragged out of bed, but she didn’t know him. Half the department was
probably here. She watched him stumble across her field of vision, his eyes
sweeping over her, over the other security people, the gamblers. He seemed to
be aware of everything.
    Then he
disappeared around an island of slot machines, and she set about trying to find
Nick.
    She went for
her phone but her pocket was empty. Had that moment everyone has, a sort of What the hell? It should be here! moment, and patted her pocket as if there was a chance she just couldn’t feel
the plastic and metal slab. Then patted the other pockets.
    She’d used
it in the Pathfinder. Then she’d put it on the passenger seat when she
unbuckled her seat belt.
    Oh well, I’m either going to find Nick the
old-fashioned way or I’m going to find the truck and get the phone.
    She weighed
her options.
    Six of one…
    She set out
back into the heart of the loud casino environment, figuring she’d either run
into Nick or DiSanto again, or maybe one of the few other cops she knew, and it
would be quicker than going for the phone.
    As she
walked, she felt a strange urge to try the beckoning slot machines.
    That was funny,
she always listened to The Turn of a
Friendly Card , their favorite Alan Parsons Project, and heard it as Eric
Woolfson’s colorful but cautionary tale about the evils of gambling, yet here
she was, reaching into her pocket for a folded bill. They took bills, didn’t
they, the slot machines? Of course they
do .
    She pulled
out a twenty. Stepped up to a machine with colorful fantasy creatures on its
face, a catchy electronic song with pumped-up bass playing over and over, and a
bunch of rolling cylinders with pictures on each of many faces. She watched as
nearby players fed their machines and imitated them, sliding the bill into the
lit-up slot. It was eaten with a grinding sound and then a series of numbers
popped up on the little window accompanied by a jaunty synthesizer ditty. She
did the math and realized it had counted her twenty as eighty quarters. She
watched another player ignore the old one-armed bandit limb on the side of his
machine and push a button on the face, did the same, and watched the cylinders
spin, mesmerized