Temptation Town Read Free

right now, I didn't see any sense in
risking a major pinch if I didn't really need the weapon. I closed the drawer.
    Out the door into the cold, windy day I went,
holding a paper napkin with an address on it.
    The drive out Maryland Parkway wasn't too bad. The
sun had risen high enough so it didn't irritate my eyes through the driver's
side window. Traffic flowed smoothly, very rare for this street. I caught a lot
of green lights and pretty soon I was turning off onto Sierra Vista Drive.
    Despite its exotic name, Sierra Vista only sounds
pretty. It's a street that runs perpendicular behind the east side of the Las
Vegas Strip, densely lined with B-grade apartment complexes. For the most
part, these places house a lot of the hourly wage earners in the big hotels
just a couple of blocks away. The street is known in some circles as Cocaine
Alley.
    I rolled into the parking lot of the address
Lansdorf gave me, an unpleasant-looking spot called the Arrowhead Apartments. I
found the office and went in. The wind almost blew the door out of my grip. I
had to use both hands to shut it.
    A woman's voice came at me from behind a plain
wooden desk.
    "Wind sure picked up, didn't it?"
    I straightened myself out, admitting it had indeed
picked up. Her name badge read "Jane Sandemore, Resident Manager".
    Beneath straight brown hair, she looked me over
with dark eyes. It looked like she was surprised to see me, but then I saw her
brows were naturally arched too high on her forehead, giving her a look of
permanent astonishment. I guessed her to be in her late forties, though she
appeared older.
    "Ms Sandemore," I began, "my name's
Jack Barnett. I'm a private investigator." I flashed the wallet ID, just
long enough to give her a quick look. "I'm here to inquire about someone who
used to be one of your tenants. Maybe she still is, actually."
    She looked up from my ID straight to my eyes. I
could tell she didn't like anything about this encounter.
    "Who would that be?"
    "A girl by the name of Emily Lansdorf. Age
twenty-three. Pretty girl. Blonde hair, blue —"
    "I know who you mean," she interrupted
in a controlled,   tight voice. She had no
accent I could identify. "No, she's long gone from here. Left sometime
last spring. May, June. Somewhere around there. And good riddance, I might
add."
    "Why. Was there a problem?"
    "Ha. Saying there was a problem with her is
like saying it gets a little warm around here in the summertime. That girl
brought in more lowlifes than you can imagine at all hours of the day and
night. Made all kinds of racket."
    I took the seat facing her across the desk.
"No offense, Ms Sandemore, but how do you know this. I mean, you've got
lots of other tenants here and she's just one girl."
    "She lived in the unit right next door to the
office," she said, pointing to her left. "I could see her out the
window bringing in one scummy guy after another. Day in and day out, it was. I
had to call the police one day after I heard a gunshot in her apartment. Say,
is she in trouble or something?"
    "No, ma'am. She's not in trouble. I'm just
trying to locate her. Now, with this gunshot incident, was anyone hurt? Were
there arrests made?"
    "No, none. The sleazeball she was with left before
the police arrived. When they got here, she said the gun went off accidentally
while he was cleaning it and she didn't know his real name. The next day, she
had a black eye."
    "Did she leave any kind of forwarding
address? You know, for mail and such?"
    "None whatsoever." I could tell she had
quite enough of me and my questions. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
work to do."
    I thanked her for her time. As I wrestled with the
door on my way out, she hollered above the blustery wind, "If you find
her, tell her she owes me eight hundred in rent!"

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
4

 
    I knew what my next move would be. I hopped back into my car, then headed over to
see Ronnie Wills.
    Ronnie was a cab driver who worked swing shift.
Every once in a while,