As Valentine turned to shut the door, it slammed open in his face. Pools of black appeared before his eyes and he staggered backward into a wall.
The men from the elevator rushed into the suite. The white guy was holding a nylon rope stretched between his hands, the black guy a pipe. The black guy ran across the suite and tried to smack Rufus over the head. Rufus fell on the couch.
Dont hurt me, the old cowboy said. Please dont hurt me.
The white guy wrapped his rope around Valentines neck, then spun him around and put his knee into Valentines back. Valentine tried to wiggle his fingers between the rope and his windpipe. It was no good.
Ill pay you twenty grand, cash, Rufus said to his attacker.
You got that much? his attacker asked.
Yeah, in the wall safe.
The black guy looked at his partner, then back at Rufus. Double it, and I wont kill you.
Deal, Rufus said.
What about your friend?
What about him? Rufus asked.
The black guy laughed harshly.
Valentine felt the fight leave his body and his legs begin to buckle. From across the room, Celebritys garish neon flashed through the partially open blinds. Las Vegas was built on losers, and he realized he was about to become one of them.
4
Valentine was sinking in a bottomless lake. He felt weightless and surprisingly calm. Dying isnt so bad, he thought.
He heard a sharp crack! that sounded like thunder. The rope strangling him went slack, and fell to the floor. He took a deep breath, then spun around. His attacker was holding his arm, cursing in pain. Valentine kicked the mans legs out from under him. Called the sweep, it was the best way to take someone down. As the man fell forward, Valentine kneed him in the face for good measure.
He heard another crack! from across the suite. Rufus stood in the middle of the living room, brandishing a bullwhip. He cracked the whip like a pro, repeatedly hitting the black guy in places that were hard to defend: his ankle, face, and crotch. Valentine had seen Rufus slip something beneath the couch a few nights before, and had assumed it was a pair of shoes.
Look out behind you, Rufus said.
Valentine spun around. The effort made his head throb and the room spin. The white guy had gotten up and was staggering out the door, his face a bloody mess.
Tony, behind you again, Rufus called out.
Valentine turned again, this time a little more slowly. Rufuss attacker ran past him. He joined up with his partner, and their pounding footsteps reverberated down the hallway. Cracking his whip, Rufus followed the two men into the hall. His Stetson was back on his head, and he looked as regal as any cowboy had the right to look.
Anytime, girls, Rufus yelled, standing in the hallway. Come back anytime.
Valentine got his wits back, then searched the suite for a weapon. He settled on a brass flower vase sitting on the TV. It was shaped like a woman in a floor-length dress. He went into the hall with the vase clutched in his hand.
Call hotel security, he told Rufus.
Sure. You okay?
Never better, Valentine said.
Like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, their attackers had left a trail. Instead of bread crumbs, theyd left drops of blood. He followed them to the hallways end, stopping at the doorway to the emergency exit stairwell. Opening the door cautiously, he stuck his head in, staring into semidarkness.
From down below came voices. His adrenaline had burned off, and the bridge of his nose felt as wide as his head. The smart move was to retreat. Hed escaped, and that was the important thing. Only Valentine wanted to pay these jokers back. When it came to killers, he believed in the Old Testaments advice: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He went into the stairwell,
and listened some more.
When Valentine returned to the suite a minute later, Rufus handed him a towel wrapped around some ice cubes. Sitting on the couch, he pressed the towel to his nose.
I called hotel security, Rufus said. Theyre dealing with a problem in the casino, and will be up in a few. Hey, Tony, youve got blood on your shirt. You okay?
Valentine looked down at his shirt. The lower half was soaked in red.
Im fine, he said.
Well, you dont look fine, Rufus said.
Okay, so Im lousy.
Rufus pulled a suitcase from the closet. He unzipped a pocket, removed a glass pint of bourbon, and offered it to him. This is the finest bourbon known to man, brewed in a Mississippi bathtub by the great-grandson of Jack Daniels himself.
No thanks, Valentine said. But go ahead yourself.
Rufus unscrewed the top and took a long pull, smacking his lips when done. Some men, like Valentines father, could not drink without turning into monsters. Others, like Rufus, seemed better for the experience.
Rufus retrieved the coiled bullwhip from the floor. It looked like a thick black snake whose head was hidden within its coils, and he tucked it beneath the couch.
You always carry that around? Valentine asked.
Used to carry a gun, Rufus said. After 9/11, I started carrying the whip. In some ways, its better than a gun. You should learn how to use one.