After a while, he looked at the clock, sat up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe an icy shower and some aspirin would improve things.
They did, a little. The banging in his skull eased. He knew his attitude still needed work but a couple of gallons of coffee and a large glass of vitamin C in the guise of orange juice would help. The problem lay in getting to them. Just thinking about the crowds and the noise of the casino he’d have to endure on his way to the open-for-breakfast restaurant made him shudder.
Room service promised to deliver within fifteen minutes. The woman who took his order was so unfailingly cheerful, so eager to add pancakes or waffles or omelets to his Spartan meal, that he wanted to garrote her. Instead, to atone for the thought, he added a request for rye toast.
“Thank you, Mr. Baron,” she chirped.
Gray dressed in a black polo shirt and chinos, decided that shaving might be dangerous to his health and collapsed in one of the armchairs in the sitting area, determined to contemplate nothing more complex than his surroundings.
His room—a deluxe minisuite, whatever in hell that meant—was big and handsome, done in shades of sand and taupe, and almost austere except for the billowing ocher-silk canopy over the bed. A tent, he’d thought with some amusement when he’d checked in the previous afternoon. He assumed the scheme was meant to be reminiscent of the desert though no stretch of arid land or oasis could ever have been this luxurious. He was on the sixteenth floor and the room overlooked the pool and its surrounding gardens.
He’d spent a lot of time looking down at that pool last night.
A knock sounded at the door. He opened it and a waiter bearing a silver tray greeted him pleasantly. Gray did his best to be pleasant in return. Maybe he could get some information. God knew he hadn’t come up with any on his own.
“Going to be hot today,” he said, and winced mentally at the inane remark, though the waiter took it with grace.
“Yessir,” he said as he arranged china and silver on a table near the window in the step-down sitting area. “Great weather for the pool.”
“Or for the casino,” Gray said, and smiled. “But I guess it’s always great weather for the casino.”
“That it is.” The waiter made a minor adjustment to the single champagne-colored rose displayed in a slender crystal vase. “Would you like me to pour your coffee, sir?”
“No, that’s okay, thanks. I’m not quite ready.” Gray tucked his hands in his pockets. “So,” he said, after a second or two, “I guess a place like this employs a lot of people.”
“Oh, it does. A small army, you might say.”
“Must be hard to know everybody.”
“Well, you get to know faces.” The waiter stepped back. “Some names, too. Not all of them, though. Just too many to deal with, you know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.” Gray took a twenty from his pocket. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your stay.”
“I’m sure I will. Oh, it occurs to me…”
“Sir?”
“A guy I know said he had a cousin he thought worked here, at the Desert Song.”
“Really,” the waiter said politely.
“Dawn something. Dawn Carter?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know her.”
“She used to be a dealer.”
“I don’t know many of the casino people.”
“But she works in the hotel now, in something called Special Services.”
“I know mostly kitchen staff, sir.”
“Pretty woman, this guy says.
“Sorry.”