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They entered his outer office and he told his secretary he d return in a few
minutes and to make sure the juggling chorines didn t leave until he had a
chance to check out their act.
Flanked by Cruz and Manco he strolled across the main floor of the casino,
past ranks of jangling slots and the intense preoccupied stares of the
quarter-feeders. They exited through the marbled front lobby.
Out on the edge of the vast parking lot he halted suspiciously.  Where is your
truck, anyway? Not that he was carrying a lot of cash, but it still paid to
be prudent. These weren t two kids from Boise, after all.
 Take it easy, mon. Cruz pointed to the far corner of the parking lot.  It s
right over there.
The truck was parked off by itself next to several large commercial buildings
which stood on the lot next to the casino. There was a bank and a big discount
drugstore complex, then another casino. The lot was brightly illuminated.
 Why didn t you just bring the bird to my office? the agent grumbled as he
stepped over a large puddle.
 I said he was big. Cruz jumped the same puddle.  The other thing is, well,
when he does
 Something wrong? he said mildly to the other member of the pair.
 We didn t leave thee door up. Hey, Cruz, I thought you lock eet.
 Lock it? The other man s voiced echoed from inside the truck.  Why lock it?
To keep somebody from stealing this junk? I don t see no ropes, so he didn t
get loose in here.
Maybe somebody got curious and lifted the door and he hopped out. He jumped
down out of the truck, his eyes scanning the parking lot, the agent forgotten.
 He s got to be around here someplace. His wings were tied. He couldn t fly
away.
 Are you sure? The agent s voice was tinged with sarcasm.  I ve seen plenty
of acts where the birds did that. The two men ignored him. Manco ran down the
alley between the drugstore and the bank.
 Sorry, boys, but I ve got another act to review.
Cruz put a hand on his arm.  Just give us a minute, please, just a minute.
He s got to be close by somewhere. We ain t been gone that long.
 Hey, down heere!
Cruz let out a sigh of relief.  See? I told you it was a smart bird.
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Reluctantly the agent allowed himself to be led into the alley. The casino
doorman had seen him leave and would be after him in two minutes if he didn t
return.
It was more service road than alley and plenty wide. He didn t think the two
men had robbery on their mind. If so, they would have jumped him already,
behind the truck.
Halfway down the road was an elderly gentleman who was not a casino patron.
The agent knew this immediately because the man was wearing a long overcoat.
You don t wear overcoats in Vegas in the springtime. The smell of liquor was
stronger here than at the gaudy bar in the casino. The man was swaying
unsteadily, obviously uncomfortable at being the object of so much unexpected
late-night attention.
 Hey, lay off. I didn t do nuttin .
 We know, mon. Manco was standing close to the rummy, licking his lips and
look farther down the alley.  We re just lookeeng for sometheeng.
body. Cruz and Manco sprinted down the alley. The curious agent followed at a
more leisurely pace.
A small fire crackled behind a pair of massive dumpsters. The group of bunis
clustered around it tensed, then relaxed when they saw that their visitors
weren t uniforms. A few lay against the rear wall of the bank. Others rested
on their backs, staring up at the stars and remembering better nights.
Cruz arrived out of breath.  We re looking for a bird. Big green parrot.
 Parrot? One of the old men sat up and frowned.  We ain t seen any parrot.
 Hey. A younger down-on-his-luck gestured with a half empty bottle.  He must
be talking about the chicken. That belonged to you, huh?
 Chicken? Cruz talked like a man who d just had Novocain.  What chicken?
 The big green chicken. Hey, look man, we didn t know he belonged to anybody.
He just sorta came hoppin down here and, well, some of us ain t had a square
meal in three days.
He was big enough to feed the bunch of us and what with him all trussed and
ready for the fire, well hey, don t cry, man. What was it, somebody s pet?
Cruz couldn t answer. He just put his face in his hands and sobbed. His
partner stared past the fire at the small pile of bones on the far side.  That
weren t no cheeken, mon. It were a parrot. A talking parrot. A special talking
parrot.
The younger bum leaned back, shrugged, and picked at his upper left bicuspid. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]