CHAPTER 4Louis Arms operated the Casa Demain, a plush booby trap on the south shore of Long Island. From the outside, it gave no indication of its character, but looked like any large country estate that had been kept up. Shrubs, lawn, trees were all in good condition, only a small brass nameplate affixed to one of the pillars at the gate identifying it as a roadhouse.
Tonight it looked different than it had on the other occasions he had visited it. Without the flattery of a hidden battery of floodlights, it was just a tired old grey-white frame building, sprawling in the darkness. Tonight there were no cars in the parking lot, there was no high-pitched conversation from tuxedoed marks and their evening-dressed companions. Just a tired old grey-white building relaxing with its makeup off.
