Lucky (7 page)

“Like how, Manny? Tell me. Explain how someone this beautiful and this seductive suddenly shows up at my club, in the middle of this goddamned mess, with a warning, no less? How stupid does this sonofabitch who wants me dead think I am?”

The stricken look on Lucky’s face was spreading.
Manny had all but dragged her here to tell what she knew and this was the way she was being treated? She doubted if she’d ever speak to him…or Nick again.

“Pretty stupid, as men go,” Manny said quietly. “She didn’t just announce this. She overheard a phone conversation in the hall when she was on break and had enough decency to come tell me, so that a man she didn’t even know could be warned.”

Nick flushed and turned to her. “Is this true?”

Lucky stood. She’d had just about enough of men and their selfishness to last her a lifetime. This one might be dressed in Armani suits and wear hundred-dollar cologne, but he still had the mentality of one of the patrons at Whitelaw’s Bar back in Cradle Creek.

“What the hell does it matter what I say?” Lucky said. “I told you the truth once and you accused me of being some kind of spy. I don’t know what’s going on in your world, and after the way you’ve behaved, I’m not sure I care. But Manny seems to think you deserve to know, so here goes. I truly believe that if you get in your car tomorrow morning, you—and as Woody the Wire said, your breakfast—will blow sky-high.”

“Well, hell,” Nick said quietly, and walked to the window overlooking the Las Vegas skyline, staring blankly through the glass and out into the darkness.

“If you two will excuse me, I need to get back to my table,” Lucky said as she headed for the door without waiting to be excused. “And the next time I overhear some sinister plot in this godforsaken city, I’ll ignore it like everyone else who doesn’t want to get involved. Then when it happens, I can read about it with my toast and
coffee and feel nothing except the jelly dripping on my fingers.”

The door didn’t slam. But it was the firmest thump either man had ever heard.

“Nicky…Nicky. I think you messed up.”

Nick glared. “Thank you so much for pointing that out,” he said as he went for the phone.

“Who are you calling?” Manny asked.

“First Cubby, to make damn sure that neither he nor Dad get in any of the cars, then I’m calling Detective Arnold. He’ll know what to do. After that…who knows. Maybe I’ll have some crow before going to bed. It’s been years since I’ve felt the need.”

Manny sighed and shook his head as he started out the door.

“Manny.”

He turned at the doorway, waiting for Nick to continue.

“Thank her for me.”

“Thank her yourself, Nicky. Maybe she knows how to cook this crow you feel you should eat.”

Nick rolled his eyes, and then picked up the telephone receiver and punched in the numbers to his home as Manny left, leaving him alone to consider what he’d done. He’d dreamed of this woman and had actually considered looking for her. Then Manny handed her to him on a silver platter and he attacked her with the viciousness of a lunatic.

He dropped into his chair as he waited for someone to answer the phone. So many things to do. And if Lucky Houston was to be believed, so little time.

“Your lady was right on the money,” Will Arnold said. “Plastic explosives too. There wouldn’t have been enough left of you to pick up and bury, boy.”

Nick blanched. The bomb squad was pulling out of the gate to the estate with the explosive device still intact. And thanks to Lucky Houston, who was everything
but
his lady, Nick was intact to watch it happen.

“It was a professional job, that’s for sure,” the detective said. “Gives credibility to Miss Houston’s statement about the man calling himself Woody the Wire. Even her description fits. I just didn’t know the little bastard was back in town. Last I heard, he’d gone south…way south.”

“As in out of the country?” Nick asked, wondering if his father could possibly be connected to South America.

Will Arnold nodded. “Yeah. Jumped bail outrunning some indictment or other out of New York State.”

Nick’s shock grew. “New York? I’d swear my dad has no New York connections of any kind.”

“Oh, that’s not how case clues usually work,” the detective said. “Just because he was last working in New York doesn’t mean that your father had anything going up there. Little worms like that get around. They just squiggle down deep in the dirt and disappear until the next time they’re needed. Obviously someone wanted something bad to talk Woody into coming stateside.”

“Obviously,” Nick drawled, and turned away, unwilling to let Arnold see how rattled he’d become.

Moments later, the police were gone, leaving Nick to face the aftermath alone. He shuddered, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks as he walked back into the house. Although it was a warm eighty-five de
grees and he was wearing a jacket over his shirt and tie, he suddenly felt cold, as if someone had walked over his grave. Which in fact, they almost had.

“Nick, are you all right?”

Paul Chenault’s question was asked an octave above his normal voice level. His hands gave away the rest of his tension as he gripped the arms of his wheelchair as if it might take flight and waited for Nick to answer.

“Yes, no thanks to Woody the Wire,” he finally said.

Paul blanched. He recognized that look on Nick’s face. It was the same look he’d worn the day they’d buried his mother. Somewhere between disbelief and fury.

“I want to know everything about the old days.”

“Why?” Paul asked, his voice just below a shout. “Do you actually believe that I’d keep secrets from you and risk endangering your life…and mine? Tell me you don’t. For God’s sake, Nicky…tell me you don’t!”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. His gaze went from off-center to meeting his father’s eyes straight on.

“Of course not,” he said. “But you’re in here. I’m out there. I can’t go into this blind. Talk to me, Daddy. It may save us both.”

Paul’s mouth worked. The childhood name had come out of Nick’s mouth without thought. It was proof of how deeply disturbed he’d been by the events of the past twenty-four hours.

“Come have some breakfast with me. Cubby should be bringing it soon. We’ll talk then,” Paul promised.

“No, Dad. You talk. I’ll listen.”

Nick grabbed the handles of his father’s chair and wheeled him toward the morning room, unable to appre
ciate the warm yellow glow spilling in through the stained-glass window over the table, or the bowl of red and yellow tulips Shari had put there this morning as a centerpiece. He needed answers, not ambiance.

But Cubby was slow in arriving, so they settled for coffee. They were on their second cup when Paul started to talk.

“We were kids. Stupid kids. Just out of our teens. But it was the forties. The war was just over. Everything was wide open and fair game. There was money…big money to be made for the ones willing to take the risks.”

“Who’s we, Dad?”

Paul blinked, startled to be called back from his muse. “Oh, yes. Right. There were the three of us. We laughingly called ourselves the Three Musketeers. But Dieter was the one willing to take the risks. He was the real gambler among us all. J. J. and I went along for the rides.”

Paul’s voice droned. Nick found himself going in and out of focus, only picking up the thread of a story just long enough to know that it would have little bearing on the situation facing them today.

And then Paul’s voice changed, and his mannerisms began to indicate the nervous tension he was feeling. Nick tuned in just as his father’s voice cracked from emotion.

“I just couldn’t do it,” Paul said, and looked to his son for understanding. “It was a scam. A dangerous, foolhardy scam. I’d already met your mother. I didn’t want to ruin what chances I had with her. You understand, don’t you?”

“What, Dad? Exactly what was it that Dieter Marx was into?”

“He was going to rip off the mob.”

“Good lord,” Nick muttered. “That’s a hell of a friend.”

“I told you. We were young and foolish.”

“How was this heist supposed to work?” Nick asked.

“Dieter knew lots of people in Vegas. He found out that one of the councilmen was on the take, big time. He learned that there was a land deal going down, and that the councilman had given the mob some inside information that gave them the upper hand in obtaining it. They needed land to expand their operations here in Vegas. The councilman was willing to help them get what they wanted for a price. A big price.”

Nick’s lips thinned. This was getting worse by the minute.

“Go on,” he urged his father. “Get to the point. How big a price, and why should Dieter Marx hate you because of a crooked politician?”

Paul sighed. “Because it was a quarter-million-dollar payoff and because when it all went down, Dieter wound up with the money, but had accidentally killed the councilman in the process. I knew he was going to rob him, but J. J. and I refused to help. He was all alone. He had no one covering his back. If he had, the councilman might not have died, and Dieter wouldn’t have had to run.”

“That’s bull,” Nick said shortly. “Dieter Marx sounds like a petty thief. A man who would rather steal than work for what he wants. I have no sympathy for someone like that.”

Paul blanched. “Then you should know that I fall somewhere between Dieter and the mob in guilt,” he said quietly. “Because after it was over, Dieter came to J. J. and me. He wanted us to hide him. We refused. He was furi
ous. We fought, and then all of a sudden in the middle of the fight, we heard sirens. Dieter panicked and ran. Without the money. So then he was wanted for murder by the police, and for robbery by the mob, and he had nothing to show for it but the blood on his hands. He was running, but for all intents and purposes, he was already dead. If one of them didn’t get him, the other was bound to.”

Nick realized that his father had left out one very important detail regarding the story. And he could tell by the way Paul kept avoiding his look that there was definitely more to tell.

“What happened next?” he urged.

“We heard that Dieter was headed for South America. And then we heard later that he’d been killed. That’s the last time anyone ever mentioned his name.”

“But a fight between friends isn’t enough for a man to want to destroy you…is it?”

Paul didn’t answer.

“Dad, what happened to the money?”

Paul looked up. There were tears in his eyes as he answered.

“I kept it. It was what I used to get Club 52 off the ground.”

“Sonofabitch!”

Nick bolted from his chair, unable to face his father’s agonized expression.

“But I paid it back later…with interest. It was done anonymously. As far as the mob was concerned, Dieter Marx had just paid off a debt. But I couldn’t fix the other thing, Nicky. I couldn’t bring the man back to life that
Dieter killed. As far as I know, dead or alive, there’s still a warrant out for Dieter’s arrest.”

“So you and this J. J. made out like bandits while your buddy was dodging bullets and bad guys. It would make a hell of a movie, Dad.”

Paul grimaced. “No. Actually, the presence of the money actually finished breaking up the Three Musketeers for good. J. J. took to drinking and gambling. I bought off so many of his bad debts that I began to feel like his father. Finally, one day we’d both had one too many and wound up punching each other in the nose and calling it quits. To this day, I haven’t seen or heard from him, either.”

“So you got rich and lost every friend you had in the process.” Nick rubbed his hands over his face. “Now, for the rest of my life, every time I walk into the club, I’m going to remember that it cost you more than money to build it.”

Paul looked away. He couldn’t argue with his son’s estimation of his dirty past. It was no more than what he’d told himself for the last forty-something years.

“Hell, at least one thing’s for sure,” Nick drawled. “If Dieter Marx is alive, I’ll bet my next dollar that he’s the one pulling the plugs on Chenault Incorporated. I’d say, right or wrong, he probably thinks he has reason to hate you.”

Cubby came into the room carrying a tray of food. “Anyone hungry?”

“I’m going to the club,” Nick said. “Cubby, take care of Dad. This thing’s a long shot from being over.”

Nick left without saying anything more. And as the
door slammed behind him, Cubby saw his employer wilt in his chair. Paul’s shoulders slumped as the lines in his face deepened drastically.

“What’s wrong?” Cubby asked. “Are you sick? Do you want me to call Nick back?”

“No. For God’s sake, let him go. I’ll be lucky if he ever comes back.” Then Paul buried his face in his hands. “Oh, Cubby. Have you ever wished you could live your life over again?”

Cubby sighed. His huge hands gently shifted Paul Chenault to a straighter position in his chair and then he wheeled him toward the table and the food waiting to be eaten.

“Of course not,” Cubby said. “Because we are who we are, we’d just make the same mistakes all over again. I don’t want to experience my youthful stupidity more than once, thank you.”

Paul managed a weak laugh. “You’re probably right. But I hope to God that my youthful stupidity doesn’t get my son killed.”

“Nick can take care of himself…and you, boss. Eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

Paul had no option but to obey. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“T
here. What do you think?”

Lucky held up the mirror so that Fluffy could see, smiling at the old woman’s joy as she saw herself in a different light. The new hair color Fluffy had coerced Lucky into applying had done wonders for her appearance. It was no longer streaked and spotted like a molting retriever. Now she was one color all over. Audacious red. Somehow it suited her.

“Ooh, honey, if I squint just right, I can almost make myself believe I look good at eighty-four.”

Lucky laughed and impulsively hugged the old woman’s stooped shoulders. “You look fantastic,” she said. “What next?”

Fluffy grinned. “I think we need to go out for lunch. Show off my new look, don’t you?”

Lucky frowned. “We’d have to take a cab. I don’t think you’d like riding the bus.”

“Pooh!” Fluffy said. “I’ve got a car. I’ll drive.”

Lucky knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop. The shock of Fluffy’s announcement didn’t bear consideration.

“How long has it been since you drove?” she asked, thinking of the hectic traffic on the city streets.

“Not so long,” Fluffy muttered, as she began hobbling toward her bedroom to change. “It was just after the inauguration. We had a hell of a party. I danced all night. Come help me pick out something to wear.”

Lucky complied. Arguing with the woman was futile. She’d been alone too long and too set in her ways to accept anything but her own ideas.

With each passing day, their friendship was growing from casual to something deeper.

“The party was held at the Flamingo, you know.” Fluffy continued her story as Lucky followed her into the room. “All the pretty boys from Hollywood came. And the women. There were three women to every man. Just the way they liked it.”

Lucky nodded, watching with a nervous eye as Fluffy sorted through dress after dress, costume after costume, praying that she chose one without feathers. And then something Fluffy said made her think to ask.

“Fluffy!”

“Hmmm?” the old woman said, as she held a black satin dress beneath her chin, squinting her eyes once more to get the full effect of her new red hair against the sensuous fabric.

“Exactly which president was it who was being inaugurated?”

“Oh! Eisenhower, of course. But it wasn’t his real inauguration, you know. It was a mock one to coincide with the one he was having in D. C. I just love men in uniform, don’t you?”

Lucky took the dress from Fluffy’s hands. “Are you telling me that your car hasn’t been driven since Eisenhower took office?”

Fluffy pursed her lips. The astonishment on Lucky’s face was beginning to be aggravating.

“That’s what I said. That’s what I meant. Now come along. Do let’s hurry. I’m starving.”

“I just had a brainstorm,” Lucky said. “Why don’t we take a cab? Then we can talk instead of worrying about traffic and stoplights.”

Fluffy considered the idea, and then nodded, realizing that it had more merit than her own plan.

“And after we’re through, you can show me where you work,” Fluffy said. It would be like the good old days. Hitting the clubs with her friends. She smiled at Lucky and patted her on the cheek. It was good to have friends.

Lucky looked down and pretended to pick a dust bunny off of the shoes Fluffy tossed behind her. Fluffy was old, however, not blind. She sensed the change in the young girl’s behavior.

“What’s wrong, dear?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Lucky said. “I just don’t think it’s such a good idea to go to Club 52. I might not be working there much longer.”

Fluffy’s eyes glittered with indignation. She dropped the dress she was holding onto the back of a chair.

“Why on earth not? And don’t tell me you’re about to
be fired because you can’t do the job. I’ve seen what you can do with a deck of cards, remember?”

Lucky shrugged, remembering their weekend card game. She also remembered that Fluffy cheated outrageously.

“Sit, girl. Now talk. It helps, believe me.”

Lucky sank down on the bed with a dejected sigh. The slump of her shoulders matched the droop of her mouth. Fluffy frowned and sat down beside her, patting her hand as she urged her to continue.

“It’s all a mess there,” Lucky said. “Someone seems to have a grudge against the owner and I had the bad luck to get myself involved. After today and the confrontation we had, I don’t know whether I’ve got a job tomorrow or not.”

Fluffy sighed. Some things never changed. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

Lucky rolled her eyes. “No, actually it’s worse. I’m just an optimist.”

Fluffy laughed. Audacious red curls bobbed against the back of her neck as she slapped her knee in delight.

“Honey, whatever happens, something tells me you’ll do all right.” And when Lucky would have argued, Fluffy cut her off. “No, hear me out! I’m always right. It’s a prerequisite of old age.”

This time, Lucky was the one to chuckle. “All right, so get yourself dressed. I’ll change too, and when I come back down to call the cab, we’ll decide where we’re going to eat.”

Worrying about what Fluffy LaMont wore in public
was no longer an issue. She could wear feathers and diamonds for all Lucky cared. It was the woman’s friendship that she treasured.

“I feel like Italian,” Fluffy muttered, as Lucky started out the door. “So…if we’re going to eat pasta, I need to dress accordingly. Hmmm…I wonder what I did with my gondolier’s hat? It would look fabulous with my green silk pajamas. Maybe it’s upstairs.”

Lucky remembered the tour Fluffy had given her of the floor between her apartment and the ground floor where Fluffy now lived. It was a veritable museum of clothing from another era. Lucille LaMont clearly didn’t believe in throwing anything away.

As the old woman headed for the stairs to unearth her treasures, Lucky grinned. She wouldn’t miss this lunch for the world.

On his way up to Nick’s office, Manny saw the mismatched females enter Club 52. Between the fashion statement that Fluffy LaMont had chosen to make, and Lucky Houston’s height and beauty, they were an impossible pair to miss. He grinned, and then took the rest of the stairs up two at a time.

He opened the door and shouted, “Nicky! Come quick,” then disappeared without waiting to see if Nick even heard.

He had. And after the events of the past few days, he felt obligated to hurry. He was ready for anything except the two women he saw cutting a swath through the crowded floor.

“Isn’t that Lucky?” he asked, and felt the same familiar jolt of interest he always got when she was around. Her sexy saunter and that black crown of hair were unmistakable. And then he leaned a little farther over the mezzanine for a better look. “But who on earth is that with her?”

Manny grinned. “Hell of a hat, isn’t it, boss?”

Nick returned the smile. “I think I saw Errol Flynn wear one like it in an old pirate movie once. Who is she?”

“That, my young friend, is the one and only Lucille LaMont. Fluffy, to her fans. In the old days she was one of the hottest exotic dancers on the strip.”

Nick shook his head. “I thought she was dead.”

“Doesn’t look much like it,” Manny said. “Look! She’s giving some of your patrons a little teaser from her old routine.”

Nick chuckled as the aging lady flirtatiously slid the sleeve of her green silk jacket off her shoulder and then managed a small bump and grind just to prove that she could. A round of clapping accompanied her stunt, and Nick knew that it was probably time to make an appearance before someone taunted her to “take it all off” and she did.

Lucky tried not to blush, but it was impossible not to be affected by Fluffy’s outrageous behavior. Before she had time to regain her composure, she saw her boss coming down the stairs. And as he walked in their direction, she felt an odd sense of being cornered, although the room was full of people.

The urge to run was strong. She just wasn’t certain if it came from disdain for his way of life, or fear that she
might actually grow to like the man. Whichever it was, she hated to admit, even to herself, that he caused any kind of reaction within her at all. She rolled her eyes and muttered to Fluffy beneath her breath, “Here comes my boss.”

Fluffy abandoned her intrigued audience and spun, not disguising her interest in the dashing young man who was headed their way.

“Lucky, you little miser! You didn’t tell me you worked for such a dreamboat. No wonder you’ve been keeping him to yourself.” She batted her eyes at Nick in a way that said everything about her past, and offered her hand in a flirtatious gesture.

Nick winked and then smiled, looking at the blue veins and swollen knuckles as if they were the most appealing sight he’d had all day. With a dignitary’s aplomb, he lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss just between her wrist and the two-karat diamond on her finger.

“Welcome, ladies.”

Lucky was in shock. Other than the bus station, she’d had only one other meeting with this man, and at neither time had he shown this side of his character. “The Pimp” had a twinkle in his eye she would do well to ignore.

Fluffy batted her eyelashes and then elbowed Lucky. “Honey…aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Lucky took a deep breath. There was nothing to do but get this over with…and fast.

“Lucille…this is my boss, Nick Chenault. Mr. Chenault, my landlady and friend, Lucille LaMont. We’ve just finished lunch. She asked to see where I worked.”

It all came out in a rush. Only after she’d finished did
she think to catch her breath, and then told herself it was what she’d said, and not who she was with, that had taken her breath away.

Lucille preened. “Please, call me Fluffy. Everyone does, you know.”

“Fluffy…it’s an honor to meet you.”

Fluffy couldn’t help but notice that although Nick was talking to her, he kept looking at Lucky. This was getting better by the minute.

Lucky started to fidget beneath Nick’s interest. “I guess we’d better—”

“Oh, no. At least…not yet,” Fluffy begged. “I want to play a little roulette, honey. It’s been years since I got out to do this. Come join me. I’ll bank us.”

An odd expression slid across Lucky’s face. “No. I don’t gamble. You go ahead, Fluffy. I won’t be far.”

Nick couldn’t help but be intrigued by his prettiest dealer’s remark. She worked in a casino, and yet she stood there claiming she didn’t gamble?

Then he instinctively realized what she meant. Where Lucky Houston worked, the house’s money was at stake, not hers.
How odd
, he thought, and wondered what had made her so cautious and bitter.

Fluffy hobbled toward the roulette wheel, masking the limp from her aching knee by adding a little more sway to her walk. When Lucky would have followed, Nick caught her by the arm, and then quickly dropped his hold when he saw the expression in her eyes turn cooler than usual.

So…my Lucky Lady, you have more secrets. You don’t gamble, and you don’t like to be touched
. He gave her the
space she seemed to need and pretended to ignore what she’d done.

“Quite a friend you have there,” Nick said quietly.

“Yes, she is,” Lucky answered, pretending interest in the jacket buttons on her blue pantsuit.

“Lucky.”

Her name seemed to vibrate on his tongue. She shivered and looked over his shoulder rather than at his face when she answered.

“Yes, sir?”

“Yesterday the bomb squad removed enough plastic explosives from my car to level a city block.”

She turned pale. Her voice shook as she stared at the intensity on his face. “Oh, no! Then it
was
true!”

“You saved my life. I owe you more than you’ll ever know.”

A couple passing behind her, boisterous from a recent win, bumped into Lucky and sent her careening into Nick’s arms. His chest was solid but warm, and when she realized that she could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, she jerked away as if she’d been shot.

“You don’t owe me anything but the wages that I earn.”

The words trembled on her lips as she tried to think of an excuse to escape. If she stayed, she would have to admit, at least to herself, that he’d held her a little too long before turning her loose.

“I wish I could take back everything I’ve ever said to you,” he said quietly.

Lucky shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Chenault.”

Nick frowned. “It matters. And dammit…don’t call me Mr. Chenault!”

There was a look in his eyes she wasn’t sure she recognized. It was almost…if she didn’t know better…she could swear that he…
No way!
she told herself.
He’s not interested…not in me…not like that
.

“So, what do I call you?”

“I’d prefer darling,” he said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll settle for Nick.”

Lucky blushed and looked away, thrown off balance by the shift in their conversation. In the space of minutes, they’d gone from antagonists, to employer/employee, to something she wasn’t ready to consider.

“I’d better go check on Fluffy,” she said. “I don’t want her to break the bank.”

Nick looked toward the roulette wheel. From here he could see the sweep of that white feather in the woman’s hat rising above the heads of the crowd.

“She seems all right. Besides, from the size of the crowd around the table, it looks as if she’s good for business. While she’s playing, would you join me for a glass of wine?”

Oh, no!
He
was
interested. But to what extent? Lucky knew nothing about his personal life. He could be the world’s most dangerous playboy. The last thing she wanted or needed was to fall for a man like that. He was too rich and too available, and she was too lonely and too vulnerable.

“No way,” she said. “Not even if it means my job.”

“Why not?” Nick was more than a little stunned by her constant refusals.

“Because if I’m seen with you, then everybody will think I’m fair game.” Her voice shook, but the surge of
emotion could not stop the power of what she said. “Someday I’ll be somebody’s special girl, but I don’t want to be everybody’s girl first. Thanks, but no thanks.”