Lucky Bastard (31 page)

“What are you going to do with me?” Estella’s voice had lost its swagger.

Romeo glanced at me before answering. “I don’t know yet. For now, keep you both safe and fed.”

A weak smile lit the girl’s eyes as she turned to the officer waiting patiently just inside the doorway.

When the two had gone, I leaned my head back. “Let me guess, we have no idea where Dane is.”

Before Romeo could answer, Jeremy strode into the room brandishing his phone. “You may not, but I do.”

***

Only tourists drove up or down the Strip, and maybe the occasional townie looking to waste time soaking up some atmosphere. In Jeremy’s Hummer, we were neither, so we darted down the back streets, taking the local route.

I pulled at my sodden clothing, which I had allowed Romeo and Jeremy to help me squirm into, breaking the Code of Womanly Mystery all to Hell. Not only did I smell, but I itched as well. A serious dose of penicillin lurked in my future, as well as a probable arrest by the fashion police.

My body vibrated with the effort required to remain upright. While Jeremy drove and Romeo looked grim, I took the time to stoke the internal fires with a couple of muffins I had snagged from the patients’ dinner trays stacked neatly on the cart next to the elevator. In survival-of-the-fittest mode, I didn’t feel even a slight twinge of guilt as I stuffed first the cinnamon apple, followed quickly by the bran, into my mouth, chewed rapidly, swallowed, then chased it with apple juice—also purloined from the hospital.

“Where exactly did Shooter call you from?” I asked Jeremy, needing to get the story straight. My thoughts refused to unmuddle, I don’t know why.

“The lobby of the Edelweiss. He’d trailed Cole to a jewelry store there.”

“And Dane?”

“With Shooter. Both of them are waiting, as you requested before…”

“They do anything stupid, I know. But I’m not holding out much hope that they can resist.” The apple juice drained dry, I peeled back the top on a similar little jug of OJ. Not a proud moment, but necessity trumped pride every time—at least, that’s what I told myself. “Speaking of stupidities…” I trailed off as my thoughts derailed. “Is that even a word?” My eyes met Jeremy’s in the rearview mirror. His thoughts were easy to read. “Sorry. So how’d they get there again?”

“Cole hit Shooter over the head, then ran,” Jeremy said, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Shooter followed him. Dane called Shooter.”

“And Dane? Didn’t the police hold him?”

“When I went back to try to help you out of the tunnel, Dane came to and bolted. The police haven’t caught up with him yet, but now I doubt they’ll put too much effort into chasing him. He’s the least of their worries.”

“The Three Stooges.” I scrambled for a handhold as we wheeled down an alley, then bumped over the curb. “I know I’m slow on the uptake, but if Cole hit Shooter over the head, then how did he follow him?”

“Please,” Romeo snorted, then turned, gracing me with a condescending look, which, for the record, I didn’t appreciate. “He’s a Marine.”

“Well that explains everything.”

“The blood in the hallway was his.”

“Shooter’s?” I asked, just to be ornery. “I guess this isn’t exactly how your plan to set up a sting at this jewelry store was to play out?”

Romeo refused to look at me.

“How do you want to play it?” I asked.

He slowly turned, his eyes full of surprise. “You’re going to let me play lead?”

“I figure you’ve earned it. But, trust me, being the boss isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Jeremy jammed on the brakes. “Here we are.”

A liveried bellman opened my door with a flourish. “Ma’am.” He reached in to help me out. I took his hand and, to his credit, he didn’t recoil. Not even when he got a good whiff of me.

The Edelweiss had a superlative staff.

We sashayed through the front entrance—no one gave us a passing look. The lobby was crowded, as usual. Jeremy took the lead. Romeo and I tried to match his pace as he darted and weaved through the throng in the Orangerie—the floral arrangers were just putting the finishing touches on the fall display, all reds and yellows, oranges and browns with a lovely water feature.

Past the ice cream store, he angled to the left. The jewelry store was two stores down.

Shooter, Dane, and Cole sat in wing-back chairs on the opposite side of the hallway against the window. Swallowed in the large chairs, I would have missed them had they not called to us. I noticed Dane had changed clothes—a purple shirt to match the pretty vivid shiner around his left eye. He and Jeremy nodded to each other, most likely tabling their differences until later.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, the last to arrive. Leaning over, my hands on my knees, I tried to catch my breath. Of course, it didn’t help that my brain was spinning in my head like the tilt-a-whirl at Circus Circus.

“No plan,” Shooter said. “But the kid here thinks somehow this store is tied in with the piece that gal lifted from the hotel.”

Cole nodded in confirmation.

“Those dots I already connected. But how?” I asked him.

He shrugged.

Then it hit me. I whirled around and peered through the glass storefront. A tall woman with long blond hair, an artificially taut face, sporting those plumped lips that reminded me of the fat lip I gave Billy Wilson in the seventh grade, waited on a Chinese man obviously in the market for a watch sufficient to confer bragging rights back home. While the just-been-slapped-around lips changed the woman’s appearance a bit, the look of insincere obsequiousness in her eyes left little doubt.

Carmen DeLuca—the fourth Mrs. Frank DeLuca.

“Let me handle this.”

No one gave me any argument. Not even Romeo. Ignoring the stains, I brushed down my slacks and threw back my shoulders.

A discreet chime announced my presence as I pushed through the heavy glass door. Plush carpet, white and spotless, muffled my footfalls. A floral scent lingered in the air. Soft music provided suitable undertones. With the practiced eye of a high-end shopkeeper, Carmen took my measure with one glance, then discreetly waved away the waiter who stepped to greet me with a silver tray of Champagne flutes appropriately filled. He stepped back into his corner, his eyes averted. Guess I didn’t peg on her well-heeled meter. To his credit, a pink blush tinged his cheeks.

Not only did I not peg on Carmen’s well-heeled meter, apparently I didn’t spark any recognition either. “Hello, Carmen.”

This time her glance lingered. Clearly taken by surprise, she adopted that feigned, overly friendly demeanor of a professional suck-up caught flat-footed. “I’m sorry.” She extended her hand across the counter. “So good to see you.” Her eyes flicked to my attire, but her expression remained bland.

When I took her hand, she didn’t even cringe. Way better than I would’ve managed. “Lucky O’Toole. From the Babylon?”

“Oh,” she sighed, deflating as the air of obsequiousness rushed from her. “Lucky, of course. How can I help you?”

“Have you seen Frank lately?”

“Frank?” A frown normally would’ve accompanied the tone in her voice but her face had no movement. “He wouldn’t dare show his face around here.”

“Why not? I thought you were on good terms.”

She motioned for another clerk to assist the Chinese gentleman, who was watching us with interest. Carmen stepped to the far end of the counter. I followed her.

Leaning across the jewelry case, she lowered her voice. “He’s so far behind in alimony payments, I’d shoot him for the insurance, but now, not even that would cover what he owes me.”

I adopted a conspiratorial, slightly aghast tone, the dialect of her tribe of money-grubbers. “Honey, I had no idea. I thought that man was made of money. What are you going to do?”

“Can you imagine? Leaving me high and dry?”

“So unappreciative.”

She pulled at a lock of hair, then wrapped it around the forefinger of her right hand, worrying it so that more than a few golden strands floated to the counter. The harsh light highlighted the subtle lines around her eyes and mouth she worked so hard to camouflage. “At least the store is safe. Frank did get some investors to give me an infusion of cash. If he hadn’t…” A little shiver shook her.

Romeo pressed his nose to the glass, catching my eye. I ignored him.

I glanced around the store, taking in the glistening sconces, the original art perfectly lit, the huge rocks under glass, the subtle aura of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. “Nice place you have here. It sure would’ve been a shame to see it go.”

“If we didn’t have our own line of high-end costume jewelry, we’d’ve been shuttered long ago.”

“Your own line?”

She nodded, her disinterest evident. “We copy exquisite pieces, one-of-a-kind things. Sometimes we do it for insurance purposes—the owners don’t want to travel with the real piece—that sort of thing.”

“And sometimes you copy the pieces to sell?”

Carmen’s lids fluttered. “I didn’t say that.”

“Do you do repairs as well?”

Carmen shifted back into her High Priestess of the Cult of Embarrassing Riches mode. “We have a certified gemologist, a designer and craftsman—he makes the most exquisite pieces.”

“And replating? I have a guest at the hotel, which is really why I’m here. She has a watch…” I described Sylvie’s watch in detail as I kept a close eye on Carmen’s face. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even a furtive glance of guilt.

“The owner wishes the engraving to be removed, then the metal replated to hide the removal?” Carmen reiterated.

“Yes.”

“Platinum, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Not a problem.” Finally, she stopped torturing that lock of hair. “If you get it to me by the end of business today, we could have it back to your guest perhaps by dinner tomorrow. If not, for sure the next day. We have all the materials on hand.”

I thanked her then took my leave. Thankfully Romeo had stopped the kid-in-a-toy-store routine.

The men circled around me. “So?” Dane asked.

I summarized the high points of my conversation.

“You think the cyanide could’ve come from here?” Romeo asked.

“I didn’t mention cyanide specifically—it’s about as hard to bring up in casual conversation as an STD. But she said she could do replating with a short turn around—all the necessary materials are here.

“And Frank DeLuca?” Jeremy asked. “You don’t think she’d give him any?”

“I got the impression she’d use it on him before she gave it to him, but who knows? The more we dig, the more Frank’s name keeps popping up.”

“Where do we go from here?” Dane asked the question, but the three of them looked at me as if I had a clue what I was doing. No way was I going to admit I was making it up as I went. We were close. I could feel it. And Frank was the key.

“Romeo, you go get all the pertinent warrants. Jeremy, take Cole back to the hotel. Get Jerry to put someone on him until we’re sure he’s out of danger.” Jeremy disappeared down the hallway.

Romeo paused for a moment. “What about Frank DeLuca?”

“I’ll find him and keep him busy until you show up with the paperwork.”

That seemed to mollify him. He turned and followed Jeremy.

I turned my attention to Shooter and Dane, bloodied and bruised, they looked a bit battle-weary. “Why don’t you two go to the doc-in-a-box and see about those head wounds?”

After a moment’s thought and without argument, they turned on their heels and sauntered toward the lobby. I wasn’t convinced they’d do as I suggested—which didn’t really bother me. If they both died of ptomaine it’d be too easy a death in my book.

I turned and ran the other way. The tram would be the quickest way back to the Babylon.

I was going to find Frank if it killed me.

When
I burst through the front doors of the Babylon loaded for bear, people filled every corner of the lobby, which caught me off guard. My internal clock had gone on the fritz—spending the better part of the day unconscious could do that. Although it felt much earlier, from the energy of the crowd I thought the cocktail hour might be upon us—or perhaps that was wishful thinking. A good jolt of joy-juice would do wonders for my disposition, but I didn’t have the time—although I certainly had the lack of conviction.

Amazingly enough, I had not only remembered I’d left my phone on the floorboard of Jeremy’s Hummer, but I’d managed to find it under the passenger seat hiding in a sack of half-eaten hamburgers from In-N-Out.

Jerry answered on the first ring. “Lucky, man! You good, girl?”

“Good as I’ll ever be. How are your people? Did Dane hurt them?”

“Headaches and a good case of red-ass, they’ll recover.”

I guessed I could cross Dane off my hit list. “I really need Frank.”

“Golden Fleece Room regaling the press.”

“You’re a good man, Jer. I don’t care what they say.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Girl, whatever you do, don’t go telling everybody.”

“What, and ruin your reputation?” Eyeing the line in front of the elevators, I turned and headed for the escalators to the Mezzanine, nearly bowling over two little gray-haired ladies mesmerized by a sexy young man in very tight jeans. Come to think of it, his shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination either. As I darted around the ladies, I tossed him a second look. I’d give him an eight on my eye-candy meter. “Jer, you know the truth is safe with me.”

Before he could quibble, I terminated the call. Hitting the escalator, I took the steps two at a time.

The press rooms at major Vegas functions reminded me of the sea off the Great Barrier Reef after a heavy chumming. Like sharks in a bloodlust frenzy, media types circled, almost vibrating with energy threatening to explode. Then, when the unwary wandered near, they’d dash in for a bite, chew it, then hit the victim again.

The fact one of the unworthy, like me, might wander in, didn’t matter—they’d feast on anything moving. Entering the fray, I was struck by the fact that this was one of the few times being big, tall, and angry were good things. Ignoring the mikes stuck in my face and the questions hurled my way, I charted a course for Frank, who had been swallowed by a school of hungry flesh-eaters on the far side of the room.

As I pushed through the feeding frenzy, I heard one of the reporters tossed aside and left in my wake, grouse, “Don’t waste your time. You won’t get any good sound bites outta her.”

It was a proud moment.

Frank eyes widened when he saw me. Giving my head a quick tilt to the side, I motioned for him to join me outside, in the hall. Beating him there, I tapped my toe impatiently, which made my sore ankle hurt. I didn’t care.

Several media types followed Frank as he burst into the hallway. He started to say something, but I silenced him with a look. Grabbing his elbow, I pulled him into the service area at the end of the hall. After stuffing him into a linen closet, I then followed and pulled the door closed behind us.

He whirled on me the minute the door shut—hard to do in the tight space. His head ended up under my chin. “Lucky. What the hell?”

With two hands to his chest, I pushed him back. “Shut up, Frank. It’s my turn.”

Surprise registered—just a flicker, but it was there, so I jumped on it. “Why did you kill her?”

He staggered back as if I’d hit him. “What?”

“Sylvie Dane.” I closed the distance, looming over him. “Why’d you kill her?”

“I…I…I didn’t.” A hand clutched his chest. “Lucky girl, it’s Uncle Frank you’re talking to. How could you think…”

“I’ll tell you how.” I started ticking the evidence off, one finger at a time. “Your dealership. Your code word—interesting word by the way. The police have yet to make the connection between your code word and the name of Slurry’s site. I’m still not sure what that means or why you’d be so stupid.” I shook my head and got my thoughts back on track. “I’ll figure it out. But, you bought the shoes Sylvie was wearing—the ones that freaked you out when they weren’t on her feet when you came back to the dealership. You knew there was a witness to it—the missing shoes plus the shoes in the car? Dead giveaways.” I took a breath and steamed ahead. “And you put Watalsky on the witness’s tail. Were you going to kill her, too?”

“Lucky, you got it all wrong.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin nervously. “I didn’t buy those shoes. Someone sent them to Sylvie saying they were from me. Apparently they were real hot items. She was real appreciative, so I didn’t tell her they weren’t from me. I didn’t see the harm.”

“One lie, then another, pretty soon you’re buried in them,” I growled. “And Slim! How could you?”

“Slim?” Frank’s eyes went all slitty—I resembled the feeling. “Now you’ve gone too far—he was a friend.”

“My point. You know how we handle that in this town.”

“Slim was murdered?” His voice held the menacing hiss of a rattler.

“On a quick and dirty tox screen, the lab guys found sildenafil citrate in his system. Lethal when mixed with the nitrates he popped like candy. You knew that, hell we all did. A clever way to drop someone’s blood pressure and trigger a heart attack. Very clever actually. We all knew he was overdue, so, when it happened, who would suspect anything other than natural causes?”

Frank let his breath out slowly. “Coulda been an accident. I’m bettin’ guys take those meds together all the time. Nobody wants a pecker that won’t rise to the occasion.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I chewed on my lip as I watched him. “There’s one other little complication.”

“What’s that?” Frank looked a little nervous—it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see he was in deep shit.

“Slim had a penile implant. What would he need with Viagra?”

Frank fixed me with those slitty eyes—they looked feral and hungry. A chill chased up my spine. If he really was the killer…I didn’t really quite believe it…or my Perry Mason act, for that matter. But, if he really did do it, I’d just locked myself in a closet with the killer. Not bright. Consistent, though. What was that old Emerson quote? A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds? At the rate I was decompensating, my sudden foolish streak made sense.

“A penile implant? How in the world would you know that?”

“Miss Becky-Sue told me…” My heart fell, daggered by a thought. I felt myself go a little woozy. Pressing a hand to my head, I braced myself against the wall with the other hand. I closed my eyes and marshaled my thoughts. There were a few missing pieces, key pieces.

Frank’s face showed concern when I opened my eyes and looked at him, really looked at him. He looked angry.

“Slim didn’t call you to meet him at the plane, did he?”

“No, it was Miss Becky-Sue.” Frank rubbed the heavy five-o’clock shadow he carefully groomed. “Come to think of it, Slim did seem sorta surprised to see me. Relieved. He didn’t really want to go to the party. He said his heart had been acting up.”

“Anything weird happen with your little pecker-power stash while you were there?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Just like with you. I pulled out my phone, and the bag came with it. Becky-Sue grabbed it, was razzing me. When I grabbed it back, she didn’t let go. The thing ripped and pills went flying. Embarrassing.”

“And fatal.” Miss Becky-Sue…funny, could she actually be the viper I though she was. “Tell me about the offshore poker site you guys are all into. Somehow it’s the key. I know it.”

“Yeah, it was going to be my ticket back to the big time. Get several ex-wives off my back. Carmen scares me.” He stopped and shook his head. “Anyway, to answer your question. It was looking pretty good until Sylvie came to us.”

“Kevin Slurry kept a backdoor in the algorithm.”

If Frank was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Yeah, said she had a source who was going to go public.”

“The source goes public and overnight your investment would be worth zip-point-doodle.” I gave an appreciative whistle. “Did you know who her source was?”

“None of us did, as far as I know.”

“And Slim,” I held up my hand, stopping him, “he wanted it public, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, the sanctity of the game and all of that. Preserving not only the rep of the game but his own as well.”

“So who stood to gain by silencing him?”

“All of us, I guess. If we kept him from spilling the beans, our investment value would hold up.”

“If you also took out Sylvie Dane and her snitch.” Hands on my hips I glared at him. “Two down, one to go.”

Frank looked at me. For the first time I saw just a wee bit of give-up. “I didn’t kill him, Lucky. You know I couldn’t. I didn’t kill the girl either—that’s not my style, you know that.”

“In this town it’d be like signing your own death warrant.” I chewed on my lip for a minute. “The thing I don’t get is Marvin Johnstone. Did he have any connection to the Aces Over Eights Web site?”

“Not on a bet.” Frank snorted. “Can’t say I’m sad he’s gone. How’d they do it?”

“Cyanide.”

“You’re shitting me?” The look on my face strangled his laugh and his eyes went from slits to saucers. “Really?”

“Afraid so.”

“Where the hell would you get your hands on something like that?”

I watched his face carefully. If he was lying, then I was in way over my head. I sidestepped his question with a noncommittal shrug. “Carmen said you got some investors for her store. You guys still close?”

“Hell, I’m way behind on her alimony. Had a bad run of luck lately.” He smiled at the irony. “I asked some friends to stake her, keep the dagger out of my back while I wined and dined Lady Luck. Self-preservation. Last time I saw her was in court when we split the blanket. A few phone calls since then. A hate letter or two from her mongrel with a Bar card—that guy gives lawyers a bad name, if that’s possible.”

“Miss Becky-Sue’s name wouldn’t be on that list of investors, would it?” The look on his face told me all I needed to know. “And Carmen has cyanide on hand.”

“She tell you that?” Frank looked like he’s been sucker punched.

“Indirectly.” I nodded at the disbelief I saw in his eyes. “Who stood to inherit Slim’s stake with him out of the way?” I asked even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. Turning the knob, I pulled open the door and ran. My ankle screamed but adrenaline dulled the pain. The rest, I ignored.

Frank followed me. “Why would Becky-Sue…” He forced the words through labored breathing as he struggled to keep up.

“He was a heart attack waiting to happen, everybody knew it. You guys sunk a pile into the poker site.”

“Slim bought the biggest slice.”

“I bet.” I ignored a couple of reporters standing outside the Press Room who fell in behind us.

“And if he blew the whistle…” That was all Frank could manage as he wheezed after me.

People jammed the escalators, so I had to stop and take my turn. Lacking oxygen myself, I took advantage and filled my lungs.

“What about Sylvie’s source?”

“A loose end. And, if my hunch is right, Miss Becky-Sue went for him yesterday, but got me instead.”

Hitting the ground floor, I sidestepped the guests in front of me and took off.

Miss Becky-Sue was planning a going-away party in the Garden Arena.

I’d always wanted to rain on someone’s parade.

***

The Garden Arena hosted rock concerts, title fights, Broadway shows, and now, a Celebration of Life for poker’s biggest star. The Babylon’s largest venue, the arena had tiered seating for thirty thousand or more, depending on the configuration. The security guy standing guard at one set of main doors jumped to when I approached.

I slowed only slightly as I barked orders. “Stop the folks behind me. Call Metro, Detective Romeo. Get him down here, stat.” Then I threw my weight against the doors and kept motoring, letting my momentum carry me down the stairs toward the arena floor.

The lights hanging from the catwalks high above trained their beams on the center of the arena where seats had been retracted to increase the floor size. Huge pieces of scenery dangled on wires at various heights above the floor, the winches above them whining in protest. A hand of playing cards caught my eye—aces and eights. Whether it was by design or someone’s sick joke, I wasn’t amused. A huge poker chip emblazoned with the Babylon’s logo drifted slowly toward the ground where workmen waited, their gloved hands outstretched, ready to maneuver the piece into place. A single beam illuminated a gleaming white baby grand on a raised platform to the left—presumably for the band. On hands and knees in the middle of the floor, several workers snapped sections of wooden flooring into place—perfect for dancing—which seemed out of place. In fact, it all seemed in bad taste for a funeral, but what do I know?

The crew had opened a huge trapdoor in the floor on the far side of the arena and installed a movable elevator to bring all the required party staples up from the underground storage areas below. The set pieces that would fit, cases of liquor, mixers, and condiments, food from the banquet kitchens, linens from the laundry, tables from storage—all of it trundled up the elevator to be dispersed to the proper location.

I scanned the area for the floor manger in charge of directing traffic. I smiled when I caught sight of Moony Ridgeway, in her boots and overalls, barking orders. My smile fled and my eyes narrowed dangerously when I spied my target, Miss Becky-Sue, glued to Moony like a suckerfish on a shark. Both of them leaned over the railing around the elevator shaft peering down through the hole in the floor. If they’d just keep that position for thirty seconds. Then I’d be within striking distance. If luck was with me…

“Hey!” Frank shouted from above me, his voice carrying across the vast expanse, cutting through the noise, turning heads. “Hey, Lucky! Wait.”

Miss Becky-Sue stood and looked in my direction.

My foot hit the last step hard almost buckling my ankle. I staggered, gasping in pain. When unsure, the guilty usually run. Miss Becky-Sue was no exception. With two hands on the top railing, she vaulted over. Pretty good for a bimbo in a long skirt and boots.