Lucky Bastard (9 page)

From her eyelashes, to her blond beehive—she always said, “The bigger the hair, the closer to God”—to her generous tits and her smile, she was as fake and as overprocessed as Velveeta.

The name on her law degree from some lesser law school in Texas read “Gloria Axelrod.” But the Axelrods had disowned her after an ugly skirmish with the State Bar Grievance Committee—the last in a long list of embarrassments. The feeling was mutual. So, Gloria reinvented herself as Shady Slim’s bimbo, which was probably a better fit, all things considered.

When I was younger, I couldn’t understand the pairing. My father told me that if you put tits on a warthog and taught it to bat its eyes, Shady Slim would’ve jumped it. Being visual, I never got rid of that image, but I did get it…sort of. Like so many of his clan, Shady Slim did most of his thinking with the wrong head. And, I’d wager Miss Becky-Sue knew some tricks that the rest of us weren’t privy to. If only…

Pride, Lucky. Pride.

“Now,” I said, pulling my mind out of the gutter and wading into battle. “What can I do to make you comfortable? The police are on their way.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to no pigs,” Miss Becky-Sue spat, her veneer slipping.

“I’m afraid that’s nonnegotiable.” I motioned to the two pilots cowering in the corner, making themselves small. “I’ll take it from here. Thank you. But stick around. I’m sure Metro will want to talk to you both as well.”

The two men came within an eyelash of knocking me down in their haste to leave. They jammed in the doorway when they both tried to go through it at the same time. The older of the two finally forced his way through first, followed by the other. And I was alone in the lion’s cage.

The look in Miss Becky-Sue’s eyes made me wish I had searched the cabin for firearms. I’d sell my mother for a Taser. Or even a chair and a whip. Or a chunk of raw meat laced with sedatives. “Why don’t you take a seat and let me pour you a drink?” I said in what I hoped was a conversational, nonincendiary, yet forceful tone. “Single-barrel, one cube of ice, if I recall?”

Turning to the bar, I felt her eyes bore into my back. Glancing at her briefly, I watched her lower herself into a dainty chair. In addition to the lavs being a tight fit, the furniture on the plane was Lilliputian. I felt like I was playing inside a dollhouse. Thankfully, the bottle of Jack was full sized. I splashed a generous amount into a Steuben crystal tumbler and extended it to her.

Her hands shook as she took the glass then drank deeply, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her red lipstick an angry smear, she lifted her eyes to mine. They were dark, dead eyes—lethal and heartless.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” I said before she could jump in.

“Why should I tell you anything? You can’t bring Slim back.” She plucked a tissue from the box by the bed and dabbed at an imaginary tear, presumably for my benefit.

“No, while I’m pretty good at pulling rabbits out of hats and drawing to an inside straight, resurrection is definitely not part of my repertoire.” I glanced around for a place to park my carcass, but I didn’t think anything would fit, or hold my bulk. Probably not true, but I wasn’t in the mood to be proven right. “I’m going to have to tell my father something, so whatever you can give me—for the Big Boss—will help.”

Eyeing me over the rim of her glass for a moment, she then threw back the rest of the sour mash and extended the glass for a refill. I complied as she started in. Her voice seemed to have warmed a bit, but I might have imagined that part.

“Slim, he was fidgety. Like a young bull sensing the knife, you know?”

I winced and nodded. Talk about letting her steer the conversation. Okay, puns pop up when I’m under pressure. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve learned to deal with it. With no desire to explain and no way to protect myself, I bit down on the inside of my mouth, stifling the grin that threatened to explode.

“No matter what I did, he wasn’t spilling.” Miss Becky-Sue crossed her arms across her ample chest. She glanced through the small window next to her while she gathered herself.

“Why did you arrive so late?” I asked. “I haven’t checked the log, but I’m sure the plane was sent to pick you up and deliver you in plenty of time for the Big Boss’s party.”

“I bought this outfit special.” She brushed down her white leather skirt, and then raised her eyes to mine. “We ran into some storms or somethin’ around Wichita Falls and had to detour halfway to Canada to get around them. We were way late. I got tired and fell asleep.”

“And Slim, was he feeling okay?”

“Seemed to be. He spent the whole time yacking on the phone. Got pretty steamed a time or two, but that’s nothing new.” Miss Becky-Sue chewed on her lip as she continued to stare out the small window. She had to bend down a bit; it couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Do you know who he was talking to?”

She shrugged, then turned and tried to stare me down—it didn’t work. Finally she broke. “What, you think I can keep track of all the pies that man has a finger in?”

From what I knew of Miss Becky-Sue, I’d have to say she could run a small country single-handedly, but I let it slide. Sometimes giving folks a long rope was a great way to get them the hang themselves. Maybe I’d get lucky.

I expected to see something in her eyes. Sadness. Pain. Anger. I should’ve known better, but hope springs eternal. At the very least, Shady Slim deserved someone to cry at his funeral. But Miss Becky-Sue wasn’t exactly conjuring the grieving widow.

“I remember landing. Slim was still on the phone. He told me to go back to sleep—it was too late for the party and, besides, he was expecting someone.” With a long, blue fingernail, Miss Becky-Sue scratched at a pimple on her arm as she pursed her lips. Thinking perhaps, but it was hard to tell.

“Frank DeLuca.” At her startled expression, I felt a need to explain. “He told me.”

“Well, if you know so much, what’re you talkin’ to me for?” She stopped picking and used the tissue to dab at a small spot of blood. “Besides, I don’t know if he was the one Slim was expecting, but he was the one who come…came.”

“What time was that?”

Miss Becky-Sue shrugged and avoided my eyes. “Around midnight, I guess, a bit after. I wasn’t payin’ much attention, bein’ pretty steamed about the party and all.”

“What did they talk about?”

She waved her hand. “Business stuff, you know. I don’t bother myself with none of that.”

I started to ask another question, but red lights strobed through the small windows. My time was up. The police had arrived.

Held
tightly, my body pressed to his as we swayed to the music. Intoxicating, romantic music that held the promise of love…of life. Scent infused the air. Gardenias, I thought. Or maybe magnolias. And the hint of Old Spice. My head on his shoulder, I nuzzled his neck and was rewarded with a tighter squeeze. Held tightly, I felt free. Love filled my heart and completed me. I lifted my head and leaned slightly back. Teddie’s face swam into view, then faded. Then I was looking into the warm, solid face of my chef, Jean-Charles, his eyes alight with an emotion I felt.

“Lucky?”

The voice was wrong. The accent wasn’t French.

“Lucky?”

No, the voice was decidedly Middle-American. I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me.

My eyes fluttered open and the lovely vision shattered in the bright light of reality. I squeezed my eyes shut again, but the dream was gone…he was gone. Damn. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to remember, to hold on to the feeling, the emotion, the peace, but it slipped away, like smoke on the wind, leaving a hollow place where my heart should be.

“Sleeping on the job,” Romeo teased. “Not like you.”

“Since all I do is work and sleep, it seemed only natural to combine the two.” I pushed myself up in the seat, trying to get my bearings. From the view through the cockpit window, it seemed I’d fallen asleep in the captain’s chair on the G550. Squinting against the full wattage of a day now underway—the nose of the plane stuck out of the hangar that concealed the rest—I had no idea how long I’d been out, not that it mattered. If life as we know it was on the verge of extinction, my office knew where to find me.

“Reasonable,” Romeo said as he sagged into the copilot’s chair. “You think we could steal this thing and go somewhere far away?”

For a moment the idea seemed irresistible. “I took flying lessons once.”

“No shit?” Romeo lost the hardened cop voice and sounded like the kid he was, which restored my confidence in the balance of the universe.

“Yeah, the Big Boss thought it would be a good idea. Something about having a Plan B if the hotel management thing didn’t work out.”

“He thought you’d be a good corporate pilot?” Romeo clearly thought this was funny.

“That was his tack. I had no idea he was my father then, but he always took an interest in my career. Between you and me, I think he was really thinking military pilot. He had visions of a drill sergeant molding me into shape.” I ran my fingers over the switches and marveled at the glass displays. Most of the instrumentation was unrecognizable. Gone were the vacuum and electrically driven dials of that ancient Cessna 172. So far in my past, flight school seemed like it had happened to someone else. “I was a bit of a handful.” I shot a cockeyed grin at the young detective.

“Were?”

“I am who I am. And I’m too stupid to pretend to be anybody else.” Leaning back, settling into the sturdy chair, I tried to recall what it felt like to fly. One hand on the throttle, the other easing the yoke back, my feet dancing on the rudders as the plane gathered speed. Each time the machine left the earth, I remembered being so happy, so free, I couldn’t resist laughing.

“So you have a pilot’s license?”

I shook my head. “Not finishing the training is one of my few regrets.” Opening my eyes I turned and looked at my friend. “I soloed and was working on the required hours, the cross-country, night flying, all that stuff.”

“It sounds like you liked it. What happened?”

“Loved it. Funny enough, it was one of the few things I’ve ever encountered that I was perfectly suited for. But, I let life get in the way.” Reaching across the center console, I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “No regrets, Romeo. Live each day…”

Understanding flared in his eyes. Then he turned and with both hands, grabbed the yoke as a kid would the steering wheel of his parents’ station wagon. “What’s it like? To fly?”

I joined him in his fantasy, grabbing the yoke on my side—two escapees taking the corporate iron for a joyride. If only wishing could make it so…. “Like having your own magic carpet.”

“To take you as far as your credit card limit will allow.”

“There is that.” Leave it to the youngster to add a dose of reality.

Giving up the game, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “So, where do we stand?”

Pages rustled as Romeo flipped through his notebook. “According to the tower log, the plane touched down a bit before eleven last night. Mr. Grady sent the pilots to the hotel. He told them he and the… lady…would spend the night on the plane. It took the pilots some time to get the plane squared away, give instructions to the line, call in a breakfast order—you know all the stuff.”

I didn’t but I could imagine.

“The pilots reported that, after they’d done all their paperwork and stuff, which took about a half hour or so, a guy showed up to talk to Mr. Grady.”

“Frank DeLuca.” I opened one eye to gauge Romeo’s response. If he was surprised, he hid it well. He was either tired or getting used to my uncanny skills.

“Yeah. He showed up—”

“About midnight,” I said, stealing his glory. “But when the pilots were called back after Shady Slim was found dead, Mr. DeLuca was nowhere to be found.”

“Lucky, I swear, are you going to let me finish?” While he tried on a stern expression, his voice held a hint of humor. “You are just like your mother.”

“Low blow, Detective Junior-Grade.” I grinned back at him even though I tried not to. “You know, if I thought you were serious about me sharing any trait with my mother, I’d be curling my toes over a very high ledge while contemplating the concept of terminal velocity.”

“Retracted. But it got your attention.”

The kid seemed proud of himself, so I handed him victory. “I’ll shut up now.”

“Thank you.” I heard Romeo flip a page. “According to Miss Becky-Sue, he stayed about twenty minutes…”

“Plenty of time to get back to the dealership.”

The detective sighed heavily.

“Sorry. Change at my advanced age is very difficult—I’m working on it.” Opening my eyes, I pushed myself upright. “Please, go on.”

“Miss Becky-Sue said she went into the room in the back when DeLuca arrived—apparently Shady Slim wanted privacy. She said she fell asleep. When she woke up, she found Shady Slim in the lav and you know the rest.”

“What time was that?”

Romeo consulted his notes.

“An hour ago.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Pretty sound sleeper. She stayed asleep while the pilots freaked and called my office? And if she was asleep the whole time, as she says, how did she know DeLuca only stayed for twenty minutes? DeLuca himself told me he stayed for an hour. ”

Romeo deflated. “Good question.”

I looked for a mirror to check my appearance, then realized a plane would have no need of a rearview picture—if it wasn’t going forward, it would be going down, so behind was irrelevant. “And another thing: She said Shady Slim talked on the phone the whole ride, and something in the conversation made him angry. He must’ve used the satellite phone—his cell wouldn’t work from over forty thousand feet.”

“You sound like you think his death was from something other than natural causes. The guy was as big as a barn. I’m betting his ticker quit. What would make you think something else?”

“Curiosity, that’s all—and a strange little bit of synchronicity. We have one dead woman in a dealership owned by Frank DeLuca. Then the man himself shows up here and we end up with another dead body.” I eased myself out of the captain’s chair—a tight squeeze between the armrest and the yoke. Romeo had to strain to look up at me as I continued. “It may be nothing other than bad coincidence, but it’s worth a look, don’t you think?”

“I’ll get the call log,” Romeo offered. God bless him. “And I’ll see if the coroner can run a quick and dirty tox. Money’s getting tighter and tighter, autopsies aren’t done regularly anymore. I can’t promise anything, especially with no signs of anything other than a heart attack or something normal. Pretty soon, the only way we’ll make murder one stick is if we catch them red-handed.” The kid followed me out of the cockpit—I noticed he didn’t have as much trouble getting out of his chair. The expansion that came with age, stress, too little sleep and too many carbs, was a total downer.

“Let me know what you get.” I stood tall and stretched. The snooze had been marginally restorative.

“Miss Becky-Sue isn’t being completely honest with us,” Romeo said, ever the master of understatement. “How do we get her to come clean?”

“The same way you milk a rattlesnake—very carefully. Leave that part to me, kid, snakes are my specialty.”

***

The process of removing Shady Slim Grady went more smoothly than I thought, not to mention faster. We even managed to do it all inside the hangar, far from prying eyes. The funeral directors had come through. I’d never really thought about moving dead bodies around, at least not until today. The picture of Shady Slim’s lifeless body dangling in midair wouldn’t leave me any time soon, of that I was sure.

When Romeo was finished with her, I sent Miss Becky-Sue to the Babylon, giving instructions that she be parked in the Sodom and Gomorrah Suite—somehow it seemed appropriate. Security was keeping guard and Romeo had restricted her to a short leash. But, as they would a rabid dog, most people gave Miss Becky-Sue a wide berth and as much latitude as she wanted, and she was used to that.

While the young detective was tying up loose ends, I wandered into the Fixed Base Operator, the FBO to those who flew general aviation aircraft. These were the folks who took care of the planes and the pilots, providing fuel, weather information, access to Flight Service for flight-plan filing, and a place to crash while waiting on clients or waiting out weather. I was looking for the line guys who had been on duty when the plane came in—I hoped shifts hadn’t changed yet. For once, luck worked in my favor—they were still there, catching a bite to eat in the break room.

The bagels looked good, so I split a blueberry one and plopped the halves in the toaster. Grabbing a mug, I prayed the coffee was still as strong as I remembered it to be. After adding a touch of cream, and resisting the sugar, I took a hit, and groaned in delight.

One of the line guys appeared at my elbow. “Man, coffee, it’s like essential, you know?”

“A drug of necessity.”

His coffee now cold, he tossed the remnants into the sink, then replenished his mug. He blew on it for a moment than took tentative sip. Satisfied, he gulped a bit more. “You know that dead guy?”

“Yeah, he was an old family friend.” The toaster dinged and I set about covering my bagel with butter—if I was going to sin, I was going to sin big.

“Sorry to hear that.” The kid said, sounding sincere.

“Let me ask you something.” I took a bite out of my bagel as I contemplated my approach. “Did anything happen before I showed up?”

“How do you mean?”

“People coming and going. Anything unusual?” Soft yet chewy, the bagel was worth every calorie, so I paced myself, relishing every bite.

The kid boosted himself up onto the counter, then topped off his coffee again. “A guy came to visit.”

“Frank DeLuca.”

Recognition dawned on the kid’s face. “I thought he looked familiar.”

“Anything else?” I reached for a napkin and dabbed at some butter that dribbled down my chin.

“Well, nothing unusual, really. After Mr. DeLuca left, we’d just gotten everything buttoned up for the night and that lady came in demanding the courtesy car.”

I dropped my hand, my bagel forgotten…almost. “Miss Becky-Sue? She took the car?”

The kid nodded. “I gave her the keys myself.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know, but she wasn’t gone long, maybe a half hour.”

A half hour. Plenty of time to get to the Babylon and back…with time to kill.

***

Christian Louboutin had a signature boutique in the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace. A long shot, but I had to chase that pair of shoes. Even though I’d told him to go home a long time ago, Paolo still lurked out front of the FBO, staying way past his shift to see I got home. With a nod I acknowledged his kindness—he knew grateful when he saw it.

I settled in the soft embrace of the leather backseats afraid I might not have the energy to get out again. When Paolo was settled in front, I pressed the intercom button. “Would you mind stopping at the Forum Shops on the way back to the Babylon?”

His eyes swiveled to the rearview mirror. “Which entrance?”

“The middle one, on the through street near the spa. I’ve got my eye on a pair of shoes.”

Riding the escalator from the dark parking area into the high-ceilinged, beautifully lit, high-energy Forum Shops was a bit like being pulled from the dungeons and thrown to the lions. Blinking at the lights, I tried to time my jump into the flow of humanity without much success. Dodging patrons, I worked my way upstream to the Christian Louboutin boutique.

This was dangerous territory for me—I’d never met a stiletto I didn’t like. Keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, I moved quickly past the displays to the counter in the back. Thankfully, a young lady jumped to help me, leaving no time to linger into trouble. “May I help you?”

I introduced myself. “I’m looking for a pair of red shoes. Strappy slingbacks?”

She tried to frown but her forehead didn’t move—Botox, a Vegas affliction. “Red. Too bad. This season’s signature shoe sounds like it would’ve been a perfect fit.” She reached for a large ringed binder and started flipping pages. “As all the signature shoes are, it was a limited edition. We only received two pair.” She stopped at a page, then turned the book around so it faced me as she pointed. “That’s it there. If you’re interested, perhaps I could get them from another store?”

I unfolded the photocopy Jerry had given me and smoothed it on the counter. The shoes were identical. “Would anyone else in town have sold these shoes?”

“Our other styles, yes. But the signature shoes are limited to the official boutique.”