Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City (18 page)

His grin grows into a gap-toothed smile. “Oh, he’ll
love that. I’m sure he’ll run right out to see you.” And before I can say anything else, he tosses us back into the restaurant so hard we catch air. “Next time I won’t be so gentle,” he growls, then turns and lumbers back down to the cave.

“Are you sure it was him?” Heather asks after we pick ourselves up.

“Would I go in there if I wasn’t?”

“Yes!”

I study her a minute, and out of my mouth comes “Good point.”

And I don’t know—something about it makes me laugh.

And something about
me
laughing makes
her
laugh. “Am I right, or what?”

“Just this once, though!” I tell her.

Now, let me tell you, having a laugh with your archenemy is a pretty confusing thing for your mind to process. Any other thoughts that may be churning away in the background of your brain are completely overshadowed by the fact that you’re laughing with someone you hate.

So it took longer than it should have for me to recognize that the answer to Heather’s question was no. I
wasn’t
sure, because I hadn’t actually seen her dad’s face. It was definitely the right jacket, and the hair color was right, but …

“When’s the last time you saw your dad?”

Heather blinks at me a minute.

Like
her
brain
also
can’t quite process that she was laughing with her archenemy.

Finally she says, “Uh … it’s been a while.”

“Is his hair still short?”

“I think. That’s how it’s been on
Lords
.” Then she catches on. “Wait—the guy we were chasing had
long
hair?”

“It wasn’t
long
 … but it was a little shaggy.”

“So it
wasn’t
my dad?”

“The jacket was definitely maroon with fringe.”

“There’s probably a hundred jackets just like that in Vegas!”

“The lady at the mall said she’d never seen one like it.”

“So? What does she know? She sells
jewelry
.”

“But one of Pete’s pictures had the arm of a jacket in it.”

“Pete? Who’s Pete?”

“You know, Elvis?”

“Oh.” She thinks a minute. “Just the arm of the jacket?”

“The rest of your dad was cut off but his arm was in. And it was definitely that same jacket!”

“Why was he cut off?”

“Because they were looking for my mom, not your dad.”

“Why weren’t they looking for my dad, too?”

“Because they only had a picture of my mom!”

“But I could have sent him the picture of my dad!”

“Except you were too busy ditching me to think of that, right?”

“Girls!” Candi cries. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What is going on?”

“What’s Dad’s hair look like?” Heather demands.

“What?”

“His hair! Has he changed it?”

“Not that I know of.” She looks back and forth at us. “Did you
see
him?”

“I think so,” I tell her. “I saw a man with his color hair wearing a fringed maroon jacket. But he went around the corner before I could see his face.”

“But the Elvises said that he and your mom came in here, right?” Candi says. “They had a picture and everything, right?”

I shake my head a little. “I know, but that was three or four hours ago. And when I showed a waitress the picture of my mom, she didn’t recognize her.”

Candi’s eyes are getting wider and wider. “But it must be him! Two distinctive fringed maroon jackets are not going to walk into the same place on the same night, right?”

Heather scowls at her. “It’s Vegas, Mom. Of course they can.”

Candi looks at me. “This man you saw, where did he go?”

“Down that hallway,” I tell her, pointing back at it. “Which is more like a tunnel that leads into a cave.” Then I throw in, “And it’s roped off.”

“We got kicked out,” Heather tells her. “Gorilla Man’s waiting around the corner.”

I look at her. “Gorilla Man?” and I can’t help it, I bust up.

But Candi’s not listening. She marches her reheeled feet across the restaurant and disappears down the hallway. And as I’m watching her go, I get this icky feeling in my stomach that something’s not right. And what’s flashing through my mind while my stomach’s churning is Heather’s picture of her dad.

It looked just like Warren to me. It was a good, clear picture. If someone had seen him and then been shown that picture, they’d say, Yeah, I’ve seen that guy—even if his hair was shaggier.

But in all the places Heather had shown that picture around, she’d gotten nothing.

Zero hits.

It was my
mom
that people had identified.

Suddenly I’m wishing I could go back in time and show Heather’s picture of her dad to the people who’d ID’d my mom. Because what if the fringed leather jacket and the Louis Vuitton sunglasses
weren’t
just a change in style?

What if the guy in the fringed leather jacket
hadn’t
been the Hollywood version of Warren Acosta?

What if it wasn’t Warren at all?

But … why would my mom come to Las Vegas with Warren and spend the whole day with some other guy?

“What
are
you thinking?” Heather asks, her eyes squinting down on me.

“I’m thinking you should try calling your dad.”

“What?”

“Try calling your dad.”

“His phone’s been off all day!”

“Please. Just try. Or text him. Something!”

“Why?”

“Well, you’d feel like an idiot, wouldn’t you, if all this time you’ve been trailing someone who isn’t your dad?”

“What?”

“Please. What’s it going to hurt?”

While she’s dialing, there’s a commotion over by the tunnel hallway, and when I look, sure enough, Candi’s getting ousted by Gorilla Man.

It’s not a catch-air toss, but still.

Embarrassing.

And then Heather’s saying, “Dad?” and I can tell by the size of her eyes she’s reached more than his voice mail. “Where
are
you? … Are you serious? Well, we’re here, too.… Yes, in Vegas! We’ve been chasing all over looking for you! … Mom and me!” She eyes me. “And Sammy … Yes,
that
Sammy … No!”

Candi’s over with us now, and her eyes are huge. “Where is he?!”

Heather tells her, “He’s at the airport!” But when Candi tries to get the phone, Heather shakes her off and plugs her ear.

“Is my mom with him?” I ask, but Heather doesn’t answer me. Instead, she asks her dad, “What do you mean, you can’t talk about it? You run off to Las Vegas to get
married without … You didn’t? Then why are you here?” There’s a long pause and then she says, “Fine. She’s right here,” and hands Candi the phone.

Before Candi can take it, though, I reach out and practically beg, “Can I ask him one question? I promise I’ll be quick.”

Candi’s dying for the phone herself, but she lets me have it, and I do my best to keep my promise. “Warren, it’s Sammy. Is my mother with you?”

I can hear him take a deep breath, and when he finally lets it out, he says, “No.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Is she still in Las Vegas?”

There’s a big hesitation, and finally, “Yes.”

“Where? And who’s the guy in the fringed leather jacket?”

All I get is silence.

“Please! Tell me!”

“Look, Sammy, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t!”

My face flushes hot. “Okay, then just tell me this—is she going to a concert with him tonight at the House of Blues?”

A chuckle comes over the phone, and then he says, “Go get her, tiger.”

The second Candi gets the phone, she wanders away from us with one finger in her open ear. “I think your mom dumped him,” Heather says, but she doesn’t sound mean or angry. She sounds worried.

“I tell you, she’s a piece of work.” I shake my head. “But we wanted them to break up, right?”

She frowns. “Right.”

I kind of eye her and say, “Did he sound bad?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” She shakes her head a little. “Maybe shocked?”

We’re both quiet a minute, and then I say, “What I said to your mom before? It had to do with you and your dad, and her needing to tell him she still loves him. I didn’t say anything about any of the … you know … other stuff.”

She blinks at me.

That’s all.

Just blinks.

I laugh. “I’ve never known you to be speechless before.”

She blinks a few more times, then says, “And I’ve never known you to be
nice
before.”

I laugh again. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to be nice when you’re constantly worried about being sabotaged.”

Candi runs up, breathless and flushed. “I need you girls to get in a cab and go straight back to the hotel room.”

“Why?” Heather asks. “Where are you going?”

“To the airport. To get your father.”

“Wait!” Heather cries. “Why can’t I just come with you?” She gives me a quick look. “Why can’t
we
just come with you?”

“Because there are some things I need to say to your father, and I want to be alone.” She hands back Heather’s phone and gives her some cash, then tells her, “Give me your room key.”

“My room key? Why?”

Candi puts out her hand. “Just give it to me.”

So Heather does.

And Candi turns it over to me.

I look at her like, Huh? And she says, “Now I have a guarantee that you two will stick together.” She looks at me. “And if Heather does ditch you, you just go let yourself into our hotel room. All our luggage is still there, and there’s no way we’re driving home tonight, so I’ll see you both there.” She turns to Heather. “Be nice, stick together, and leave your phone on.” Then she kisses her on the cheek and says, “Wish me luck,” and hurries off.

“Wow,” I gasp as we watch her go.

“You mean holy smokes, right?”

I laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Then I ask, “Can I borrow your phone?”

She hands it over. “Why
don’t
you have one, anyway?”

Now, the way she asked wasn’t mean—it was more like she was just curious. So I shake my head as I punch in my mother’s number and say, “That’s a good question.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“In a word? Finances.”

“But … I thought you were rich!”

I laugh. “I’m not Marissa.”

“But cell phones aren’t
that
much.… Are you serious?”

I nod. “Life has not exactly been peachy.” And since my mom’s phone is still “unavailable,” I end the call and hand the phone back. “I can give you the room key and you can go back to the MGM, but I need to stay here.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to infiltrate the House of Blues.”

“What?”

“You know—sneak into the concert?”

“How? Why? And Mom said we have to stick together!”

“How, I’m not sure. But my mom’s in there, and since your dad won’t tell me what happened or who the guy in the fringed jacket is, I’m going to find out for myself.” I eye her. “So if you want to stick together …”

“You’re asking me to go with you?”

I give a little shrug. “You’re really sneaky. Could come in handy.”

She smiles, and there’s actually a
twinkle
in her eye. “Let’s do it!”

And I can’t help smiling back, ’cause something about the two of us feels unstoppable.

Obviously we had no chance of getting past Gorilla Man—especially since the line for the concert was now snaking into the casino, and big guys in red
SECURITY
T-shirts were standing by.

But Eddie-Elvis had said something about a Blues loading dock, which I figured meant the House of Blues loading dock.

Which I figured meant that there had to be a back way in.

“What are we looking for?” Heather asks after we’ve trucked through the casino for a minute.

“An exit.”

“Not the main exit?”

“Well, the Elvises didn’t cut across to the main exit. They kind of went this way, right?”

“But they could have turned anywhere in through here.”

I nod. “I know. I just got the feeling they were going out this way.”

“Maybe we don’t have to go out to get in.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could try going through there,” Heather says, pointing to an
EMPLOYEES ONLY
door.

I grin at her. “You have no idea how funny that is.” Then real quick I add, “I don’t mean making-fun-of-you funny.”

“Then what?”

“It’s just that’s something I would have said to Marissa.”

“So? You want to try it? Maybe it goes backstage or something?”

We were already past the House of Blues, so I didn’t think the door was connected, but I also didn’t really understand how things were laid out. “So there’s the House of Blues restaurant, and there’s the gift shop, but where’s the concert hall? Is it underground? I mean, that tunnel hallway thing slanted down, right?”

Heather nods. “And it went back behind the restaurant.”

“So is that where all those people lined up are going? Down that hallway?”

“Must be.”

I try to visualize where we’d walked and how the tunnel hallway had turned. “So the concert hall is, like,
that
way,” I say, pointing.

She laughs, ’cause it turns out I’m pointing right at the
EMPLOYEES ONLY
door. And then, like it’s egging us on, the door opens.

But only halfway.

And then it just stays like that.

Magically open.

Heather and I look at each other like, Whoa! And although there’s a definite creep factor to this—like the witch
inviting Hansel and Gretel inside her sugar-crusted house of horrors—we hurry over and get there in time to hear a woman’s voice go, “No, here, I’ll show you where it is,” before the door starts to close.

We don’t actually
see
anyone, and since there’s a security keypad on the wall next to the door and the door has an automatic closer, there’s no way we’re going to get inside unless we move fast.

So I do what I always do when I don’t want someone closing the door on me.

I stick my foot in.

“I hate when you do that,” Heather whispers, ’cause let’s just say I’ve gotten her in some major hot water by not letting a door or two shut when she would have liked them to.