Vegas Sunrise (29 page)

“Chicken feathers,” Ruby chirped, her face whiter than the snow outside the plane. “Seven thousand feet.”

“Metaxas is flying blind. He just ripped the tops off some three-hundred-year-old pine trees. He didn't listen to me. I can do two things at once you know. That means I am helping him. To answer your question, I never asked what the wings are made of because I don't care. Hard
right, Sage. said hard! We're doing just fine, son. Easy on that throttle. You're at 5,000. Ease back. Zero visibility. You're doing fine, son. Don't expect any transmission. Parish's radio is out. He's going down, and he's coming in too fast. There is no angel on the ground. You need to know that, Sage.”

“But, Metaxas said . . .”

“I know what Metaxas said. There is a man on the ground, but he lost his radio contact. I told you he was flying blind. He went down with nothing but his guts churning at 100 knots an hour. I helped a little. Two thousand. Easy does it. I'm going to leave you now, son. If you follow the light, you'll make it.”

“Dad, wait! Dad!”

“Where's that light coming from?” Ruby shouted. “My God, it's like daylight. Metaxas must have some really good flares. I bet they're weather balloons or something like that. One thousand feet, Sage. Can you see his plane?”

“I can't see past the bright light. Hold on, Ruby. Five hundred, four, three. Chicken feathers, my ass. My old man would never wear something as tacky as chicken feathers,” Sage grated.

“I see the flares. They're red, Sage. What
was
that light? Where did it come from? Are you all right? Can you see Metaxas? What happened to the light?”

Sage felt dizzy as the breath exploded from his body in a loud sigh. Shaking, he craned his neck to look out the window at the swirling snow. He was almost afraid to stretch his neck farther to see the wing of his plane. He blinked when Ash Thornton raised his thumb in a jaunty salute.
“I couldn't have done it better, son. You're as good as your old man. You can take that one to the bank. See you around.”

“Dad! Dad, wait! Hey, Dad!

“Did you see him, Ruby? He was right there. He gave me his famous thumbs-up. Tell me you saw him. Please, Ruby, you did, didn't you?”

“No, Sage, I didn't.”

“He said . . . what he said was . . . I was as good as he was. He said that, Ruby. I swear to God he said that. We both know there is no way in hell I could have brought this plane down in one piece. I was flying blind. He said Metaxas sheared the tops of some three-hundred-year-old pine trees. You don't believe me. I can see it in your face. I know what I saw. You saw the same bright light I saw.”

“Sage, if thinking you saw your father helps, then I'm willing to concede that you
think
you saw him. It was all in your subconscious. The weather service shoots off those balloons all the time. We're on the ground, and that's all that matters.”

“What do you think the odds of that happening are? We're from the biggest gambling Mecca in the world and no oddsmaker would have touched this one. You know it, and I know it. It helps to believe.”

“Yes, it does. I see lights coming our way, Sage. Secure the plane, and let's hit the ground. I'll get our gear and open the door. I'll fly with you anytime, Sage.”

Sage offered up a shaky grin. “I didn't do it myself, Ruby. Someday I hope you realize that.” Ruby nodded, her eyes on the wing of the plane. She gasped when she saw a form outlined in a bright light. Words that sounded as though they were coming from outer space circled her. She reached out to grab hold of the doorframe leading off the cockpit deck.
“Sage was right. I'd never wear chicken feathers. You owe me an apology, Ruby. I'm waiting.”

“I . . . I . . . A man of your class and distinction would only wear pure down. My apologies, Ash.” Ruby's knees crumpled as she tried to grapple with what she'd just seen and heard. Sage caught her.

“I told you. Oh, ye of little faith.”

“We've just come through one of the worst experiences of our lives. It's natural for us to hallucinate. You spooked me, Sage, and I spooked you. We aren't going to talk about this anymore, okay?”

“Okay. Here comes your sweet love. I can't see him, but I can see the high-powered light he's holding. Bundle up, Ruby. We actually landed at the damn airport. That's something else the oddsmakers in Vegas wouldn't touch.”

Sage opened the door. A violent gust of wind drove him backward as stinging snow battered its way through the open doorway. “We have to back out and fall to the ground. The big question is, who's going to shut this door?”

“Sweet love, you made it,” Metaxas Parish said, catching Ruby as she dropped to the ground. Within seconds she was covered with snow. “Guess the young pup that flew you here knows a thing or two after all.”

“More than a thing or two. How did you do it, Metaxas?”

“I'll be dipped in oil if I know. Some guy talked me down. After I sliced off the trees. I'll have to make good on those. We had some kind of effervescent light or something. The guy knew his stuff, though. He was a wise-ass, too. Called me a powder-puff pilot. I set him straight in a hurry. I asked him what his name was, and he said Major would do just fine. I don't know if it was a title or a name.”

“Guess it was your angel on the ground.”

“No. He had no radio contact with us. He did set up the flares, though. We came in blind the same way you did.”

“I think it was Ash. Don't laugh, Metaxas. Sage talked to him all the way down. He said he was sitting on the wing the whole time.”

“Sweet love, you don't see me laughing now, do you? Pilots experience all kinds of things that seem real. Flying has always been an ethereal experience for me. Why don't we just say we had some kind of well-meaning intervention and let it go at that?”

“That sounds good,” Ruby said as she mashed her body against his. “We brought stuff, flares, food, cigarettes, and brandy.”

“We did, too. We need to gather round now and make a plan. I have no way of knowing where we are exactly, other than a runway of some kind. We're going to have to go on foot to locate those snowmobiles. That means we go in a single file. I was only able to scare up four men, so that makes us a parade of seven. We're looking for the Molly Stark Trail. The key word is
togetherness.”

“We can do this, can't we, Mataxas?” Ruby asked.

“I didn't come all this way to fail, sweet love. If they're out here, we'll find them. Trust me.”

“I do. What is the temperature, do you know?”

“Single digit. Maybe minus. It doesn't matter because we can't change it. I don't think I've ever seen this much snow in all my life.”

“We could die out here,” Ruby said, her teeth chattering with cold.

“Not likely, sweet love. When it's my time to go, I plan to be in my own bed.”

The high-powered light in one hand, compass in the other, Metaxas huddled with Sage. “This is the way I see it, Sage. Tell me if you agree.”

 

Jeff Lassiter popped the cap off a bottle of Budweiser. He stretched out his legs before propping them on the coffee table that was littered with other beer bottles, peanut shells, and scraps of paper. He pressed the Play button on the remote control, not because he wanted to watch television but so there would be noise in the penthouse apartment.

He'd moved in today because he couldn't stand living with his mother for another minute. The stifling heat, the smell of arthritis liniment, the game shows, and the cat hairs were driving him crazy. He'd engaged the services of a home health aide who came in three times a day to help his mother. It freed him up to do as he pleased, and it pleased him to take advantage of the penthouse living accommodations that came with his contract.

Now that Neal Tortolow was running the casino and he'd been reduced to a figurehead, just the way he'd planned, he was having the time of his life. He hadn't counted on Celia Thornton, though. She was definitely a plus as long as he could keep her in line.

Jeff picked up the paper and grinned. If only they knew how close he was to his category killer. The jackpot was building daily for the birth of the killer, and he was the one who was going to have it. The industry was still touting the event as the seeker of the Holy Grail. He eyed the bottom line on the article in the paper and laughed aloud. The reporter was likening the secrecy of his project to that of the Manhattan Project with the determination of a race to the South Pole.

Jeff found himself frowning. The eternal betting truths were that gamblers tended to stick with games that were nonthreatening and packed a potentially large payout. He wondered if anyone in the industry with the exception of himself realized the mantra is “evolution, not revolution.” He was relying on his own brainstorm to mix the deadly combination of inherently addictive quality of the slot machine's intermittent rewards with a game that got progressively harder as the player's skill increased. It was going to fly. He could feel it in every bone in his body.

Relocating his project to an empty building at the end of town was a blessing he hadn't counted on. The Thorntons couldn't do a damn thing about it now. His crew of engineers, software designers, graphic artists, and Ph.D. mathematicians were working round the clock. All he had to do was show up every Friday morning with an envelope full of cash. Cash that Celia and a few select friends delivered, minus their commission. No paper trail. Celia could of course blow the whistle, as could the others if things got sticky. But then, why would they kill the golden goose. He thought about the complete dossiers he'd collected on “his people,” a trick he'd learned from his father. His smile stayed with him. He made sure the select few sent the Internal Revenue Service their check each Monday morning. Hell, most of the select group would probably get a healthy refund come next May. They might even thank him when their refund arrived.

To date only two states had legalized gambling, Nevada and New Jersey. In two more years, if his calculations were accurate, and he had no reason to think otherwise, other states would legalize and cut down his odds. The two years were a cushion he wasn't going to need. Six more months, and he'd be the proud possessor of the Holy Grail of Las Vegas, Nevada, at which point he'd take his show on the road. Just the way his old man would have done. Yes, sir, The Emperor of Las Vegas, wherever he was, would have to give the devil his due. He absolutely had the same insight, foresight, and hindsight as his old man had.
Review all the angles, play every card you're dealt, and don't lose your edge. Well, Daddy dear, my edge is razor-sharp.

A frown built between his eyebrows as his gaze fell to his key ring on the coffee table. His old man's gold wings. He reached for them, his thumb and forefinger caressing the burnished gold. Why hadn't his father given him the wings? Why was it Fanny Thornton who had given them to him? Didn't his father think he was worthy of them? Wasn't he good enough for something so personal? Why didn't his father's
real
sons want the wings? He decided at that moment his father's aviator's wings were the thing he treasured most in his life. Not his new sports car, not his bulging bank account, not his project. If he were offered his weight in gold for the wings, he wouldn't part with them.

Jeff slapped his knee with glee. His foot snaked out to tap the line of beer bottles on the coffee table. He watched as they teetered, then toppled over the side. He slapped his knee again, howling with laughter. “That's just what's going to happen to you Thorntons. You're going to teeter and topple over.

“C'mon, Celia, where the hell are you? It's 4
A.M.
” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the phone rang.

“Open the elevator. I'm coming up from the garage.”

Jeff walked over to the front door. He pressed the release button on the penthouse elevator. Five minutes later, Celia Thornton walked into the apartment.

“Was it a good night?”

“Absolutely.” Celia tossed a straw purse on the table. “I'd like a drink.”

“Help yourself. Ah, you did do well. I see you took your cut.”

“Right off the top, honey. Here's to money, money, money!” she said, holding her glass aloft. “Switch on the weather channel, Jeff. I do believe my husband is lost in a snowstorm in Vermont. I'd like to see what his chances are.”

Celia sat down next to Jeff on the sofa. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? I have to be up at six and out of here by 6:45. There is a spare bedroom, isn't there?”

“There's two spare bedrooms. If you have to be up by 6:45, there doesn't seem to be much point in going to bed. We could use that hour doing . . . other things.”

“If by other things you mean sex, forget it. I'm married.”

Jeff hooted. “C'mon, you were on the make from the minute you got here. I see the way you flaunt yourself. That's no granny dress you're wearing, baby. The big question is, what are you wearing under it?”

“Nothing.”

“You seem to forget I saw you in the buff. I tease myself with those pictures every night before I go to sleep.”

Celia's eyes narrowed. “Don't tell me you're one of those people who get it off by looking at dirty movies and pictures.”

“Sometimes. You look like the type that carries a dildo around in your back pocket.”

“Looking like it and doing it are two different things. On second thought, I think I'll just take a room for the rest of the night.”

“Hey, come on, what's a little roll between the sheets? It can mean nothing or it can mean something. Let me put it to you another way, Celia. I'm horny as hell, and you owe me.”

“I don't owe you my body, Jeff.”