Lucky Break (35 page)

We were getting a lot of media traction, but I didn’t think it was what the Big Boss had intended, so I didn’t mention it.
 
“So, why’d you want out of the deal?”

He captured me in a traction beam of intensity.
 
“Who told you that?”

“Mrs. Holt Box.”

“Ah, yes, the viper in a pretty package.”
 
He shook off some memory with a shudder, a horse dislodging a fly.

“What?”

“She was after the money, acting as her husband’s manager.
 
Had this sleazy guy … I got the impression he held her leash.
 
They brought me the deal.”
 

“Really?”
 
Once again, I pulled the photo out of my pocket.
 
“This the guy?”
 
I held the photo so he didn’t have to strain or move to see it.

“Looks like him, but I wouldn’t swear to it in court.
 
Who is he?”

“The man who shot you.”

My father thought about that.
 
I could see him working through the angles, the plays.
 
Finally, he bit his lip and shook his head.
 
“I don’t get it.
 
What don’t I know?”

Holding out on him never worked.
 
He had this sixth sense or something.
 
“Mr. Cho’s daughter.”

“He procreated?
 
Dear God.”

“Worse.
 
His daughter, Kimberly Cho …” I urged him to the obvious conclusion.

He didn’t disappoint.
 
“
Our
Kimberly Cho?”

I nodded.

“A traitor?
 
Is she working against us, using her inside track?
 
She’s incredibly important to our success in Macau.
 
I’m counting on her.”

“I have no reason to believe she is anything but loyal to us.
 
She is estranged from her father.
 
Her mother lives here.”

Something in my tone must’ve hit his radar.
 
“Her mother?
 
Here?”

“Mmmm.”

“Do I know her?” asked the man who had made it his life’s work to know all the players, and those who influenced them.
 
And Miss Minnie was an influencer—the things powerful men would do for a good blow job.

“Yes, but I hope not too well.”
 
There are some things about my father even someone like me couldn’t handle.
 
Paying for sex was one of them.

“Quit leading me down the path; it only pisses me off,” he growled, as if he believed he could scare me like one of the other minions at his beck and call.
 

He could.
 
Sorta.
 
“Miss Minnie.”

He didn’t seem surprised; in fact, he seemed to gloat.
 
“Smart men, stupid choices.
 
It’s a cliché.”
 

Valuing my life, I didn’t point out the parallels between him and Mr. Cho.
 
Funny how most of us never recognize our own foibles when they manifested in others.
 
“I talked to both of them.
 
The man who shot you is Miss Minnie’s son, last name Wu.
 
The women told me Kim introduced him to Irv Gittings, and he’s paying the Wu boy, Sam, to do his dirty work.”

He eyed me.
 
“You don’t buy it?”

“The women seemed scared, their stories too pat.”

“Any theories?”

“Nothing that has gelled.
 
I’m still trying to get all the information.
 
So you thought you were dealing straight up with Holt Box? Anything unusual in the negotiations?”

“No, just the usual shuck and jive.”
 
He reached for his glass of water.
 
“Getting sort of dry.” I helped him maneuver the straw to his mouth.
 
He took a few sips, then continued.
 
“After we inked the deal, Holt did come back for more once he had the chance to speak with me directly.
 
He cornered me at the party the other night.”

“What’d he want?”

“He wanted to negotiate some weekends off and the private transport back to his ranch.
 
He said he had some healing he had to do with his family.
 
Something about recognizing too late what was really important.”
 
He didn’t add, “Like Teddie.” He didn’t have to.
 

I understood and I could forgive, but my heart had slammed the door.
 
Some things can’t be repaired.

“Did you give it to him?”

“I told him we’d talk.”
 
He winced and shifted, pushing himself up higher in the bed.
 
I tried to help without hurting, hard to do when you don’t know where all the hurts are.
 
“I was inclined to give it to him.
 
Family comes first.”

I squeezed his hand.
 
“You and Mr. Cho were arguing.
 
What about exactly?
 
What did he say?”

“Nothing really other than he was pretty steamed about his big name running back to Vegas.”

“Did he happen to mention that his daughter is pregnant?”

That got his attention.
 
He eyed me, a hawk following a rabbit.
 
“No.
 
Who’s the father?”
 
He held up a hand as a weary acceptance settled over his face.
 
“Let me guess.
 
Holt Box.”

“Ding, ding, ding.
 
You get the prize behind door number one.
 
Holt is the father, at least according to Kimberly.
 
I don’t need to point out that all of this is he said-she said, everybody pointing fingers with no hard proof of anything.”

My father gave me a long stare.
 
“Just the sort of mess Irv Gittings loves to play to his advantage.”

Dr. Ellis had run me off with some lame excuse about my father not needing to be overtaxed.
 
Frankly, I thought he didn’t want any witnesses to the firewater he’d promised.
 
Understandable.
 
He was still on the outside when it came to our family and lacked a full understanding of just how loose our rules could be, especially when it came to primo hooch.

Given my exercise allergy, I decided not to walk back, calling a cab instead.
 
The car, painted in screaming yellow and emblazoned with foot-high sevens down the side, eased to a stop, the smiling face of River Watalsky peering at me through the open window.

He jumped out and opened the door, almost knocking me to the side to do so.
 
Sporting his ubiquitous Hawaiian shirt, creased khakis and sandals despite the chill in the air, he flashed his high-wattage smile. His hair looked like he’d grabbed a high voltage line; perhaps the two were related.
 
Wattage and voltage, they were related, right?
 
“Ms. Lucky, our paths cross again.
 
What are the odds?” Southern manners and his Mississippi accent still in place.

I slid into the back seat, self-conscious at the fuss. “You would know.”

A professional poker player, River rode the highs and lows with equal equanimity.
 
He slammed the door, then retook his position behind the wheel.
 
“No upside to calculating them.”

“I think I’m hurt,” I feigned insult.
 
“The Babylon,” I said, probably unnecessarily.

His gaze flicked to mine in the rearview, his eyes echoing his smile.
 
“So, you been hanging out at Miss Minnie’s since I last saw you?”
 
He’d taken me there once before not too long ago, another rescue mission.

I listened for subtext.
 
Did he know something?
 
“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Really?”
 
There
was the subtext: surprise.

I leaned forward to talk through the opening in the Plexiglas shield.
 
“Look, I got something I need your help with.”

“Sure thing,” he said, serious creeping into the Southern.

“You and the other cabbies, you guys talk, right, share info and stuff?”

“Depends on what it is.
 
Who’s giving kickbacks and stuff, we keep that pretty much to ourselves.”
 
If a fare didn’t know which strip club or whatever, cabbies would recommend one, usually one they had a kickback agreement with.
 
Twenty bucks for delivery of a paying customer, that sort of thing.
 
I knew about it, but it wasn’t a slippery slope I wanted to step out on.
 
Tips were the oil that kept the Vegas engine running.
 
Well, tips and alcohol.
 
“Why?” River didn’t try to hide his interest.

“I’m looking for a couple of guys.
 
One has skipped bail.
 
I’m pretty sure he’s still in town.
 
All his assets are gone, and he’s got to get around somehow.”

“Who’s the dude?” River asked, his gaze on me unwavering.

“How do you drive while you look in the rearview?”

“I got one eye on the road.
 
Man, with the kind of trash I can get in my back seat, being able to do that is a life skill, if you know what I mean.” He braked hard, following the car in front, proving his level of skill.

“Remember Irv Gittings?”

“Dude tried to frame your father for murder.”
 
His tone turned sharp enough to eviscerate.

“One of his lesser transgressions.”
 
As I mentally ticked through the list, I realized that one of my jokes actually was no joke at all.
 
We all were capable of murder, even me.
 
The right moment, the right circumstances, Irv in the sights, I could pull the trigger and never give it another thought.
 
On one hand, that horrified me, on the other, it made my inner super hero proud.
 
Nothing like ridding the world of evil to add a bounce to one’s stride.
 
If only…
 
“Anyway, can you put the word out?
 
I don’t know how you’re going to do it.
 
You need to be selective.”

“Don’t want to let the bear know the hunters are in the woods, I got it.”
 
Stopped at a light, he turned to look at me, complicity written on his face.
 
“We’ll find him for you, Ms. Lucky.
 
You said two?
 
Who’s the other guy?”

I didn’t give him any background, but I felt the need to warn him as I handed him the photo, a bit worn from all the recent usage.
 
“This guy is not afraid to shoot somebody in cold blood with witnesses.
 
He’s not above shivving somebody or setting bombs.
 
Sky’s the limit with this dude.”

“Gotcha.”
 
A honk had him stepping on the gas before he’d fully turned back around, sending my heart into my throat.

In my defense, the last day or so had me jumpier than my normal cool, calm, collected, and delusional self.

As if some dim light in the dark recesses lit, River gave me a sharp look.
 
“Who were you visiting in the hospital?”

“Big Boss.
 
That guy in the photo buried a bullet in his chest.”

“He okay?”

“Yeah, but things like that change you.”
 
I could feel things shifting inside of me.
 
I could only imagine what the Big Boss was feeling.
 
He’d call in markers on this one.
 
I hoped he didn’t do something stupid.
 
And I hoped he’d leave the guy alive, assuming, of course, his guys found him first.
 
I prayed that didn’t happen.
 
Punishment could be worse than death.
 
Something inside me sang as I contemplated the possibilities.
 

“I know that,” River said, sounding for the world like he did.

“Watalsky, find that guy.
 
Bring him to me.
 
I’ll make it worth your while.
 
Oh, and you can break him a bit, but leave him breathing, okay?” said the apple who hadn’t fallen far from the Rothstein tree.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HE energy in Vegas grew as the daylight waned, as if the sun gave some of its wattage to light the nighttime revelry.
 
The Babylon had added significantly more horsepower to the low rumble in the lobby.
 
I drank it in as I texted Brandy and headed to the Golden Fleece Room, site of this year’s whale party.
 

During the last of the cab ride, Watalsky and I had retreated into our own thoughts.
 
It made sense actually, my father’s theory.
 
Irv, playing both ends against the middle, could get everything he wanted:
 
revenge against me and my father, and an influential Chinese diplomat in his back pocket.
 
A man perfectly set up to offer Irv a new stake in the gambling business in Macau.
 
Oh, it was slick and just like him.
 
I knew in my gut he was the puppet master jerking everyone’s strings, forcing their hands or simply setting life and human nature in motion.
 
All of us dancing to his whim.