Wanna Get Lucky? (17 page)

“He was using the latest in high-def. That camera alone must’ve set him back a couple a grand.” He worked for a minute more. “I think I got it. Recognize anybody?”

“Willie, just as we suspected. And I’d bet my grandmother that’s Felicia Reilly sitting next to him, even though she’s changed her hair color and style.” I squinted again, taking in every pixel.

“You don’t have a grandmother.”

“Details.” My eyes never wavered from the picture in front of me. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“See the white blur right behind Willie? It looks like something’s in the backseat.”

“Probably Lyda Sue.”

“Maybe. But she fell out the door behind Felicia. Why would she be sitting behind Willie right before she fell? Doesn’t make sense.”

Transfixed by the image on the screen, I watched as Jerry worked. It was like watching a photograph develop. First there was nothing, then a blurry image of pixels, then . . .

“Holy shit.” My stomach clenched. Cold dread rushed through every vein freezing thought and emotion.

The Big Boss.

The man who had been my rock stared back at me, clear as day.

From the backseat of the helicopter.

Where he had been sitting next to Lyda Sue.

Seconds before she plunged to her death.

“Fuck,” Jerry finally said. “We’re so screwed.”

I took a deep breath.
Think, Lucky, think
. Slowly, the shock wore off, and my brain, what was left of it, came back on line. “We’re not screwed—we’ve been here too long. We’re like family.” I pointed at the images of Willie and Felicia. “They, on they other hand, are totally fucked.”

Jerry nodded and I could see in his eyes we were on the same page.

I’d better find those two idiots before The Big Boss found them first.

AS
the elevator ascended from the basement toward The Big Boss’s apartment, I felt like an astronaut being lifted up to the space shuttle, preparing to be blasted into oblivion. I tapped the tape against my thigh. Despite the cool air, beads of sweat popped, then trickled down between my breasts.

The Big Boss was expecting me.

I hoped he didn’t have a gun.

Finally the elevator slowed, then stopped. The doors opened and disgorged me into the middle of The Big Boss’s apartment. This was the second unpleasant visit I’d had here in as many days.

“Where’ve you been?” His words measured, he sounded angry, which I expected. But he also sounded under control. I’m not sure that was a good thing.

“It’s been a busy day.”

I approached, stopping in front of him. For once I was thankful for my height and heels. Being bigger made me feel stronger. Probably an illusion, but it was all I had and I clung to it like the ledge of a ten-story building. “Here’s your tape.” I extended the package to him.

Instead of taking it, he cocked his head toward the bar. I put the video down where he’d indicated then busied myself making two drinks. We both were going to need them.

“No copies?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and I looked under every bush I could think of. But the tape was out of our hands for a long time, so there’s no guarantee.”

“I’m counting on you, Lucky.” His hard edge softened a bit.

I turned and handed him his drink. Taking a sip of mine, I eyed him over the top of my glass. Yeah, I’d been right before—he was
nervous—as well he should be. “I’m good, Boss, but I’m not Superman.”

The ice in his drink tinkled against the glass, betraying his shaking hand. “I heard you went to see your mother today.”

“Yeah. Dane went with me.” Funny, I didn’t remember Miss Patterson telling me The Big Boss had called.

“How was she?”

“As good as she ever is.”

That got a weak smile out of him, but his eyes remained hard.

I refused to let him redirect this conversation. “You going to tell me what happened?”

His eyes swiveled to mine, then skittered away. He turned and walked over to the wall of glass overlooking the Strip. Standing there, his back to me, he seemed to shrink inside himself.

“You looked at the tape.” It wasn’t a question.

“You knew I would.” I walked over and stood beside him. The incredible view always took my breath away. Tonight was no exception.

He raised the drink to his lips and took a long pull. “Probably.” He took another pull on the drink. This seemed to steady him.

Throwing back his shoulders, he raised his head, then turned and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I saw a bit of the old fight there. “You really are going to be the death of me yet.”

“Better you than me.” This time I got a chuckle.

“Self-preservation, a critical Vegas skill. I taught you well.”

I grabbed his arm, hard. “Don’t do anything stupid. Those two idiots aren’t worth it.”

“I’ve ridded myself of lesser evils.”

The cold edge to that statement sent chills down my spine. “Boss, this isn’t Bugsy and the boys.”

“No. Bugsy would never have had to bother with little shysters. He would have them taken care of and poof, no more pests.”

Now there’s a new market for the Terminix folks. “It’s not so easy anymore.”

He shook his head. “Nothing ever is. I’ve heard from them, you know.”

I turned to stare at him. “When?”

“Late last night. After you left.”

“What’s their game?” As if I didn’t know.

“Blackmail.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“What?”

I motioned to the couch. “Let’s sit. I’ve got a story to tell you.”

So we sat there, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by the best things life had to offer, looking out at a world of light and fun and promise, while I told The Big Boss about Willie the Weasel, Felicia Reilly and the Most Reverend Peterson J. Peabody.

The Big Boss sat stock-still, his eyes narrowing to slits as he listened to my tale. “How is that related to me?” he asked when I had finished.

“I don’t really know, but perhaps Reverend Peabody was a test run, so to speak. Then the opportunity to reel in a big fish presented itself.”

“That would be me.”

“Can you think of a bigger fish? But, I just can’t shake the feeling there’s something I’m missing here.”

“How do you mean?”

“Willie the Weasel’s a sneaky little creep, with about as much backbone as an earthworm. Blackmail fits, but I can’t see him picking you as a viable target. Just the thought of you scared the pee out of him.”

“What are you saying?”

“There must be somebody else.”

“The woman?”

“Possibly.” I stared out the window at the lights of the Strip. They shouted fun and excitement—until you scratched the surface and exposed the dark underbelly of the city. “You’re not going to the police with this, are you?”

He shook his head. “I take care of my own problems.”

Testosterone, the antidote to good sense. “If I’m going to help, I need to know everything. You need to come clean. What the hell happened?”

“Lyda Sue was a good kid. I was just trying to help her.” He rose, pointed at my glass. At the shake of my head, he moved to the bar to replenish his drink. “She had a shot at a legitimate job.”

“Doing what?”

“Management at one of the big hotels. Strictly entry level, but a foot in the door. Sorta like where you started.”

“The big hotels aren’t too big on hiring ex-hookers.”

“Like I said, I was helping her.”

He didn’t have to spell it out. Helping her meant a new background, something respectable. The Big Boss held a lot of markers. I guess he’d called in a few. “How’d you meet Lyda Sue?”

“Through a friend.”

“Anybody who could have a connection here?”

“No, they were from out of town.”

“Think hard here, Boss. Do you think Lyda Sue was part of the blackmail?”

“Why would she do that? She had life by the tail.”

“Maybe she was being blackmailed herself?”

The Big Boss’s face darkened, his voice had a dangerous edge. “I thought of that.”

“Secrets to hide, perfect bait for a couple of two-bit blackmailers.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “All she did was invite me on a helicopter ride.”

“I’ll bet she didn’t know she was inviting you to her murder.” Now for the hard question. “So how the hell did she go out that door?

The Big Boss ran a shaking hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. She’d moved over next to me. That other woman wanted to take our picture. Then the helicopter rocked—violently and . . . she was gone.”

Poor Lyda Sue. She’d gotten herself in the middle of something big—and she’d landed in the pirate’s lagoon for her trouble.

“A bullet to the head would be too good for those two,” The Big Boss announced.

I had to agree with him—a bullet to the head would be good, but only after prolonged torture.

“Boss, let me find them. The police will take it from there. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He looked me right in the eye. “I promise,” he said. We both knew he was lying through his teeth.

STEPPING
into the elevator, I flipped open my phone and called the office. After the fifth ring, I was about to hang up when Miss Patterson answered. She sounded out of breath.

“The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock doesn’t happen to be there, does he?”

“If he was, I wouldn’t have picked up.”

“Glad to see you’re prioritizing.” I rotated my head around. My neck muscles were so tight I felt two inches shorter. “Could you call him for me, please? I need to talk to him ASAP.”

“My pleasure.”

“Thanks. Then go home. I’ve got a few people to track down, then I’m headed there myself.”

“I was on my way, halfway down the hall, when I heard the phone ringing.”

“Good. Get some sleep.”

“You, too.”

Not likely.

JEREMY’S
call caught me striding through the lobby. “Thanks for getting back to me so fast.” I dodged through the crowd toward the casino. I pressed the palm of my free hand over my other ear to block out the noise. I decided sticking my finger in my ear probably looked pretty silly. “Do you have anything yet?”

“Pushy broad, aren’t you? It’s been like what, five hours?”

“Pushy and demanding.” I stepped around an older man and
woman who had stopped to gawk at the blown-glass ceiling. “Seriously, all joking aside, the ante has been upped. Can you put a couple of guys on this? I really need to find Willie and his sidekick—now.”

“Haven’t had any hits on those two, but I did get one on the other guy.”

“Dane?”

“Yeah. He showed up at the Athena.”

“The Athena? Interesting. What’d he do there?”

“I caught him coming in the front door. He went right to the elevators. Haven’t found him on any of the floors yet. I’m going through the feeds now.”

“Keep me posted. And put as many guys as you’ve got on this.”

“Right-o.”

THE
crowd in the casino was starting to build, but the energy level still resembled that of a languid summer afternoon as it slipped toward dusk. The calm before the storm. The Beach Boys played through the speakers; the lights had yet to be dimmed for the evening. A couple of tables were full, but the play seemed apathetic. The cocktail waitresses looked bored—and cold. I knew how they felt. The casino was so cold they could hang meat in there. The crowds would warm it later, but for now it was almost uncomfortable—especially without much clothing.

I rubbed my bare arms as I wandered through the rows of slot machines looking for Mr. Pascarelli. It was early yet, but I searched on the off chance he might be there. No luck.

Stymied, I put my hands on my hips and wondered what to do next. I couldn’t think of a thing other than go look for those two idiots, Willie and Felicia, myself, which would be a waste of time. I’m sure the police had checked all the normal places, and I didn’t know either Willie or his friend well enough to know what abnormal places they frequented. Although with the little I did know about Willie, I’m sure there were many.

With Mr. Pascarelli nowhere to be found, I didn’t know what to
do. Go home or eat? My motto had always been “When in doubt, eat,” so I decided to follow my gut.

Every hotel on the Strip has a buffet, some better than others. Ours was amazing. Located at the back of the building on the ground floor, looking out over our award-winning golf course, the buffet was a veritable feast fit for a king. Foods from every corner of the globe, desserts to die for, open twenty-four hours a day—my idea of heaven.

My plate laden with more food than I had any intention of eating, I scanned the room looking for a table. Mrs. Paisley and her friends filled a four-top in the middle of the room. They waved. Hands full, I nodded back. A table for two near the window called my name. Casinos being what they are, glimpses of the outside world are few and far between. When the opportunity presented itself, I was unable to resist.

I was sitting there, fork poised, trying to decide what to attack first when a voice interrupted. “May I join you?”

I looked up into the twinkling eyes of Mr. Pascarelli. Somehow God had taken me off his shit list. “I would be honored.”

“A beautiful lady such as yourself shouldn’t be eating alone,” the old smoothie said as he set his plate of spaghetti on the table.

“Don’t be fooled by my mild-mannered exterior. I’ve been told I can be quite difficult.”

“I like my women difficult. Challenges keep life interesting. If I were a few years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

I smiled because I had no idea how to respond. “I’ve been looking for you.” Talk about redirecting the conversation. I rooted around in my pocket for the photos. Then I moved the salt and pepper shakers, the Cholula sauce, the soy sauce, and a tub of green gunk I couldn’t identify, clearing a space in the center of the table. I smoothed out the pictures. “Could you look at these? Tell me if you recognize anybody.”

He took a bite of spaghetti, then moved his plate to the side, concentrating on the pictures.

He was so cute with his brow furrowed in concentration. Nice guys like him shouldn’t be alone.