Wanna Get Lucky?

by Deborah Coonts

  I pushed myself up, catching myself before I slid off the couch to the floor. My hand met warm skin where his sweatshirt gapped away from his chest, sending a jolt through me. First my hormones were all out of whack, now my nerves were jangling. If I kept going down this path, pretty soon I’d be totally nonfunctional. “Technically, that’s what we just did—sleep together.”

  “Technically, you’re right. I was asking euphemistically.”

  “Oh, those big Ivy League words. I think, euphemistically speaking, that would come way down the alphabet.”

  “Drat.” This time he pulled me to him and kissed me on the mouth. “Are there any more rules I should know about?”

  His kiss lit every nerve that wasn’t already on fire. In very real danger of giving in, shucking my clothes and getting on with it, I needed to put some distance between us. Both hands on his chest, one foot on the floor, I pushed myself upright. “More rules? Not that spring immediately to mind, but I’m in virgin territory here, so some will probably come to me.”

  “Virgin territory?”

  “Do you have any coffee in this place?” I turned and padded toward the kitchen. “Bad choice of words—I may have slept with guys, but I don’t wake up with them.”

  Teddie followed me to the kitchen where he pulled a canister of my favorite coffee from the cupboard. “Too bad. The waking up part can be one of the best parts.”

  He whistled while he filled the coffeepot and punched the button.

  I watched him go through the preparations for breakfast just as I had watched him do a hundred times before, albeit not after having spent the night on his couch. Several times a week I’d come up or he’d come down. We’d fix something and talk, share the news. I didn’t want to lose that. It was the only good thing I had.

  “Teddie, I’m not sure I can do this.” I grabbed one of the empty mugs he had set on the counter and pretended to be fascinated with it.

  “Can’t do what? Have coffee?”

  “You know what I mean.” I sat across from him watching him make me eggs and bacon, just as I had yesterday. That breakfast seemed eons ago. “This could really screw up a great friendship. I need you.”

  Teddie leaned across the counter, took the empty coffee mug from my grasp, then held both of my hands in his. “I need you, too. But I don’t want to be just your friend. Let go, Lucky. Give up control. Let me in. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Can’t we stay the same as we’ve always been?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t do platonic—at least not with you. And not forever. It’s not enough for me. And it’s not enough for you either—you just don’t know it yet.” He let go of my hands, poured us both some coffee. He took a sip and eyed me over the top of his mug. “You don’t know what you want. You spend your days fixing everybody else’s lives, while ignoring your own.”

  “I don’t have a life.”

  “My point exactly. If you don’t pay attention, by the time you figure out what you want, you’ll be too old to get it.”

  “Geez, haven’t you heard of the soft sell?”

  He gave me an exasperated look. “I’ve been soft-selling this for months now. Hasn’t worked so far.” He walked around the counter until he stood close to me—too close.

  I could swear the man was surrounded by an energy field. A field that, once he got close enough, set my every nerve afire.

  He touched my cheek. For a moment our eyes locked and held.

  “Look, I may not be the guy, I know that,” he said as he brushed a hair from my eyes. “Just give me a chance. You can’t keep locking people out, Lucky. It’s not good for the soul.”

  I thought about what Teddie said through breakfast, my shower, getting dressed, and racing to work. In fact, that was practically all I could think about, until Miss Patterson walked through the office door.

  “Mr. Fujikara is in the city jail. He wants you to bail him out.”

  Impeccable timing. She caught me midslurp on my fifth cup of java. I managed to spill only a little bit. “What?”

  She handed me a tissue, then stood there looking all composed and efficient. The opposite of how I felt. What was it with me lately? My self-control had apparently gone on vacation—along with my self-respect.

  I dabbed at the wet spot on my slacks. Thankfully, I had picked my dark blue Dana Buchman’s and a matching silk top today.

  “Nice earrings, necklace and belt, by the way. You actually match,” said Miss Patterson.

  “I accessorize and everybody notices. A sad commentary.” Actually Teddie had accessorized me, but Miss Patterson didn’t need to know about that. “Tell me about Mr. Fujikara. Why’s he at the jail and not the detention center?”

  “They picked him up driving erratically way out on Charleston. Booked him on a DUI. His blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit.”

  “He wasn’t in one of our Ferraris again, was he?”

  Miss Patterson looked at her notes. “No. He’d rented an H2 from one of those fancy rental-car places. The car is okay. It’s in the impound lot.”

  “Better call one of our lawyers. Get him down there to take care of the paperwork.” I stopped dabbing at the spilled coffee. I was making it worse, leaving little bits of white tissue on my dark pants.

  “Do lawyers make the world better or worse?” Miss Patterson asked. “I’ve never been able to figure that out.”

  “They’re like mosquitos—no matter how many you swat, you’re never going to rid the world of the bloodsuckers—so why worry about it?” I leaned back in my chair and took a good look at Miss Patterson. Yes, a makeover would do wonders. Not to mention what it would do for me. I’d been avoiding mirrors for a long time now. “The lawyer can go get Mr. Fujikara. Were you able to get us in to be beautified?”

  “First, Mr. Fujikara wants you—only you.”

  “Terrific.”

  “He called the hotel about an hour ago. Security couldn’t reach you on your cell; they found me. I found you.”

  “I couldn’t find that damned phone this morning.” I lifted a few papers on my desk looking for it. “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Teddie has it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I called it looking for you. He answered. Said you must’ve left it there when you left this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’ll bring it by later.” She looked at me with a deadpan expression. “I want you to notice that I am not asking for details. And, as to your second question, Linda can fit us both in today at noon.”

  “Good.” She may not have asked for details, but she wanted them—would telling her be better than leaving everything to her imagination? I opted for the latter—probably a mistake. “May I borrow your car? This situation calls for low-profile, and my car is at home.”

  “I would hardly call your car low-profile.”

  A late 1970s vintage Porsche isn’t even close to flashy by Vegas standards, but I wasn’t going to argue.

  I followed Miss Patterson into the outer office and waited while she found her keys. She flipped them to me. “Take care of my baby.”

  “Will do.”

  Miss Patterson’s “baby” was a light blue Prius. I knew where to find it without asking—she always parked in my designated spot in the garage.

  DETECTIVE Romeo was waiting for me when I arrived at the city jail. He wore the same crinkled suit and weary expression. “Miss Patterson called and said you were on your way.”

  I fell in step beside him. “Have you had any sleep yet?”

  “A little.” He gave me a tired smile as he flashed his badge at the security checkpoint. The guards didn’t even look up as they waved us through. “They brought your guy in just after midnight on a DUI. He was babbling about some woman trying to get money out of him. I tried to talk to him, but he was pretty wasted. Thought I’d let him sleep it off and talk to him this morning.”

  “Does he want a lawyer?” I t
ried to ignore the fact that, as we walked, various barred doors opened, then slammed shut behind us after we stepped through.

  “He was in no shape last night to assess his situation. Your name was the only one he could tell us.” Romeo stopped in front of a door marked “Interrogation Room 1.” He opened the door and waved me inside. “They’re going to bring him in here.”

  “I hope you guys are processing him for release.” I stepped into the small room and felt like I’d walked onto a set right out of CSI. Empty except for a grungy metal table and four chairs, the room was gray and lifeless. It reeked of disillusionment and despair. A shiver chased down my spine.

  “Of course.” Romeo pulled out a chair for me. “I thought we could talk here. By then they ought to have his paperwork done.”

  I sat and crossed my arms, trying to forget that I was in a small room, behind several sets of bars. I felt as if I should check my purse for a “get out of jail free” card, but they’d taken my bag from me at the front desk.

  Romeo didn’t sit. Instead he leaned against the wall in the far corner—which wasn’t far. “You seem antsy.”

  Like warning lights flashing a message of trouble ahead, the red lights on the video cameras in the corners blinked. “I’m not a big fan of jails.” I stood and started pacing. Five steps by five steps didn’t ease much tension. “I don’t know what game you’re playing here, Romeo, or why you’re taping this, but you’d better do this by the book.”

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  “Don’t mess with me.” I tried to sound threatening, but it’s sorta hard to do when the person you’re threatening holds all the cards.

  The door squeaked open, interrupting the tension. A guard held Mr. Fujikara by the arm.

  Wrinkled and mussed, he looked tired and more than a little scared. “Ms. O’Toole! Thank heavens!” Breaking free from the guard, he rushed to me and gave me a hug.

  I detected faint odors of vomit and urine. A night in the Vegas drunk tank was probably quite an experience. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  I pulled away from him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “I need to take his statement now that he’s sober.” Romeo pushed himself away from the wall.

  We each took a seat at the table.

  I leveled my gaze at Romeo. “By the book.”

  Romeo nodded, read Mr. Fujikara his rights, then asked if he wanted a lawyer.

  Mr. Fujikara shook his head. “I really don’t have anything to say. My head is killing me. Somebody must’ve slipped something in my drink last night. I don’t remember anything really—only bits and pieces.”

  Romeo’s face fell. “You can’t tell us anything?”

  “Nothing more than you already know. I ate dinner at Carne by myself. My friends wanted to gamble, so they stayed at the hotel. A girl approached me in the bar at Carne. I invited her to share a drink with me. That is the last thing I remember.”

  “Had you ever seen this girl before?”

  “No.”

  “Would you recognize her again?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Romeo reached in his pocket and extracted a card. Extending it to Mr. Fujikara he said, “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.”

  AN hour later, I finally had Mr. Fujikara and his possessions occupying the passenger seat of Miss Patterson’s green-mobile. “Okay, give it up. What really happened?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. His eyes widened as his gaze fixated on something over my shoulder.

  I whirled around at the tap on my window.

  Romeo motioned for me to lower the glass. “Sorry about the show inside. I had to take his statement so the higher-ups will think I am actually doing my job.”

  “I know how the game is played.”

  “Better than me, I should think.” He grinned, then he handed me several folded sheets of paper. “Here’s what you asked for. Remember, we’re playing on the same team. The police stuff is there along with some personal info I got off the Internet.” With that, he was gone.

  I stuffed the papers in my purse and turned my attention back to Mr. Fujikara. “Your turn. And make it good.”

  “What?”

  “You and me, we’ve been playing games for some time now, and I’m not as stupid as I look. That little charade back there may have fooled the young detective, but you can’t fool me.”

  I watched him war with himself.

  Finally, he gave in. “You’re one tough broad.” The guy had clearly been watching too many Bogart movies.

  “You have no idea.”

  He settled in and fastened his seat belt as I piloted the car out of the lot.

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s very simple really. As I told the detective, I ate dinner at Carne.”

  “But not by yourself.”

  “No.” He fiddled with the handle of my purse, which rested between us. “I will tell you something, but if you repeat it, I will deny it. My wife, well . . . she would be disappointed.”

  “Understood.”

  “When I come here, I like to find some female company. I didn’t want to hire a comfort girl—too risky, in many ways.” He stared out the side window as he talked.

  Comfort girl? Leave it to the Japanese to make a whore sound like Florence Nightingale. “So what did you do?”

  “One evening I was eating in the bar at Carne with a young lady from the hotel. A couple approached us and asked if we were swingers. I had no idea what they meant, but the young lady I was with did, and she told them we were.”

  “I have a feeling I know what young woman you are talking about. If I’m right, she’s no lady.” While stopped at the next red light, I pulled the copy of the employee photo of Felicia Reilly from my purse and handed it to Mr. Fujikara.

  He took the photo but didn’t meet my eyes. “That’s her! How’d you know?”

  “She’s been cutting a swath through the hotel.” The light turned green, and I accelerated away from the intersection.

  “I guess that should make me feel better, but I still feel very foolish.” He hung his head.

  “Why don’t you tell me the rest of it?”

  “The couple invited us to a party at a private estate somewhere south of town. I thought I’d died and gone to Nirvana—willing women, as many as I wanted, with their husbands’ complicity. I didn’t see any downside. I was wrong.”

  “Your young lady hit you up for money, didn’t she?”

  “At first I thought she only wanted money for going to the party with me. You see, a single man cannot get in. I had to bring a woman with me.”

  “But then she wanted more?”

  “She threatened to tell not only my wife but my business associates as well if I didn’t pay her.” He turned to look at me. This time his eyes held mine. “That would ruin me.”

  Why did the people with the most to lose, play the riskiest games? “What did you do?”

  “I bought a little time.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “I was supposed to meet her in the bar at Carne. While I waited, I saw her—she didn’t see me. She was having a heated conversation with a large man.”

  “A large man? Like my height and four hundred pounds, give or take, balding?”

  “Yes.”

  The Most Reverend most likely. He and his wife had said they were going to Carne for dinner. “What then?”

  “She spotted me and came over to the table. She didn’t stay long. She was angry, and she looked scared. She said she needed the money right now. Something about leaving town.”

  “Did you give it to her?” I eased the car up the ramp into the cool darkness of the parking garage

  “Not all of it.” He returned to looking out the side window.

  “How much?”

  “A grand. She took it even though she wanted more. I have a feeling that’s not the last of her, is it?”

&n
bsp; “It will be if I get my hands on her.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I wanted to get hold of those two so bad I could almost taste it. “And the DUI? Did she put something in your drink or did you do it to yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I usually can handle my liquor pretty well. Of course, I was upset, I didn’t eat very much and probably drank more than normal.”

  Mr. Fujikara may have had one heck of a night, but, little did he know, he had made my day.

  I knew where to start looking for the Weasel.

  When Carne opened at five, I would be there.

  MR. Fujikara and I parted at the elevators. He went to his room after assuring me he would contact my office and make arrangements to meet with a lawyer.

  The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock caught me heading toward the casino. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Some guy keeps answering your cell.” He fell into step beside me.

  “Yeah, I hired a guy to take my calls. I was getting tired of the ringing, pushing the buttons, the missed calls, the messages, all of it.” Next time I saw Teddie I was going to shoot him.

  “Sure. New boyfriend?”

  “Old friend, but we’re not going there.” I stopped at the entrance to the casino. A few stragglers occupied stools in front of the occasional slot machine. For the most part, the tables were abandoned. However, a heated game of poker was still underway with Subway Jones in the thick of it.

  “I’m an ace investigator. You can’t keep secrets from me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Apparently you have a strong death wish.”

  “Thought that would get a rise out of you.”

  “You were right.” Jeremy looked impeccable in his creased slacks and tailored button-down. Each hair was in place and I couldn’t see even a hint of five o’clock shadow. I knew the guy had been up most of the night. Subconsciously I measured myself against his perfection and came up woefully short. I found that irritating. “You said you were looking for me?”

  “Yeah. You know your guy we talked about last night? He never reappeared on any of the floors. I checked every one.”

  That could mean only one thing. “He went all the way to the top, then.”

  “Right. The elevator stops at Mr. Irv Gittings’s office suite. He owns the Athena.”