His hand on mine, and still I felt nothing. “You may work here, but you spend a fair amount of time with the competition.”
“The competition?” His voice mocked me.
“Irv Gittings.”
As if singed by a flame, he jerked his hand away. “Why the hell would you think that?” His anger didn’t completely hide his surprise.
“Because you visit him on a regular basis.”
“How do you know that?”
“This is Vegas—you can find out anything if you know who to ask.” I watched him working hard to control his temper. “What I can’t figure out is, are you a good witch or a bad witch?”
“Look, I didn’t want to lie to you, but I wasn’t sure who I could trust.”
“You said that before—after your first lie, right before your second.” I placed my napkin on the table and stood to leave. “All I want to know is whose side are you on? Apparently you aren’t going to tell me. If that’s the case, this dinner is over.”
“Want to fill me in on those e-mails Irv’s been sending to you? Those were pretty remarkable e-mails, by the way.” Dane looked up at me, accusation in his eyes. “If you tell me what you two are planning, perhaps I can get the district attorney to go easy on you.”
“What?” I said, my voice raised in indignation, the white-hot heat of fury barely contained. I felt rather than saw heads turn in our direction. “How dare you! Did you see any replies?”
“Only one.” He glanced nervously around. “Would you sit down? Everyone is staring.”
“And what was my reply?” My voice was low, cold. My eyes all slitty. The son of a bitch.
“I’m paraphrasing here, but pretty much you told him to go to hell—in a nice way, of course.” He tossed the line off as if he didn’t put any credence in my response.
“Of course, always the lady just like my mother taught me to be,” I sneered. “So, let me get this straight. You accuse me of the most vile form of betrayal imaginable based solely on several e-mails from Irv, which you took at face value. Yet, you declined to give the same consideration to my response, because it refuted what you wanted to believe—that I was a traitor to those I hold dear?”
Dane eyed me calmly, his arms crossed over his chest.
For once I was glad the steak knife was out of my reach.
“Irv’s e-mails implied you two were negotiating—he kept upping the ante. For all I know, you could have been meeting him somewhere.”
I was standing there, my face flushed, my breathing rapid, weighing the punishment for homicide against the benefits, when Cindy, the head cocktail waitress, tapped me on the shoulder. “Ms. O’Toole, if you’re looking for the ladies room, head toward the bar and hang a left. It’s down the hall on your right.”
“Thanks, but I’m not looking for the bathroom,” I said. “I’m debating whether to throw my drink on my dinner partner or just leave with my dignity intact. The latter would be classier, but the first option would be so much more satisfying. What do you think? The drink in his face or the high road?”
A smile tugged at the corner of the girl’s mouth as she put a hand on her hip and gave Dane the once-over. “Good-lookin’ guys are the worst, but no reason to sacrifice your dignity, you know.”
“So the high road?”
“Yeah, don’t give him the satisfaction.” With that she stuck her nose in the air, whirled on her heels, and retreated to the bar.
“I’m beginning to understand the term ‘rapier wit,’ ” Dane said with a grimace.
“Anger sharpens it to a fine point,” I snarled.
“Would you sit down? People are watching,” Dane asked again.
“You said that before.” I looked around the room. Nobody would meet my eye. “Do you think I give a rat’s ass?”
“You are the most difficult woman.” Dane took a deep breath then let it out. “Look, I’ve missed a lot in this investigation—there’s a bunch about Vegas I don’t understand. And, I’ve gotten a girl killed. So please, sit, listen to me.” He tugged my hand. “I was wrong about you in the beginning. Tonight, I wanted to punch your buttons, see how you reacted. Look at it from my position—”
“Everyone’s guilty until proven innocent?” Tired of being the center of attention and secretly afraid someone would call Security—which would be rather interesting, but not exactly what I wanted to deal with right now, I sat back down and refolded my napkin in my lap.
“I walked in here cold—I didn’t know who I could trust, so I trusted no one.” Dane sighed and ran his fingers through his wavy hair. Under the façade he presented, he looked worn out, ragged around the edges. “I would like the chance to tell you the truth—I hope you believe me.”
“I’ll listen, but if get even a whiff of bullshit, I’m outta here.”
“I understand your feelings—” Dane started.
“Patronizing a woman hovering on the brink of homicide is not wise.”
He took a deep breath, glanced around at the people near us. “I’m one of the good guys.”
His timing impeccable, Roham interrupted with our salads, which he placed before us with a flourish. “Would you like fresh ground pepper?”
We both shook our heads. Neither one of us picked up a fork as we watched him walk away. And then, as if all the lights of understanding lit in my head at once, all the pieces of the puzzle came together and I saw it whole for the first time.
“You work undercover for the Gaming Control Board,” I said when we were again alone.
Dane looked at me for a moment. Was he weighing whether to tell me the truth, or inventing another lie? “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t, and I still don’t know it for sure—if you think I’m going to take your word for it, then I got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. But it fits.” I picked up my fork and attacked my salad. “I’ll check out your story tomorrow.”
“Check away.” Dane crinkled his brow. “Fits with what?”
“The Control Board knew about the irregularities at the Athena—”
“How did you—? Dane interrupted.
“This is Vegas. . . .”
“You can find out anything if you know who to ask.” He finished my sentence.
“Anyway,” I continued. “If they knew about the fancy bookkeeping and no arrests had been made, then it figures they have an investigator in place.”
I forked in another bite of salad. I never knew goat cheese, pine nuts, pears and avocado, all on a bed of tender baby spinach and dripped in balsamic vinaigrette worked so well together. “Lyda Sue tipped you guys off, then she became your insider.”
“Did she tell you that?”
I shook my head. “She didn’t have to. She was in line for a management job at a hotel on the Strip. I’m guessing it was the Athena. But she had a problem—a less than stellar background. The Big Boss was helping her fix that.”
“Fix it?” Dane cocked one eyebrow at me.
“Erase it, change it. Why should Lyda Sue be punished for a bad choice circumstances forced on her when she was a kid?”
“I’ll overlook the obvious illegality of tampering with state records.”
“Sometimes—”
“You need to do the wrong thing for the right reasons?” Again Dane completed my sentence. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“Lyda Sue met you out at Mona’s place, didn’t she?”
He nodded.
“So how come you were surprised she was a former hooker?” I asked. “One would suspect that anyone who had intimate knowledge of a whorehouse used to work there.”
“She told me the madam was the mother of a friend of hers. I had no reason not to believe her—and it wasn’t important enough to check out anyway,” Dane said as he concentrated on pushing the spinach leaves around his plate.
After polishing off the last bite of my salad, I shoved my plate to the side. Some friend I turned out to be. “Irv got wise to The Big Boss and Lyda Sue—Willie probably told Felicia who too
k it to Irv.”
“How would Willie know?” Dane was clearly interested in the story now.
“He sat in Security every time he waited to fly.”
Dane nodded as the light dawned. “If you have access to Security, you have access to the world. You see a lot of stuff.”
“Felicia has worked here a long time—long enough to know Lyda Sue’s former profession. Irv used it to blackmail Lyda Sue into getting The Big Boss on that helicopter.” I smiled and shook my head. “I’d even be willing to bet she told The Big Boss the whole scheme as she knew it, and he agreed to play along hoping to turn the tables on Ol’ Irv.”
“So, did Irv plot the murder or was it Felicia Reilly?” Dane asked.
“That we don’t know—not without Miss Reilly.”
“She’s long gone,” Dane said, then waited while Roham delivered fresh drinks and whisked away the empties. “She didn’t strike me as stupid—she’s smart enough to know she’s up shit creek without a paddle.”
“Maybe so, but it’s hard to go far without any cash.”
“How do you know she’s short on cash?”
“Let’s just say I’ve made an educated guess.”
Dane took a sip of beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know where she is?”
“I’m working on that.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
I held his gaze. “No.”
Roham interrupted the tension with our dinner. We both sat in silence as he placed our plates in front of us, then removed the covers with a flourish. My mouth watered at the aroma rising from the sea bass. One bite and I knew the master himself had assisted in the preparation.
When we were alone again, I asked Dane, “Did The Big Boss know you were playing both sides?”
“No, but to his credit he didn’t trust me. He made you my keeper. I’ll have to remember to thank him for that.” Dane forked in a bite of the bloodiest piece of steak I’d ever seen, a look of gustatory delight on his face.
“Does cannibalism run in your family?”
“No? We’re Methodists,” he said. “Why?”
I motioned to the steak.
“Oh, it’s a Texas thing.”
As I settled into my meal, I said, “Why don’t you tell me about Texas?”
WE lingered over the exquisite food. Omer would have had my head if I’d rushed, so it was a good thing Dane was a fairly adept conversationalist—for a Texan. And he could spin the tale tall about three boys growing up in west Texas.
Dane polished off dessert and two cups of fully leaded coffee, both of which would have kept me awake into next week. I watched in awe.
Finally, when the plates were cleared, I rose to go and said, “Come with me. I need to make a quick trip through the kitchen.”
Dane followed as I burst through the kitchen doors. “Omer! What a feast! You outdid yourself once again.”
The rotund chef bristled with pride. He bowed his head, acknowledging my praise.
“And Roham—a delight as always.” I turned and applauded the entire staff in the kitchen. “Bravo to all and many thanks.”
Dane again trailed in my wake as I made my way through the bar calling each of the waitstaff and bartenders by name. I paused at the hostess stand to add a tip to the bill and sign it.
“Do you know everybody in this hotel?” Dane whispered.
“Almost. These folks are my family.”
“Hey, the dinner was supposed to be on me,” Dane said when he realized what I was doing.
“Tonight it’s on The Big Boss. I figure he owes us.”
“How so? He’s still in up to his eyeballs.” Dane reached for my hand.
I shook my head and put my hands in my pockets as we pushed out the doors and into the barely controlled chaos of another night just getting underway in the casino.
“He’s in the clear—at least that’s what Willie told the police.”
Dane stopped midstride, then he shook his head and chuckled. “You really play your cards close to the vest, don’t you?”
I didn’t feel the need to answer. The question was probably rhetorical anyway.
“So what about Felicia Reilly?” Dane put a hand on my elbow, steering me through the crowd. “What do we do about her?”
“I have a plan, but I need to work on it a bit before I tell you.”
“Still don’t trust me?”
“Would you trust you if you were me?”
“Somewhere in that fractured syntax lurks a good question.” Dane’s lips curled into a smile, this time one that actually reached his eyes. “And my answer would be no, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you.”
At least he’d dropped the lying thing.
“So, you left Pahrump when you were fifteen?” Dane maneuvered me around the blackjack tables toward the rear doors.
“If you really must know?”
“I must.”
“I’ll give you the short history of Lucky O’Toole, then I want to talk about something else. I moved here when I was fifteen and started working for The Big Boss as a cabana girl. Worked my way up from there. Got a college degree. Kept moving up the food chain.”
“And your mother?”
“She waved good-bye as I left.”
“I see.”
He didn’t see at all, but I didn’t want to discuss it. What kind of mother would let her fifteen-year-old daughter move to Vegas, lie about her age, and go to work every day in a bikini?
“Any other family?”
“You got the short history. Now, pick another topic.”
“Okay.” Dane stood and extended his hand. “Let’s walk.”
Again I ignored his proffered hand. “A walk would be good, then I need to hit the trade show opening.”
“Trade show?”
“In conjunction with the adult movie awards. Sex-a-Rama. You might want to come; I understand Miranda’s doing a pole dance.”
He shot me a pained look. “I think I’ve reached my humiliation quota for the week.”
WE decided on a stroll through the hanging gardens. Dusk diffused the sunlight into gossamer shimmers that filtered through the leaves of the trees high above. A few straggling sun worshipers, either desperate to catch the waning sunlight or comatose after an afternoon of margaritas, lay prostrate on the lounge chairs in the few remaining pockets of sunlight. Soon the shadows would chase them inside.
The deck hands and cabana girls busied themselves with cleanup. One cocktail waitress wandered through the dwindling crowd.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Dane said.
“Another one?” I bent down to retrieve a plastic cup from under one of the chairs. “One was your quota.”
“What’s up with you and Theodore?”
I searched for a trash can and disposed of the cup.
“Avoiding the question,” he asked when I returned.
“No, formulating an answer.”
We sat on boulders next to one of the waterfalls. The sound of cascading water had a primal effect on me—I could sit for hours listening to the gurgles and crashes as if the water could wash my soul clean. Trailing my fingers through the cool water, I smiled at its sensuous feel as it tripped past.
“I really don’t know what’s up with Teddie and me.”
“That’s not an answer, that’s evasion.”
“No, it’s honesty,” I replied. “Teddie is my best friend, but he wants to be more. I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“So you’re still fair game?”
Chapter
SEVENTEEN
This year, the organizers of Sex-a-Rama had titled the show “The State Fair.” Being fairly provincial, I couldn’t imagine a state fair focused on fornication, but one thing was certain—if they had any farm animals in there, I was leaving.
A man in a leather G-string, boots and mask, with a whip tied at his waist, greeted Dane and me at the door. “Your names?”
I tried to remain focused on the S&M g
uy’s eyes, but I was having my troubles. All rippling muscle—buff, polished and denuded—his body begged to be stared at—and touched. I resisted that part.
“O’Toole and guest.”
This was a private party so the guest list would be relatively short—hundreds rather than thousands—I took solace in that. My name associated with this bang fest probably put me on some FBI list of perverts. At the very least, I was sure my presence earned me a black mark on my soul.
The sadist or masochist—I never could keep the two of those straight—checked his clipboard, and motioned us inside.
We pushed through the slit in the curtains covering the doorway—no Peeping Toms allowed at this peep show. A stage on risers commanded the center of the room. Half of a Ferris wheel, complete with hanging chairs, arced over it, attached by a single pole rising out of the center of the stage. A wall of speakers, pumping out a pulsating rhythm, formed the backdrop.
Drinks in hand, people wandered the hall in various stages of undress. The ones angling to catch the eyes of a movie producer were the easiest to spot—siliconed, sculpted, swathed in spandex and Lycra and fake tans. Knots of people gathered around celebrities, most of whom were there to pitch products or their latest celluloid adventure.
“What’s through there?” asked Dane, nodding toward an arched doorway to the right of the stage. Above it a large banner announced The Midway.
“All manner of toys and games, I would suspect.” I extended my arm in that direction. “Shall we?”
We ducked under the arch and joined the flow of people wandering from booth to booth.
“I think we’re overdressed,” Dane said as his head swiveled to catch the rear view of a young woman, her breasts like ripe fruit under her wet tee shirt, as she passed. “That woman’s shirt is completely see-through.”
“The invitation did say ‘clothing optional.’ ”
Dane’s head swiveled back to me, his eyes huge. “Really?”
I nodded as I tried not to look at him, focusing instead on the products displayed in the first booth. Big mistake.
As I surveyed the devices on the table, a lady who could’ve been the premakeover Miss Patterson’s sister picked one up and said, “Honey, this little lovely will rock your world.”
Wanna Get Lucky? Page 25
