by Harley Stone
The dance floor was a mass of swaying bodies. A fight between a skeleton and a hippie broke out by the side door, but bouncers swooped in and carried off the offenders before it got out of hand.
"Come on," Bones said, elbowing me again and gesturing at the girls. "Two for you, two for me, it could be one hell of a night."
Trouble was, I'd had enough casual sex and wanted someone who didn't know a damn thing about my family and wasn't with me for what I could give them or do for them. Before I could tell Bones as much, a tall dark-skinned man approached our table and bid us a good evening. He wore a tight smile, a tailored suit, and the hair on his head looked like it was running away from his face.
"I'm Greg Pines, the manager here, and I wanted to stop by and personally welcome you."
"Thank you, Mr. Pines," I replied, trying not to notice the way his presence drew even more attention to our table. Two sexy spandex-clad super heroines waved at us, smiling. "The service has been prompt. Your people are very attentive."
"Happy to hear it. Thank you." He pulled a six-by-two-inch gray box out of his inside pocket and offered it to me. "Please accept this gift as a token of our appreciation of the family, and all you do for the city."
Bones took the box and angled it away from me as he opened it. Since it didn't explode or start ticking, he angled it toward me so I could see the contents. A beautiful hand-carved pocket knife sat atop a dark velvet liner. According to the knife's label, the blade was forged of Damascus steel and the dragon-carved handle was fashioned from twenty-four-karat gold and platinum. It was more than a gift. It was a business offering.
"My father will be pleased," I said, snapping the box closed.
Mr. Pines smiled and tilted his head. "If you need anything at all, please let me know. My card with my personal cell number is under the knife."
"Noted," I replied, careful not to commit to anything.
Mr. Pines thanked me for my time and left, and I went back to watching people on the dance floor as I sipped my beer.
Moments later Bones jolted out of his seat, knocking the chair back. "That lying asshole!" he shouted, glaring at the dance floor.
I tried to see who he was looking at, but the place was packed. "Who?" I asked.
"Matt Deter. That little fuck right there. The one wearing the giant condom wrapper. That bastard owes me five g's. I called him yesterday and he was whining that his mom was in the hospital and he needed to go take care of her. Looks like I need to send him to the hospital. Come on."
Bones glanced my direction long enough to make sure I stood and followed before he jumped over the railing.
I grabbed Mr. Pines's gift for my father and we took off, winding through the sea of bodies.
Matt turned toward us. He spotted Bones and his eyes bugged out. He turned away and headed the opposite direction. We followed him out the side door and searched the street, but Matt was gone.
Bones swore. "I did that dipshit a favor and he took advantage. I can't wait to get my hands around his scrawny neck."
"What are we gonna do now?" I asked.
"I know where he lives," Bones said. "Feel like coming along?"
I didn't have anything better to do, so I retrieved the Hummer and followed Bones's directions to a run-down apartment building off West Bonanza Road. We parked the car and crept up to apartment one-fourteen.
Bones knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again, harder this time.
The door swung open.
Nothing could have prepared me for the person who answered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Markie
AFTER LUNCH WITH the nice guys at the pizzeria, I took a cab to my sister's last known address. Ariana had sent me pictures of the place, but the photos didn't do it justice. In person it looked more like a high-end resort than an apartment complex. As I walked past the landscaped common area and swimming pool toward the manager's office, I wondered how much the rent was. No doubt way more than I could pay. How could she afford it?
Well, apparently, she couldn't. Ariana had moved out months ago.
It took begging, pleading, showing her texts, and my license to convince the apartment manager I wasn't a stalker or a bounty hunter, and was legitimately worried about my sister, but he finally caved and gave me her forwarding address. This time the cabbie deposited me in front of a dilapidated building without landscaping or swimming pools. The manager had never heard of Ariana Davis, and since I wasn't interested in renting an apartment, she promptly showed me to the door and went back to her soap opera. Disheartened and unsure of what to do next, I wheeled my luggage to the curb and sat down beside the apartment mailbox.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our correspondence, searching for clues about where she could be. She'd mentioned a waitressing job, but didn't specify the name of the restaurant. I googled Las Vegas restaurants and the number of them was somewhere north of infinity. But out of other options, I started making calls. While I sat there, trying one restaurant after the next, the sun set, and costumed adults and children emerged from apartments, trick-or-treat bags in hand.
I'd forgotten about Halloween. As if it wasn't going to be difficult enough to find Ariana, I would now have masks, wigs, and other disguises to contend with. Feeling frustrated and a little overwhelmed but unwilling to give up, I dialed restaurant number forty-two on the list.
While I was waiting for someone to answer, my sister almost walked over me.
"What the fuck?" Ariana asked, glaring at me as she fought to keep both her phone and her body from hitting the ground. "What kind of stupid idiot sits right in front of the--" Her gaze met mine, and she froze.
"The kind with a sister who isn't returning calls or texts?" I asked.
"Markie?" She stared at me like she couldn't believe her eyes.
Not quite the reception I'd been going for, but that didn't matter. My little sister was alive and well. Relief washed over me, stripping away weeks of worry and stress. I stood and wrapped her in a hug. She smelled like pot and fruity shampoo. I pushed her an arm's length away and looked her over. She'd dyed her golden-brown hair almost black and she wore short shorts, revealing knobby knees and skinny legs. She must have lost twenty pounds since the last time I saw her, and my sister had never had twenty to spare. The dark circles around her bloodshot eyes were natural, not from smudged eyeliner like I'd originally thought. She looked older. Much older. Like five years had passed since I'd last seen her.
"Are you okay? Why didn't you answer any of my calls or texts?" I asked.
Her eyes cut to the side and she shrugged. "Yeah, about that... I forgot to pay the bill and my phone got shut off."
"Your phone got shut off?"
My gaze cut to the phone in her hand... the one she'd been studying as she practically ran me over. As an aspiring singer, Ariana lived and breathed by the phone, waiting for "the call" that would give her her big break and launch her career into super stardom. No way would she forget to pay her bill and leave it off for weeks. If my baby sister needed money, she'd be selling plasma or a kidney before she let her phone go. Yet the state of this apartment building compared to her last one led me to believe there were cash flow issues.
"The phone doesn't have service. It's on the building's Wi-Fi," she said.
Which meant she had plenty of options for reaching me, and had chosen not to.
"Ari, if you need money, all you have to do is ask."
"Thanks, but I don't need your money." She walked past me to get to the mailbox.
I stared after her, wondering what was going on. Sure, she'd been mad at me when I left for Africa with no plans to return, but we'd worked that out over several lengthy international calls. I had the phone bills to prove it.
I ducked my head and tried again. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I know you can take care of yourself."
When she turned back around, she wore an apologetic smile. Grabbing my hands, she said, "I'm sorry, too. It's ju
st such a shock to see you. I didn't know if I'd ever see... I can't believe you're here. How long are you staying?"
Her hands trembled in mine. No, not trembled; shook. In fact, her entire body shook.
"I don't know yet. Ari, are you okay?"
"Yeah, of course." She pulled away and reached for my carry-on bag. "Come on, let's go inside."
I had a bad feeling she was lying to me, but I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and followed her.
Halfway to the complex she looked over her shoulder at me. Eyes pleading, she asked, "Promise me you'll be cool?"
With no idea what I was promising to be cool about, I nodded. "Okay."
"Say the words, Markie."
The last time Ariana had told me to 'be cool' she'd gotten nail polish all over my favorite sweater, which the brat did not have permission to wear. I could handle spilled nail polish--I could even handle her smoking pot, I was just glad to see her alive--so I followed her into a small apartment with mismatched furniture, dim lighting, and a haze of marijuana smoke
"Babe, you get the check yet?" a man's voice asked.
I scanned the room, but couldn't see anyone there.
Ariana frowned, shuffling through the mail before she set it on the counter. "Nope. Still didn't come."
"Damn. I was counting on that money. Well, hurry and get ready. We gotta bounce!"
Ariana gave me another apologetic smile. "Matt--my boyfriend--lives here. You promised you'd be cool."
So, she had a live-in boyfriend? No big deal. Ariana was almost twenty-one, and if this was what she chose to do with her life, who was I to stop her? Before I'd managed to get my I'm-okay-with-this game face on, Matt came around the corner dressed in a giant condom wrapper and holding a beer. My breath caught, and not in a good way.
Ariana's smile turned to a grimace. "Matt, this is my sister, Markie."
He nodded at me. "Hey, babe."
Circling Ariana's waist, he pulled her into him and tried to suck her lips off while his hands roamed all over her body. Shocked, I stood there like an idiot, wondering if I should slap him or if I still had to "be cool." She squirmed against his grasp, casting sideways glances at me. I was two seconds from ripping him off her when she finally pushed him away.
"Whoa, what was that for?" Matt asked, his words slurring together.
"My sister is right there." She gestured wildly at me.
"So?" He shrugged and smacked her on the butt. "Go get your costume on."
"Actually, I was hoping we could stay home. Markie just got here, and I don't feel good all of a sudden."
She didn't look well either. Now that we were in the light, I could see the sweat beading across her forehead, her skin looked pale, and she still had the shakes.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me right now?" Matt asked. "After--" His eyes cut to me. "After what I just gave you, you're going to stay in? Tonight? We're supposed to party."
What he just gave her?
Ariana frowned. "No. I'm sorry. You're right. I'll go get dressed." She turned toward me and asked, "Do you have a costume?"
Her eyelids drooped, and she looked like she was about to pass out right there. I moved closer, just in case.
"No, I forgot it was Halloween. And you..." I put my hand to her forehead. She didn't have a fever, but her skin felt clammy and cold. "You're sick. You can barely stand. What's going on?"
Matt, the condom wrapper, glared at me. Then he drained his beer and tossed the bottle on the counter. It didn't break, but the clatter made me wince.
"Matt, wait." Ariana reached for him.
He dodged her advance. "You're sick? Really fuckin' convenient. You know how important this night is to me, and you don't give a shit." He threw up his hands, storming out the door. "Fuckin' selfish, Ari."
The door slammed behind him. Wondering what had just happened, I stared at the spot he'd vacated.
Ariana ran after him. Or tried to, at least. She barely made it out the door before tripping over her own feet and slamming her shoulder into a pole. She slid down and sat on the ground.
Still stunned, I forced my feet into action and hurried to her side. "You okay?" I asked.
A little blue Honda burned rubber out of the parking lot. Matt rolled down the driver's window and shouted something that sounded like "Stupid fuckin' bitches" before driving out of sight.
"Why did you do that?" Ariana asked, regaining my attention. Giant tears rolled down her cheeks.
I stared at her, at a complete loss for words. She couldn't possibly believe Matt's blowup was my fault. Regardless, I helped her up and back into the smoke cloud that still occupied her living room. My head felt weird--contact-high weird--and I groaned, because it seemed like an unfair complication when I really needed to think.
Ariana groaned. "I'm gonna be sick."
We made it as far as the kitchen sink, and then I held her hair back while she barfed. My fuzzy brain struggled to process what was happening. The apartment now smelled like vomit and marijuana, something was clearly wrong with my little sister, and her boyfriend had just gotten pissed and bailed because she was sick?
When Ariana stopped puking, I practically carried her through the small apartment until I found the bedroom. Shivers racked her body, so I helped her into bed and piled every blanket I could find on top of her. I put a giant bowl beside the bed before cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. Ariana threw up again, so I dumped her barf bowl and returned it to the side of her bed. With each passing minute she looked worse, and I felt too fuzzy to help her. Frustrated, I sprayed half a can of air freshener into the living room, trying to overpower the pot-cloud and hopefully prevent myself from getting contact higher.
Jet-lagged and exhausted, I knew if I sat down, I'd pass out and Ariana would be on her own, so I drifted around the apartment, cleaning between trips to check on my sister. I was finishing up the dishes when a knock sounded on the door. Hoping it was Matt, returning to redeem himself and prove he wasn't the biggest loser on the planet, I hurried to answer. Two cops in SWAT uniforms greeted me.
I panicked and closed the door in their faces.
Then I sniffed the air. Flowers and marijuana. No doubt Ariana was coming down from something much worse than pot. Awesome. I'd been in Vegas for less than twenty-four hours, and was probably going to jail for drugs.
Another knock on the door.
My dad had been a state trooper, and I'd grown up surrounded by cops. Even wanted to be one so badly I went to school for criminal justice. I could handle this. I just had to play it cool. Opening the door, I smiled up at them.
"Sorry, I had to put on a bra."
Yep, that was playing it cool, all right.
It was all I could think of, but it seemed to work. Their scowls disappeared, revealing two hot men in uniform, both with olive skin and dark features. Kind of like the nice guys in the pizzeria. Wait. The more I looked at them the more I was certain of it.
"Markie?" the shorter body-builder-type cop asked.
"Bones?" I asked.
"Yeah." He stared at me. They both did. No doubt they smelled the smoke, and were preparing to cuff me and read me my rights.
I looked up at the taller, much hotter cop. "And... I'm sorry. I can't remember your name."
He blinked.
Bones chuckled.
And I felt like an idiot.
"Angel," the hotter cop replied.
"Right, Angel. You're SWAT?" I shook my head at my own stupidity and went with a not-so-obvious question. "Of course you are. What are you two doing here?"
"We're looking for a suspect," Bones said. "A man, about five-eight, brown hair, medium build, goes by the name of Matthew Deter."
"Matt? You're looking for Matt?"
"Yes. Is he here?" Bones asked.
"No. He took off a while ago. He's a suspect? To what crime?"
"That's confidential," Bones replied.
"How do you know Ma-- the suspect?" Angel asked. "You said you were in town to see family. Are
you a relative?"
"He's my sister's boyfriend. Or at least he was. He got pissed and took off, so I'm not really sure about the status of their relationship right now."
I had no idea why I told them this, but couldn't seem to stop myself from blabbing. My brain felt like it had been filled with cotton.
Retching sounds came from the bedroom. I leaned back and hollered, "Ari? You okay?"
What sounded like dry heaving answered. I waited for her to stop before turning back to the cops. They still hadn't said anything about the overwhelming smell of pot, and I didn't want to press my luck. Besides, my sister needed me. "Ariana's sick. I need to get back to her. If you have a card... I promise I'll call if he shows up."
The dry heaving started again.
"What's wrong with her?" Angel asked, surprising me.
"I don't know. I got here right before Matt split, but it came on so quickly... shaking, cold sweats, throwing up. She can't even stand. Probably some sort of flu."
Most likely, she took some bad dope, but I wasn't about to narc on her.
The two exchanged a look.
"All right. Thanks for your help," Bones said. "Be sure to let us know if Matt returns."
When I closed the door, I realized neither of them had given me their business card. Oh well. I hurried in to check on Ariana.
CHAPTER SIX
Angel
SHAKING, COLD SWEATS, throwing up. She can't even stand.
The words assaulted me during the walk back to the Hummer. I made it to the door, even got my hand on the handle, but couldn't open it. I had a bad feeling about Markie's sister, and I needed to know if I was right.
"Angel, get in the car," Bones said, opening the passenger's door. It wasn't a demand--Bones would never cross that line--more like a strong suggestion, softened when he added, "We'll talk inside."
I nodded and climbed in. Bones checked something on his phone.
"Matt's one of your dealers, isn't he?" I asked.
