Better Run

by Shel Stone

  Starting in this business, he’d known how to bide his time. It was one of the reasons he’d been so successful—he’d had the patience to wait for the right time, but just now, he itched to get going. He wanted this resolved so he could get back to normal, because the reality was that he felt out of balance. Had done since those fucktards had turned up in his study, trying to rob him. Nothing had quite been right inside him, the unresolved pieces sat like an open wound.

  It hurt to accept he wasn’t invulnerable. Mostly he was angry at himself for having allowed the situation to develop, having allowed these people, who were obviously not of the right caliber, into his home. Every portion of that eventuating, he went through, seeking all the mistakes. Mistakes he couldn’t afford. They were weakness, and destroying weakness in himself and the people around him was what kept him in the position he was in.

  This girl judging him also bothered him. Everything he’d said to her was true. Growing up, he’d been a victim of that insidious hypocrisy that allowed people to turn a blind eye to suffering, having decided fairly young that when it came to being a hammer or a nail, he was going to be a hammer. He’d chosen not to be a victim, or to be victimized.

  It was a dog eat dog world, but as opposed to many, he didn’t necessarily blame the victims either. They simply weren’t strong enough.

  With a sigh he turned back. Didn’t like thinking about the past and the things he’d seen. His life was more limited now. The people in it were limited, and also very professional. The relationships were clearly understood and no one was using him to feed the gaping void inside them. But this girl and her crew had opened up a void inside him and that was completely unacceptable. It angered him the most, because their actions had caused trauma inside him, and he couldn’t forgive them. He wasn’t the same as before they had come and inflicted wounds on him with their selfishness and greed. They’d made him a victim.

  Running his tongue over his teeth, he returned inside and picked up his phone to call Carlos again. “Actually, I will go now. Get a plane for me.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  “No, I’ll take care of this myself. It’s personal.”

  After hanging up, he made some other calls, submerged himself in business. It took about an hour for a plane to be ready and it sat waiting on the tarmac at the smaller, private airport he tended to use when he left Miami, which wasn’t all that often. Certainly not for Las Vegas. He wasn’t a gambler—never had been. Chance wasn’t a concept that interested him. When he moved he liked to know exactly what the outcome would be, even if the other parties didn’t.

  A car took him to the airport where the plane was waiting, along with the two pilots and stewardess. They didn’t mess around. After getting inside and sitting down, they were taxiing down the runway within minutes. After takeoff, he was given a drink and he asked to be left alone after that.

  Relaxing wasn’t something he was good at. There was always a problem to solve or a procedure to make better. A lot of time was spent on defensive strategies, on smoke and mirrors in case someone was actually looking at his business. Purposefully, he’d made the entirety of it very hard to grasp, except by a few trusted people. Otherwise, the people he worked with knew bits of it, but never the whole.

  For a few hours, he rested and before long, it was time to land. It was nighttime when he did, a car waiting to take him to Wynn’s. If anyone looked closely at his activities here, he was going to appear like any other person who came to Las Vegas for rest and relaxation—or simply to fulfill all their vices.

  The lobby of the hotel was glittering and ostentatious, designed to awe. Palmer was given a presidential suite, which suggested the people here knew who he was. It wasn’t something he was thrilled about, but these people were pros at knowing who was who, and how much they could spend.

  Large floor to ceiling windows showed the equally glittering lights outside. Like Miami, this was a tourist hub where people came to party. It had a different feel though, and Palmer preferred Miami, which had a richer texture and a more diverse culture. Las Vegas felt artificial—probably because it was. People came here to get away from themselves—be something they weren’t.

  The room was gorgeous. The finest fabrics, marble everywhere. There was even a butler if Palmer should want to use him.

  Not really wanting to, he left the room again and made his way downstairs. Officially he was here to gamble, so he had better do some, being shown to a more exclusive room by one of the entertainment managers, whose task it was to keep him entertained within Wynn properties. Couldn’t have the money being spent elsewhere, could they?

  This table had a minimum buy-in of twenty thousand, and didn’t accept chits of smaller amounts. From the entertainment manager, he requested three hundred thousand worth. This girl really should appreciate what he had to spend to get to her. It was a sum of money she had never seen and he was about to throw it away at the table.

  A nervous Asian man sat next to him. Gold rings on his fingers and nervously turning over a gold lighter. Also some dude in a cowboy hat. They took this game much too seriously. Blackjack. Palmer knew the rules and started slowly so he could read the others at the table. The Asian guy liked the risk. He went for it every time and he won big and lost big.

  The other dude was more circumspect. Liked the thrill, but didn’t care about the money.

  The girl serving drinks was gorgeous, but the guys around this table weren’t here for girls. They were here to gamble and weren’t novices at it.

  Already, Palmer was bored. He didn’t have that high tolerance for risk and he didn’t feel the heart thumping reward that the other two did either. It was all business transactions to him, and this didn’t ultimately achieve anything. This was a hobby for risk junkies.

  In a way, he was jealous of how passionate they were. He’d been that passionate when he’d started, but of late, things seemed to have lost their luster. He’d achieved everything he’d set out to do. It had been hard work. At times, he’d had to do necessary things he hadn’t enjoyed. In the end, though, the power, the money, the respect had flowed his way. And he didn’t give a fuck about receiving any of those things from a worshipping entertainment manager who’d likely suck him off under the table if it got him to spend more.

  “I need to eat,” he said after a while.

  “We can bring something right here to the table,” the entertainment manager suggested. It pissed Palmer off in its forthright self-serving.

  “No, I think I want to see the sights.”

  Gathering up his remaining chits, he stepped away. The other two didn’t care. They weren’t there for company. Hardcore gamblers, it was a game between themselves and the system, Palmer suspected. Other people were merely scenery.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Palmer said when the entertainment manager was set to follow him.

  “Anything you need, I can help you find,” the man said, finally conceding defeat, which was a good thing because Palmer was quickly losing any distaste he felt about murdering people in dark back alleys.

  Finally alone, Palmer made his way to the Michelin Star restaurant in the hotel and was given a table in the large space with sedate chatter. The tables were quite far away from each other. This wasn’t the kind of place where patrons wanted to be squeezed in like sardines. He ordered fish and watched people as he waited.

  A married man with his mistress. Honeymooners and a pair of wealthy Europeans tourists. There was also a group of men who were clearly here for business purposes. Probably celebrating signing a deal before heading off to some strip bar.

  Sighing, he sat back in the chair. He hated being here and he hated her for dragging him here. His people better find her quickly.

  Chapter 18

  SITTING IN THE BACK, Nook watched as Veronica lathered cream on her the long, lean limbs. Her body was amazing. People underestimated how athletic these girls were, but it took strength and coordination to do the things they did on the
poles. Not all of them could do it well, and Nook wasn’t entirely sure the customers really cared. Some did. They’d had a football team and a few of them had commented on the physical strength it took to do some of those moves. Guess it took an athlete to appreciate the skill.

  The young guys were often the worst. Objectification was rife, treating them like they had no feelings and no inherent right to dignity. Older guys were smarter and wiser, and often treated them respectfully. Not everyone. There were creepers of every age. You learned a lot about a guy in a place like this, where they felt there wasn’t really any consequences for their actions other than getting thrown out. They took off their masks and revealed their nasty little selves.

  “Strange crowd tonight,” Veronica said.

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Just a funny vibe, you know. I get feelings like that sometimes.” She adjusted her rhinestone g-string and pulled on the white ostrich-feathered wrap. It went with the glamorous image she portrayed.

  “Not my issue. I’m taking off in a minute.”

  “You’ve got the day off tomorrow, haven’t you?”

  Frankly, Nook wasn’t looking forward to it. She still struggled with things to do in her downtime. At home, she’d call some friends to party, but here, at this point, anyway, she couldn’t allow herself to loosen control even a little bit. It felt too risky. What if she got drunk and blabbed, because she liked to talk about deep issues with some likeminded person when she was drunk and high. It was an intimacy with people she didn’t normally have otherwise. And she missed dancing in clubs and just taking herself out of it for a while. None of these things she could afford to do.

  In fact, she needed to think about moving on. Palmer was searching for her and he knew she worked in strip joints, so maybe she needed to do something else for a while. Unfortunately, other things that also earned her enough money to live on were things she didn’t want to do—thing she refused to do. She hadn’t gone through everything she had, just to end up fucking gross dudes for money. A compromise she just refused to make. She fucked dudes she wanted to fuck—on her own terms.

  So maybe she needed to take a shit job and downsize. It wasn’t like she was living lavishly, but she’d always had her own place. Could take a crap job refilling shelves or something and have to live in a real dive.

  Palmer would tire of looking for her at some point. He had to. Once he couldn’t find her, he would eventually give up. Said he wouldn’t, but he hadn’t struck her as crazy enough to totally obsess. You couldn’t be the kind of guy he was and be a complete nutjob. Because nutjobs couldn’t stop themselves from landing in prison, sooner or later.

  Palmer would give up. He had to. But in the meantime, she had to lie lower than she was. She was just going to save up a bit of money first, because she was shortly not going to have any at all.

  “Alright, I better go,” Nook said, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

  “We should have lunch sometime,” Veronica said. Nook knew she had a young kid at home. From what she’d heard, she had a nice house in the burbs where she lived with her mother and kid, and got on with supporting herself. That was the difference between being on stage and serving the drinks—you lived in different zip codes.

  “No, yeah, that would be cool,” Nook said and made for the door. “Maybe on Thursday?”

  “Call me.”

  With a nod, Nook opened the door to the back entrance. Her eyes searched the dark space for any creepers or lurkers, or worse. It was clear and she stepped outside.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  Ice flashed through her veins. She knew that voice. It crept up her spine and panic flared inside her. He’d been standing behind the door, so she hadn’t seen him when she’d looked, and now the door was firmly shut. They locked that door and she’d have to dig out a swipe card from her bag to get back in. Unless she screamed.

  From his side, he brought up a gun and pointed it at her. It had a silencer on it. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I think you know what I’d have to do to anyone who came running out here.”

  Which would be Veronica with her mom and kid waiting for her to come home.

  Palmer moved closer, the gun still firmly pointed at her. It wasn’t shaking. Steady as they came. “Guess you fucked up, Nook,” he said, his voice low and calm.

  Her throat was completely dry and adrenalin coursed through her system. She could feel the valves in her heart opening and closing.

  If she ran, he’d shoot her in the back. She could see it unfolding in her mind’s eye and wondered if she was simply better off dying right now. He was going to kill her anyway.

  “Time to go for a ride,” he said, reaching up. She flinched and his eyes moved to hers, and he took the strap of her bag and gently lifted it off her shoulder. “Car’s this way.”

  He sounded like a boyfriend who’d just come to pick her up from work—except for the gun now pointed at her head.

  “I’m hoping you aren’t going to be a problem. Or maybe I’m hoping you are. I can’t make up my mind.”

  “Good to know you’re so indecisive,” she said through gritted teeth, desperately trying to hide how completely undone she was.

  A smile slowly spread across his lips and she wondered if he was actually scarier when he smiled.

  “Come now, we don’t want to risk being caught, do we?”

  Again, Nook had to think of Veronica who was probably going to walk out that door soon. Could she live with a kid losing their mom on her conscience? No. Not like fighting him was going to achieve anything for her at that moment.

  Her choices were to go with him, or to run. One she could die now, the other, she would die later.

  Her bag hung from his free hand. He wore a dark suit. Always impeccably dressed. Expensive suits that were tailored to his body.

  Really? Should she be thinking about his wardrobe choices right now? How about she think of his weapon choices instead? Not that she knew guns, but it looked like the kind that didn’t miss.

  Trying to swallow, she almost choked.

  “Come on,” he said, indicating with the gun. “Or I can take a knee out and drag you into the car.”

  Fear slid cold down her spine and she shifted away from the brick wall behind her that she’d pressed to in some vain attempt at support. Her knees were weak and she feared them buckling. Or pissing her pants, which her vanity did not want him to see.

  His hand came to her elbow and he pulled her along. No, she wasn’t ready—she needed to think, but he wasn’t giving her a chance. At least the gun was down by his side now. It was still very scary.

  With firm strides, he took her to the car and opened the door to the passenger side with his gun hand, then urged her in. For a moment, it was silent in the car and the scary beast was outside, circling around the back. This was her chance, while he was on the other side of the car, but she was too scared to move. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap refused to reach for the door handle, and then it was too late.

  The internal light came on as he opened the door and smoothly got in. A button turned on the engine, which revved to life. A beamer she saw now, the engine purring. This was not a cheap car, but then Palmer didn’t seem to do cheap. It smelled new too.

  Putting it in reverse, he turned around, his hand on the back of her headrest. How conscientious to ensure he didn’t run anyone over. But it also brought him closer and for a moment, she watched him as he backed out of the spot. There was stubble on his face, that strong jaw she remembered. For a moment he looked at her, those hard eyes. Beautiful eyes. How could such beauty be deceptively dangerous?

  The car pulled out, the lights swinging across the buildings until he reached the road. Again she wanted to object, saying she didn’t want this, but her voice had completely disappeared.

  With her knees tightly together, she sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” he said, his voice seeming to echo in the small, confined spac
e.

  “What?” she said, her mind obviously not in the right gear to listen.

  “Put your seatbelt on.”

  Now she noticed the muted dinging the car was making. “Right,” she said and reached back for the seatbelt and clicked it into place. The dinging stopped, leaving stark, eerie silence.

  He wasn’t taking her to her apartment, instead he was heading away. Away from the strip and to the east. To the desert. Her throat closed over again “Where are you taking me?” she managed to croak out, but he didn’t answer her.

  The desert was where bad people ended up, sometimes not found until years later. There had been something about it reported in the paper, how a body had been found and people had speculated it had been a mob hit from way back when. Would that happen to her? The people in Las Vegas collectively wondering if something nefarious, and kind of glamorous because it was a mob hit, after all, had happened to her.

  Was he mob? She didn’t know the distinction. Weren’t Italians mob people? Well, he wasn’t Italian.

  Slyly, she watched him as he drove. His attention on the road ahead of him, the relaxed hands on the steering wheel, the solid body under the fine material of the suit. Her eyes roamed over him, while making out that she wasn’t.

  They didn’t speak or in any way engage, and they were now hurtling out of town into utter darkness. It felt oppressive and for a moment, her nerve faltered. Was he going to pull over soon? Take her out and shoot her in the head? Would she cry and beg? She didn’t want to, but who knew how she would act in the moment. This wasn’t a position she’d ever been in before. This could be the only position she had in front of her.

  Was there anything she could do or say that would divert what was to come?

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but not yet.”

  A huge relief flowed through her, but it was a false one. Being that it wasn’t going to happen right now. At least he’d been honest. He was going to kill her—but not right now. The sheer panic relented slightly and she tried to take stock of the situation.