Lucky the Hard Way

by Deborah Coonts

  A good foot shorter than my six feet, dark hair, flawless skin, almond eyes—green, not the expected brown—she looked like a delicate doll as she stepped out of the crowd to stand in front of me. At the last minute, I stifled my urge to wrap the tiny woman in a bear hug, saving us both an awkward moment.

  “Cindy, it’s been a while.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Cindy and I had single-handedly pulled this property together and had opened it on time and in grand fashion. So much in synch, she could anticipate my every wish—I hoped we still had some of that magic. I so desperately needed a point man…and a friend.

  “Call Security,” I said, as I worked through a mental checklist. “Then the police. Make sure no one.” –I used my height to impress my point; after the last two days it was all I had—“and I mean no one…” I waited until I got another crisp nod. “No one gets near the video streams from tonight. All of them.”

  Sadness lurked under her mask of efficiency as she glanced at the lifeless form of Kimberly Cho, then turned to go. “The police have been alerted.”

  Ah, that old black magic….

  “And…” I started to say, but she cut me off.

  “I will clear the room and have Security keep the girls close by.”

  “The police will want to question everybody,” I added, somewhat unnecessarily, or so I thought.

  That got a slight smile as she stepped away. “Yes, Miss,” she said, but her tone said, “Yeah, right.”

  She turned back, bridging the distance with a hand on my arm. “I will help you.”

  I gently touched the goose egg on my head—a throbbing freight train of pain. “Some ice, maybe?”

  She gave me a look that wasn’t hard to interpret: There are things you need to know. You can trust me.

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Words fled, and I clamped my lips together and my eyes tight as I fought my emotions too long held in check. What if Romeo…. I glanced at Kim Cho, then squeezed the thought away.

  Logic, Lucky, logic. You gotta hold it together.

  I’d trusted Cindy Liu with my hotel, but could I trust her with my life? Same thing, I reasoned after a bit.

  My vision swam and I bent over, putting my hands on my knees, which made the throbbing worse but the standing-without-throwing-up easier. Apparently, I’d reached the end of my proverbial rope. Hanging on by my fingertips, I was swinging over the abyss.

  All I had to do was let go…

  If I lost it, there wouldn’t be anyone else to make all this right. Pulling myself to my full height, I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and worked to get over myself. Where was Miss P when I needed a kick in the keister?

  Cindy Liu would have to do.

  One look at her stiff spine, the jut of her jaw, and I knew she would be up to the task.

  “Thank you, Cindy.” My gaze took in all the women clumped around us paying partial attention. I was amazed my voice sounded normal, in control. “Do you have the ability to talk with Security directly?”

  She produced an iPhone from a hidden pocket that I would’ve bet was out of the question in her skin-tight uniform. “Number two,” she said as she handed the phone to me, then started herding our audience out the door. I glanced at the throng all angling for a look. All Lilliputian. Terrific—I felt like enough of an outcast without having my Amazonian proportions on display. Life always worked out a way for me to stand out when all I wanted to do was blend in.

  A lone tall figure hugged the back wall, her face averted. Something familiar tugged at me. Before I could place the feeling, she blended with the crowd and disappeared.

  I hit the button Cindy had indicated, pressed the device to my ear, and closed my eyes. Maybe if I stayed this way reality would disappear and I would’ve been in time, and Kim Cho would still be alive.

  A male voice answered in Cantonese.

  “Is this Security?” I said in English. I didn’t dare use the Cantonese I knew, most of which I’d learned from a hooker at my mother’s whorehouse when I was seven.

  “Yes, ma’am.” A clipped accent, not entirely British but with hints. “How may I be of assistance?”

  He didn’t interrupt me as I galloped through all of it.

  “On my way.”

  “No, send a team, the police will be here soon. There’s something else I need you to do.”

  He waited while I explained, then we worked through the logistics of patching. I had to patch Jerry, our head of Security, through from home. Thankfully he was at work, whatever day it was and whatever time. I’d given up trying to keep track.

  After I’d told the two men what I wanted, I’d rung off, letting them work their magic. After taking a deep breath, I finally dared open my eyes.

  Kim Cho was still there, still dead.

  And I was still far from home and in over my head. Two killers against one mediocre corporate muckety-muck and a pansy-ass Fed. Not odds even this Pollyanna would take.

  I stared at the phone I still clutched tightly, imagining a connection to Vegas, to home. Where would Jean-Charles be? What time was it? Was it daylight or dark? Yesterday or tomorrow? What did it matter, since I wasn’t sure what today was. “Is it possible to feel any further out to sea?” I whispered. Emotion tugged at my already ragged edges. A woman dead. I found myself far from home, far from the man I currently loved, and chasing the one I used to love. The killers had Romeo—now they were the ones with a bargaining chip. “Could you maybe, just once, give me a simple problem to solve?” I muttered, imploring the Powers That Be.

  Agent Stokes stood like a statue next to me. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything. I’d forgotten he was there. Ineffectual is easily overlooked.

  From the red splotches on his face, he looked like he wasn’t breathing either. “You think that was a good idea?” he said.

  Okay, still breathing, but something was bothering him…I mean beyond the obvious. I could only imagine he referred to the job I had given my two Security guys. “No, I think it’s a terrible idea. That’s why I chose to do it.”

  The sarcasm didn’t faze him. “The local authorities will take a dim view. They like to keep a lid on their investigations.”

  “And I like to cover my ass. Besides, I don’t give a damn what they do. It’s my property.”

  Agent Stokes turned and looked at me—something in his gaze brought me up short. “That’s where you’re wrong. Private property is a malleable concept to the Chinese. And human life is easily distilled to a dollar figure.”

  Since I had a Ph.D. from the do-it-first-beg-forgiveness-later school, and Stokes was apparently a dropout, I didn’t bother explaining. Besides, he looked green underneath the red. “This your first dead body, Stokes?”

  When he turned to look at me, his eyes, now all dewy, flicked from mine. “My first female team member to die on my watch.”

  Jet-lagged to the max, still reeling from the blow to my head, that little stink bomb staggered me. “Kimberly Cho worked for you?”

  The FBI pansy nodded; the muscles of his jaw knotted, making him look like GI Joe without the balls and the finely-honed sense of justice.

  I’d finally found somebody to shoot.

  I gripped his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “Need to know. The more who knew, the more at risk she was.”

  What if I had known she was an ally? My gaze lingered on her face. How different would it have turned out for her? We’d never know, and Stokes would have to live with it—as the head of the team, the choices had been his.

  Yeah, I wanted to shoot him. Right now, he might welcome it.

  My phone vibrated at my hip, forestalling my homicidal tendencies. The ID said “Unknown.” Knowing caller ID was a long shot in these parts, I answered it. “Lucky O’Toole.”

  “Oh, Lucky! I hope I didn’t awaken you.” Mona.

  Where was my gun when I needed it?

  “Lucky, am I catchin
g you at a bad time?”

  With Kim Cho in front of me, Mona wanting to chat, and all eyes burning tiny holes in my flesh, I felt ensnared by indecision and incongruity. There were so many things wrong with this picture, this moment…Mona’s question. Since when did she worry about catching me “at a bad time”? This was a bad dream; that had to be it. I turned to Stokes. “Pinch me.”

  “What?” He looked irritated. Understandable.

  Then Mona said, “Lucky, don’t be silly; I can’t pinch you.”

  “Hang on, Mother.” I lowered the phone then said to Stokes. “Okay, don’t pinch me, but punch me in the arm.”

  That he could do—with relish. And it hurt. I put the phone back to my ear. “Damn, not a bad dream. A nightmare, yes, but no dream.”

  “Lucky, are you drunk?” Mona’s voice held disapproval.

  “Just high on life, Mother. What can I do for you?”

  Agent Stokes moved away, his phone pressed to his ear as he quietly spoke into it. Miss Liu wove through the crowd, giving instructions in a hushed tone as, with heads bowed, the girls looked at me through their lashes.

  I was an island in a sea of curiosity with the added pain of Mona in my ear. “Oh, Lucky, I’ve done the most wonderful thing, and I want to tell you about it.”

  The pit of my stomach hit the floor. I looked around the room, hoping for a window I could jump out of. Oh, yeah, a casino. No windows. My luck. Pressing my eyes closed, I squeezed the phone. “What did you do, Mother?” I tried to keep my tone light, hoping for the best.

  “You know that block of rooms at the Babylon you were holding back for no reason?” Her voice was breathy with excitement.

  Something I didn’t share. I had a reason for holding back the rooms. Clearly that possibility had been lost on my mother, like so many other things, such as thoughtfulness and logic. “Hmm.” That was all I trusted myself to say.

  “I’ve rented the whole block, and at a premium, too!” She sounded so self-satisfied, so productive.

  Okay, okay. I slowed my breathing, worked for calm. This wasn’t a disaster. This could actually be okay. Brandy and I could rework the room allotment. There were some rooms at Cielo as well that I’d held back. I found myself letting a bit of her enthusiasm leak into my dour mood, just a little bit, but the panic that had tied my stomach in a knot was loosening. “That’s terrific, Mother. Who to?” I cringed against the anticipated blow of her answer—experience had given me a bit of wisdom at least, although not the kind I really needed.

  “A group of the nicest young people. A convention called CrackHack.” She must’ve heard my sharp intake as she rushed on, hurrying her words. “I know. I was leery, too. So I made sure they weren’t one of these medical marijuana groups or anything.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “At first, I thought maybe they were one of those sexual fetish groups.”

  If panic hadn’t once again constricted every blood vessel and working organ I had, I would’ve laughed. And I wanted to know just what CrackHack conjured in that addlepated brain of hers. TMI, I know, but I’m a glutton for punishment, although I didn’t have the stomach for it right now.

  With my free hand, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Guess you covered most of the bases, which is good—not perfect, but good. There’s only one minor problem. Mother, do you know what they do?”

  “Something with computers.”

  “That’s like saying NASA does something with air travel. They are a group dedicated to hacking into other people’s computers.”

  “Oh,” Mona’s voice went all flutter…sorta like my heart. “They wouldn’t do that. They’re such nice young people.”

  “Cancel their reservations, now, Mother. There isn’t a hotel on this planet that wants them in-house with access.”

  “But I can’t; they’re already here.”

  I counted to twenty. Didn’t help. Didn’t think counting to one hundred would either, so I gave it up. “Well, I’m only half a world away; I ought to be able to handle this.”

  “Lucky, there’s nothing to handle.”

  I couldn’t tell whether she sounded contrite or indignant—I didn’t care. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Mother. I have a lot on my plate: two killers, a missing, ex…oh, wait, make that two missing exes.” Yes, I had once fallen for Irv Gittings’ personal brand of sleaze. Not a proud moment, but a long time ago…when I’d been even more stupid. “A couple of enforcers for the Triad, a murder to solve, and one to plan.” I couldn’t tell her about Romeo.

  “You’re going to kill somebody?” Mona’s voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “Who?”

  “You.” I disconnected before I said anything I didn’t actually mean.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTER saying three incantations to dispel the lingering aura of my mother and hopefully rob her of her powers, I opened my eyes and reoriented myself.

  Still in Macau. Kim Cho was still dead. Miss Liu had cleared out the girls and she now stood deferentially to my side, something that always had bugged me—like women here were taught four paces behind was their place.

  Agent Stokes had disappeared.

  I pulled Miss Liu around to face me. “Did you make sure no one leaves until the police arrive?”

  “Yes, Miss. I left everyone with Security. But the man who was with you…he said he would take care of this and to turn the police away.”

  “Always a good idea at a murder scene. Where did he go?” I didn’t think Stokes had any jurisdiction here, certainly not when it came to a Macanese citizen, and certainly not enough to be circumventing the local authorities.

  “He said he’d be right back.” That only raised more questions without answering the one I’d asked.

  As I was trying to fire up a few more neurons, Agent Stokes returned with a uniformed cop in tow. The cop looked familiar, but then again, as an American, it was hard for me to catalogue the subtle nuances in Asian faces. And I was beyond exhausted, which didn’t help.

  “This is Primary Guard Uendo with the Public Security Police Force. He and his officers will be processing the crime scene.”

  Uendo, completely unexceptional in his blandness, nodded, then turned to his work, gesturing to his men who flowed in behind him.

  “Where’s the coroner?”

  “The police do that work here.” Stokes watched the men as they set up around the body of Kim Cho, chattering animatedly in the Macanese dialect—a Portuguese, creole, patois, Cantonese mash-up that was as indecipherable as it sounds. “Murder is unusual here, and it’s not that big of a deal.”

  The thought that murder wasn’t as unusual in my world took the last breath of wind out of my sails. “Not that big of a deal.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Stokes missed that subtlety and echoed what the Big Boss had already told me. “No, the Chinese have an odd way of looking at it. They figure the person is dead already, so what’s there to do? Pay the family some money and be done with it.”

  “Really,” was all I could say. Words seemed inadequate—the one I came up with certainly was.

  “Yeah,” Stokes continued. “On this whole island, they have like thirty people in jail.”

  When compared to the ginormous prison population in the States—I couldn’t do the math or make the comparison, nor really make any sense out of it. “Money as a cure-all.” There was some sort of cosmic depravity in that, but I couldn’t quite grasp it, being a Vegas gal where money is king. “Hell of a playground for those with murder on their minds. Certainly not helpful when trying to catch a killer.”

  Stokes shrugged, but he didn’t look happy. “Up to us, I should think.”

  “Add it to my list.” I sounded flip, but was anything but.

  Having arrived after Kim Cho had been killed, and having spent that time in the company of the FBI, I’d been released by the police and had wandered to the casino bar and had taken a seat at the counter. The lights were too bright, the red too red, and the gold too much—apparentl
y, I didn’t share the Asian fascination with bright colors.

  The city was a maze, I had lost Romeo, and I was no closer to finding Teddie or saving our hotel.

  The bar was a much more understated and underutilized affair than its Vegas counterpart. With a bored look, the bartender swiped at a delicate glass with a bar towel.

  “Champagne.”

  I must’ve looked lost or desperate. “We have stronger.”

  “Champagne, make it pink,” I said in my best Vegas mobster growl, amusing only myself.

  The night still young, I was his only patron. The bar top looked like petrified wood inlaid with various semiprecious stones in a swirl pattern. The stools were contemporary and as uncomfortable as they looked, which made me squirm. I couldn’t avoid my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, so I used it to look over my shoulder. The bartender put a flute of Champagne in front of me. I didn’t touch it.

  I’d lost Romeo. I’d lost Teddie. I’d lost Kim Cho. And I was on the verge of losing everything else. One hell of a losing streak. Tired of waiting for luck to turn my way, I thought it time to force Luck’s hand.

  After I’d dialed a familiar number, I pressed the phone to my ear and waited, imagining the electronic pulse traveling half the world, under oceans, over mountains. With a glare, I sent the bartender scurrying to the far end of the bar, well out of earshot.

  Finally, Jerry answered. “Can you talk?” he asked without preamble.

  “No. That’s why I called.”

  “Smartass.” His voice held a chuckle.

  “That’s Vice President Smartass, to you.”

  This time I got the laugh I’d wanted. “How could I forget? My apologies.”

  “Don’t let it happen again.” I flipped my serious switch. “We have to assume that no matter where I am, while in Macau, everything I say can be overheard.” I glanced to my right and left, then behind me, using the mirror behind the bar. No one seemed particularly interested, other than the normal interest I attracted here anyway. The Chinese were so amusing to watch. Even coupled up or with friends, each of them stared into their mobile devices, completely ignoring their compatriots. I bet dating was a blast. “You got delivery?”