Lucky the Hard Way

by Deborah Coonts

  “That night, a man came. Very late. He had something for your Mr. Gittings.”

  I wanted to correct her: he wasn’t my Mr. Gittings. Instead, I bit my tongue, as difficult as it was.

  “He brought a package.” Her posture stiffened, and she wrung her hands.

  I resisted the urge to tell her it would be okay, that she was safe. I couldn’t guarantee that, and it infuriated me. “Did you know the man?”

  She shook her head. “I only saw a little bit. And the package, it was wrapped in silk.”

  Intrigued, I couldn’t imagine what it was that was so important she seemed afraid to breathe the words.

  “It was the knife.”

  I lowered my voice to a whisper, I don’t know why—reverence, for sure. Fear? Maybe. “The knife?”

  “The one he used to kill Kim Cho.”

  “He told you this?”

  “He bragged about it.”

  “Anything else he bragged about?”

  She licked her lips and she looked distressed, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “I don’t know what to think.”

  I flicked a glance at Teddie. He was getting antsy; I didn’t blame him. Being caught in a closed park would not help our cause. I tried to ignore him and my growing nervousness. The girl had something to say, something important, and I didn’t want to shut her down by rushing her.

  “He bragged about an account he opened with Kim’s brother.” Her words tumbled and rushed as if she spoke blasphemy.

  “Sinjin?”

  She nodded sharply.

  “I’m sure he has a good explanation. Don’t rush to judge. It is a very complex game we are playing.” I could see a gambit Sinjin might be setting in motion, but dang, why hadn’t he told me? Secrets eroded confidence. I should know—that was my game.

  I closed the distance between the girl and myself and put a hand on her arm. “What’s your name?”

  “Pei.” Her smile wavered.

  “Thank you. I won’t betray you and I won’t disappoint you.” There I went again, promising things I wasn’t sure I could deliver.

  But I knew one thing; if I failed to deliver, I’d die trying.

  Lost in thought, Teddie and I had ridden halfway back to the hotel when he broke the silence. “I didn’t know you were afraid of the forest,” Teddie said with a large dose of serious, which I appreciated.

  Wound tighter than a spring, I couldn’t be responsible for what I might do to the next person who gave me a hard time, even in jest. My need to hit somebody probably radiated off me in waves, like one of those machines in grade school that generated electricity and made your hair stand out when you put your hand on the thing. Yeah, I was that machine, but set higher than stun and closer to lethal. Big talker, I know—false courage, but courage nonetheless. “I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

  “But you always seem so confident, so sure.”

  “A good act. Life is about courage. And courage is being able to move forward in spite of your fear.”

  “You got any to spare?”

  “You have enough. Maybe that’s what all this is meant to teach you.”

  Both hands on the wheel, he actually turned and stared at me long enough to have me twitching. “You’re driving.” I pointed out the window, emphasizing the obvious. “Pay attention.”

  “For a minute, I thought you’d disappeared and gone all Confucius on me.”

  I relaxed back and looked out the window. “Everyone has something to teach you. Everyone and every experience.” Without the focus of driving, I usually passed the time as a passenger in sort of a fugue state, watching the scenery roll past but not really seeing. Finally, I focused. “Pull over!”

  “What?” Teddie jerked the wheel, bumping a tire up the curb as he braked.

  “Give me five minutes?”

  Bending over the steering wheel, he stared out at the small park, dark and foreboding. “If you need to pee, the hotel is less than ten minutes. More like five. I’m sure you can hold it that long.”

  “I need to see a man about a watch.”

  “In there?” He put the car into park. “I need to come with you.”

  “Yes, you’re very intimidating in your blonde wig and short skirt.”

  “It’s the heavy eyeliner that gets them.” He shot me his best narrow-eyed look.

  I wish I didn’t like him; it would make things so much easier. “Give me five. I’ll be right back.”

  I was as good as my word. Five minutes later and I slipped back into the car.

  Teddie eased away from the curb, then angled a glance at me as if he could divine where I’d been and what I’d been doing just by looking. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

  “Insurance.”

  “You need to tell me,” he insisted.

  I swiveled around until I could face him—hard to do with my knees jammed against the glove box. “No. No, I don’t. My game, my rules.” No more letting others shoot me around the table of life in a game of emotional billiards. “I’ve got this. And, if I can pull it off, then everyone will get what they asked for for Christmas.”

  He arrowed a glance my way. Easy to read.

  “Yes, even you.” If Minnie lived or I got Frank alone in a room with a water board. I didn’t tell him that part, of course.

  Sometimes, you just have to believe.

  And Christmas was the season of faith, wasn’t it?

  Teddie didn’t say any more, which told me he had faith in me.

  Frankly, I didn’t know whether to be touched or irritated. How much longer would I carry Teddie before he learned to shoulder his own weight? The realization that that was really up to me smacked me right between the eyes.

  If I didn’t do the heavy lifting, then he’d have to choose to lift it or not. I’d been waiting for him to grow up, but I’d been toting his load. And he’d been content to let me carry it.

  And therein lay the rub.

  How can you love a man when he won’t act like one?

  After pulling to the curb around the corner from the hotel, he shifted into park, but left the engine running. “I’ve got to get the car back.”

  “Sure.” I touched his cheek. “Hard to let you go. At least when you’re with me, I know you’re safe.”

  “I know the feeling. I’ll run interference with the women,” he said, as he stepped out of the car.

  Walking around, he opened my door.

  “You’re in the best position to do that.” I took his hand and let him pull me out of the tiny car. Wedged in, I appreciated the help

  If he was surprised at my capitulation, he didn’t show it.

  “Give me a chink in Ol’ Irv’s armor. Anything. I’ll work on capitalizing on it. Until then, watch him, see if you can tell who his inner circle is, where he goes, who he talks to, who he sleeps with. Anything you see, anything at all, no matter how trivial, write it down, remember it, whatever, but tell me about it. I need to get a bead on how he’s plying his sleaze here.”

  “Okay.” Teddie leaned down to push the door shut. His legs were still better than mine, which didn’t bother me as much as it used to. And he wore his five-inch Lou-bous as if they were extensions. Now that was a pisser. Yes, he’d abandoned his kicks in the car and redonned the glam. “You’re quite the girly-girl.”

  “Playing the part. Staying alive.”

  “Good point.” I nodded toward his shoes. “I see you’ve traded up from my Manolos. Where’d you get those?”

  “The girls...women.” Clearly, Teddie enjoyed living in a sorority of whores.

  I never liked that term much, but for lack of a better one, Mona had taught me it was okay to use it…with the right reverence, of course.

  “Don’t stretch them out. You know how we women hate our men to do that.”

  He gave me a saucy flip of his wig, then sashayed around to his side of the car, disappearing inside. The door shut, then he shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb.

  “And be care
ful,” I whispered after him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “OH, Lucky, I know you’re mad at me. I can’t stand you being mad at me. Not right now.” Mona rushed into the conversation without a hello, not that that was unusual, especially when she was in trouble.

  I took her phone call in an alcove off the lobby.

  “The staff has been great,” she breathlessly informed me, as if I didn’t already know. “And we’re really close to getting the billing thing worked out. A bottle of Cristal for two dollars, a Kasbah bungalow for ninety-nine dollars a night, it’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.” She sounded contrite, and a bit frantic—so unlike her.

  “Maybe someday you’ll learn not to interfere.” A pipe dream if there ever was one. Mona was hardwired to meddle.

  Lost in worry over Teddie, I’d answered the phone without thinking, and without looking. I knew better. I didn’t need enemies when I had myself as a friend. “Mother, this is not the time. Keep telling me about problems you created that I can’t solve and I might reach through the phone line and strangle you myself.”

  “Oh, Lucky, don’t be silly,” she said, using her Marilyn Monroe voice. “We’re talking on the cell.” Her voice had that feigned I’m-too-stupid-to-live tone.

  “Wrong audience for that gambit, Mother. I know your game. I also know I don’t have to explain the word euphemism to you.” I’d had a few hours of fitful sleep while waiting for the time difference window to open so I could call her at a respectable hour, if not a decent one, and I was running at redline. Worse, she’d beaten me to the punch, catching me flat-footed. “Mother, would you like a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

  “Really?” Wariness crept into her tone.

  “Do I sound like I’m joking?”

  “No, you sound like you’re still mad, but lately you always sound like that.”

  Was part of being an adult feeling like you were alone in the world? “Mother.”

  “You really mean it? You’ll stop being mad at me? That would be wonderful. I just can’t have you being mad at me…” Again, her voice trailed away, this time riding on that hint of an emotion I couldn’t read. “What do I have to do?”

  “Nothing, really. I heard you have one of the hacker boys eating out of your hand.”

  “Chip.” Even in that single syllable I could hear a preen. Mother defined herself through the adulation of men. One day she’d have a rude awakening, but so far she still had her magic…whatever it was. That part of familial DNA alchemy had sailed without me.

  They say daughters inherit more traits from their fathers than their mothers—one bullet missed, a whole host of others dodged.

  “Chip.” A computer geek with that name—either fortuitous or inevitable. I wondered which. “Does he have skills?”

  Mona drew in a sharp breath. “Lucky! How dare you insinuate—”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose hard to keep the amusement out of my voice. Mother could bat me around like a tennis ball, pinging between anger and amusement. “Computer skills mother.”

  “Oh, well, yes…of course.” In my imagination, I could see her pull herself up—feigned righteous indignation, the proverbial stick up her ass.

  “Good then. Have him FaceTime me in one hour.”

  “FaceTime?”

  “He’ll know.”

  “One hour? Oh, Lucky, I don’t know. It’s early for him. He stays up all night and sleeps during the day.”

  “I do not want to know how you know that.”

  “He told me.” Her voice rose on a hint of indignation.

  “Well, he may be an insomniac, but he is also on his way to being someone’s bitch in the federal penitentiary when I get home. Convince him, Mother. If he values his life and his sexual orientation, he’ll call me in an hour. And I want to see his face when I’m talking with him. But, and this is real important, Mother, he needs to be in your living room with no one else there. No one. Not you. Not Father. No one.”

  She dropped the ingénue act. “This sounds bad.”

  “It is.” I didn’t offer more and for once she didn’t ask.

  “Okay. I’ll find Chip and get him here.” For a moment, silence stretched between us, as if she was trying to find words for her next assault.

  Frankly, I was too tired to care.

  “Lucky, there’s something else. Something that’s not good.” Her voice cracked.

  As if any of this was good? But hit with the electric shock of Mona’s serious tone, I didn’t point that out. “Minnie? Is she okay?” Another victim of Mr. Cho and Irv Gittings would be intolerable…and just might be enough for a justifiable homicide scenario, which I’d sorta like.

  “Minnie?” Mother feigned a casual tone. I knew she didn’t like or trust the women in my father’s inner circle. “She’s going to be fine. At least that’s what they told me. It’s not that.” Clearly, she didn’t want to tell me. “You have a lot on your plate. Your father told me. Maybe this isn’t the time.”

  “Not the time to backpedal. You opened the door. Now you have me worried. What isn’t good, Mother?”

  “It’s your father,” her voice caught.

  “What has he done?” I pictured him on a plane headed this way with a gun and a loose plan. That would be so like him, and so what I didn’t need.

  “He’s had a bit of a setback.”

  I spent the next sixty minutes frantically tracking down doctors, nurses, anyone who would talk to me. My father was in a coma. Internal bleeding. They weren’t sure why, but they knew where. They had to go back in—they were prepping him now. The doctor had been circumspect. My father was weak, he’d said. What he meant was he might not survive opening up his chest one more time.

  Yeah, I recognized a euphemism when I heard one, even if my mother feigned stupidity. If the Theory of Manifestation were true, I wondered if feigning stupidity would actually bring that reality. Unsure, I thought it unwise to chance it.

  With no one else to hound for information they didn’t have and more than a little defeated, I moved toward the wall of windows in my suite. The Macau Tower wasn’t Vegas—although people bungee-jumped off the thing like they did off the Stratosphere. One time I’d gone up the Tower and had died a thousand deaths when I realized there was a clear ring in the floor. Very terrifying to stand there, hovering in space eleven hundred feet up. My brain pegged on abject terror and refused to budge. It wasn’t pretty. I never went back.

  Worse, the lights of the casinos and the city brightening in the deepening darkness only reminded me of watching the same transformation back home with my father.

  Desperate for news that wouldn’t come, I vibrated with a need to do something, anything, yet remained paralyzed by the fact that there was nothing I could alter or change to make this better.

  When my phone rang, I pounced on it. Recognizing the peculiar ring of a FaceTime call, I held the phone at eye level in front of me. “Yes?” and I tried not to be crushed by disappointment. Funny how, in an insignificant space of time, one huge problem could be dwarfed by another.

  A face swam into view. A young man, clean-cut, strong jaw, wide, bright eyes shining with intelligence and mischief. “Ms. O’Toole?” He sounded nervous.

  Keeping my phone in front of my face, I sagged into a chair. From the little box in the corner of the screen I could tell I looked scary enough to frighten small children. “You must be Chip.” I ran a hand through my hair, which probably made it worse, but made me feel better. “Is that your real name or some sort of an inside joke?”

  “Both, but my mother got the last laugh.”

  “Yeah, mine, too.”

  He leaned into the screen after glancing over his shoulder. “She’s amazing. Your mother, I mean.” He flushed schoolboy red.

  So, we bonded over unfortunate names and differing opinions of my mother. Terrific. “Look, but don’t touch.”

  “Oh, I know.” He looked old enough to know better and still young enough to make a play anyway. Just another
overachiever destined for a hard fall.

  “I hear you and your pals have been having a bit of fun at my hotel.” The prism of worry fractured my concentration into a thousand bits as I tried to focus.

  He licked his lips, the only outward sign of nervousness, other than the tremor in his voice. “We plan on giving you a detailed report of your vulnerabilities, no charge.”

  “Big of you.” I almost laughed at his grandstanding, but it would take too much effort. “Were you also planning on reimbursing the hotel for lost revenue, lost employee time, and lost face? By my loose accounting, the damage is in the millions.” I made that part up. I was desperate. I wasn’t sorry.

  He ducked his head. “We didn’t mean—” He cleared his throat.

  I jumped into the opening. “Yes, you did. You meant every bit of malicious mischief. You cost my hotel a bundle. I should turn you over to the police. The District Attorney is a friend—he won’t take kindly to you messing with my magic.”

  “Is that a felony?” he managed to stutter as he reared back from my coiled-rattler anger.

  Why is it I always get the wiseasses? And why do I always like them? It takes some bit of asshole to make it in life today. No, scratch that, it takes balls, which is different. The kid had a set that clanked when he walked. My kind of guy—at least when I’m contemplating committing so many federal offenses that Guinness ought to take notice. “We can find out. But I guess the question is, how far do you want to push me?”

  “Why do I get the impression you’re going to offer me a deal?”

  I rolled my eyes—I couldn’t help it. Young males all seemed to have a lock on stupidity. “Maybe because I asked you to call me on the down low? I wasn’t exactly hiding my hand.”

  He gave a self-deprecating waggle of his head, sort of a half-shrug, and half aw gee shucks. Still practically in diapers, he’d have time to work on that.

  “Okay. What’s the game?” he asked, as if he had a choice.

  “I figure you owe me, big time. So, you want a way to make good?”

  His head snapped up, his eyes sharpening to pinpoints. Yes, there was keen intelligence there. “All charges dropped?”