Lucky the Hard Way

by Deborah Coonts

  I shook my head in bewilderment. What he saw in Mona…

  “None have been filed…yet. And you have my promise you can walk away with no liability and no criminal charges, if….and it’s a huge if….if you help me catch a killer.”

  He blanched and swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. My ass will be the only one in the line of fire. I just need you to work some of your computer voodoo.” I could see his brain shift gears, and I knew I had him.

  “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  The sharp stick of worry prodded me, driving a restlessness I couldn’t beat into submission. Life was changing; I could feel it, like something big had shifted. Logic had accepted it; emotion railed against it.

  I glared at my phone—the thing refused to ring.

  Answers, solutions…good news…anything, everything…but nothing.

  Teddie had gone, the others were sound asleep, and I was alone with my fear. The Big Boss. What would I do? What would Mona do? I was half a world away.

  I closed my heart against the fear and focused. I had to focus.

  None of it would matter if I didn’t.

  Cold water on my face brought me back. I half-assed the hair and makeup thing, then slipped downstairs. Nothing was going to glue the inside pieces back together, but at least I presented well.

  I needed to walk.

  The energy pulsed as the night got rolling, shimmering off the crowds in waves. People filled the lobby, wandering aimlessly as they strained skyward to stare at the glass sculptures covering the ceiling. Strangely, they parted to let me through, giving me a small taste of how Moses felt. Of course, I wasn’t on a divine mission to lead my people to the Promised Land. Nope, I was leading my tribe down the path to Perdition. I knew the way—I’d taken the trip before.

  Tigris Macau was so eerily like the Babylon but with things in the wrong place, or completely missing. Different games scattered around the casino floor. Built to hold five hundred slots and seventy tables, the gaming spaces looked empty compared to the Babylon. We’d been given a concession for half of what we’d been promised and had built for. A game. I didn’t like it. We weren’t the only ones. One of my Vegas compatriots had been blackmailed, the Macau power brokers refusing to grant him a gambling concession after two billion or so in construction investment—or that’s how the story was presented. Shortly thereafter, he made a substantial donation to a Macanese public project. Bingo, he got his concession. Curious bit of coincidence.

  Like I said, Vegas in the old days.

  After my first pass through the main floor, I was convinced I’d been trapped in the Twilight Zone. Jerry’s call caught me on my second pass, saving me from myself.

  “Whatcha got?” I barked a bit too eagerly.

  “Place getting to you?” he asked, a smirk in his voice.

  I couldn’t even summon a snort in retort. “No, life is getting to me.” I tucked myself into an alcove and stuck a finger in my open ear as I listened with the other. “Before you show me yours, I want you to run a check on Sinjin Smythe-Gordon.” I gave him the particulars, as I knew them, stopping short of regaling him with tales of derring-do. “Get me all the info you can.”

  “That important?”

  “Beyond.”

  He gave a whistle.

  “Now, please tell me you’ve got something, anything.”

  “I can place Irv Gittings in the hotel at the time of Kimberly Cho’s murder.”

  I nodded. “Okay, good. I’ve got two women who have individually told me Irv Gittings killed Kim Cho. One even had him bragging to her about it.”

  “That trumps anything I’ve got,” Jerry said with a hint of appreciation.

  “One would think. But here in Macau, it’s a galaxy far, far away. Many folks are on the take, the bad guys run everything, and the courts look the other way.”

  “Even when it comes to murder?” Jerry sounded like I felt—pissed off.

  “I’ve been told so, but who knows? All I know is that asking those women to step into the line of fire would be as good as signing their death warrants. We’ll have to get him another way.”

  “Sounds like you have some ideas.”

  “A few aces up my sleeve. You got anything else?”

  “And I can trace the knife to one Gittings bought at auction five years ago. It belonged to Custer or somebody like that.”

  I wanted to tell him Custer was pretty singular, but I didn’t have the time or energy to waste.

  “Gittings is sure acting like he thinks he’s got it knocked. I wonder why?”

  “Pretty stupid, if you ask me.” Jerry pulled on one of his ever-present smokes. Even this far away, the sizzle of dried tobacco burning filtered through the connection.

  “And pretty dangerous. Either he’s feeling like the cock of the walk, or he’s got nothing to lose.”

  “I thought we were the ones with everything on the line.”

  “Maybe he thinks he’s safe here, swimming with the big fish. He could be right—we have a lot to lose, and everybody who has three operating neurons knows it.”

  “Pretty hard to play when everyone can see your cards,” Jerry agreed, but he didn’t sound like he liked it.

  “Unless you dazzle them with the old sleight of hand.”

  “Ah, cheating. I love it.” His voice turned serious. “Just don’t get caught.”

  “That’s where you come in. Hang on.” I left my hidey-hole and strode through the lobby, through the front door, and out to the street. I didn’t want any of the hotel mics to pick up my conversation. And out here, the traffic noise would make it impossible for a microphone to distinguish the voices from the background noise and would help shelter my conversation from anyone close by. “Okay, can you hear me?” I spoke softly on purpose.

  “Barely.”

  “Good.”

  “So you’re really going to cheat?”

  “I prefer to think of it as manipulation. But, yes, with your help.”

  “Oh, I love it when you talk dirty.”

  Jerry and I hammered out most of the details on his end, which left me feeling better but wired. With almost no sleep, I was headed for a flameout, but I couldn’t do anything about it. A couple more laps around the hotel might dispel enough joy juice to let me find forty winks—heck, I’d even take twenty. Just enough to get me through. In thirty-six hours, we’d either be flying home or be fed to the sharks. That thought gave a whole new meaning to fish-or-cut-bait time.

  My phone vibrated at my hip. As I stepped back into my alcove, I snatched it from its holder and squinted at the caller ID. “Hi. I was waiting to call you. I didn’t want to awaken you again.”

  “You never need to worry about that.” Jean-Charles’s voice came back infused with warmth and worry. “You sound as if you are standing next to me.”

  “Oh, what I would do…” I trailed off. Thinking about the if-onlys…or the maybe-never-agains. As if wishing would help me find my ruby slippers and click my heels three times.

  “I know this.” He sighed. “It is not good there?”

  “Better. Miss P and Jeremy came to help. So, our odds of success increased slightly.” I hadn’t told him about the Babylon. He thought I was simply trying to save Teddie’s ass and bring Irv Gittings to justice. Maybe it was unfair of me, maybe not. Regardless, I couldn’t talk about it, not here and not now.

  “Bring Teddie back,” he said, his tone insistent, almost a demand. He was getting better. A short time ago he would have flat-out demanded. “Karma will take care of Mr. Gittings.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I have one more thing to do, then I’ll come home.” I didn’t tell him the downside to that one thing. He wouldn’t change my mind—I had no choice. Keeping him from worry was my justification for not telling him. But really, I didn’t want a lecture as to how stupid my plan was. He wouldn’t have a better one—not one that would save my hotel—so what was the point?

  “You know t
hen about your father?” Pain etched his voice until it broke.

  I squeezed the phone tighter, steeling against the news I hoped would never come but always feared getting. “Only a few bits and pieces.” I tried to keep my voice level. “What Mona knows. I spoke with her just now.”

  “I have been at the hospital since they brought him here a few hours ago.”

  My heart swelled and tears welled. What was it with me lately? “Oh,” was all I could manage.

  “Your mother made sure the doctors would share information with me. She is quite formidable.”

  The way he said it made me smile. Mona, a skilled predator luring prey with the pretty exterior and batting-eyelid-stupid act. “Indeed. What’s the latest?” I almost was afraid to ask. How would I be able to navigate the storm without the beacon of my father?

  “They have stopped the bleeding. He is very weak and almost didn’t come out of the anesthesia. The doctor says cautiously optimistic.”

  I fought my rising panic. “I don’t know what I would do…” Tears traced a hot path down my cheeks. “My father…I need to come home now.”

  Jean-Charles’s voice softened. “There is nothing you can do here.”

  “But I need to tell him I love him. They say that when people are in comas and stuff, if you talk to them, they hear it even though they can’t respond. I need to tell him.” My words tumbled over each other.

  Jean-Charles let me talk. When I’d finished with the gasp of a choked-back sob, he said, “Lucky, he knows this.”

  “I know.” And I did. Maybe I was looking for a good excuse to go home. But if we lost everything, what would we have gained? “I know. I just don’t think I can do this. The stakes are too high.”

  “Then you really have nothing to lose.”

  How had my Frenchman become so wise?

  “You can do this. You can save Teddie, save the hotel.”

  I gasped. “Who told you?”

  “Your mother.”

  She had a bigger mouth than I’d previously thought. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “I want to share your life. Trust me to handle it.”

  “Well, maybe you can handle it, but I’m having a damn hard time. Have you spoken with my father?”

  “He is still in recovery and will be for some time. As I said, the anesthesia is taking some time to wear off.”

  “I’m so happy you are there. Thank you. It means everything.” My voice broke. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “You deserve the world, and I shall do my best to give it to you.”

  “Oh, make me earn it. I might get all entitled and difficult if you don’t.” My joke worked and he laughed, which gave me a smile, a weak one, but a smile nonetheless.

  “You are already difficult.”

  “Damn straight.” I felt myself come back into focus. I opened my eyes and my present reality did, too. My father was okay. “You don’t have to stay. There are so many things to do at Cielo.” On the theory that no news is good news, I didn’t ask about the hotel—I hated problems I couldn’t solve.

  “I will, until your mother comes. We will, how do you say it, play tag?”

  “Tag team.” I would never tire of his trouble with idioms. A charming nuance.

  “This is it. When your father awakens, he needs to see a family face.”

  “I love you.” I had nothing more and nothing better to say.

  “I love you, too. You can do this. You will do this.”

  “I wish I could be so sure.”

  “Then you will come home to me.”

  With that, we said goodbye, severing the thin connection to my life.

  Taking a deep breath, I stuck my phone back into its holder. Amped on worry, I charged off through the lobby, into the casino. A staircase up to the junket floors, then continuing to the mezzanine level, curved from the area next to the center bar. I took the stairs two at a time.

  A text dinged. From Teddie.

  Mr. Cho in watch exhibit.

  Game on. I texted back.

  A bit sooner than I expected.

  Funny, but without knowing it, that’s where I’d been headed. Turning left at the top of the stairs, then down the hallway to the end, I arrived in front of the large double doors of the timepiece exhibit. They were locked. Because of the value, the insurance company insisted we close the room early, before our revelers had time to consume copious amounts of alcohol and find all manner of mischief. I’d learned the hard way that there was no limit to stupid, especially when you had a pack of young wasted males, although I never ruled out any gender in the stupid contest. But the insurance company didn’t know that public drunkenness and mischief were not part of the game in Macau. I’d given up trying to convince them.

  A tough-looking guard, arms folded, stepped in front of me. A pock marked face, eyes that looked like they’d seen more trouble than I could imagine, and a nose slightly bent to one side, he gave me the slanty eye. “Closed. Come back tomorrow.”

  He had on a Security uniform and a nametag, so he wasn’t a rent-a-cop—we owned him, and his biceps, each with a circumference larger than one of my thighs, which were prodigious. Mona told me so…often. Now why did I feel the tug of familial bonds in her absence? I forget.

  I flashed my corporate ID. He eyed it for far longer than necessary, arousing my suspicion.

  “You know the security is tight. You even reach for one of the enclosures and the place will shut down, locking you in.”

  “I participated in the design.” I used my corporate bitch voice. And I lied. I’d hired the experts who had developed the design, but close enough.

  He winced like I’d bitten him, which I had, metaphorically speaking. Finally, he relented. After fingering through a large ring of keys, he found the right one and opened the door for me.

  As soon as the opening was wide enough, I breezed past him. “Lock it behind me.” I didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. Either he did what I asked, or he’d be replaced.

  The lights in the room had been turned off—actually, we kept them that way. Each watch on its own stand and nestled delicately in silk had an enclosure of its own—a clear cube on a pedestal and lit internally. The effect was dramatic, pulling me in, making me want to see what treasure each box held. From an executive standpoint, I was pleased. From a thief standpoint, I was daunted. But, hopefully, Sinjin had as much expertise stealing things as I did running hotels.

  So captured by the displays, I didn’t notice a man moving in the darkness, staying out of the glow of each presentation. The guard hadn’t said anything about letting anyone else in here. My heart, apparently on adrenaline overload, didn’t even miss a beat.

  The man didn’t seem alarmed by my presence. He must’ve seen me walk in—the light from outside the room when the door opened would have been enough to capture his attention. If he wasn’t alarmed, neither was I. Okay, maybe a little. I wound my way through the forest of expensive baubles. As I drew closer to the man, he paused, waiting. Briefly, I wondered if the guard would come running if I screamed.

  A familiar profile.

  Mr. Cho. As advertised.

  Slicked-back hair, a mean mouth, and soulless eyes, he was dressed like he was going to a funeral: suit, starched shirt, Windsor-knotted silk tie in a pale pink—I couldn’t see his feet, but I assumed his shoes would be Italian.

  “This exhibit is closed,” I said as I approached him, keeping one of the displays between us, but eyeing him over the top of it. The man who had arranged to have the Big Boss shot. Of course, I couldn’t prove it. There was only one other possibility, Irv Gittings, but I doubted he had the cojones. No, Irv usually got others to do his dirty work then left them holding the bag. Fists balled at my sides, I vibrated with anger. All things being equal, I’d really rather shoot Cho now. What can I say? I’ve never been a delayed gratification kind of gal.

  But I wasn’t running this show. Unfortunately, it was running me.

  He gave me an are-you-for-re
al look. “When someone holds all the cards, it is foolish to call their bet.”

  “I returned your son. Perhaps you could be more appreciative.” I wasn’t sure where I was going with all of this; I just knew I was pissed, and with the stakes so high, the odds so long, I was feeling a bit what-the-hell.

  “You think you know everything.” He fixed me with an indifferent gaze, as if our game was a trifle. In his arrogance he acted as if he had nothing to lose.

  We all have something to lose, I thought. I just needed to find out what Mr. Cho feared losing the most and then figure out a way of taking it from him—sort of way far afield from my normal gambit. “I don’t know everything; you’re right. But I do know that you’ve invited a snake into the hen house.”

  “Don’t you mean fox?”

  “No, the fox will eat the hens. The snake is much smarter; it will leave the hens and eat only the eggs.” He looked at me as if he understood, which was a good thing, as I had no idea why I felt all Confucius all of a sudden—the place was clearly rubbing off on me.

  Cho shrugged, but looked a bit unsettled. “Gittings is … useful.”

  “With Minnie out of the way.” Watching him closely, I said it as if I knew it.

  He flinched, as his eyes that had been clapped on the bauble between us, shifted to mine. Quickly, he regained his composure.

  But I’d seen it in his eyes—he was surprised about Minnie. But he didn’t ask, a clever game player.

  “Why are you in here?” After our little word sparring, which taught me a bit more about my opponent, I finally got to the crux of the matter.

  “I couldn’t arrange a private showing, so…” he shrugged, as if that was enough of an explanation.

  It was. I couldn’t keep him out, and he wanted me to know it. A not-so-subtle fuck you. Except, if I hadn’t shown up unexpectedly, I never would’ve gotten the message. Right now, he might be holding one hell of a hand, but he’d just shown me a couple of his cards.

  “You like these watches?” I asked, shifting his attention. A flash of gold at his wrist as he loosened his tie, then unbuttoned his collar. A Vacheron, subtle and expensive. A calling card in the circle of those who knew and appreciated, overlooked in its simplicity by those who didn’t, the watch was the secret handshake of businessmen around the world.