The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  “Navy, Army, what’s the difference?”

  She shot me a stony glance. It’s so easy to mess with her.

  We left the plane and followed Mark in stealth-mode out into the terminal. Hats pulled down low over our faces and sunglasses in place, we tried to keep a reasonable distance. So far, so good. He looked around nervously as he headed for baggage claim, but obviously hadn’t noticed us. Probably because of our natural cunning and excellent tailing abilities.

  The concourse leading to the baggage claim area was a frenetic mixture of bright lights and giant LCD screens advertising exciting Las Vegas shows. Scores of scantily clad showgirls danced provocatively on screen in skimpy sequined costumes. Ringing bells and loud music from clusters of vibrantly colored slot machines dotting our path, mixed with the show ads, created a surreal cacophony of sound and light. When I got distracted by “The Thunder Down Under” display, Julie grabbed my arm and yanked me away.

  We proceeded onward.

  In the baggage claim area, circled around multiple carousels, a menagerie of eager tourists in assorted styles of clothing waited to grab their bags and head off to begin their vacations and win their fortunes. I consoled myself by rationalizing that I may not be happy with my outfit, but at least I’m not wearing a T-shirt that says “I’m with Stupid,” which I actually saw more than once.

  In the midst of all the chaos stood Mark, scanning the crowd, apparently searching for someone. We hung back, lurking behind an adjacent baggage carousel, still unnoticed. After a couple of minutes he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

  “This is it.” Julie said. “We should see that home-wrecking skank any minute now.”

  “You know, for someone who’s about to meet his lover, he doesn’t look very happy.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. He actually looks nervous. Maybe he’s feeling guilty.”

  Within minutes, a man in a black uniform and cap hastily approached Mark. They exchanged a few words, then Mark followed him towards the exit.

  “A limo driver?” Julie said in amazement. “That tramp must have some money.

  “Wolverine is on the move,” I whispered. “I repeat, Wolverine is on the move.”

  Julie looked at me. “You don’t have to speak in code. I’m standing right here.”

  “Okay, fine. Whatever. Let’s grab a taxi and follow him.”

  We pushed our way through the teeming mob of travelers as swiftly as we could, and exited the terminal just in time to see Mark climb into the back of a black Lincoln Town Car.

  I searched for the taxi line and gasped. “Oh no—look! There must be at least fifty people waiting for a cab. We’ll never catch him. Now what do we do?”

  “Well, we could use one of your famous signs right about now,” Julie said as she took off her sunglasses and watched helplessly as the limo pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the airport drive. We were too far away to read the license plate, but even if we did have the number, what good would it do? We didn’t have a cop friend on the force in Vegas.

  In the taxi line, we inched along in dejected silence, wishing for a solution to our dilemma. “I can’t believe we came all this way, only to fumble the ball in the end zone,” Julie moaned. “It was a rookie miscalculation on our part. We need to come up with a new offensive plan and get our heads back in the game.

  “And stop using football metaphors.”

  She shot me a look.

  “Okay, okay, I have sort of an idea, but it’s a Hail Mary.”

  She shot me another look. This time it was murderous.

  “Sorry.”

  “If you can control yourself, Vic, what was your idea?”

  I proceeded with caution. “What if the Bell in Crystal Bell is the Bellagio? Then the number 2365 could be her room number.”

  A knowing grin spread across Julie’s face. “You are a genius! That has to be it.”

  I smiled tentatively, praying she was right, and relieved she wasn’t going to hurt me.

  After a twenty minute wait that seemed more like an hour, we finally reached the front of the line, got into a taxi, and Julie instructed the driver to take us to the Bellagio.

  “Everyone wants to go to the Bellagio,” our driver said. “Been there five times already today.”

  “There’s the sign you ordered, Colonel,” I said, and I instinctively knew we were on the right track.

  “You ladies going to a costume party?” the driver asked, looking at our reflection in his rear-view mirror.

  Julie gave him a cool stare. “No, it was a last minute trip. We didn’t have time to change.” I shifted in my seat and adjusted my tie.

  According to the certificate posted on the seat in front of us, our driver’s name was Lou. He looked to be about fifty years old and combed his sparse brown hair over the bald spot on the top of his head. Lou felt compelled to tell us his life story as we progressed through heavy traffic on our way to the hotel. It must be lonely driving cabs all day, I thought, so I listened politely. My focus drifted off, though, as I gawked at all the incredible casinos along The Strip. We passed the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, and a huge pirate ship in a matter of minutes. I returned to attention when I heard him say, “and then that lying broad took all my money and ran off with a clown from Circus Circus.”

  “Is that a figure of speech, or was he a real clown?” I asked.

  “Do you think this is funny?” he said as he whipped his head around and shot me a look.

  “No, sir, I just wanted to clarify. I’m sorry if it sounded otherwise.” Jeez, tough break. How bad does it have to be for your wife to leave you for an actual clown?

  Fifteen minutes later Lou deposited us at the entrance to the fabulous Bellagio Resort and Casino. As we pulled up to the curb, the famous dancing fountains in front of the hotel began their scheduled performance.

  “You ladies have fun, but be careful,” Lou warned. “There are a lot of sleazy people in this town.”

  “We will. Thanks, Lou,” Julie said, handing him a big tip.

  “Sun, glorious sun!” I said, lifting my face to the sky. “Let’s go look at the fountains.” We hurried over to the railing, and the dazzling water show sparkled in the brilliant sunlight. The combination of water, music, and light was mesmerizing. The graceful choreography of the water moved in time with classical music against the backdrop of the blue sky, and we stood watching until the last water droplet settled back into the magnificent pond.

  On our way back to the lobby, an elegant white stretch limo pulled up to the entrance. The uniformed driver got out, walked around to the opposite side of the limo, and opened the passenger door. I hung back, hoping to spy a dignitary or a movie star, but out climbed a man in a chicken suit, and a Marilyn Monroe impersonator in a sexy, red sequined gown.

  “Don’t you just love this town?” I asked Julie. She just looked at me. Well, you can’t please everyone.

  Entering the immense lobby we were awestruck by thousands of colorful hand-blown glass flowers suspended from the ceiling. A framed plaque on the wall explained that the remarkable display of artwork was created by the world-renowned artist, Dale Chihuly. The beauty and vast expanse of the lobby alone was amazing to behold. The front desk stretched on forever and people stood in at least six different lines waiting to check-in. I really need to come back here sometime when I’m not on a caper.

  A thought occurred to me. “Julie, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go to the most expensive slot machines we can find, each put in some money, and pull the handles at the same time. Whoever wins, we split it. Deal?”

  “Well that doesn’t sound like a bad idea; what’s the most we can lose? Five dollars? Deal,” she said. We followed the signs for the casino and began our quest for a lucky, high-stakes slot machine. We passed nickel and quarter slots, then I spied a five dollar slot. We walked a little further and came across a ten dollar slot. Intrigued, we kept walking, amazed and lured on by the siren call of musical machines paying off for
their delighted winners. Then Julie spied it—the big kahuna—a twenty-five dollar slot machine.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I know you don’t think I’m risking twenty-five dollars on a single pull.”

  “Come on, Vic, don’t be a wimp. Everyone knows you have to bet big to win big. If we win enough, we can pay for the entire trip.”

  I hesitated for a bit, then heaved a sigh and opened my purse. After we each fed twenty-five dollars into our respective slot machines, we turned to one another in hopeful suspense.

  “One sec,” Julie said, holding up a finger. She pulled off her cap, carefully folded it, and slid it into her jacket pocket. Then, after fluffing out her hair with both hands, took hold of her handle and announced, “On the count of three.”

  I grabbed the handle and held my breath, waiting for the fateful count to begin.

  “One more sec,” Julie said. I exhaled but continued to clutch my handle as she shook out her hands then rolled her shoulders, three times forward, then three times back.

  Finally, she took a solid stance and said again, “On the count of three!”

  I gripped my handle firmly, visualizing ringing bells and untold riches.

  “Hold it; one more sec,” she said.

  I stepped away from the one-armed bandit and crossed my arms while she stretched her neck, moving her head from side-to-side, then front and back.

  “Really, Jules?”

  “Sorry. Here we go: On the count of three—one, two, three!”

  We grabbed those shiny handles and pulled down with all our might. The colorful pictures spinning around and around were mesmerizing, and we watched and waited, afraid to move, afraid to breath. Mine stopped first: Cherry . . . Lemon . . . Devil.

  Seconds later, Julie’s rolled to an agonizingly slow stop and I hovered over her shoulder, watching in excited anticipation: Bar . . . Bar . . . one more Bar and we’d be rich . . . Lemon.

  “Well that was fun,” I said. “We just lost fifty dollars in less than a minute.”

  “And this was your idea, Vic. So glad you thought of it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, then looked at my watch. “It’s after four o’clock and I’m feeling light-headed,” I whined. “All I’ve had to eat today is a cup of coffee, a mimosa, and two cookies. I tell you first class is not what it used to be. There was a time when you could choose from a selection of hot meals, and they would be served on real china, with real silverware.”

  “Okay, Grandma. Let’s get something to eat so we can both think straight,” Julie said and started back towards the entrance.

  Soon we came across a lovely piano bar, called the Petrossian Lounge, located just off the lobby. The live music from a Steinway grand piano and elegant décor was all it took. We eagerly entered the upscale lounge, decorated in creams and golds with dramatic splashes of rich deep maroon.

  A gilded sign directed us to “Seat ourselves” and we surveyed the heavily populated room. “We should look for a table near the front so we can keep an eye out for Mark, in case he wanders by,” Julie said.

  Strategically placed near a low wall, with an open view of the casino was a small, empty table surrounded by four chairs upholstered in cushy maroon velvet. We hustled over and sat down before anyone else could claim it.

  Within moments a waitress appeared. Her name badge said Destiny, and she looked like she could have been an ex-showgirl. Her caramel-colored hair, streaked in honey blonde highlights, was piled on top of her head, and her short black uniform revealed generous cleavage and long, shapely legs. Black eyeliner rimmed her pale blue eyes, making them stand out dramatically, and she was beautiful, in a tired sort of way. Maybe jaded. She handed us heavy, leather-bound menus and asked if we would like something to drink.

  “Iced tea for me please,” Julie said as she took a menu and opened it.

  I pursed my lips and said, “I believe I’ll go with a Cherry Cosmopolitan.”

  Julie shot me a look. “Jeez, Vic, we want to think coherently here.”

  “Do I need to remind you that this is also a vacation? Who needs to loosen up now?”

  Heaving an exaggerated sigh, she gave in and changed her order to a Bloody Mary. We scanned the menus while Destiny patiently waited, then decided on a couple of specialty salads, Crab Louie for me and grilled steak for Julie. The server took our orders and moved on to the next table.

  As soon as she left, I said, “I need to get out of this stupid outfit. When are we going shopping?” I pushed some stray strands of hair back up underneath my hat.

  “Do you have to wear that hat?” Julie asked, eyeing me with a grimace.

  “I don’t have to, I choose to. Big difference.”

  “Then why don’t you choose to take it off?”

  “Can’t. Hat hair. Simple as that. I’m stuck with this puppy until I can get to a drugstore and buy some cheap hair products to tide me over.”

  Julie shook her head. “Let’s get some food in our stomachs, make a plan, then we can go shopping. I heard there’s a Fashion Show Mall not too far from here.” Fashion Show Mall—it was music to my ears. I started to perk up.

  While we waited for our food to arrive, I remembered that I’d turned off my cell phone for the flight, so I fished it out of my purse and powered it up. Immediately I got a beep, signaling a message was waiting. I punched in my secret code and listened for my voicemail.

  The first of two messages was from Laini. Her voice was peculiarly high-pitched, and she spoke in rapid bursts, like a feminine machine gun:

  Vic! Where are you? I did another reading. The Chariot, the seventh card, came up again! Again! The first time I drew it, I chalked it up to my marriage being in jeopardy. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t want to scare you, but I repeated my reading three times this morning. Each time, the Chariot came up! You need to—

  Her message abruptly ended, ominously cut off in mid-sentence. I turned to Julie. “That was Laini. She drew the seventh Tarot card three times this morning.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but based on the freaked-out tone of her voice, I’m going to go with ‘not good.’ Hold on, I have a second message.”

  Vic, it’s Laini again, sorry, my battery died. Listen, you two need to come back home immediately. There are different interpretations for the Chariot card, but in my experience, when this card appears, it represents a pathway or journey. The danger is getting on the wrong path, being overwhelmed, dying before your time. There’s a possibility of being pulled to pieces by forces we can’t control or don’t understand. This is a powerful warning. My intuition tells me that you and Julie are in imminent danger. Please call me and let me know you’re okay.

  I turned to Julie, “Well that was odd.”

  She was scanning the multitude of tourists as they meandered by. “Who was it?”

  “Laini again. Something about us being in imminent danger. She wants us to come back home.”

  She gave me a half-smile. “We will—tomorrow. For now, how much danger can we be in? We’re in the middle of a casino with tons of sightseers and senior citizens in tennis shoes wandering around us. I think Laini is just a little overwrought right now, poor thing.”

  I have to say that Laini’s message was fairly unsettling. Normally, I don’t put a lot of stock in Tarot cards, but drawing the Chariot card three times in a row did seem oddly coincidental. I decided to think about that later, and called Amanda’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail so I left a message that we were at the Bellagio in the Petrossian Lounge. While I called Amanda, Julie called Laini, but got her voicemail as well. She left a reassuring message that we were still alive, no news yet, and we’d be home tomorrow night.

  After a short wait, Destiny returned, not only with our drinks, but with the added delight of warm Italian bread and herb-infused olive oil for dipping. Food tastes incredibly good when you haven’t eaten in hours, and we dug in with gusto, savoring every bite. As carbohydrate-induced endorphins pumped into m
y brain, my concern over Laini’s dire words of warning gradually withered away, like the red flower thingamabobs on my front porch.

  In between devouring large chunks of oil-drenched bread, Julie gave up a few more details about her breakup with Jerry. I listened without comment, letting her get it all off her chest. Though she acted indifferently, it was obvious to me that she was still hurting. Little by little, however, I began to develop the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me. I looked up and saw a man across the room quickly avert his eyes. For some reason, he seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. He was a big guy with a flat face and the misshapen nose of a boxer, like it had been broken at least once in his life. Probably more. His graying hair was cut short in a crew cut style.

  After straining my already overly-strained mind, I gave up trying to remember where I’d seen him and tuned back in to the conversation. I took another sip of my Cosmo and as I put the glass to my lips, caught the boxer watching me again.

  “Jules, don’t look now,” I interrupted, “but there’s a guy behind you in a beige jacket and a black polo shirt who keeps staring at us.” Immediately, she turned around to look. “Julie! I said don’t look right now.”

  Too late. The guy saw Julie eyeing him. He stood up, threw some bills on the table, and left the lounge. As he walked away, I noticed a slight limp in his step.

  “Did he look familiar to you?” I asked.

  “No, not really. Probably just a guy admiring two hot chicks in a bar,” she said.

  “Yes, you in your combat gear and me in my fedora, we are quite the hotties.” She smiled, and downed another bite of her bread.

  I was still struggling to remember where I’d seen him, when Destiny appeared again with our salads and two more cocktails. “I’m sorry,” I said. “There must be a mistake. We didn’t order more drinks.”

  “These are from the gentleman in the corner,” Destiny said smiling and gestured with her hand. We looked in the direction she pointed and a man in a charcoal grey, three-piece suit gave us a timid wave. He looked to be in his late thirties, stood about five-foot-ten, and wore thick-lensed, horn-rimmed glasses. His short dark hair was combed neatly back and held in place with a little too much gel. We waved back and mouthed “Thank you” to him. “What a nice guy,” I said.