The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  Julie threw her bag over her shoulder and we hustled out of the lounge.

  Like Sacagawea I recognized landmarks and forged a trail back to the ATM machine I’d seen earlier. We collected ten crisp, twenty-dollar bills, I quickly shoved them into my pocket, and we pushed onward. In the elevator, racing to the twenty-third floor, my earlier cheeky confidence abruptly vaporized. In its place, I began to experience a deep sense of foreboding as the car swiftly ascended. I’m not used to the espionage game, I reasoned to myself, but if everything went as planned we would have at least one good photo, then we could relax and enjoy what was left of our impetuous adventure. We might even be able to catch up with those hunkosaurus cowboys.

  The elevator finally came to a stop at our floor and we stepped out. No platinum blondes in sight, so we followed the signs to the wing of rooms containing number 2365. Looking down the long, empty hallway, I was beginning to get the sinking feeling that the impersonator had bagged out on us, when I heard the sound of the elevator bell. We traipsed back to the elevator bank just as the door opened, and out stepped Marilyn in all her glory.

  “Sorry, girls, but it’s a bitch trying to get around in this gown,” she said in her breathy little Marilyn voice. She turned to Julie, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “My apologies, Marilyn,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Colonel Julie Thompson.”

  Her large rhinestone bracelet sparkled brilliantly in the bright overhead lights as she extended a gloved hand to Julie. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Not entirely certain how to respond, Julie grabbed the tips of her fingers and gently shook them.

  “Before we go any further, there’s the little matter of my private engagement fee,” Marilyn reminded me.

  “Oh, right.” I pulled the crumpled wad of bills out of my pocket and handed them to her. She unfolded and counted them with the speed and precision of a professional poker player.

  “No offense, but a girl can’t be too careful these days.” She neatly refolded the bills and stuffed them in her bra. “You got the bubbly?”

  “Right here.” Julie patted her bag.

  “Good, let’s get this show on the road. I have another gig in thirty minutes.” We inched down the expansive hallway at a snail’s pace, adjusting our speed to match Marilyn’s tiny steps. Along the way, we began to coach her on what to say.

  “Girls,” she interrupted, “and I mean this in the most loving way, just give me the Cliff Notes, then back off. Trust me—I’m a pro.” Fair enough. We gave her a brief rundown then clammed up.

  The closer we got to the room, the sense of dread that descended upon me in the elevator intensified. This could all go terribly wrong. Maybe this wasn’t such a red hot idea after all. I glanced over at Julie and Marilyn to see if they might be having second thoughts too, but the looks on their faces were confident and determined. To summon up some courage, I pulled my lucky sunglasses out of my purse, slipped them on, and started humming the theme from Mission Impossible. “Dum dum da da, dum, dum da da, deedely dee, deedely dee.”

  Julie and Marilyn stopped in their tracks and looked at me.

  “Sorry.”

  They rolled their eyes in unison and we moved on.

  At last we reached room 2365, noted the large DO NOT DISTURB sign conspicuously dangling from the door handle, ignored it, and went to work. Julie handed off the champagne to Marilyn, and I produced the camera pen. She adeptly tucked the red pen into her ample cleavage, then directed in a whisper, “You two stand over there, out of sight, while I do my thing.”

  We were more than happy to oblige and backed up clandestinely against the wall, several feet away. The door was in a small recessed alcove, which helped keep us out of view. We could see Marilyn, but not the door, from our vantage point, and no one opening the door would be able to see us. Fortunately, the corridor was unusually deserted. Not even a maid passed down the long, empty hallway.

  The impersonator took a deep breath, activated the camera, then knocked lightly on the door. No response. She knocked again, more firmly this time. From behind the closed door, a woman’s voice called out, “What do ya want?”

  “Room service. I have a delivery for you from the hotel,” Marilyn responded in her sweet, breathy voice.

  “We didn’t order anything. You got the wrong room.”

  Marilyn gave us a quick, frustrated glance, then tried one more time. “This is compliments of the house. Please open your door so that I can present it to you.”

  “Just leave it in the hall and go away.”

  Julie motioned to Marilyn to try again, so she shrugged, knocked loudly on the door one last time and raised her voice in outright annoyance, “I have strict instructions to present this to you personally. Please open your door.”

  Finally we heard the clicking of locks being undone and the sound of the door sweeping open. Marilyn hesitated and took a step backward. A vague uneasiness clouded her heavily lashed eyes as she began, “On behalf of the Bellagio Resort and Casino, I would like to sincerely apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced today when our Housekeeping—Hey! What the—”

  She was cut off in mid-sentence when a large, hairy arm reached out, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her into the room. The door slammed shut, and we heard a muffled scream.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Flops are a part of life’s menu, and I’ve never been a girl to miss out on any of the courses.” —Rosalind Russell, American actress

  *******

  Julie and I exchanged horrified looks. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we have the wrong room,” I whispered back.

  “No, this is the right room, 2365. Amanda confirmed it with the hotel operator. Remember?”

  “That didn’t look like Mark’s arm. He’s not that hairy.”

  Julie gripped my elbow. “Something’s terribly wrong. We need to get out of here.”

  “We can’t just leave her in there. We got her into this mess. We have to get her out.”

  “You’re right. Let me think.” Julie began rubbing her temples.

  “Maybe we should call hotel security,” I said.

  Julie stared at me. “And tell them what? That we hired an actress to falsely represent the hotel, get into a room, and take secret photos of their guests?”

  “Then . . . we could pound on the door and demand her release.”

  “We don’t know who’s in there, or what they’re doing. We could end up just like her.”

  While we remained hidden from the small alcove, arguing back and forth in nervous whispers, I detected movement beyond Julie’s shoulder, and looked up. Two people at the far end of the hallway approached us, and as they drew nearer, I recognized them. “Julie, look—it’s Anthony and Amanda.” A wave of relief washed over me as we rushed off down the hall to meet them.

  Drawing nearer still, I noted that Amanda had the most peculiar expression on her face. I chalked it up to her feeling embarrassed for having spilled the beans to Anthony about our clandestine scheme. But that didn’t explain the agitated whimpering and snarling coming from the inside of Carl’s carrier.

  “Anthony,” I said, feeling a rush of gratitude, mingled with the tiniest dab of reservation, “thank God you’re here. We’re in serious trouble. A friend of ours was just abducted and—”

  Anthony removed his glasses, slipped them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and shoved Amanda toward us. That’s when we saw the gun.

  Amanda’s eyes were wide with fear, as I’m sure, were mine.

  “What the? What’s going on here Anthony?” Julie demanded.

  He motioned us forward with his gun and heaved a sigh. “I like you ladies, I really do. I tried to protect you, but you just wouldn’t give up, would you? Now look what you’ve done. You’ve put me in a very awkward position and my hands are tied. So, just shut up, turn around, and start walking.”

  We had no choice but to give in, turn around,
and follow his mystifying orders. I scanned up and down the hallway, but it remained silent, empty. There was nowhere to run. The long, elegantly decorated corridor terminated in a dead end.

  As if reading my mind, Anthony said with wearied irritation, “Don’t get any foolish ideas or I’ll have to do something you really wouldn’t like.” He rammed his gun against the back of Amanda’s head and she let out a little scream. Following his direction we reluctantly returned to room 2365 and came to a halt. Anthony rapped on the door three times with the back of his knuckles, then we watched the door slowly open inward. The accountant pushed us inside.

  The room turned out to be a spacious suite with a large living area and a separate, elevated bedroom. The first person I saw was the man with the flat face from the Petrossian lounge. He held a gun on Marilyn, who sat on a rust and cream striped sofa, hands tied in front of her. Eyes in slits, she shot glaring looks at him.

  “I don’t understand. What are you doing? Who are you people?” Julie demanded to know.

  “Julie? Vic? Amanda? What in the hell are you all doing here?” a familiar voice called out to us. I looked across the room and, to my dismay, saw something that made all three of us gasp. Sitting on the floor, handcuffed to the decorative iron railing that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the luxury suite, were Mark and another man. This was not good.

  “Mark? What are you—” I started.

  “Shut up and get down on the floor next to them,” a woman, obviously the mysterious Crystal, interrupted, shoving me roughly towards Mark.

  Her appearance was startling. I couldn’t decide which was creepier, her obviously dyed jet-black hair that hung straight down to the middle of her back giving her pasty white skin a ghostly pallor, or her high gloss, blood-red lipstick and matching polish on her talon-like acrylic nails. She could have been the love child of Cher and Count Chocula. Black spandex pants were tucked inside her knee high, stiletto-heeled boots, and a low-cut, body hugging, purple tunic sweater was topped with a black patent leather belt, slung loosely around her hips. As for her age, it was difficult to say. She had that unnaturally smooth and expressionless face that comes from too much Botox and an extreme facelift.

  Anthony followed us into the room, then closed and securely locked the door behind him.

  “Nice tie, Tony,” Crystal said. “Maybe we should get you a bib.” Anthony shot an icy glare at Julie for the olive incident, then pulled off his tie, wrapped it into a ball, and shoved it in his jacket pocket.

  Marilyn cried out, “Tony! Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “Donna? Is that you? What’re you doing here?”

  “I let these ladies talk me into doing a favor for them, and I wound up in this jam. Tell these bums to let me go. I have a gig in ten minutes and I can’t afford to lose this job.”

  Tony lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s okay, Lenny, Donna works for us sometimes. She’s safe; let her go.”

  Old broken nose limped over to the sofa and untied the cord around Donna’s delicate wrists. She jerked her free hands away, rubbed them, and gave him a dirty look. “Thanks for nothing, Lenny.” Walking to the door she stopped, turned to us and said, “Sorry, ladies, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Thanks, Tony, I owe you one.” She kissed his cheek, ran her hands over her hips smoothing out her gown, unlocked the door, and sashayed out of the room. The entire time she remained in character. What a trouper.

  After the door closed, Crystal, Tony, and Lenny moved into the far corner of the living room and began arguing over what to do with us. Crystal appeared to be calling the shots and she was mad as hell, calling them both idiots, among other more vivid names.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Mark asked us again in a whisper.

  “No offense, Mark, but we thought you were having an affair,” I whispered back.

  “What? What affair? I’m not having an affair. What are you talking about?”

  “If you’re not having an affair, then what are you doing in Las Vegas?” Amanda whispered, leaning across me.

  “Hey!” Crystal shouted from across the room, “Kung Fu over there—shut your pie hole.”

  Amanda sat back against the railing, stricken, and clutched the handles of Carl’s bag.

  “And you,” she pointed to me, “take off those ridiculous sunglasses and toss ’em over here.”

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. They’re kind of expensive and I don’t want to scratch them.”

  Crystal narrowed her eyes and slowly approached me. I cringed inwardly as I pulled my knees up to my chest.

  “Oh, my apologies,” she said, suddenly calm and composed. She smiled the way an alligator smiles as it glides silently across a brackish swamp towards a small, defenseless bunny. “I didn’t realize that. Here, let me help you.” Very carefully, she pulled the glasses off my face and placed them gently on the floor. I gave her a feeble look of gratitude, then watched as she stomped on them with her boot. She scooped up the shattered fragments and sifted them over the top of my head.

  “There you go,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk. “You know what your problem is? You’re too attached to material things. You need to let go. I just did you a favor.”

  This time I sat back stricken.

  The goon squad went back to the corner of the room and resumed their heated discourse. After a moment, when it seemed safe, Mark leaned over and whispered, “My brother embezzled money from the mob. One of their bosses just broke out of prison, and I agreed to perform plastic surgery on him tomorrow morning at a private clinic somewhere near here, in return for my brother’s life.” He motioned towards Wayne, sitting on the floor next to him. “Do you guys know Wayne? Wayne, this is Vic, Julie, and Amanda, all friends of Laini’s.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Wayne said.

  “I told you morons to shut up!” Crystal barked, then came over and kicked me in the thigh with her pointed boot.

  “Ow! That’s going to leave a bruise,” I screamed and rubbed my leg. At least it wasn’t my toe this time.

  She looked at me in disbelief. ”What part of shut up don’t you understand?” She kicked me again, harder this time. I winced, but managed to keep my mouth closed. Julie shot me a warning look.

  After scowling at us for a few moments, Crystal picked up a silver monogrammed cigarette case and matching lighter from the glass-topped coffee table, put a cigarette in her mouth and lit up. Inhaling deeply she crossed her arms and began to pace back and forth across the small living room floor.

  “Sorry, Crystal, but I thought you knew this was a non-smoking room,” Anthony advised her.

  She turned slowly and glared daggers at him. “Oh, forgive me, Tony. I didn’t know. How about I put this out on your face?” As she moved toward him, he backed up against the wall and mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out. “I thought so,” she said smiling. Then she took a deep drag off the cigarette and blew it into his face. As Anthony stifled a cough, Lenny smirked but kept his mouth shut. He obviously knew better than to tangle with Crystal. I wondered if any of the scars on his face came from her lethal fingernails. With claws like that she could probably scale a tree like a gecko.

  Crystal fell silent for a few moments, then said, “Tony, get these clowns outta here. They’re giving me a migraine. Is there anyone in the accounting office?”

  “No, they’re all gone for the day.”

  “Good, take ’em down there and wait for me. Don’t do anything till we hear from the boss.”

  Tony pulled his gun from a shoulder holster and pointed it at us. “Let’s go, ladies, and don’t make any dim-witted moves. Just do as you’re told and you’ll be fine.” I picked up my purse but Crystal ripped it out of my hands and heaved it across the room. I watched in silent humiliation as all the liquor miniatures from the flight tumbled out onto the beige carpeting as my bag cartwheeled into a wall.

  “You don’t need that right now,” she said.
“Just get the hell out of my face.”

  “I have to bring Carl with me,” Amanda said as she grasped the handles of the doggie carrier. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, take the damn mutt—just move.”

  I mouthed, “Good luck,” to Mark and his brother as we got up, then obediently followed Amanda and Julie to the door Lenny held open for us. As I reached the doorway, I turned back and snuck a quick peek at Crystal.

  She scowled. “What are you staring at?”

  “I’ve got just one word for you,” I said. “Blusher.”

  Crystal seemed a bit put off by that. She looked around for the nearest object, picked up a plate of leftover French fries, and hurled it at me. I ducked and ran out into the hallway as the plate sailed past my head and crashed into a framed print on the opposite wall. She was still swearing as the door slammed shut.

  Perhaps that makeup tip was unwise.

  “Nice job, Vic. What are you trying to do, get us killed?” Julie huffed. Amanda shot me a look.

  “Sorry, I guess that wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but did you get a load of her? That woman could definitely use a makeover. Anyway, they’re not going to kill us, they’re just going to hold us for a while. Right, Anthony?”

  Anthony cleared his throat, gave me a shove, and told me to zip it. Probably good advice.

  Back down the hallway to the elevators we trooped, Julie, Amanda, and Carl in the lead with Anthony and I following.

  “Are you really an accountant?” Julie asked, looking back over her shoulder.

  “Can you think of a better way to do a little money laundering? Now, turn around, shut up, and for the love of God, all of you try to exercise some common sense for a change. Say anything to anyone and the doc and his brother are dead.”

  The hallway was eerily quiet as we shuffled towards the elevators, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen another soul since we first arrived. Somehow, they must have found a way to manipulate the reservation system, allowing few, if any, people on this floor. So as we moved silently towards the elevators, I realized we were totally screwed.