“That sounds good,” Ruby said as she mashed her body against his. “We brought stuff, flares, food, cigarettes, and brandy.”
“We did, too. We need to gather round now and make a plan. I have no way of knowing where we are exactly, other than a runway of some kind. We’re going to have to go on foot to locate those snowmobiles. That means we go in a single file. I was only able to scare up four men, so that makes us a parade of seven. We’re looking for the Molly Stark Trail. The key word is togetherness.”
“We can do this, can’t we, Mataxas?” Ruby asked.
“I didn’t come all this way to fail, sweet love. If they’re out here, we’ll find them. Trust me.”
“I do. What is the temperature, do you know?”
“Single digit. Maybe minus. It doesn’t matter because we can’t change it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much snow in all my life.”
“We could die out here,” Ruby said, her teeth chattering with cold.
“Not likely, sweet love. When it’s my time to go, I plan to be in my own bed.”
The high-powered light in one hand, compass in the other, Metaxas huddled with Sage. “This is the way I see it, Sage. Tell me if you agree.”
Jeff Lassiter popped the cap off a bottle of Budweiser. He stretched out his legs before propping them on the coffee table that was littered with other beer bottles, peanut shells, and scraps of paper. He pressed the Play button on the remote control, not because he wanted to watch television but so there would be noise in the penthouse apartment.
He’d moved in today because he couldn’t stand living with his mother for another minute. The stifling heat, the smell of arthritis liniment, the game shows, and the cat hairs were driving him crazy. He’d engaged the services of a home health aide who came in three times a day to help his mother. It freed him up to do as he pleased, and it pleased him to take advantage of the penthouse living accommodations that came with his contract.
Now that Neal Tortolow was running the casino and he’d been reduced to a figurehead, just the way he’d planned, he was having the time of his life. He hadn’t counted on Celia Thornton, though. She was definitely a plus as long as he could keep her in line.
Jeff picked up the paper and grinned. If only they knew how close he was to his category killer. The jackpot was building daily for the birth of the killer, and he was the one who was going to have it. The industry was still touting the event as the seeker of the Holy Grail. He eyed the bottom line on the article in the paper and laughed aloud. The reporter was likening the secrecy of his project to that of the Manhattan Project with the determination of a race to the South Pole.
Jeff found himself frowning. The eternal betting truths were that gamblers tended to stick with games that were nonthreatening and packed a potentially large payout. He wondered if anyone in the industry with the exception of himself realized the mantra is “evolution, not revolution.” He was relying on his own brainstorm to mix the deadly combination of inherently addictive quality of the slot machine’s intermittent rewards with a game that got progressively harder as the player’s skill increased. It was going to fly. He could feel it in every bone in his body.
Relocating his project to an empty building at the end of town was a blessing he hadn’t counted on. The Thorntons couldn’t do a damn thing about it now. His crew of engineers, software designers, graphic artists, and Ph.D. mathematicians were working round the clock. All he had to do was show up every Friday morning with an envelope full of cash. Cash that Celia and a few select friends delivered, minus their commission. No paper trail. Celia could of course blow the whistle, as could the others if things got sticky. But then, why would they kill the golden goose. He thought about the complete dossiers he’d collected on “his people,” a trick he’d learned from his father. His smile stayed with him. He made sure the select few sent the Internal Revenue Service their check each Monday morning. Hell, most of the select group would probably get a healthy refund come next May. They might even thank him when their refund arrived.
To date only two states had legalized gambling, Nevada and New Jersey. In two more years, if his calculations were accurate, and he had no reason to think otherwise, other states would legalize and cut down his odds. The two years were a cushion he wasn’t going to need. Six more months, and he’d be the proud possessor of the Holy Grail of Las Vegas, Nevada, at which point he’d take his show on the road. Just the way his old man would have done. Yes, sir, The Emperor of Las Vegas, wherever he was, would have to give the devil his due. He absolutely had the same insight, foresight, and hindsight as his old man had. Review all the angles, play every card you’re dealt, and don’t lose your edge. Well, Daddy dear, my edge is razor-sharp.
A frown built between his eyebrows as his gaze fell to his key ring on the coffee table. His old man’s gold wings. He reached for them, his thumb and forefinger caressing the burnished gold. Why hadn’t his father given him the wings? Why was it Fanny Thornton who had given them to him? Didn’t his father think he was worthy of them? Wasn’t he good enough for something so personal? Why didn’t his father’s real sons want the wings? He decided at that moment his father’s aviator’s wings were the thing he treasured most in his life. Not his new sports car, not his bulging bank account, not his project. If he were offered his weight in gold for the wings, he wouldn’t part with them.
Jeff slapped his knee with glee. His foot snaked out to tap the line of beer bottles on the coffee table. He watched as they teetered, then toppled over the side. He slapped his knee again, howling with laughter. “That’s just what’s going to happen to you Thorntons. You’re going to teeter and topple over.
“C’mon, Celia, where the hell are you? It’s 4 A.M.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the phone rang.
“Open the elevator. I’m coming up from the garage.”
Jeff walked over to the front door. He pressed the release button on the penthouse elevator. Five minutes later, Celia Thornton walked into the apartment.
“Was it a good night?”
“Absolutely.” Celia tossed a straw purse on the table. “I’d like a drink.”
“Help yourself. Ah, you did do well. I see you took your cut.”
“Right off the top, honey. Here’s to money, money, money!” she said, holding her glass aloft. “Switch on the weather channel, Jeff. I do believe my husband is lost in a snowstorm in Vermont. I’d like to see what his chances are.”
Celia sat down next to Jeff on the sofa. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? I have to be up at six and out of here by 6:45. There is a spare bedroom, isn’t there?”
“There’s two spare bedrooms. If you have to be up by 6:45, there doesn’t seem to be much point in going to bed. We could use that hour doing . . . other things.”
“If by other things you mean sex, forget it. I’m married.”
Jeff hooted. “C’mon, you were on the make from the minute you got here. I see the way you flaunt yourself. That’s no granny dress you’re wearing, baby. The big question is, what are you wearing under it?”
“Nothing.”
“You seem to forget I saw you in the buff. I tease myself with those pictures every night before I go to sleep.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who get it off by looking at dirty movies and pictures.”
“Sometimes. You look like the type that carries a dildo around in your back pocket.”
“Looking like it and doing it are two different things. On second thought, I think I’ll just take a room for the rest of the night.”
“Hey, come on, what’s a little roll between the sheets? It can mean nothing or it can mean something. Let me put it to you another way, Celia. I’m horny as hell, and you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you my body, Jeff.”
“You owe me your soul. Peel it off, toots.”
“I will not.”
Jeff’s arm whipped around Celia’s back. The sound of the zipper g
oing down was so loud in the room it drowned out the weatherman’s voice. “Are these babies real or are they silicone?” Jeff asked, cupping Celia’s right breast while he held her left shoulder firmly in his free hand. “Why fight it, Celia? We’re going to do it, so relax and enjoy it. Or are you one of those cold fish who pretends?”
“That question poses one for me. Are you the kind of man who has to force or trick women to have sex with you? I haven’t seen any women hanging around you, and that poses still another question. Are you a switch hitter? I have seen a lot of pretty young men working for you.”
Celia took the slap high on her cheekbone. A second later she was on the floor with her arms pinned down, Jeff on his knees looming over her. “Get off me. I said no. Don’t do this.” She struggled, but was no match for Jeff’s strength. She heard his zipper go down, felt him shrug loose of his trousers. She tried to clamp her legs shut, but his knee pried them apart. Every obscenity she knew rolled off her lips. When he entered her, she screamed and kept on screaming until he loosened his hold on her arms long enough to whack her jaw. The moment he exploded inside her, she shoved him off her, reaching for a cut glass bowl on the coffee table. She brought it down on his head with all the force she could muster. She rolled out of the way, reaching for one of the beer bottles that she broke on the edge of the coffee table. “Come one step closer, you son of a bitch, and I’ll gouge your eyes out. You’re bleeding. Profusely. Head wounds always bleed. Did you know that? This is just a guess on my part, but I’d say you probably need . . . say seven, maybe eight stitches. I don’t think Mrs. Thornton is going to appreciate all this blood on her nice beige carpet. Blood doesn’t come out. Sometimes with club soda but as a rule, no. If you ever touch me again, you four-eyed bastard, I’ll stalk you and slice off your balls. Do you understand me? I might go down, but you’ll go down with me and where will that leave you?”
Celia moved across the room out of Jeff’s reach. She pulled on her dress. She was surprised that she was still wearing her spike-heeled shoes. The broken beer bottle still in her hand, she walked closer to where Jeff was lying. Her voice filled with venom, Celia said, “Now I know why your father didn’t want you to have the Thornton name. You’re a disgusting little weasel, and he was ashamed of you. I hope you bleed to death, you slimy bastard.”
Twenty minutes later, Celia Thornton locked the door of Room 2222 and headed straight for the shower, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t crying because Jeff Lassiter raped her. She was crying because of the darkening bruise on her face.
Sunny tugged at Harry’s sleeve. She was hoarse with all the shouting she’d done earlier. “We’re lost, aren’t we, Harry?”
“Yeah, we are. We’re almost out of gas, too. The battery’s about gone on the light. I’m hoping to see some kind of stand of trees, anything that will give us a little shelter. Maybe we can rig up something with the blankets around this machine. I’m just talking, Sunny. It’s all my fault. I never should have let you come out with me. Just because I’m a horse’s patoot doesn’t mean I had the right to take your life in my hands.”
Tears burned Sunny’s eyes. She knew if she cried, the tears would freeze on her lashes. Maybe her eyeballs would freeze. She took a second to wonder how that would feel. She knew whatever she said would be carried away on the hurricane-force winds. She patted Harry’s shoulder to let him know she understood and wasn’t blaming him.
Would they ever be found? Weeks from now? Months? The spring thaw? It must be almost four or five in the morning. That meant it had been snowing for more than twelve hours. How long did storms like this last? A day? Two days?
Sunny tugged at Harry’s sleeve again and pointed to what looked like a small crop of evergreens. Harry turned on the snowmobile’s light as he steered the machine to where Sunny was pointing. A feeling of light-headedness swept over Sunny when Harry cut the engine of the snowmobile. She didn’t know which was worse, the high-pitched whine of the snow machine or the shrieking, howling wind surrounding her.
“Maybe we can make an igloo. Sage makes them with the kids in the winter all the time. We’re still warm enough. Let’s try, Harry. There is a little shelter here. That awful wind doesn’t seem as strong in here. We have the blankets. I brought three and at the last minute I threw in two of those collapsible shovels. We’ll have to work fast. We’re going to make it, Harry, I know we will. We can’t just sit, though. It will be light in a couple of hours. Birch will find us. We’re going to think positively. You slide out first and catch me when I go over the side. We’ll slide backward and work from there. The snowmobile will be by our front door if we get this igloo built. It will take the brunt of the snow and wind. My battery packs are still a little warm. We have another fresh one and a little time on the one we changed. We’ll be okay, Harry. If something was going to happen, I’d feel it. Women sense things. Okay, here’s your shovel. We build a high pile of it, pack it down, and then carve out a door and a space inside just big enough for us to sit up. It’s the only thing I can think of. If you have a better idea . . .”
“No. We’ll do it your way. It must be the same principle as building a sand castle. Lord. It’s cold.”
“Harry, are you all right?”
“I’m just scared out of my wits.”
“Me too. We can’t think about that, Harry. We have a project we need to work on right now. We have a completion time. We need to pretend we’re back at the center and Libby is monitoring us. I say it’s going to take us every bit of two hours to build the igloo because we’re going to stop for breaks. Let’s get to it. The cold air is searing my lungs, so we won’t talk anymore. Okay?”
Harry nodded.
“I can do this. I know I can do this. I have to do this. I have to do it for Jake and Polly,” Sunny murmured.
“What about me and your mother?”
“Dad?”
“It’s me, kiddo. It’s cold as a witch’s tit, isn’t it?”
“Oh, man, I really screwed up this time. I can’t even remember if it was my idea or Harry’s idea to come out here. I thought we could do it. I hate my limitations. I just goddamn hate them. I don’t know how you did it. I’m dreaming, and that’s why you’re here. I dream about you so much. I can’t figure out why that is. How come you’re here? Is it time for me to die?”
“Of course not. I told you I’d look out for you. I have to admit this wasn’t one of your better ideas. The igloo is a nice touch. I probably would have thought of it eventually. I like the way everyone looks out for each other. Was it always like that when you kids were growing up?”
“Yeah. We couldn’t depend on you. Mom was busy being mother and father and doing her own thing. It’s okay. You made up for it those last few years with Jake. How’s Grandma Sallie? This is stupid. I’m talking to myself. I know you aren’t here. I’m just thinking, dreaming this so the work goes faster. How’s it going up there?”
“Your grandmother is fine. It’s peaceful. I had a hard time adjusting at first. I wanted to go go go. There is no place to go.”
“So what do you do?”
“Watch over all of you. Let me tell you, kiddo, it’s a full-time job. None of you have your shit together. Your mother was on overload and ready to take a handful of pills. I had to put a stop to that in a hurry. Tomorrow I have to pay your sister a visit and straighten her out. Sage is a hell of a pilot. He’s almost as good as I was.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Sunny giggled.
“Yeah it does. Sunny, listen to me very carefully. Do not go to sleep. Do you hear me?”
“Why are you yelling at me? Is it because of the storm?”
“What did I just say, Sunny?”
“You said not to go to sleep. I heard you. I won’t go to sleep.”
“Promise me. Don’t let Harry sleep either.”
“I promise. I am really tired, though.”
“Sunny, listen to me. This is what I want you to do. I want you to build a domino bridge in your head. The
kind we used to build when you and the twins were little. I want you to picture those black-and-white tiles as slats on a bridge. It’s going to take 3,254 of them to get you to the front door of the lodge. When the bridge is all done, when you’ve counted 3,254 tiles, then you can go to sleep. I’m going to be watching you and listening to you count. Did you understand what I said?”
“I understand, Dad. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not. But, you are tired. If you fall asleep, you’ll freeze to death.”
“Where are you going, Dad?”
“To help Sage?”
“What’d he do now?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Start counting.”
Sunny sighed. The only thing she wanted to do was sleep. Building a bridge of dominos in the middle of a snowstorm was the stupidest thing she ever heard of. “Harry, listen to me. We’re going to build a bridge. I was just talking to my dad and . . . I know that sounds stupid, but I was talking to . . . someone. Repeat after me . . .”
The small group huddled under the wing of Metaxas Parish’s plane. “I’m better off drawing you a quick map in the snow than trying to show you the map in this wind. Now, this is where we were supposed to land. That guy, Major or whatever his name was, said we were off course. According to him, we’re over here. That means we have some tough climbing to do. It looks to me like there is twelve inches of snow on most of the ground and some twenty-inch-high drifts. I’m no weatherman, but I’d say an inch to an inch and a half of snow is falling every hour. The air doesn’t feel like there’s going to be any letup soon, so there is no point in waiting for a more opportune time. What I do know for certain is the temperature is below freezing. What we have to do is get to the top of the tree line. Put your scarves over your mouth and don’t talk. We’ll rest every twenty minutes. If anyone has anything to say, say it now. No. Okay, let’s get cracking. Sage takes the lead, I’m next, and Ruby is behind me. You guys, one on each side of Ruby and two behind. Stay tight.”
Vegas Sunrise Page 28
