I drank, washing away the cotton in my mouth, then I set the crystal down with precision as I marshaled my thoughts and my composure. “Did your clients put their valuables in the safe provided?” I turned to the group of men whose gloating I considered a bit premature.
Squash deferred to the two men whose smiles vanished.
“Did you?”
“We thought the room was secure.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I turned back to their hired gun. “Your clients did not secure their property as per our hotel policy, which they agreed to when they registered. If you don’t believe me, read the fine print on the check-in forms. I’ll need an inventory with photographs if you have them, and proof of value.”
“You’ll file the claim with your insurance?” Squash asked.
“No, but I will make them aware of the missing items. If you wish to be compensated, the liability is on your clients. I suggest they contact their insurance carrier.”
Godwin and Lipschitz squealed, but Squash silenced them with a raised hand. “The fight is just beginning.”
“Bring it on, but I’d be careful if I were you. Letting a personal slight guide a professional endeavor is a quick path to self-destruction.” If only I could learn to walk that walk.
As I turned my back and left them, I made a promise to myself to heed my own advice. Life was hard enough without letting emotion lead you into a battle you couldn’t win.
As the pain still thrumming through my head reminded me.
And I wondered just how much of my life I’d screwed up.
CHAPTER TEN
J EAN CHARLES still wasn’t answering, which allowed me to avoid all the stuff I didn’t want to face in my life and in myself. This was a good thing—I was in no shape to face consequences today. Ensuring the avoidance by running away seemed in order. I just needed a target.
My father actually answered his phone.
“Where are you?”
“Trying to bust Jerry out of the hospital.”
“Stay put. I need to talk to you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I didn’t give him time to answer.
UMC, our main hospital on Charleston Boulevard, was close enough that the engine temp in the Ferrari barely got off the peg. The valet—yes, even hospitals had valets in Vegas, where the economy ran on tips and other under-the-counter cash incentives—looked bored. Of course, this being Vegas and with our recent influx of Silicon Valley kids with a different exotic car for each day, I guess the valet saw more than his share of fancy iron.
My father would’ve stashed Jerry on the top floor in the primo suite. I didn’t even bother to ask the perky gal manning the information desk.
As I knew he would be, my father, hands on his thighs and his expression serious, sat by Jerry’s bed. He glanced up when I walked through the door and gave a tight smile. “We’ve got one hell of a problem.” Yes, the Rothsteins used offense as a weapon.
“What? Not even a hello to your favorite daughter?” I looked for a vessel for the flowers I’d grabbed from the kiosk downstairs, settling on the water pitcher. “Don’t try to cut me off at the pass. You need to tell me about Fox.”
“Thanks.” Jerry seemed touched as I set the pitcher with its riot of flowers on the window ledge where the flowers could drink in some sun. Sitting upright, he looked a bit weak but showed his normal level of pushback at life, which did a lot to restore my balance. A large bandage covered his nose, and a bit of blood had leaked under the skin forming a dark half-moon under his right eye. “Fox wasn’t supposed to be on the desk last night,” Jerry said, taking the lead.
I couldn’t wait to hear what my father didn’t want me to know, but we’d get there. “Doesn’t surprise me. And then there’s the issue of the bogus call to get you to the Kasbah. I haven’t tied that in yet—not sure if Fox took it, then doctored the log, and then with a break-in last night that I’m following up on.”
“Where were you last night?” my father asked as if he knew.
“Sleeping off an overindulgence.” I stopped his recrimination with a glare. “Not my finest hour. I failed. But I guess too much booze was a better choice than jumping from the fifty-second floor.”
And that was the closest I’d get to a cry for help. And I needed help. My performance in all facets of my life was dismal, and I saw no way out. Solving everyone else’s problems was the place I hid. I lacked the skill-set to solve my own.
“Life’s not that hard.” My father sometimes chose tough love when a hug would do. Normally, I accepted it. Right now, I wanted to break his nose—another sign I wasn’t myself, as if I needed one.
“Romeo give you anything on the murder?” Jerry asked, clearly surfing over the undercurrents.
Too antsy to sit, I leaned against the wall. Shucking off a shoe and wiggling my tired foot and stretching my angry calf, I decided to let him run with the line before setting the hook. “The knife was the murder weapon. No prints but Ponder’s. The handprint on Lake’s chest, that was Ponder’s as well. A phone call from Ponder’s phone summoned Lake to his death, or so the brain trust thinks at this point. The scene was a mess.” I couldn’t hide my shudder. “Lots of blood. Lots of anger turned Senator Lake into a human colander. I’m sure the Medical Examiner is still working the scene. He did take Ponder in, that much I think I remember.”
“Enough to bury Nolan,” my father said, putting a point on it.
Both men eyed me. “I’m sorry,” Jerry winced. Death was part of the job in Vegas where folks often came to bet their last dime. But murder? Really, really ugly murder? Not the norm, at least since the Mob got steamrolled.
“I had a rough evening.”
“I’m guessing now is not the time to mention AA?” My father gave me a half humorous, half-serious, under-the-brow fatherly look.
“When I’m down is probably not a great time to hit me.”
“Hell, yes, it is. It’s the only time you probably won’t hit back.”
I looked to Jerry for support but he shrugged and nodded his agreement.
Normally, I would’ve lobbed back my father’s “suggestion” with a verbal hand grenade of my own. Today, I didn’t have the energy to argue. And, to be honest, that bit of truth in every bit of wiseass hit me between the eyes. I was probably long past needing a twelve-step program. I wondered if they had one that would pull me out of the whirlpool of my life. And I was almost ready to admit it. “Your concern is so noted.”
That seemed to surprise them both.
Always keep them guessing, my motto. That and live it until you become it. That one cut both ways.
“How’re you doing?” I resisted reaching out to smooth the blanket covering Jerry—a bit intimate for a colleague, but not so for a friend. Negotiating the current climate of harassment and inappropriate breaching of personal boundaries had me totally tied up.
Before he could answer, his wife, Clair, darted in like a dog sniffing dinner. “Oh, hey.” Tall, trim, her face pinched with worry, she seemed to relax as she fussed, smoothing blankets. “I’m glad you’re here. Your father is a bad influence.” Then she spied the flowers in the water pitcher and gave me a look; one hand on a hip added attitude.
“It was all I could find.” I skewered my father with a slitty-eye. “Tell me about it.”
“At least now she has something to do,” Jerry teased.
Clair moved next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Lucky.” That one word captured all her fear. She breathed it out as if expelling the devil.
“I know.” I squeezed her hand. Fear and anger coiled through me like a live wire snaking and sparking. Even after last night, I wanted a drink—a double I could throw back to dampen the rage. One to toss on the fire lit by the one I’d thrown back in Bungalow 7. Self-loathing welled up, and another kind of fear, this one not so easy to douse.
Clair looked between the three of us—conversation had ground to a halt when she walked in. With Jerry’s recent brush, talk of death wouldn’t help.
She took the hint. “I’ll just go find another water pitcher.” She backed toward the door as she said it, then turned and bolted.
Jerry watched long after she’d disappeared. “Came close, didn’t I?”
“Close enough for all of us.” I shook away the memories of him struggling to breathe, of falling.
“I made it. I’m alive. Thanks for that.” Jerry smoothed an invisible wrinkle in the blanket.
“I’d heard of Fentanyl but never seen it in action. Not like that. Scary stuff. Romeo told me they were cutting heroin with it now; that’s what’s killing so many.”
“The world is getting meaner.”
Jerry stated the indictment I lived with. Not too long ago my worst problems were a guy with an anaconda and a hotel full of porn stars with libido overload. Talk about circling the drain and then getting sucked down.
“Speaking of Romeo, he’s not looking so good.” As the Head of Security, Jerry added a bit of fatherly to his job.
Did any of us look good? If I looked half as bad as I felt, then the next nurse to walk through the door would take one look and scramble a code blue. “He’s in a bind. Can’t share, but I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t do it all, Lucky.”
“For my friends, I will, or I’ll die trying.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to warn you about.” My father chose this moment to jump back into the fray.
“Beating a dead horse, Father. You got any ideas? I’d love to hear your take on our little exercise last night.”
“You mean about who Ponder perforated?”
“No, about whether the Patriots will win another Super Bowl this year.”
He pulled on the cuff of his shirt, arranging it exactly one-quarter-inch longer than the cuff of his jacket. Then he worked on the other one. Finally, he looked up and met my gaze with a weak smile. “Cute.”
“Cute is about all I can hope for—clever is well beyond my current capabilities. So, who did Ponder have a beef with?”
“I wasn’t part of all of this NFL political ball-tossing.”
I caught my reflection in the mirror over his shoulder. My reflection stared back at me. At a fully filled-out six feet, even in flats, I always looked bigger than I felt. Somewhere inside there was a normal-sized person shouting to get out. She might as well give it a rest—absent carving off a limb or two, this was the me I was going to be. The blue eyes staring back at me looked like me. So did the high cheekbones and thin-lipped mouth that wanted to curve into a smile. But the light brown hair, not so much.
Teddie had changed things.
Some people come into your life and mix it all up, leaving it different—different, but somehow better. The hair wasn’t the only thing he’d changed. I was only beginning to realize that.
My father, shorter than me, had always somehow seemed so much bigger. Not tonight. A bullet to the chest, marriage to my mother, and the recent birth of twins had all taken their toll. Tonight, I couldn’t see any of the normal bullshit and bluster that had been his trademarks. For as long as I’d known him, he’d been bigger than life, immortal.
I was beginning to see the fallacy of that as well.
Growing up sucked.
To avoid myself, I pulled up a chair next to Jerry’s bed, putting him between my father and me. “You might not have been scrambling for the ball in the middle of the scrum, but I know you. You know everything that has gone on, every argument, every political power play, every marker that was called in or given, allegiances made and broken. Give me your take. If there was ever a time to pony-up the inside skinny, this would be it.”
My father shifted in his chair as if weighing words and consequences. He started slowly. “Everybody knows that Ponder and Senator Lake are on opposite sides. They loathe each other. Last month in Carson City, security at the State House had to pull them apart.”
“Lake is a snake oil salesman, a malignant narcissist with little interest in the truth. I can see why a self-made man such as Ponder would want to squash him like a bug.”
“Ah, Lucky, there are so many folks like Lake in the world. Paying attention to them, giving emotion and time to them, just gives them power. Patience, persistence, and truth are the only weapons that work, and it takes time.”
“But Ponder didn’t think he had time?”
“When an NFL team wants to move, it telescopes time.”
“But Ponder had won.”
“Only the first battle, but the war continues. Concessions, real estate, construction, permits for alcohol sales, you name it, Lake held most of those strings, if not directly, then through markers he holds…held.”
“A multi-layered onion. Why can’t one of these things be easy to peel?” I turned back to Jerry. “Why don’t you tell me about Fox?”
Jerry’s expression closed. “Ask your father.”
“Really?” I leaned back, bracing for a good story. “And? Are you holding back on me?” I raised an eyebrow at him as I crossed my arms.
My father shot Jerry a daggered look. “He’s one of Senator Lake’s security personnel.”
I wasn’t sure whether my father was pissed Jerry had made him look bad or whether he really was holding out on me. “Did you confirm that with Lake?”
“Of course. Lake wanted him installed.” My father grabbed his knee with locked hands, pulling it toward his chest. He winced but held on. “Why?”
“I heard he had a huge beef with Lake from long ago and that he actually works for the Ponders.”
“I told you something was off about him, Albert,” Jerry blurted the accusation at my father, who waved him to silence.
“What was off?” I directed the question to Jerry.
“He is. A loose cannon.” Jerry ignored my Father’s daggered look.
“He’s Lake’s man,” my father insisted. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Nolan lately, and I’ve never seen him around.”
“How’d he end up on the desk? As Head of Security, that’s your call. You have the latitude to ignore me or my father—anybody, really.”
“I never returned to Security. I went from the Bungalows to meet you in the lobby and ended up here. Fox is a big dude long on bullshit. Vivienne would’ve been the right choice to take the helm, but she’d defer to him until she could reach me. And I haven’t been available.”
All that made sense. “Do you remember what time he came on duty last night?”
“Sure. He was late.” Jerry shot my Father an I-told-you-so look. “Came rushing in all excited over the disturbance in the Bungalows. Said it involved several of the NFL players at Bungalow 7, specifically—”
“—Marion Whiteside and Beau Boudreaux,” I said, stealing his thunder. “And when you got there, no one was there.”
“How’d you know?”
“They took their fight to Babel where I interceded. But, to be honest, I was connecting very loose dots. Marion growled something to Boudreaux about having his stuff. Brandy had said they’d made a detour through the Bungalows on the way from the signing to the party. And I found a couple of unsavory pawnbrokers in Bungalow 7 claiming their stuff had been stolen. Somehow, and I don’t know how I’ll prove it, but I’m willing to bet we are all talking about the same stuff, if you will, memorabilia worth a small fortune.”
“And what time do you think Fox showed up, more or less?”
Jerry thought for a moment, probably thinking through the scenario and how it went down. “Six or seven minutes before Ponder staggered into the lobby.”
As I suspected. “So he wasn’t on post at the time of Senator Lake’s murder. Interesting.”
“He worked for Lake,” my father reiterated as if this were exoneration enough.
“So, employees get a free pass?” Like I said, sarcasm fluency was something I often flaunted.
“Of course not.” And my father had a lock on indignation.
“If Lake was as awful as they say, I’m sure working for him provided motivation enough
.” I turned back to Jerry. “We can add Fox to the suspect list. I’m checking his motive, but if it plays out, it’s a dilly.”
“If Fox killed Lake, he did the world a favor.” Only my father could view murder as an appropriate solution.
I let it go. “Why is he here? And why has he mutinied and seized control of Security?”
My father winced as he shifted to cross the leg he held over the other, pulling his foot closer with a hand on his shin. Pain still pulled on his features and I wondered if the pain would ever go away. “It’s part of the dignitary protocol.”
“He’s a state senator not a head of state. You forget who you’re talking to—I wrote that protocol.”
He sighed. “I know. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve lost a step. When I push, people push back. They wouldn’t have dared in the not-too-distant past. I’m an old man. I don’t like it.”
“There aren’t any other good alternatives. Besides, people are assholes. You took a bullet to the chest. The assholes see an opportunity.”
“Lake.” My father shook his head. “Back in the day, his bones would be bleaching in the sun.”
“Well, somebody shot him in the shoulder, laying him out, then probably slowly and methodically tenderized him with a blade, keeping him alive long enough to feel it, know it. Would Ponder do that?”
“We never know what people are capable of when they have everything threatened.”
“He owns an NFL team.”
“He’s leveraged to within an inch of his life. And he just delivered the fatted cow, the one he hoped to slaughter to fill his coffers again, to Lake.”
“How so?”
“The real money here is in the merchandising rights and the concessions at the new stadium. Lake was after a large chunk of that.”
“Stealing money from his constituents, so politics as usual.” That whole angle didn’t surprise me. These days, personal profit was the only motivation I could see for the idiots jumping into the political game. “And Fox?”
“Lake’s eyes and ears on the NFL while they’re here.”
“Any idea what he was looking for?”
Lucky Score Page 15
