Lucky Score

by Deborah Coonts

  “I’d be willing to bet Fox did.”

  “But he was blackmailing us,” Stella said.

  “He wasn’t blackmailing you. He was working with you and Beau. And he heard you two sell out to me and he sold you out to Beau, ruining a great gig for you.”

  “Why was Fox so mad at the party?”

  They stared at me owl-eyed. Stella started t shake.

  “This is bad, Stella. You know how to make it better—tell me what I want to know.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  “Don’t!” Olivia barked.

  “We’re not getting out of this without her help.” Stella turned back to me. “I didn’t get it all but it was something about a football jersey.”

  Romeo looked to me for clarification. Instead I gave him a grin. “Thanks, Stella.” I turned to my aunt, who was riveted. “Keep them here. It’s important. I’ve already had one witness shot up. I don’t want these two to end up a pile of bones bleaching in the desert.” Overselling, but terms my aunt understood. “I’m going to need your car and driver. Where is he waiting?”

  “Side entrance.”

  “Romeo, you and Brinda are coming with me. We each know pieces of this, and I bet it might take all of us to finish the puzzle.”

  As we fled toward the elevator, my phone dinged.

  A text message from Vivienne: Mrs. Ponder and Boudreaux are on the move. They’ve called a car. Not one of ours. Still no sign of Mr. Ponder.

  I still had Dane on speed dial. Not sure why or what that was about, but right now I was happy for my indiscretion.

  “I was just going to call you.” His voice plucked some chord.

  The whole Texas twang was overdone—of course, he was from Texas, but I always felt like he overplayed that card—like he wanted us all to think he was stupid when he was far from it.

  “Do you have any news on Mrs. Ponder’s plane and when it landed the night of the murder?”

  “If it landed, it didn’t land at McCarran, not until much later that night. But you’d seen her in Vegas before that.”

  “Did you check North Town?” North Las Vegas airport took the corporate jet overload when McCarran ran out of landing slots and parking spaces.

  “Not there either. What kind of Citation is it?”

  His question exposed the itch that had been bothering me. “Hang on.” I lowered the phone. “Brinda?” She jumped at my tone. “You came in Mrs. Ponder’s plane, right?” She nodded. “Exactly what kind of plane is it?”

  “Citation Sovereign. Why?”

  “You normally go into McCarran?”

  “Yeah. More services and so close.”

  I returned to Dane. “A Citation Sovereign. Let me guess; it has short landing capabilities.”

  “Yep.”

  “Try Henderson.”

  I cut him off and pocketed the phone. Punishing men for my conflicted emotions about them was getting to be a problem to solve. I added it to the list. The Lucky O’Toole Self-Improvement Program was off to a rocky start.

  “Where’d you land when you came in?”

  “McCarran.”

  I had one shot and a fifty-fifty chance of being right.

  BENTLEY SKIDDED Darlin’s Prius through the gate and onto the ramp at the FBO at McCarran Airport.

  Yes, her driver was Bentley, so she could say she had one, which appealed to her Champagne tastes. The Prius was a nod to reality.

  “You’re sure they’re headed here?” Brinda asked.

  “I’m not sure of anything. Sometimes running for your life is the only option left. For Sky and Beau, I’d say they’re about there. The case against them is pretty significant.”

  “The case for what?” Romeo didn’t try to hide the scoff.

  “Murder and several other lesser felonies.”

  “You can prove it?”

  “Most of it. The rest should shake out, though.” I sounded cavalier because I was. I was pretty sure I knew who was doing what to whom, why, and how to prove it. A few pieces still eluded me, but they’d show up.

  The last in, Romeo unfolded himself first, and rather ungracefully, landing on his ass. Brinda next. She managed a Princess Grace exit. Of course, she did.

  Now my turn. I’d wedged myself into the corner of the tiny back seat. I hadn’t taken the time to extricate myself when it would have been easy. Now I’d pay the price.

  Now there was my epitaph.

  The hooves covering my feet were stuck on something up under the driver’s seat. Hung higher and tighter than a pretty boy’s balls; they wouldn’t come free no matter how much I tugged and yanked.

  Unable to move, I stuck my hands out. Bentley, ever the gallant, got out of the car and moved his seat forward. That only meant I could breathe. I was still stuck. Brinda grabbed one hand, Romeo the other, and they pulled.

  “I’m thinking we should kill the fatted calf,” Romeo said to Brinda. He even kept a straight face so no grin to slap off.

  Not that I would. Although… “Cute.” Was everyone starting to sound like me or was I imagining it? And just when I’d lost my own voice?

  “You could’ve ditched the costume.” Brinda took the higher road. “You do have clothes on under there?”

  “Jesus!” Romeo seemed alarmed at the thought of me in my skivvies.

  “It’s been so long I’ve forgotten. But I’m game if you are.” I leaned forward. Bentley leaned in our side and worked the zipper down. From the front, Romeo grabbed the neck and pulled as I wiggled my arms loose. We freed my upper half.

  The cold air hit me like a slap.

  Using both hands, I got the thing over my hips. “The rest should be easy. Hold my hands to steady me, and I’ll step out of this thing.” Not quite as easy as I thought, but eventually I broke free. Losing my balance, I fell half in and half out of the car, taking Romeo with me.

  My face ended up in his crotch. Surprisingly, my nose didn’t yell in protest to yet another assault. Matching every other part of me, the thing was numb.

  Pushing myself up, I smiled at him. “You’ve missed me. I know you have.”

  His grin was the first I’d seen since he’d stolen a very pricey, one-of-a-kind watch out from under the nose of a master jewel thief. Basking in his radiance was worth the indignity. “Your nose is bleeding again. If you got blood on these pants, they’re yours.”

  “We’ve got to go!” Brinda said, her voice taut. “I think that’s the Ponders’ plane taxiing out.”

  Romeo eyed the tower in the distance. “We’re too late to stop it.”

  “Out of the box, Grasshopper. Brinda, can you get the pilots on their cellphones?”

  “Not now. Once they get their clearance, they would’ve turned them off and stowed them.”

  “What about the Unicom?” Thinking out loud, I knew the answer to my own question. “Never mind, they switched to ground frequency. Unicom wouldn’t be able to raise them.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Bentley, bring the car.”

  “Oh, you so are not doing whatever it is you’re thinking of doing!” Romeo shook his head and backed away.

  “Brinda and I are indeed. You know the pilots, Brinda? They’d recognize you?”

  “I sign their paychecks, a status I think will override any argument from Mrs. Ponder.”

  “Even better. Let’s go.”

  Bentley skidded the Prius to a stop, and we both climbed in as the plane eased off the ramp onto the active taxiway. Romeo put a hand on my arm. “This is serious. If you’re wrong…”

  I shot him a smile and climbed in. “I’m not!” I shouted at him before I shut the door. “Bentley, follow that plane!”

  He accelerated across the ramp and onto the taxiway until the ass end of the small jet loomed over us. “We won’t have much time, Miss Lucky. The police and the Feds will be all over us.”

  “Then I suggest you pull alongside or in front or something to stop the plane.”

  “Yes, Miss.” He hunched over the wheel. “I’ve always wanted to d
o this,” he muttered, making me smile.

  “You do know what you’re doing?” Brinda looked comfortable either way.

  “I have contingency plans. We should be fine if we can get them to stop before they hit the main taxiway, which is up ahead and perpendicular. The traffic here is light and mostly private or local tour operators. And, technically, we could still be on the ramp, I’m not sure.”

  “Which would make the Officer-I’m-so-sorry-here-have-a-look-at-my-cleavage thing much easier.” She didn’t have any buttons to unbutton or she might have.

  The sex angle disappointed me. “That might work in Texas, but this is Vegas where cleavage is a yawner.”

  “Good. It’s much more fun to go toe-to-toe.”

  Innuendo in the heat of battle. I liked it. “But the power is still theirs.”

  “Hence, the cleavage comment you didn’t like.”

  Would I always be an open book? “After that intersection up ahead, things get gnarly, and we’ll have to cross an active runway. Bentley, it would be ideal if we didn’t have to do that. Good news is the plane will slow to turn and may have to stop to get clearance.” They could’ve been cleared all the way to the active runway. Either way, they’d have to slow down.

  Bentley stepped on it.

  “Hit the inside lights so they can see who we are.” The interior lit up like a stage hit with all the kliegs at once.

  “Bentley, are you having a Butch and Sundance moment? Give them a target they can’t miss? I do not intend for us to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “It’s a fantasy of mine, Miss Lucky.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  We’d pulled even with the cockpit. Brinda, sitting next to me in the rear, rolled down her window. Even though throttled way back for taxiing, the jet engines whined, making communication a hand-signal thing. Brinda mouthed, “Hold my legs,” then thrust her upper body through the open window. Waving wildly, she tried to get the pilot’s attention.

  The airport remained free of flashing lights other than the red and green position lights on the tips of the airplanes’ wings—eyes winking in the darkness.

  I tapped Romeo on the shoulder to get his attention. Motioning to his inside pocket, I tried to get him to pull out his badge. He did, then he turned and held it up for the pilot to see. Next, I tapped Bentley, motioning him forward and closer to the plane.

  He gave me a grin, then did as I asked.

  That worked. The engine spooled down to idle. Shouting was now a viable communication option.

  “Motion them over to the ramp!” I shouted to Brinda.

  A helicopter operation with a large expanse of free space, it would get us back into at least having an argument that we hadn’t strayed from private tarmac. The engine’s whine didn’t rise. The plane stayed stopped.

  “Bentley, be prepared to cut them off.” Beau Boudreaux with his muscles and fury might be Mrs. Ponder’s trump card.

  He eased the car forward, giving him an angle.

  I tugged on one of Brinda’s ankles. “What are they doing?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  Brinda wiggled her way back inside. A grin split her face. While she was pretty with a scowl, she was stunning with a smile. I wanted to hate her, but I couldn’t. “Thumbs-up from the pilot. He’s moving the plane off the taxiway to the ramp.”

  Romeo’s phone rang. He answered with one word, “Romeo.” He glanced back at me, his face darkening to a deep scowl. “Status?” A few more seconds. “Roger. Put a BOLO out and keep me apprised.”

  “What?” I asked knowing bad when I saw it.

  “Fox escaped. Damn near killed my man.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Going to be.”

  The engines spooled up, and the plane eased into a hard right-hand turn. Bentley whipped around the front of the plane, then parked the car, leaving the plane just enough room to stop on the ramp and go no further. As we piled out of the car, this time with a bit more dignity, the plane’s door opened, and the steps unfurled.

  A young man stuck his head out as the engines shut down. “Brinda, you, and your friend, and the cop.”

  Brinda started up the stairs. Romeo stepped in next to me. “This could be a setup.”

  No could be about it. “We’re reading from the same playbook.”

  “Would you stop with the football analogies?”

  He knew mental gymnastics, as simple as they were, helped offload my panic. He also knew the answer would be no. “Let me quarterback this. You still got your piece with the silencer?”

  “No, Chief took it from me. Told me to keep my nose clean and not hanging out with you would be a good start.”

  “Harsh. And so unappreciative.” I’d helped solve a lot of cases for the man. “But you should’ve listened.” I motioned him to go in front. “Youth before beauty.”

  “Lamb before the lion.” He stepped in front. “And your Glock?”

  “I put it back under the seat in the car. Tonight, I couldn’t trust myself.”

  “You need to work on that.”

  Second-guessing, one of my best things.

  As we inched up the stairs, I felt like the condemned doing the midnight walk. The whole thing felt like a trap, and I had no fight left. “Before I die, I’d like to know one thing.”

  “The key to eternal happiness?”

  “No. I want to know how you got out of being thrown in the Gulag. You made it sound like the cops had you cold and Reynolds was going to nail you.”

  “He didn’t.” Romeo ducked through the low doorway before I could ask any more.

  “Really?” Pausing on the tiny top platform, I leaned down and stuck my head inside. “Reynolds let you walk?”

  Mr. Ponder stood at the rear of the plane. He waved me inside with the pistol in his hand. “Join us, Lucky. You’re late to the party.” Still attired in one of our Babylon logoed velour tracksuits, he looked like he hadn’t had a hit of his joy juice in some time. Pain etched deep grooves in his face, bracketing his mouth. His hand shook. Sweat beaded. His smile stretched only as far as a grimace. Still, he had the overbearing attitude of a man used to getting his way.

  His wife, her feet tucked under her and her arms lashed across her chest, made herself small in the crook of a couch that lined one side of the cabin. In a red sweater set and tan jeans, she looked like a wilted flower against the white leather upholstery.

  Brinda had taken a seat next to her with Romeo hunching uncomfortably as he straddled the arm of the couch.

  “Take a chair.” With the gun, Ponder motioned to the club chairs opposite the couch. “This is my wife’s plane. Sorry the accommodations are a bit tight. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Where’s Boudreaux?”

  Sky sobbed, then cowered at a glare from her husband.

  The young man who lowered the stairs, presumably one of the pilots, stood to my right wedged in the tiny galley. “He shot him,” he whispered. “Really just winged him. He’s in the back bedroom. I had to tie him up.” He showed me his hands. The blood was still red. “You might want to run for it.”

  Mr. Ponder brandished the gun, his veneer slipping. “I didn’t kill Lake. It looks bad, I know. But somebody is framing me.” He stared me down, his eyes a bit wild. “You have to believe me.”

  “I do. And, better yet, I can prove it.”

  All eyes settled on me, most were disbelieving, but Sky Ponder’s were murderous. “What?” Mr. Ponder whispered. “You believe me?”

  “And I can prove it.”

  “How?” Romeo asked.

  I heard sirens in the distance. Strobing red lights flared across the field and flashed through the side windows. “Better make your case quickly,” Romeo hissed.

  “You really were at a private game. One Boudreaux fixed up in the Secret Suite. My Security head is gathering the witnesses.”

  “He told you that?” Romeo mouthed.

  I ignored him. Brandy had said Jerry had heard whispers. With
Jerry, that was as good as gold. The chips, the one Ponder had and the one I found, were a good start. Somebody had to have been there—dealers, waitstaff. Someone would talk. “Then, a call from your phone arranged the meet at War Vegas with Lake.”

  “War where?” Ponder’s confusion seemed genuine.

  “But you didn’t have your phone. Your wife did.”

  “I did not!” With the indignation of the guilty, Sky gathered the last of her fight-back.

  “His phone is gold. Everyone else’s is silver. You handed his phone to him in my office. I saw it.”

  “But I wasn’t here.” She settled back, sure she’d just thrown down the winning card.

  “You landed at Henderson, not at McCarran. And I’m sure, if someone were to search this plane, the water, the shower, hiding places, they’d find the clothes you showed up in. Nobody wears Lilly Pulitzer to Vegas, much less in January.”

  Her fight faded. “You can’t believe him.” She pointed at her soon-to-be ex. “He was drugged out of his mind.”

  “And that was your biggest miscalculation. You thought the Fentanyl you gave him and covered him in so none of us idiots would miss it would be enough to kill him.”

  “It should’ve been.” She clapped a hand over her own mouth. “That’s what the Medical Examiner said,” she mouthed through her fingers.

  Ponder lowered his gun. If a man could shatter, I was witnessing it. “You tried to kill me? I thought we’d worked all this out.”

  “Do you think I’d give up the throne and accept a house and a stipend from you? I had it all. Why would I take less? If you were gone, it all would be mine.”

  So captured by the story and so focused on the gun, I failed to realize one of the key players was missing. “Where’s Fox?”

  “Fox?” Ponder either didn’t know him or didn’t know why he would be there.

  “Yeah, Boudreaux’s and your wife’s flunky. He carried the rifle used to shoot Lake into War Vegas. And I’d be willing to bet he tried to take out one of the witnesses to the full breadth of this whole little operation.”

  “What operation?” Mr. Ponder again, this time not so confused.

  Why wasn’t Fox here? “You know. That’s why you’re divorcing the woman you love. She couldn’t resist keeping a fallback plan, in case you decided you’d tired of her. So she stayed with what she knew: dealing. Then Boudreaux and Fox, both needing their own exit strategies, figured out a plan that was a bit more nuanced which provided a bit of protection from the legal system, if you will. A few more layers to work through.”