Lucky Bang

by Deborah Coonts

  "You don't understand nothing."

  "Draw him out," Sophia whispered, then she turned to speak in hushed tones into her mic. "Let him tell his story."

  "You're right about that. Why don't you tell me what I don't know, then?"

  "Lucky, girl," my father said, his voice strained as if filtered through a mask of pain. "Get the hell out of here. It's gonna—"

  "Shut up, old man," Campos growled.

  Peeking around, I saw the kid raise his arm, then bring it down in a vicious swipe. A grunt. Then silence.

  Instinctively, my muscles bunched. Sophia's hand on my arm stopped me from charging. "No."

  "Fuck." I leaned back and tried to focus. "Campos, I know you're angry. Can you tell me why?"

  "Our old man killed my mother."

  Darkness once again oozed into the corners, closing out the light and wrapping its tentacles around my heart. The Big Boss a killer? Was it possible? I forced the thoughts away—I so didn't want to go there. And his last words had sounded like a shout of warning. But of what?

  "Did you hear me, Lucky?" Albert Campos' voice sounded as taut as a piano wire.

  Sophia nudged me with an elbow. "You can do this."

  The urgency in her whisper drew my focus like a sharp stick in the side. "Why do you think the Big Boss killed your mother?"

  "The guys told me she was shaking him down. Then she disappeared. Later, when I was old enough, I put two and two together."

  The light dawned. I started breathing again—funny, I hadn't been aware that I'd been holding my breath. "What pieces?"

  "I was eight when my mother disappeared. I can tell you the foster system isn't a good place to grow up."

  "Where was she when she disappeared?" I kept asking the logical questions even though the conclusions to be drawn scared the hell out of me.

  "She'd come back here, to Vegas. I remember her telling me she had a score to settle. And that was it."

  "You never heard from her again?"

  "No."

  "And her body?" I braced for the answer I knew was coming.

  "Never found," Albert's voice turned hard, but with a hint of pain. "She just disappeared."

  "Did somebody go to the police?"

  That got a laugh out of him. "Half the force was on the take. One old guy did finally tell me that word had filtered down from some big shot, and they'd closed the file and buried it."

  I didn't want to know what Albert had done to the "old guy" to get him to spill. If I was a betting gal, I'd put my money on the old guy now being just another nameless body buried in the desert. "And you assumed it was our father?"

  "He seemed the best candidate."

  Sophia leaned in as another mortar exploded behind us. "Don't argue with him. Go along."

  I shot her a look even though I knew she couldn't see it, then raised my voice so Campos could hear. "I can see where you're coming from. It sure looks bad."

  "Bad?" Campos' voice rose. "I should shoot him right now."

  I whirled and peeked around the corner. The kid grabbed my father by the collar, pulling him around. He still slumped like a rag doll, but I thought I saw hints that he was coming around. Tough old bird.

  "If you kill him, then you'll never know for sure, will you?"

  The kid paused.

  "Can you tell me why you planted the bomb?"

  "Good," Sophia whispered.

  Campos laughed. "I knew it would stir things up. And if I killed you, so much the better. I wanted your father to know what it felt like to lose someone important."

  "Okay, I get that. I understand why you did that. And nobody was hurt. That's a good thing." I paused, thinking.

  "Negotiate," Sophia urged.

  "Albert, we're sort of in a difficult spot here. You want your story out. You want to get to the bottom of who killed your mother. Boy, I understand that. And I promise, we'll turn over every stone to find the truth. But I need something from you."

  "Perfect." The edge in Sophia's voice dulled just a touch.

  "If we're going to get the truth, we need our father." The words stuck in my throat, but I choked them out. "I need you to put the gun down. Kick it to the side, then take your jacket off so I can see you're not hiding anything. When the next dose of light hits us, put your hands behind your head, step away from the Big Boss, and then drop to your knees."

  Another mortar exploded behind us. Interminable seconds of silence followed.

  "It's the only way you'll know, Albert. The only way your mother can rest."

  The shell exploded overhead.

  "How do I know I can trust you?"

  I leaned back trying to think of something to say.

  "Tell him…"

  "You don't," I said, taking a flier. It's the truth he wanted. I hoped he could recognize it when he heard it.

  He laughed. "You are a ballsy broad."

  All things considered, I wished folks would stop telling me that, although I thought I detected just a hint of respect, but I might have imagined that part.

  "Okay. Your word, Lucky."

  That's what he'd wanted all along—to put me where he was. To cause me the pain of losing someone so important. But even more, he wanted me to be responsible for my own loss.

  I knew what I had to do. As the reality washed over me, I think my spirit died just a little. "Albert, you have my word." Then I lowered my voice and whispered into my mic. "Romeo, keep your guys hidden. Let me do this."

  Sophia stiffened beside me.

  "Lucky…" Romeo's voice held the hardness of an order.

  "This is my show, Detective. He doesn't know you're here. No need to alarm him. Besides, it's me he wants." Rising, I stepped into the light to face one of my worst fears.

  Chapter Six

  I took two steps and stopped. I tried not to look at my father slumped at Albert's feet. My eyes met his and held. "I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of this."

  For a moment, I wasn't sure what he would do. Then, keeping the gun trained on me, he worked one arm out of his jacket, then switched hands and shrugged out of the other sleeve. Making a show out of it, he dropped the cloth, then moved it in my direction with one foot.

  I couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell how he was feeling. But with a gun pointed at my chest and nothing to protect myself with, I sure knew how I was feeling. The dot of a sniper sight targeted his chest, blood red on the white of his shirt, making me feel a bit better.

  Romeo's whispered order sounded in my ear. "If he so much as twitches, shoot him."

  My heart pounded as I tried to appear calm. My muscles tightened, coiling. "Don't you need to know, Albert? I know I do."

  Finally, his shoulders sagged as the fight leaked out of him. Lowering himself, he set his gun on the ground and kicked it to the side, away from the Big Boss. Then he moved forward and dropped to his knees, his hands behind his head. The police swarmed, pressing him down, then securing his wrists in handcuffs. He didn't fight.

  I rushed to the Big Boss, falling to my knees next to him. "Father?"

  He groaned, a good sign.

  The trickle of blood oozed down his forehead. Circling his shoulders, I drew him to me. "Don't move."

  A figure dropped down next to me, opening a familiar black box. I looked up into the dark, serious eyes of Nick the paramedic.

  "I'll take it from here." He gave me a reassuring smile as he fell to work.

  Rocking back on my heels, I pushed myself to my feet, giving him some room.

  The Big Boss's hand snaked out and grabbed my ankle, stopping me.

  He struggled to say something.

  I dropped to a squat, balancing on the balls of my feet as I strained to hear. "Don't talk. Rest." A perimeter of lights sprang to life making me blink against the brightness.

  My father gripped me tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my lower leg. "Don't," he wheezed.

  I bent toward him. "What?"

  "Don't." He struggled to pull breath i
nto his lungs. "Briefcase."

  "Briefcase?" I asked, a cold dread surging through me. "What briefcase?"

  "Would this be it?"

  I turned in time to see a young Metro officer pick up a worn, leather case by the handle.

  My father wheezed. "Ten seconds."

  Motion timer! I glanced at Campos as the police lead him away. He threw me a look and I knew. Pushing myself to my feet, my legs were already in motion. I reached the cop in two strides. In one motion, and never slowing my pace, I grabbed the briefcase. The edge of the building wasn't far. I counted in my head… Three one thousand. Four one thousand. Planting my forward foot, I reared back, my arm arcing behind me, coiling, with the briefcase held firmly by the handle. I forced myself to pause—timing would be everything.

  Five one thousand. Six one thousand. Seven… With all my weight behind it, I hurled the briefcase as high and as far as I could. "Everybody down!" I shouted as I watched the case arc into the night. Then I fell on my stomach, covering my head with my arms.

  Eight one thousand. Nine…

  The air shattered as the dynamite ignited.

  After the concussion passed, I raised my head and looked over my shoulder. The others were moving.

  From below, I heard the roar of the crowd.

  A cheer for the grand finale.

  I rolled over on my back and stared at the stars..

  As Romeo peered down at me, I started to laugh.

  Like birds pecking after the food was gone, seemingly half of Metro scurried around the rooftop. With the excitement over, there wasn't much left to do but fill in the gaps. The Big Boss sat on a chaise by the pool, his normal vitality clearly at an ebb. He chewed his lip, squinting one eye against the pain as Nick taped his ribs. In the half-light of the perimeter floods, the bruise blooming across the right side of his face was highlighted by the gash left by the gun Albert had clocked him with. Apparently, the gash wasn't that bad—his only needed one Steri-Strip where mine had needed several. Either that or Nick was running low on the things—there'd been a run on them lately.

  Easing myself down next to my father, I grabbed his hand then leaned my head on his shoulder.

  He sighed, briefly touching his head to mine. "I can always count on you." There wasn't even a hint of disbelief in his voice, just a quiet assurance that that's how it would be between us. I liked that.

  "After all these years and the things you've done for me, I figured I sorta owed you."

  Drawing strength from each other, we shared the comfort of closeness for a moment. When he spoke, he spoke haltingly as if searching for the words or stumbling over the emotion. "The past. You can never out run it."

  "Our past is part of who we are." That sounded profound, especially for me. When I had stepped into the deep end?

  I felt my father stiffen. "You need to let the Campos matter go." His voice held a plea of conviction.

  "Tell me about Eugenia Campos," I said, sidestepping.

  "I'm sure your mother brought you up to speed."

  "Yes, as far as she knew. But I have a feeling there's more to the story. Like what happened when, after eight years, she drops into your lap again?"

  My father sighed, buying for time. Finally he said, "She claimed the kid was mine. She wanted money, wanted him to share in 'my empire' as she called it." He chuckled. "It was far from that at that time, I can assure you."

  "If you don't have two nickels to rub together…" I stopped, suddenly defeated. I didn't want to know any of this. With knowledge came responsibility, and I wasn't ready to shoulder that burden.

  "Of course, I wanted proof," my father continued. "Even though DNA was pretty rudimentary, she agreed. I told her if the kid was mine, of course I would claim him."

  Now that sounded like the Big Boss I knew…and loved. Was sentiment affecting my discernment? Of course it was, but I am who I am. "And then?"

  "Nothing."

  "What do you mean 'nothing?'"

  "She didn't show for the test."

  I felt the stirrings of hope…and the hint of disbelief. "She vanished?"

  My father's eyes met mine and held steady. "Yeah."

  "So on the eve of getting what she wanted, assuming you were the father, she split?"

  "I'm not saying that. To be honest, I don't know what happened. I got my suspicions, but I wasn't going to push it. My problem had been solved. Besides, I was hip-deep in building the Lucky Aces. I had more than I could handle already."

  "I see. And the police?"

  His eyes flicked away from mine. "What about them?"

  "Did you ask them to bury the file?"

  "I might have." His hand reached out and covered mine. It felt cold.

  "I promised Campos I'd look into his mother's death."

  "He fooled you into it."

  Knowing they would be a dagger to his heart, I weighed my next words. "I need to know."

  He took a sharp breath as if absorbing a blow. I'd been right. The thought made me sad. "She's dead, Lucky."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just know."

  ***

  On complete overload, I needed time to myself. I'd left the Big Boss under the watchful eye of Mona, who'd been hovering around like a mother bird protecting a fledgling that had fallen from the nest.

  Separating from the crowd, no one noticed me leaving or, if they did, they were kind enough to understand. I rode the elevator down to the lobby as thoughts whizzed through my brain at hyper-speed, impossible to grab and hold. A wall of sound hit me as the doors opened at the bottom, shattering the cloud of discomforting musings like a bazooka shell exploding a barn. People filled every corner, excited chatter poking holes in my bad mood.

  The magic of Vegas. Folks from every corner of the universe gathering to have some fun, shrug off the burden of daily worries and responsibilities—recharging so they could handle the vicissitudes of life. As I pushed into the crowd, I breathed deeply, absorbing. A glimmer of hope bloomed deep inside.

  Was the Big Boss right? Did Albert Campos' manipulation excuse me from my promise to find the truth? What is it the lawyers called it? Fraud in the inducement? Lawyers, I shook my head. So clever, taking simple concepts and obscuring them with obtuse language. Now we all believed we couldn't survive without an attorney on retainer, thereby ensuring their survival.

  Survival. Interesting word.

  Unsure where I really wanted to go, I wandered through the crowd. Survival. The word hit my heart. The lengths we all go to ensure our own survival. What would I do? What had the Big Boss done? Was it my place to judge? Was it wise to dig up old skeletons?

  And who was I really worried about? The Big Boss? Or myself? I'd just found my father, was I ready to have him taken from me once again? Then again, did I want a murderer for a father?

  Lost, I wandered through the casino only half-aware of the games under way, the music filtering through, the siren call of the slots, the shouts of joy, the groans of disappointment. Glasses clinked, wheels spun—I felt safe, cocooned in the familiar. Leaving the noise behind, I ambled into the relative quiet of the Bazaar, spurred on by a primal need. Human contact. The comfort of a hug.

  As if hearing my silent plea, Jean-Charles met me halfway. Before I could say anything, he wrapped his arms around me pulling me tight to him. My arms pinned by my side, I let him hold me. Nuzzling into his neck, I breathed him in.

  "You are okay," he whispered against my hair. It wasn't a question. Instead, it sounded more like an answer to a prayer.

  My heart swelled as I nodded against his shoulder.

  "I am hearing these things about something bad on the roof. About you and your father." Still holding me, he leaned back to look at me. "A bomb?"

  "It's over now." I didn't want to explain. I couldn't find the words. I avoided the emotion.

  Somehow he understood. "Yes. It is over. And the angels brought you back to me." He dropped one arm, keeping the other one around my shoulders so we both faced in the direction
I'd been heading. He urged me forward. "Come. I will feed you, if you like. Or I have wine…or perhaps something stronger. A good Cognac to settle the nerves." He chuckled, a deep rumble that hit my core with warmth. "Your nerves and mine."

  A line snaked from the entrance to the Burger Palais, which we bypassed, making me feel guilty. Every table was full but, amazingly, a couple sitting at the bar had just paid their check, and they relinquished their stools to us. Jean-Charles made sure I was comfortable. Normally I didn't like anyone fussing over me, but tonight it made me feel good, chasing away the demons of the unknown. Stepping behind the bar, he put his hands on the counter and leaned toward me with a smile. "What'll it be?"

  I looked at all the bottles on the shelves behind him. Everything from sipping vodka—Tito's was my favorite—to Napoleon brandy, to the stuff in the Baccarat bottle that cost a king's ransom for a couple of sips—I didn't have the palate nor the ego to go there. After a moment of thought, I met his clear blue eyes that held undisguised emotion. Was this what love looked like? "You know, I'd really just like a super thick vanilla shake."

  He shot me a grin, then reached over and squeezed my hand as if he could see into my heart and understood. Then he stepped out from behind the bar and disappeared toward the kitchen.

  Staring at my reflection in the glass behind the bottles, I realized I didn't look half as bad as I felt. The shiner made a bit of a statement, but the rest of me looked somewhat normal, which didn't feel at all…normal. My life was still on tilt, but from the looks of me, it was hard to tell. I guessed that was a good thing.

  The conversation of the couple next to me captured my attention. "That song. My God, it's wonderful," the lady said as she bent to sip a pink drink through a straw.

  I listened to the tune playing in the background and my heart fell.

  "Lucky for Me, I think it's called," the lady continued. "I saw the guy on Good Morning America this morning. He wrote it for a lady who works here." She turned to her male companion who looked bored. "I wonder who she is? She could be sitting right here and I wouldn't know it."