My stomach roiled a bit as I watched him stuff a bit of fried mystery meat into his mouth, then slowly lick his stubby fingers. “Depends. He’s not my boyfriend, so I don’t have a lot of skin in this game. And there’re lots of guys like you lining up to write this paper.”
He dabbed at his mouth. “Let’s talk turkey.” He pulled out the chair next to him.
Ignoring his gesture, I remained standing. “You want to talk a million over … that?” I nodded to the pile of whatever-it-was, the grease soaking through a thick layer of paper towel underneath.
“Want some?” Eddie V asked, clearly immune to insult. “Your father did bigger business on the back of a napkin.”
He had a point. I pulled out a chair. Delicate sensibilities had no place at Eddie V’s table.
Squash honed in on Mrs. Morales, remaining outwardly unfazed. Ignoring Survival Rule Number One: never get between a wild animal and its food, he leaned over the bowl in front of her and breathed deep. I’d seen Mrs. Morales in action—she once hefted a guy who’d jumped bail and missed his hearing over her shoulder, tossed him into the bed of her pickup and drove him to the courthouse herself. Badass to the bone.
“Green chili. My favorite,” Squash said, a reverent tone sneaking into his suck-up. “You could put that stuff on shoe leather and I’d consider it a feast.” He gave Mrs. Morales a golly-gee-whizz kind of look.
I threw up a little in the back of my mouth. While I prided myself on having good game, I had my standards. So I remained on the sidelines, even though Eddy V was drooling. His lunch couldn’t have caused that, so it must’ve been the thought of a million-dollar bond. Stewing in his own juice for a bit would soften him up. Yep, never met a metaphor I didn’t enjoy torturing.
“You made that yourself, didn’t you?” Squash asked.
Mrs. Morales actually beamed as she nodded. “Do you want some?”
“Really?” Squash gushed. “I’d be honored.”
Wow, he must enjoy courting death, or Teddie was that important. The latter gave me a warm fuzzy, so I went with it.
“How about you?” Mrs. Morales leveled a glare at me.
“Love some.” Yes, Teddie was that important.
She put steaming bowls in front of us—apparently they used the microwave as a culinary autoclave. One bite and both Squash and I groaned. If this stuff killed me, I’d die happy. My stomach leapt to life, hunger on overdrive. The meager fare I’d scored recently insulted my stomach. It growled in protest, earning a smile from Mrs. Morales. I’d never seen her smile, and I knew better than to let it lull me into a false sense of complacency. I had a feeling I wasn’t the only female at the table playing games.
Eddy V waited until we’d all finished, Squash practically licking the bowl. “I’d take you guys into my office, but some guy blew chunks in there yesterday. The gal who cleans the carpets got picked up by Vice last night. I’d have her out already, but it’s her third. I tell her to work the high-class joints like yours,” he nodded to me, including me in this lovely conversation, “but she don’t feel right there. Been a Monday.”
“Doesn’t,” Mrs. Morales corrected.
“She’s trying to class me up,” Eddy frowned. “I need to attract a higher-class business. That way I don’t have so much of the cream going to the bounties.”
I nodded, as if classy was even remotely within Eddy V’s reach, but to me, high-class and bail bonds seemed like more of an oxymoron than he realized. “A reasonable plan.”
Eddy V rose, taking his greasy towel and my bowl to the sink. “Premium on your guy will run you twenty percent on top of the ten percent I need to write the paper.”
I leaned back in my chair. The games had begun. “Five percent premium. I’ll go with the ten down.” That was pretty standard for the insurance companies to write the bond, and I didn’t have time to fight a battle I wouldn’t win just to beat him up for my own amusement.
“Fifteen.” Eddy plopped back in his chair, a look of sincerity as fake as the tans that paraded through the Babylon. “I want to help your guy, you know I do.” Arms spread in a grand pleading gesture. “I want to help you.”
He was as transparent as a French negligée. I leaned close to him. “No, you want my money and to gouge an innocent man.”
He leaned back, tugging his threadbare jacket closed, a tight fit across his potbelly. “It’s business.”
A justification, but I let it slide. The Big Boss had tried that on me recently, and it had left the same bitter taste in my mouth. “I’ve got something you want.”
His face shut down. “What?”
“Not what, who.” And yes, right now I had no problem being the Grinch.
“What’s the largest bond you’ve written recently?” I asked, breaking the know-the-answer-before-you-ask-the-question rule, a calculated gamble.
“A million five.” At the mention of it, Eddy paled.
“Let me guess, Irv Gittings.” How I managed to keep the smug out of my voice, I don’t know. “And I’d be willing to bet his collateral was nothing more than a shell of empty corporations holding fictitious assets.” That was on the insurance company, but Eddy’d be out a chunk of change.
Eddy wilted.
“Who fronted the cash?”
“A young Asian girl showed up with it. Pretty, looking a bit scared.”
I didn’t see that coming. “Kimberly Cho?”
Mrs. Morales harrumphed.
I took that as a yes. “And now,” I pressed, “Irv’s jumped bail.”
Eddy looked like I was sticking pins under his fingernails. “I’m not sure.”
Mrs. Morales weighed in. “Cut the crap, Eddy. He’s missed his call-ins, one hearing, and nobody can find him.”
“I can.” Okay, that was a tiny bluff, a step out on a limb, but this was business and I had their attention. Squash’s, too, as he eyed me with a hint of a smile as he tucked into the second bowl of green chili Mrs. Morales had dished out for him.
“Here’s how it’s going to go. Eddy, you write the bond, pay the court the million. We’ll give you the deed to Teddie’s penthouse at the Presidio as collateral.” I got a slight nod from Squash.
“No, I want the deed to your place. Your guy would be less likely to run if he knew you would lose your home.”
“Forget it.” I guessed he hadn’t read the morning paper. Better for me. Besides, I wouldn’t invite him to dinner, much less risk having him move into my place. The Homeowner’s Association would have me shot at dawn. “Teddie’s place is worth more anyway.” I almost said, “Especially right now,” but stifled myself. If he didn’t know about the damage, all the better. “Do you want Irv Gittings or not?” That question I knew the answer to.
“What about the ten down and the premium?” Mrs. Morales asked, giving me her best glare, which was pretty darn good. Lesser men would turn tail and scurry back down their holes.
I stood my ground. Teddie was that important.
“Take it out of my bounty for delivering Irv Gittings.”
“Where’d you learn to negotiate like that?” Squash asked as we headed back to the car. He’d presented the deed, and Teddie should be out by nightfall.
“Life is negotiation, but I’m in the casino business … a woman in a man’s world.”
“Gotcha. My partner, she’s got some of the same stories, I bet.”
“Same song, different verse.”
His eyes met mine as he opened my door, holding it for me. “It doesn’t piss you off, playing the same game but with different rules?”
I pushed the start button and the engine growled, reverberating through me like a peak sexual experience. So easy to please. And so shallow, but I owned it. I looked up at him and gave him my best smile. “Never get mad, get even.”
That got a laugh, a big, bold, throaty laugh. “My motto exactly.” He smiled down at me.
Great. I thought we’d just bonded over a dish of cold revenge.
“Can you really deliver Irv Gi
ttings?”
“Done it before. This time it might be in a body bag.” I’d travel to the ends of the Earth to ensure Irv Gittings spent the rest of his life fighting off unwanted attention in the slammer.
Light dawned. “That was your place that got torched last night.” I didn’t need to confirm. “Wow, you’re lucky.”
“Seriously, that’s the best you can do?”
“Hey, I’m really sorry.”
“I know. And you have no idea how right you are.”
He shifted to lawyer mode. “So you think this is personal?”
“Couldn’t get any more personal,” I growled.
“Gittings?” he asked, following the breadcrumbs.
“He’s the top of a very short list of people who have me in their sights and have the ability to do something about it.”
“And Teddie got caught in the crossfire?” I nodded. “But why kill Holt Box?” he pressed.
“I’m working on that angle.”
“You prove it, Teddie walks.”
He didn’t have to tell me.
“Just remember, it’d be best if you leave the folks who did this alive.”
“No promises.” I pulled my door shut. “You getting in?”
“No, I’ll walk. Fresh air does me good. I’ve got more cases on the docket and some clients to see, and I’ve got to keep pushing on Teddie’s bond—the wheels of Justice grind slowly. I’m sure you’re ready to have him home.”
Home. A name with no place. As much as I loved turning phrases on their heads, that one didn’t give me any pleasure at all.
The magnitude of the loss nipped around the edges, but I pushed it away. Nothing would change that, other than a rifle, my finger on the trigger, and Irv Gittings doing something stupid. Although, what he’d done to me so far might justify homicide, it would be best to catch him dead-cold certain.
I watched him until he reached the corner. Looking back, he gave me a small wave, then rounded the building and was gone. I took my time heading to the Babylon, winding through the streets of old Vegas. Small clapboard houses, some behind bright white picket fences, showcasing new touches of proud owners: fresh paint, window boxes, new sod, and bushes decorating the postage-stamp yards.
The original Andre’s, a famous Vegas chef’s first eponymous restaurant, had started in one of these small houses in a mixed-use neighborhood. Idling at the curb, I stared at the little building, abandoned for the bright lights of the Strip and a primo spot atop the Monte Carlo. Forlorn, weathered, unloved, the small space still held magic. In my mind’s eye I restuccoed it, and fixed the roof tiles; trimmed the hedges and relit the trees with tiny bright lights. Closing my eyes, I could hear the trio tuning up, then launching into a Sinatra set. Andre greeting everyone at the door. The bartender fueling the merriment with heavy pours. The upholstered walls, the wood floors, the dim lighting that made every woman look fresh and young. Most of the big events of my life had been celebrated there. Andre had closed the location not too long ago, devastating many of us natives.
Teddie had taken me there. A special evening—he could be so thoughtful, so fun. His smile lit my heart; his touch lit a fire.
When had it changed? Maybe I’d grown up, grown into me. And Teddie still played at life, chasing one dream, only to be distracted by the next bright shiny object. Who knew?
A couple of kids eyed the car, and, not having time to indulge their interest and regale them with all the attributes of fine Italian iron, I checked the rearview, then punched the accelerator, getting grins as I flashed past them.
I checked in with Jeremy. Flash had answered. She was pulling stakeout duty while Jeremy went home to lick his wounds and get some shut-eye.
And still no Irv Gittings.
The dealership had been relieved to get their car back. At some point, I thought perhaps I should either buy one or adopt a Porsche mechanic, but I’d been unwilling to pull the trigger on either. Life was in flux.
I needed to call Warden Jeffers and get out to Indian Springs. Too bad cloning or teleporting had not been perfected yet.
Today, I stepped into the service area and took the non-public route to my office. Staff, hurrying on their duties, giggled and chatted as they passed each other or occasionally shared a stretch of hallway together. I loved this part of the hotel, too.
I loved making people happy. Sometimes that led me to put myself last, which didn’t always lead to good decisions. But recognizing the problem is the first step to solving it, right?
Miss P waited for me in the office, pretending to work, the look on her face telegraphing her heart was elsewhere. Calm and collected on the outside, she presented a perfectly polished corporate executive exterior. Makeup in place, hair short and spiky, her curvy body displayed beautifully in a just-tight-enough form-fitting royal blue stretch dress, she looked the part, except for the red-ringed eyes and the tremor in her smile. Brandy was off making the rounds, I assumed. “Any fires to put out?”
She pulled her shoulders back and jutted out her chin, doing battle with a bad mood. “Not really. Brandy’s got a handle on the holiday party for the whales. You’re going to meet with her later?” Just like old times, she eyed me over the top of her cheaters. I really should hire my own assistant—Miss P was the Head now … the me I used to be. But we all seemed to be clutching at the status quo right now. Normalcy, a rope as the quicksand threatened to suck us under.
“Yep, she’s going to text me.” The whales and their baubles seemed so far removed from important right now. Of course, they were the wax on the gaming skids, and, as such, needed to be coddled. I just wasn’t in the mood.
“The media are leaving us alone for the moment.” She lost some of her stuffing.
“What?”
“I have a wedding to plan. Poor Delphinia is beside herself.” Delphinia planned all the weddings at the Babylon’s Temple of Love, and she’d agreed to help with Miss P’s even though Cielo would be hosting the festivities. “There are still more decisions to make, colors, flavors.” The normally efficient Miss P wound down, looking totally overwhelmed.
“And the groom?” I pretended to be interested in a pile of messages in my in-box.
Miss P knew I’d rather pet a rattlesnake than flip through missives from people who all wanted something. She slapped my hand. “Working on that. Finding out I’m still married is a bit of a complication.”
“Yes, well, let’s talk about that. But not here. Come with me.” I turned the tables, catching her hand, then easing her from behind her desk. “We both need a little dose of reality.”
She resisted. “Reality? Where’s the fun in that?”
“Having two hot guys, both incredibly accomplished and in love with you? Your reality looks pretty damn good from where I’m sitting. Don’t let a little blast from the past tie you in knots.”
She shot me a look. “You think so?”
Clearly, her look was meant to remind me of Teddie and Jean-Charles. “Take your shot. You know I can be relentless, so you might as well humor me.”
She grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair. Shrugging into it, she followed me out the door. “It’s not the past that’s giving me so much trouble,” she said, as she matched my stride toward the elevator. “It’s the future.”
Holiday cheer echoed through the lobby, the crowd in full family and fun mode. The Vegas vibe shifted at the holidays in a subtle way. The whole naughty thing moved toward nice. Hooking my arm through Miss P’s, I drank in the joy. We’d made it across the lobby before I hazarded a look at her. The sadness I’d seen in her face had faded a bit.
“It’s going to be okay.” I squeezed her arm, pulling her close.
“I know. Somehow.”
We let the crowd carry us into the Bazaar, the great Hall of Conspicuous Consumption, which jibed perfectly … this being Christmas and all, when present buying reached unparalleled heights. Not in any hurry, and with no real plan or destination, we wandered, indulging in window-sho
pping and other lollygagging that would never be part of a normal business day. But these days were anything but normal, and sometimes just slowing down helped put the train back on the track.
“What are you going to do about your place?” she asked as we perused art neither of us could afford in one of the two high-end original art galleries.
“I don’t know what’s left. Romeo said maybe later today I could get back inside and get a few things. But, if my supposition is true, the explosion occurred in the bathroom and was rigged to blow out, taking not only the bathroom but also my bedroom with it.” I shrugged, thinking about what all that was. Jewelry from the Big Boss, my collection of vintage designer clothes—which had taken all of my adult life to pull together. My shoes. That was a punch to the gut. I had some great shoes, also collected through the years. Limited styles, commemorative pairs, irreplaceable. The Manolos Teddie stretched out. The Chanel he wore better than I did. All of that hurt my heart but, in the grand scheme, not too important. I could’ve lost so much more. “You think life is trying to tell me something?”
“Let go?” Miss P gave voice to what I knew in my gut.
It was time to move on.
“Enough about my problems. Let’s start tackling your pile.” I steered her deeper into the Bazaar. “I know just the place.”
The Daiquiri Den was a small thatched-roof stall off to the side in the Bazaar across from the Temple of Love. We both took stools and plenty of time to make our decisions. With yards of daiquiri in hand—mine strawberry, peach for Miss P—we turned our backs to the counter so we could fully appreciate the flow of holiday cheer ambling by. Neither of us spoke until we’d each made it a foot into our drinks.
“I believe we left the story in Africa?” I prompted, feeling a rum glow.
“Yes. Kenya.” Miss P took a long pull on her drink. “We were just kids. Me straight off the farm. Cody a bit more worldly … from Mason City and three years older than my twenty-one. Cody wanted to be a doctor and was getting some practical experience before committing fully to medical school. I was getting off the farm. With my basic knowledge, I could stitch up cuts and all of that, so I handled nursing duties.”
Lucky Break Page 19
