by AR Winters
“Stationery. Anyway, the wife wants us to tail him all day. He lands in Vegas at seven a.m. and then he’s meant to be in a meeting at his hotel.”
“Where’s he staying?”
“Hilton near McCarran.”
The Doubletree Hilton near McCarran was your typical airport hotel – lots of rooms, a generic lobby, and hotel staff who looked like they’d rather be at the beach. You could airlift it and place it next to any airport in the world, and it would fit right in – unlike the flashy Strip resorts. The hotel had a large carpark in front, which meant I would have no trouble parking my car and waiting in it. The job seemed easy enough, and I said so to Stone.
“Should be. Zac’d do it, but he’s busy with another project during the day.”
“Right.”
I never asked what projects Stone and his employees worked on. Stone runs a “security services” company, and though he claims to be an ex-CIA operative, I think he was actually a government-hired hitman.
“Zac’ll tail him from McCarran to the Hilton, and he’s all yours after that. Call if you need backup. For all we know, he might just stay at the hotel and never step out.”
“But it’s unlikely. Who comes to Vegas without going to the Strip?”
Stone grunted non-commitally.
I tried to think of anything else to ask. “Any particular reason we’re tailing him? An ex who lives in Vegas?”
Stone’s face was impassive. “I didn’t ask the wife.”
“Ok.”
“His flight leaves Vegas at seven the next morning. Zac’ll be waiting at the airport from four – call if he leaves any sooner. Just make sure he doesn’t see you.”
I nodded and couldn’t think of much else to ask about Michael Schuman. A few minutes later, Stone went on his way, and I went to bed.
I spent most of the next morning sleeping off my last couple of shifts and was woken up by a loud knocking. My bedroom clock and my stomach both told me it was after lunch-time, so I dragged myself over to the door, half-expecting to see Ian and Snowflake. It turned out to be my mom and Nanna.
“Surprise!” said Nanna. “We brought you lunch.”
Her words were music to my ears. I gave her a quick hug, and my mom stepped inside and placed a casserole dish and a small Tupperware box on my tiny kitchen counter.
Nanna was wearing a bright blue tracksuit and matching blue sneakers, her “shopping” outfit. Time had shrunk Nanna till she was a good six inches shorter than me, but her orthodontic soles and artfully fluffed-up thinning white hair gave her a couple inches’ boost, and enough confidence to act like a teenager. My mother was wearing a floral dress and sensible shoes, her dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. While Nanna wore clever taupe eyeshadow and mauve lipstick, my mother looked like she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. I guessed they were on the way to the outlets – all the better for Nanna to spend last night’s poker winnings.
“It smells great!” I said. “Thank you.”
“Hmm.” My mom looked around my apartment critically. “I wish you’d learn to cook, but till then…it’s vegetable lasagna. And there’s some dessert in the box.”
I opened the box immediately. There were two cupcakes inside. White frosting on dark chocolatey goodness. I could taste the deliciousness already.
“You can give the dishes back tomorrow,” Nanna said. “You’re coming for dinner, aren’t you?”
“Um.” I frowned and tried to think back to when Michael was leaving Vegas. “I’m not sure. I might be doing some PI work.”
“Isn’t that nice!” Nanna said. “What is it?”
“Surveillance,” I said vaguely.
“Your place is a mess,” my mom announced. “No wonder you never invite us over.”
There was another knock on the door, and I looked at Nanna.
“We ran into Ian on the way up,” she told me. “He said he’d come over.”
I nodded and let her answer the door, while I headed to the bathroom to freshen up and change. When I came out, Ian was sitting on the living room floor playing with Snowflake, and my mom and Nanna were making clucking “How cute!” noises. Ian had a cat toy in his hand – an ugly rubbery mouse on a string that he was dangling above Snowflake’s nose and moving out of harm’s way when her paw got too close. Every few seconds, she meowed and looked around, probably hoping to see a better-looking toy.
“Hey,” said Ian when he saw me. “How’s your day off going?”
“Good start.” I smiled at my mom and Nanna. I couldn’t wait to eat.
“Your mom brought over all this food,” Ian said. “But I already had lunch.”
“How tragic,” I said, not feeling an ounce of sympathy.
“Yeah.” Ian continued to dangle the rubber mouse in front of Snowflake. “So I ate those two cupcakes instead.”
A red haze appeared before my eyes. I needed to breathe. I needed to count backwards from ten. I would kill Ian for this. Not while Mom and Nanna were there. But once they left… Should I smother him or use a knife?
My mom and Nanna burst out laughing. I looked over at them in surprise, and then at the open Tupperware box. The cupcakes were still in there. Safe and sound.
“I told them you’d blow a fuse,” Ian said.
“You should learn to share,” my mom said.
My blood pressure dropped back to normal. “I’m good at sharing. Just not cupcakes. Ian knows that.”
Nanna shook her head, and my mom said, “Marriage is all about sharing. Don’t you want to ever get married?”
“We’re not in the fifties anymore.”
“No, but…most men still like women who can cook.”
“And bake,” Ian added. “Why can’t you bake your own cupcakes? I could taste-test for you.”
I served myself some of the casserole and set the microwave to reheat. “I’m going to marry a man who can bake.”
Ian said, “Like Glenn?”
Glenn lived downstairs and baked amazing cupcakes, but he was in his eighties. More importantly, he already had a girlfriend.
“Sure,” I said.
“How’s it going with Jack?” Mom asked.
“Great.”
“Then why haven’t we met him yet?”
“Because he’s always travelling.” And because I wasn’t sure he should meet my parents yet; I still wasn’t sure if this was a real relationship or not. I liked him a lot, but he was a successful businessman who used to only date models and wannabe socialites, and I always thought he was a little out of my league. Recently, he’d been travelling a lot more, so I only saw him a few times each month: not quite the stuff amazing relationships are made of.
Before we could get into too many uncomfortable details about my love life, there was another knock on the door.
I looked at my mother, wondering if she’d invited someone else along. She looked just as surprised as everyone else in the room, so I called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” said a warbly voice. “Mrs. Weebly.”
“Oh, shoot!” Ian was on his feet instantly, scooping up Snowflake with one hand. “Now what?”
“In the bedroom,” I hissed, half-pushing him in and closing the door afterwards.
As soon as Ian and Snowflake were safely hidden, I opened the front door and smiled a big, fake smile. Years of working at the casino had helped me perfect my technique. “Hello, Mrs. Weebly. How are you?”
Mrs. Weebly was about the same age as Nanna, but a bit wider and a bit taller. And a lot less nice. “I heard a cat,” she said. “I’m here to look for it.”
Snowflake was about as loud as an ant; there was no way Mrs. Weebly could’ve heard her. The woman must have some kind of special cat radar.
Rumor was, a few decades ago, Mrs. Weebly used to be an assistant to a big-shot executive, and her job consisted of keeping folks from barging into his office. Clearly, she’d picked up some good “barging into places” skills herself, because she seemed to walk into my a
partment through sheer force of personality.
“This is my mom and nanna,” I said feebly. “There’s no cat in here.”
“Nor should there be,” Mrs. Weebly said, glaring around my living room and clearly finding it lacking. “Pets are banned in this apartment. They bring property values down.”
Never mind that the building’s property values were already down thanks to absentee owners, a lack of funding for proper security, and a year-old scandal involving a prostitute, some cocaine, and a Porsche crashing through a gate.
As if on cue, Snowflake meowed loudly from the bedroom.
Mrs. Weebly looked up. “What was that?”
I glanced nervously at the bedroom door. “My alarm clock. It’s always going off and sometimes the radio starts playing for no good reason.”
Ian must’ve heard me and switched on his phone’s music streaming app. Loud music immediately streamed out from my bedroom, drowning out any impossibly loud kitten noises.
Mrs. Weebly said, “I know what I heard, and I know you’re keeping a cat in there.”
She began to walk towards the bedroom, but I rushed forwards and blocked the door. “Please don’t go in there, it’s such a mess.”
“It is a mess,” agreed Nanna. “Trust us, there’s no cat here. And Tiff keeps all kinds of things in her room that you don’t want to see.” She winked broadly, implying that I was some kind of sexual deviant.
My mother blushed a deep maroon, and Mrs. Weebly stammered and looked at the floor awkwardly.
I gave Nanna a pointed look, sure that she could’ve thought up a better excuse. For the record, I’m not a sexual deviant. There’s nothing particularly sexy in my bedroom, not least because I haven’t had a man in there for a while.
“Maybe it wasn’t a meow,” Mrs. Weebly said finally, clearly unable to believe that someone as white-haired as Nanna could be such a blatant liar. She turned and was about to leave when she spotted the cat toy lying on the floor. In his rush to hide Snowflake, Ian had forgotten about the rubber mouse.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Weebly said, glaring at me. “Why do you have cat toys?”
“It’s not a cat toy.”
“Then what is it?” Mrs. Weebly said.
I searched the recesses of my mind, trying to find a good excuse for having a rubber mouse in my apartment.
“It’s a sex toy,” Nanna said.
Mrs. Weebly inhaled sharply and turned to look at Nanna.
“It’s not a sex toy,” I said, annoyed at the accusation. Even if it was, what kind of people would leave sex toys lying around in the middle of their living room floor? Well, maybe people whose lives were much more interesting than mine.
“Then what is it?” Mrs. Weebly said.
A moment of silence prevailed, and then Nanna said, “Oh, come on, dear. We’re all ladies in here. You don’t have to be so shy.”
Mrs. Weebly looked at me suspiciously, and then back at the toy. “It doesn’t look like… It looks like a cat toy.”
“Things are modern, these days,” Nanna said. “Young people. They’re so creative.”
I could feel myself turning red and trying to think of alternative explanations. Nothing came to mind.
“Well,” Mrs. Weebly said. “I suppose that’s better than keeping a cat in secret.”
Perhaps it was. After all, neighbors having active sex lives wouldn’t bring down property values.
Mrs. Weebly left, not a moment too soon, and I knocked on the bedroom door to let Ian know that he could come out.
“You’ve got to get rid of Snowflake,” I told him. “Mrs. Weebly could get us kicked out of the building, and where else would we live? This is the only place so close to the Strip that’s cheap.”
Ian looked at Snowflake sadly. Now that she had unfettered access to the rubber mouse she had lost all interest in it and was busy licking her tiny tail.
“I’ve put an ad on Craigslist,” he said. “And put out an ad in the Vegas Sun. I can’t just hand her over to a cat rescue – they kill their cats after six months!”
I looked at my mom.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Mr. Gingers won’t let another cat stay with us.”
She was right. My parents’ old ginger cat could be super territorial and aggressive, and poor Snowflake would be miserable.
“I’ll ask around,” Nanna said. “But most of us old geezers live with kids or grandkids who don’t like cats or already have too many.”
“Maybe having a kitten will be good for you,” my mom said. “Maybe it’ll teach you some maternal instincts.”
“Maybe it’ll make me look like a crazy cat lady,” I said. “And drive away all the eligible bachelors.”
Nanna said, “If you’re not going to learn to cook or bake to get yourself a man, maybe you should make that fib we told Mrs. Weebly come true. Maybe you should invest in some good sex toys.”
“You do know that good sex toys are just another reason for not needing a man, right?”
My mom rolled her eyes, exasperated with the turn our conversation had taken. “Introduce us to Jack soon. And Ian, good luck finding Snowflake’s owner.”
Chapter Four
Jack and I had planned to meet for coffee that afternoon, so a little before four, I drove ten minutes from the Strip and found myself in a quiet café with wooden furniture and few other customers. I turned up early, but Jack had arrived earlier than me, looking slightly disheveled in a wrinkled white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. A smattering of stubble covered his square jaw, and his green eyes were ringed by dark circles.
He smiled when he saw me walk in, and I felt the same rush as when I’d first seen him.
“You look tired,” I said. I pulled out a chair opposite him and leaned forward for a quick kiss. His lips were warm on mine, and for a moment I forgot about Stone and Snowflake and everything else in my life.
When we pulled apart, Jack said, “It’s been exhausting. But it’s good to see you again.”
I smiled and held his hand across the tiny café table. “It feels like such a long time.”
I counted back. I’d seen him a week ago, for breakfast after my shift, and a fortnight before that for an early dinner prior to my shift; it had been almost a month since we’d last managed to coincide schedules and spend a whole day together.
“I’m glad we’ve got some time now,” Jack said.
I took a deep breath and was about to tell Jack about my change of plans, but before I could say anything, the waitress came by to take our orders – two coffees and a slice of chocolate mud cake for me.
When she left, Jack said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Why the face?”
“I, um, have to work tomorrow.”
I shrugged apologetically, and Jack looked at me, unable to hide his disappointment. “Really?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Can you maybe switch the shift around?”
“No. Actually, it’s a PI gig.”
Jack smiled. “That’s great! You’ve been trying to get more PI work! Who’s the client?”
“Um.” Jack’s supportiveness was making me feel guilty, even though I’d done nothing wrong. “Stone?”
The smile slipped from Jack’s face. Stone isn’t his favorite person in the world: Jack thinks Stone’s a bit too shady and that he’s mixed up in strange business dealings and unsavory clients.
“You’re working for Stone now?”
“Just this one gig. He’s got too many projects, and I’m stepping in as a favor.”
“Just for one day?”
“Just one day.”
Jack sighed tragically. “Well, at least he doesn’t have you running drugs.”
“He doesn’t—!” I realized he was half-joking, and smiled. “Stone’s not as bad as you think he is.”
“Yeah, but next thing you know, he’s hiring you full-time and you two’re spending all day together.”
“That’s not g
oing to happen.” Stone had already offered me a full-time place at his company, which I’d said no to. I don’t believe in working for friends – not full-time, anyway. But Jack didn’t need to know that; I didn’t want to fight with him on the one day I got to see him.
The waitress reappeared with our order, and Jack took a sip of his coffee. “That guy seems…strange.”
“He’s a friend, and he’s a good person.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s after more than just your friendship.” I shook my head no, but Jack went on. “He’s always over at your parents’ house, having family dinners, and taking you out to practice at the gun range.”
“He’s never made a pass at me, and he’s not interested in women.”
Jack looked at me in disbelief. “You think he’s gay?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s got girl issues. Once, I asked him why he didn’t have a girlfriend, and he told me something strange about getting anyone he loves into trouble. He said he can’t have a relationship.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Besides, I’ve known Stone for a while now. There’s nothing between us.” Also a bit of a white lie; every once in a while, I did feel like Stone and I had a strange chemistry. But nothing would ever happen: Stone knew I was with Jack, and other than a few derogatory comments about my boyfriend, he’d never suggested that I leave Jack. And he had, in fact, told me that he was incapable of having a girlfriend. I said, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Jack smiled. “You’re right, you’re right. But it does suck that we won’t be together – again.”
My mud cake had already half-disappeared, and I took another bite, savoring the rich, dark flavor. I offered a bite to Jack before it was all gone, but he shook his head. Yet another reason I was glad to be dating him: I needed a man who understood that my dessert was not for sharing. “How about tonight?” I said. “I’m free till tomorrow morning.”
“That’s the thing. I’ve got an emergency in Beijing and I need to fly out tonight – but I was hoping you could fly with me. My plane could’ve dropped you back home tomorrow evening.”
That was it: the whole reason Jack and I would never last. I wasn’t a fly-to-Beijing-at-the-last-moment kinda girl. Before I’d met Jack, I’d never even been beyond Mexico. I wasn’t used to his lifestyle – the fake blondes who air-kissed when they met, and the stuffy restaurants where the wait staff looked at me like I wasn’t good enough to wash the dishes in their kitchen, let alone sit across from one of Vegas’ most successful businessmen.
