Vegas Moon dc-7

by John Locke

  “What?” Lucky says.

  “I’m starving.”

  To me he says, “Can you go through the drive-through, get her some fries or something?”

  I give him a look.

  “Please, Mr. Creed?” Gwen says. “I love french fries.”

  I look at her in the mirror. She licks her lips in a way that indicates far more than her love of french fries.

  To Lucky I say, “You want anything?”

  “Diet coke.”

  “And a shake,” Gwen says. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Uh huh.” Long as I’m a waiter, might as well go all in. “Anything else, Mr. Peters?”

  “No,” Lucky says, “just the drink. And get yourself something. I’m buying.”

  Something in his tone. Disrespect? Or maybe I just don’t like the man. I think about how he made his housekeeper, Tina, work tonight, and feel a twitch, the kind I get when bad things start to go down.

  Lucky’s staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on something outside the car. Probably calculating the odds on what color car might turn into the lot next. His hands are in his lap, and all I can think of is how careless he is to offer me complete access to two unguarded targets. I’m three feet away. I could kill him two different ways with a single strike. He’s left me not only the temple, but the jugular as well. Temple or jugular. Temple or…”

  “Mr. Creed?” Gwen says. “Fries?”

  I glance in the mirror.

  She does that tongue thing again, and now I’m thinking fries.

  That’s me, in the white rental car. Donovan Creed, deadliest man on earth. Ordering fries, a Diet Coke, and a shake at the Wendy’s drive through. Telling the guy, “I’m only going through this line once, son. Don’t fuck up my order.” Him saying, “Relax, Pops. I’m on it.”

  Pops?

  22.

  I drive past Phyllis’s house, turn the corner, and park the car. I tell them to wait two minutes, then circle the block, and drive the car right into the garage.

  “You can break in that fast?” Gwen asks.

  “Faster. But I want to check the house before you guys enter, to make sure it’s safe.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Lucky says.

  “Connor Payne.”

  “Good point.”

  I have zero interest in searching Phyllis’s house for the second time in thirty hours. Gwen doesn’t want to be here either. She’s tired and bored, and it wouldn’t take much to set her off. Lucky’s a different beast. He claims to be exhausted, but gamblers have legendary stamina. They can sit at a poker table for three, four days at a time and never lose the ability to concentrate. In other words, fatigue is not going to make him quit. On the bright side, he’s losing faith in the device, because even if he finds it, he won’t be able to use it without the wrist unit.

  I’m not the type of guy to purposely create friction in a marriage unless I’m trying to kill the husband or bang the wife. And even though I’d love to bang Gwen, it doesn’t appear I need to do much more than show up with a bag of fries to make that happen. But since I’m ready to call it a day, I decide to manipulate them into a major argument.

  I break into Phyllis’s house quickly, and make my way to her bedroom. From my jacket pocket I retrieve the gift-wrapped box, the one that contains Lucky’s cufflinks and a condom, and the note that says, “Your turn to get lucky!” I place the box on top of the night stand next to her bed. As I head down the hall I can practically hear the time bomb ticking. Then I go to the garage and press the button to open the door.

  23.

  It’s a long ride back to Lucky’s house. The two are barely speaking to each other.

  When they entered Phyllis’s house a few minutes ago, I arranged it so Lucky and I would start searching Phyllis’s office, and Gwen could check the bedroom. It took about ten seconds for her to notice the gift, and she brought it to us immediately.

  “Should I open it?” she said.

  I asked Lucky, “Does it look about the right size?”

  He nodded.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  She did.

  She didn’t get mad.

  She exploded with fury.

  “You motherfucker!” she yelled. Then threw the box at him and stormed out of the house and sat in the car.

  “She’ll warm up by the time we get home,” he said.

  “You think?”

  We gave up the search and went to the car. Lucky apologized to Gwen for what she’d seen, but claimed the gift didn’t prove they’d ever had sex. According to him it meant she wanted to have sex with him. Gwen clung to a more literal translation.

  “The note said, ‘Your turn to get lucky.’”

  “So?”

  “It didn’t say, ‘Do you want to get lucky?’”

  “I don’t get your point,” Lucky said.

  “The point is, go fuck yourself.”

  Twenty minutes later I’m pulling into their driveway. The gate goons wave us through, and I park in the same place I parked earlier in the day. Gwen gets out of the car first and stomps toward the front door, while fishing her keys out of her purse. Lucky’s rushing to catch up. I get his bags out of the trunk and follow them inside. Gwen starts making a bee line to their bedroom. Lucky notices me and says, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Gwen stops abruptly and turns around.

  “I was planning to check the house.”

  “And then?”

  “Stay in the room Tina set up for me.”

  “No way.”

  Gwen and I exchange a glance. She says, “You hired him to protect us, asshole.”

  “He can protect us from outside.”

  “What’s the problem?” I say.

  “You want to know the problem?”

  I shrug. “It’s why I asked the question.”

  “The problem is, forty-five minutes ago you threatened to kill me. And now you think I’m going to let you sleep in my home?”

  “If you don’t need me here, pay me what you owe and I’ll head back to L.A.”

  “You signed on for a week. For the next seven nights, you can sleep in your car.”

  “Pay me now and I will.”

  “I don’t keep that much cash at the house. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”

  “Then tomorrow night I’ll sleep in the car.”

  He starts to say something, then sees Gwen moving quickly toward the bedroom. He runs to catch up. She gets there first and tries to slam the door. Lucky wedges his foot in the threshold just in time to keep from getting locked out, but the blow to his foot makes him cry out in pain.

  There’s a lot of yelling between them and I catch myself chuckling at some of the combinations of curse words Gwen strings together. I know she doesn’t want me to see her act this way, but she can’t help herself. And Lucky isn’t helping his cause by yelling back.

  “I hate to interrupt,” I say. “But I should check out that wing of the house.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Lucky says. “I don’t want you in the command center.”

  “You can check out the bedroom and closet,” Gwen says.

  As I enter the bedroom, Lucky rushes over to the door that leads to his command center and blocks it.

  “I don’t care what you do in there,” I say. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

  “If Connor Payne has been in there, I may as well be dead anyway. He can do what he wants to me.”

  “I hope he does,” Gwen says. “I can’t believe you did that to me. Turned my name into a scam.”

  “What name?” I say.

  “Vegas Moon,” Gwen says.

  “You came up with it?”

  She starts to answer, but Lucky says, “Shut up, Gwen.”

  And she does.

  The bedroom is large, but there’s no place for anyone to hide except behind the curtains or under the bed. I check the curtains first. Then, feeling like an idiot, I get on my hands and knees and check under the bed
, thinking it would serve me right if Connor Payne was under there. I check the windows, and the door that leads to the patio.

  “Everything’s fine,” I say.

  “Please check the closet,” Gwen says.

  “Oh yes, please do!” Lucky says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Their closet is enormous. At least six hundred square feet.

  I walk through it as slowly as possible, trying to decide where Gwen might have hid the device. We’re talking about a white piece of ceramic that’s smaller than a dime. I notice twelve custom drawers on her side, six on his. There are numerous rows of shoes and boots and several racks of clothes. Lou Kelly told me Lucky and Gwen got married five months ago after a very brief courtship. That being the case, I’m amazed how many clothes she’s managed to accumulate this quickly. I move my hands through her dresses, pretending to check that no one’s hiding behind them.

  As I exit the closet, Lucky says, “Don’t stay up late. We’ve got a breakfast meeting at eight.”

  “I’m not going,” Gwen says.

  Lucky says, “You might wish you had, if Connor Payne shows up.”

  “He can’t be much worse than you,” she says.

  Lucky looks at me. “It’s such a joy to be home,” he says. “You can’t imagine.”

  Gwen looks at him and says, “If your ass still hurts, I’ll be glad to pound some ice up your rectum.”

  24.

  Gwen decides to go with us to breakfast after all, which tells me Lucky convinced her how badly they need the cash. Lucky’s mark is Hampton Hill, who insists on meeting us at Hometown Hearth. When he orders ham and hash Gwen and I exchange a look.

  “Everything is double H’s with this guy,” Lucky says, by way of explanation. Then, filling his voice with warmth, he adds, “While I’ve only known Hampton a short time, he’s already one of my dearest friends. He says the Double H has always brought him luck.”

  “H’s are like undertakers,” Hampton says.

  “How’s that?” I say.

  “They’re the last ones to let you down.”

  Gwen, bless her heart, pretends to giggle, which brings a broad smile to Hampton’s face.

  “You’re so cute!” she squeals. “I can see why Lucky adores you so!”

  “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing!” he says.

  “Why, thank you Hampton!”

  He looks at Lucky and says, “Fifty the waitress is married.”

  Lucky says, “No way. You eat here all the time.”

  “Then you pick the bet.”

  Lucky says, “Fifty her youngest kid was born after June 30th.”

  “Bullshit bet. There’s three less days in the first half of the year.”

  This goes back and forth until they finally agree on a bet. Hampton calls the waitress over. She says, “Your food’s not ready yet, hon.”

  Lucky says, “Think of a number between one and a hundred.”

  She smiles. “You boys bettin’?”

  “We might be.”

  “Seventy-three,” she says.

  Hampton claps his hands. “Pay up!”

  Lucky frowns. “How’d you come up with that number?”

  “Just entered my brain,” she says. Then winks at Hampton.

  “Son of a bitch,” Lucky says, forking over the cash. “How many things does she have to remember for you?”

  “’Bout a hundred.”

  Gwen smiles and says, “That’s smart planning.”

  Hampton gives her a long look, licks his lips and says, “I bet kissin’ you is like lickin’ sugar off a baby’s arm.”

  Gwen looks gobsmacked, but recovers quickly. She winks at him and says, “I wonder if you’ll ever get the chance to find out about my kisses.”

  “I’d pay good money to find out right now!” he says, grinning like Death eating a cracker.

  Hampton has wretched teeth and long, stringy hair and reminds me of the pervert we used to see sniffing bicycle seats at our junior high school.

  I notice Lucky’s content to sit back and let Gwen charm the mark.

  “What do you do for a living, Hampton?” Gwen asks.

  “I own a research company. We do product testin’.”

  “That sounds fascinating! What are you working on right now?”

  “You ever see those moist tissue wipes in the toilet paper aisle?”

  Gwen says, “We use those! Don’t we, Lucky?”

  “We do for a fact.”

  “Did you test those?”

  Hampton says, “Depends on the brand you’re usin’. We tested Beau Fresh. Thanks to my company, Beau Fresh can advertise ‘Thirty-eight percent cleaner than regular toilet paper.’”

  Gwen says, “Someone actually tests that sort of thing?”

  “It’s very scientific,” Hampton says. Then he looks around the room and lowers his voice. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret, if you promise not to tell.”

  Gwen doesn’t know what to say, so she just sits there with a fake smile frozen on her face.

  Hampton says, “They paid me to test a hundred samples from a hundred people over a thirty-day period. But me and four employees did all the shittin’ in one day! You got any idea how much profit that is?”

  Gwen’s reeling. She needs a lifeline. Lucky throws her one.

  “Hampton’s a helluva businessman, isn’t he!”

  “It’s a truly remarkable story,” Gwen agrees.

  Lucky and Gwen work well together. By nine a.m., Hampton’s trying to talk Lucky into giving him a hundred-thousand dollar share for eighty-eight grand.

  “H is the eighth letter of the alphabet,” Hampton says. “Eighty-eight thousand would be a double H.”

  Lucky’s ready for him. “If you write out a check for $88,000.00, that’s only seven digits. $100,000.00 is eight digits.”

  Hampton counts it out and frowns.

  “You can do it,” Gwen urges.

  He looks at her. “I’ll kick in the extra twelve if you let me squeeze them titties one time.”

  Gwen looks at Lucky with trepidation.

  Lucky pauses a moment, then says…“Be gentle.”

  The effect those two words have on Gwen is almost more than I can bear. The spark of magic I’d seen in her eyes quickly drains away, along with whatever youthful innocence she may have clung to before he uttered them. In the space of two words, Lucky Peters killed something inside his wife, something I believe was special and sacred. I hate him for doing it, and for making me watch.

  Hampton writes the check and hands it to Lucky. Then starts reaching his hands toward Gwen’s boobs. She closes her eyes, bites the corner of her lower lip, trying not to cringe.

  But Hampton doesn’t get titty at this time.

  In fact, he’s already forgotten about Gwen’s boobs because I’ve got him by the throat. I lift him from his chair and drag him out the door and shove him into my car. He’s trying to talk, but nothing comes out until I release my grip on his windpipe. But now all that’s coming out is a raspy sound. While he’s trying to speak, I remove his wallet and read his address out loud, memorizing it. I glance in the window of the restaurant and see Lucky and Gwen trying to calm down the cashier. I watch a minute, to make sure she’s not calling the cops. Then say, “Do you have a wooden banister at home?”

  “Wh-what?”

  “A wooden banister. A railing.”

  “Y-yes. On the st-steps.”

  “Hampton, look at me.” When he does, I say, “Do yourself a favor, okay?”

  He nods.

  “Cooperate.”

  “I w-will.”

  “I know you’re going to feel a lot braver after I let you go. I won’t seem so scary an hour from now, and it’s human nature for you to want to lash out at someone. You’ll probably go to the cops.”

  “N-no. N-never.”

  I take a rag from the glove compartment and tie it around his head to make a blindfold.

  “If you do decide to call the
cops, I’ll hunt you down and nail your nuts to the banister. Wait. You probably don’t believe me.”

  “I d-do.”

  “No you don’t. Because people say things like that all the time, but they don’t mean them. The funny thing is, you’re going to assume I’m like everyone else. And when I leave you standing on tiptoes with your hands tied behind your back and your nuts nailed to the banister you’re going to think about how you should’ve believed me. Within minutes your knees are going to start shaking. When you try to stand flat-footed, you’ll find the only way to accomplish that is to tear your ball sack. You’ll put it off as long as possible, which in my experience is two hours, max. Eventually you’ll do what they all do.”

  “Wh-what?”

  I decide not to tell him. Letting him imagine the worst is more terrifying.

  Lucky and Gwen come out of the restaurant. Lucky’s furious. He marches up to the driver’s window, starts banging on it, demanding me to open up. Gwen passes in front of the car, staring directly at me, mouthing the words, Thank you!

  It might be wishful thinking, but I think I see the spark returning to her eyes. I give her a wink, then roll the window down an inch and say, “Back up, Lucky. I’m getting out.”

  To Hampton I say, “Sit tight.”

  “Can I take off my blindfold?” he whines.

  “No.”

  I turn the radio on so he won’t hear the quick conversation I have with Lucky and Gwen. Then I climb back in the car, turn the radio off, and say, “Lucky is very angry at me. He’s a man of his word, and Gwen’s a good sport. Against my wishes, she’s agreed to let you feel her up.”

  “It’s okay. I w-was out of line.”

  Lucky opens the door. Gwen is standing next to him. She reaches out and takes his right hand in hers.

  “I want you to,” she coos. “Please?”

  “Okay.”

  Lucky lifts up his shirt, exposing the sensational pair of breasts Gwen showed me in the photo. It only takes a quick glance to confirm that Phyllis put a lot of love into his boob job. Good thing, because one glance is all I can stomach. To me, it’s just creepy. Gwen places Hampton’s hand on Lucky’s left tit. His hand jumps. He obviously wasn’t expecting to touch flesh. He touches it again, enthusiastically, and Gwen moans softly. This goes on long enough that I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Finally, Gwen removes Hampton’s hand from Lucky’s breast, leans into the car and gives Hampton a kiss on the cheek. Whispers something in his ear. I motion Lucky and Gwen to get in the back seat. They do, and I drive us to Hampton’s bank to cash the check. When we get there, Lucky and Gwen take the check inside. When they exit the bank moments later, they’re not happy.