Lucky Bastard

by Deborah Coonts

  “This is what happens when they don’t let you out to play in the sunshine,” I whispered but his tight lips didn’t bend.

  We took the stairs instead of the elevator, Jerry pulling me after him. Two flights left me light-headed. And that, as it turned out, was the best I would feel for the rest of the night.

  We burst through the door onto the third floor of the garage and into another world. Like toys abandoned by a two-year-old, police cars rested at odd angles, defining a loose perimeter. Uniformed cops patrolled the periphery while plain-clothes detectives huddled near a dark pickup and stared at the ground between the truck and the yellow Ferrari parked next to it. Crime scene tape draped around the two vehicles. Like vultures eyeing a kill, large lights on stands perched over the area, capturing the scene in stark, unforgiving light.

  As we moved to step over the tape, one of Metro’s finest stopped us with a meaty hand to Jerry’s chest. Tall, with broad shoulders and a gut straining the buttons on his wrinkled uniform, he rested his other hand on his service revolver hanging on his hip. With his beady eyes half hidden under a ledge of bushy brows, he perused us with the casual interest of a natural predator already sated, but always willing to eat. The gun on his hip seemed ill advised, but what did I know?

  “You two, I don’t know who you think you are but you got no place here,” the man-mountain growled as if talking to the village idiots. My tax dollars at work—I was so proud.

  “I’m the head of security at this hotel,” Jerry growled back. “I got more years dealing with crime scenes than you’ve been walking and talking—I know the routine. Don’t tell me where I can and can’t go.” I couldn’t remember the last time Jerry had let someone raise his hackles.

  To be honest, I was looking for a fight as well. If the cop had even the hint of a glass jaw, I would’ve been tempted. At least then I’d have a problem I understood.

  Before I could do anything rash, Romeo’s head appeared above the bed of the pickup—he must’ve been crouched down between the two vehicles. When he looked at me, our eyes caught and I got a brief glimpse into an old soul. Where had the kid gone?

  “Officer, let them through.” Romeo covered the distance between us, stepped on the tape and motioned us over. “Donovan,” he read from the officer’s badge. “I’m going to recommend you for a stint in the Protocol Office.”

  Donovan’s face fell as the kid gave me a hidden wink. It was the only hint of mirth in his demeanor.

  “Are you getting a complex?” he asked me as I stepped over the tape and brushed by him as he held it down for Jerry.

  “No.” I eyed him, searching for an explanation. “Why?”

  We stepped around the end of the pickup. There, on the ground, in a contorted position of pain, lay a man—from the looks of him, a very dead man—his face turned away. Balding, a ring of dark hair, thin, wearing a black suit jacket…no, a tuxedo jacket and pants with satin down the side.

  Romeo motioned for the gloved tech to roll the body. “Do you know him?”

  I stepped closer and bent down to get a good look at the man’s face. My heart stopped. “Shit.” I fought the urge to leap back. “Marvin J. Johnstone. He used to work for us as the manger of our high-stakes poker.”

  “Used to?” Romeo raised one eyebrow as he pursed his lips.

  “He was fired last night…early this morning.”

  “Really? By whom?”

  I swallowed hard. “Me.”

  “You?” A spark of something lit his eyes then died as the chatter quieted and all heads swiveled in our direction.

  I nodded, blinking fast, unaccustomed to the accusatory glare of the limelight. Nothing like being the center of attention in a murder investigation.

  “You do realize,” Romeo said as he leveled his gaze to mine, “I got three dead bodies and you are a pretty good link?”

  “Me?” My blood ran cold. Surely he didn’t think…

  You could’ve heard the blood pounding through my veins as time stopped.

  “I wasn’t anywhere near any of the bodies,” I stammered, feeling helpless. “I’m sure that would be easy to prove.”

  “I am going to need to establish your whereabouts at the times of all the relevant deaths.”

  “As opposed to the irrelevant deaths?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. As quickly as it came, my bravado fled. My heart leaped into my throat as the blood rushed from my head. Bending at the waist I put my hands on my knees and took deep breaths.

  Romeo made a motion with his hands trying to calm me down. “Protocol, nothing more. That way we can definitively remove you from the suspect list.”

  Okay, that did it. Anger spiked. Blood pressure elevated. Sanity returned. I stood and, placing my hands on my hips, I leveled my anger at the young detective. “Do what you have to do, but spare me the insinuations.”

  Like a plant absorbing the full force of the summer sun in the Mojave, he drew in, withering…a bit, but not as much as he used to. “You and your hotel are a link between the three.”

  “Romeo, we provide a link between three thousand guests, several thousand employees, and plenty of others who just wander through the doors. And that’s on a slow day. You’ll have to do better than that. Speaking of connections, where did you leave Cole Weston?”

  “Playing poker under the watchful eye of my girlfriend, thanks to you.”

  “My assistant.”

  We faced off for a moment, then he returned to the relevant business. “You have to admit, you do seem to have a connection with all three of the stiffs.”

  “For chrissake! I have a connection with three-quarters of the residents of this valley.” I ran a shaky hand through my hair as I tried to process all of it. Marvin. God. I felt the bile rise in my throat as I looked at him. Under the harsh light, his jacket had the shiny look of well-worn fabric. His tie loosened, his collar torn open—the button was missing, a small tear in the cotton the only hint of its former presence. Mud had dried into a light brown ring on his white bucks. He’d thrown up and soiled himself. Pain had traveled through his every feature etching a lasting contortion. An abnormal shade of pink, his skin still held the sheen of dampness. Perspiration perhaps? Do you sweat when you die? Who knew?

  His open eyes stared, but saw nothing. What I would give to pull the last images from his retinas and the last sounds he heard from some inner tape. It would make this murder thing a whole lot easier to solve, but science hadn’t yet bridged that impossible gap.

  My experience with death was limited but I’d say Marvin’s hadn’t been quick or merciful.

  “Why the odd color?” I asked. The guy looked like he’d been dunked in the Easter-egg coloring tank—pink, brown, green…I shut my eyes and swallowed hard.

  “Cyanide,” Jerry answered.

  I stared at him for a moment as the dam of self-control finally broke, emotions tumbled, panic reared its ugly head. “You have got to be kidding. Cyanide? Are you sure it wasn’t a curare-tipped umbrella? Or an arsenic-laced beverage from the bar? And let’s not forget strychnine...Where’s Miss Marple when you need her?” In danger of losing control completely, I clamped my mouth shut and squeezed my eyes tight for a moment, blocking the world out and my racing thoughts in.

  Jerry put a hand on my arm and softened his voice. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” I glanced at him, studiously avoiding the Stoneman, and the fact that his nickname was now curiously apropos. “Just another ho-hum day in paradise.” I ran a shaky hand through my hair and gave him a rueful smile. “But, you must admit, the body count is a bit elevated—alarming, even.”

  “Sarcasm,” Jerry remarked to Romeo with a satisfied nod. “She’s fine.” Then he turned back to me. “His skin color. Pink or red is a pretty good indication of cyanide. The stuff interferes with oxygen absorption. So, the lungs remain hyperoxygenated while you suffocate. Not a good way to go.”

  I felt my blood becoming severely unoxygenated as stars whirled before my eyes.

 
; With one arm, Jerry circled my shoulders and held me tightly. “Probably more than you wanted to know.”

  He was batting a thousand.

  After a few deep breaths, my composure returned. “Cyanide. How the hell does someone get his hands on that? I thought you’d need a top-secret clearance or a double-zero classification and ‘God Save the Queen’ tattooed on your butt or something.”

  “You can buy it on the Internet,” Romeo interjected.

  “What? At murder.com?” I asked, struggling to somehow put the last twenty hours and three dead bodies into perspective. I was singularly unsuccessful.

  “No,” Romeo scolded as if talking to a small child—which wasn’t far from the truth, if we were going strictly by intellectual capacity. “Cyanide has some industrial uses, primarily in the jewelry business.”

  “Well, this being Bling Town and all, that really narrows the field.” Needing some time to think, I wandered over to the nearest staircase and sat, not the least bit concerned over what I might be sitting in. At this point, what did it matter? Pulling my knees to my chest, I crossed my arms, resting them on my legs. It dawned on me that this was as close as I could get to the fetal position without looking like I’d gone completely loony. A subconscious coping mechanism. Well, if that’s what it took to keep from pulling a Humpty-Dumpty, I could live with it.

  Coping in his own way, Jerry stood off to the side smoking one cigarette after another while he fielded phone calls and watched the forensics team do their thing.

  Time lost all relevance as Romeo talked to an endless stream of people, taking notes.

  I tried to marshal my thoughts, but all I seemed to come up with were questions that pinged around my empty head like lotto balls—all with the number zero on them.

  I have no idea how much time had passed when Jerry dropped his final butt, ground it out with the toe of his Italian loafers, and wandered in my direction. His legs seemed ready to buckle when he stopped in front of me, weaving slightly. Too much nicotine and not enough food or sleep—a life out of balance. Familiar with the affliction, I empathized—although alcohol and caffeine were my drugs of choice.

  “The security tapes don’t help us at all. Apparently after we escorted your buddy Marvin to the exit last night, he didn’t leave. When he reached his car, he went down. No one caught it—it would have been a real lucky break if the camera had cycled to this view right as he fell, but it didn’t.”

  “And he’s been here all that time?”

  “Cameras couldn’t see him between the cars like that. And, if no one walked right by…”

  “Hell of a way to go.” I hadn’t liked Marvin, but I wouldn’t wish that kind of exit on anyone. “Do you have any idea how he got poisoned?”

  “Well, guests aren’t dropping like flies, so we can feel good about that.”

  Under normal circumstances I might have found that slightly humorous.

  “Sorry.” Jerry could always read my mood, no matter the subtlety.

  “So we can assume he was singled out on purpose?” I said, trotting out my flair for the obvious.

  “I’ll resist pointing out that that is redundant.” Jerry patted his pockets, looking for something, but he’d already inhaled all the cigarettes he had. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or horrified. “Cyanide is fairly purposeful,” he added as an afterthought.

  “There is that.” I watched Jerry sort of stagger in place, trying to find his equilibrium—the walking dead. “Why would someone want to kill Marvin…I mean, besides the fact that everyone on this planet, and probably a couple of others, hated his guts?”

  “I’m tapped out,” Jerry said. “Care to speculate?”

  “Well, we’ve got a poker game where Sylvie Dane was cheating and losing and Marvin did nothing to stop it. Either he was stupid or in on it.”

  Jerry looked back and I followed his gaze. They’d body-bagged Marvin and were now stuffing him in the coroner’s car. “I’m thinking we can probably rule out stupid—I don’t think people kill for stupid.”

  Personally, I thought people killed for stupid all the time, but I didn’t say it. “If you got a spare set of eyes, you might want to check some of the video feeds. Apparently right after Sylvie Dane left with her husband, Marvin asked for some personal time. Sure would be nice to know where he went.”

  “With the Smack Down, things are pretty tight, but I’ll get somebody on it.” Jerry watched the proceedings until the car pulled away and disappeared around the corner. “Oh—” He rooted through his pockets, searching. Finally he found the right one. “I’ve got something else for you.” He extracted a folded bit of paper from his inside jacket pocket and extended it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Take a look. I pulled it from some of the footage from the casino.”

  I unfolded it and for the first time in a long time, hope surged through me.

  “Is that your girl?” Jerry asked, looking just the teensiest bit smug.

  I stared at the grainy photo. Dark hair, haunted eyes, young, with those red shoes. “That’s her!” With energy I didn’t know I had, I jumped up and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  “Whoa now.” Jerry eased my arms from around his neck. “You’re jumping the gun here.”

  “This is great.” I couldn’t resist grinning like a fool as my glance kept shifting between the photo and Jerry. “Who is she?”

  “Ah, there’s the rub.” Jerry pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his brow. “You don’t have any cigarettes, do you?” He asked, his expression a mixture of hope and guilt.

  I gave him a dirty look. “The girl. Who is she?”

  “I haven’t a clue. HR had no idea.” Jerry stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “But I can tell you one thing: That girl is not employed by the Babylon. She may have something to do with Sylvie’s murder, I don’t know, but I’d bet my pension she could tell me a few things about the theft ring operating in the hotel.”

  “Damn.” Hope so easily dashed. I folded the photo and pocketed it. “I’ll give Romeo a copy to run through the databases. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a hit.”

  “Do that, but she looks young. My bet is that, if she’s been through the system, she was a juvie and her records are sealed.”

  “Aren’t you a ray of hope?” I refused to let him drag me down. We were making progress, baby steps, but in the right direction. Positive thinking is a powerful tool, my mother used to say. Probably a crock, but it made me feel better. “Go home.” Too tired to move, I stayed rooted where I was. “All this’ll still be here in the morning.”

  “Which is flying at us with the speed of light. You and I have both put in two days’ worth of work in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “If we’d left when we started, we’d be half a world away by now.” Ever since sitting in the G550, I’d been tormented by thoughts of escape.

  “Home’s about as far as I’ve got energy to get to. And I for one plan to spend some serious rack time with a pillow stuck in my ear. What about you? You heading home?”

  “This is home, remember? When Teddie took a powder…”

  Jerry’s brows crumpled into a frown. “Oh, yeah.” I could tell he still wanted to bruise Teddie a bit, which warmed my heart.

  Even though a month or so had passed—almost two now, I guess—I still hadn’t completely unpacked and settled into the apartment next to the Big Boss and Mona. I don’t know why. Everything in my life seemed to be in suspended animation.

  Jerry reached up and touched my cheek, then, with a faded smile, he turned and did as he was told. With a curious detachment, I watched him walk away.

  Needing sleep, but not wanting to face the loneliness of an unfamiliar, empty place, I once again sat on my step and leaned back on my elbows. My chin on my chest, I guess I was half dozing because I wasn’t aware of Romeo until he spoke.

  “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  I opened one eye.

 
His hands clasped behind his back, he loomed in front of me.

  “Like combining strip poker with Clue? Sure, I’ll play.” I sat up and patted the step next to me as I struggled to open both eyes and get my bearings. “Sit down before you fall down.”

  My attention switched back to the crime scene as Romeo settled in next to me, his shoulder touching mine. For a moment we both watched the activity, which was winding down. One cop motioned a rollback into place to begin pulling the two cars onto the flatbed.

  “We’re impounding both of them,” Romeo said although that fact seemed obvious. “The Italian iron belongs to your Poker Room manager. I had no idea those guys made that kind of green.”

  “It’s a cherry job that pays well. But a late-model Ferrari like that one will set you back a quarter of a million brand new. I don’t care who you are, that’s a serious chunk of change.”

  Romeo whistled. “We did find something interesting.”

  “You mean besides a dead body that looks like it’s been parboiled?” I leaned back again and swiveled to look at him, my eyes too tired to focus up close.

  Wise to my act, he ignored me.

  With a blank look, he reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out a large baggie, and dropped it in my lap. Smoothing the bag revealed its contents.

  I gasped.

  The missing Jimmy Choo—all champagne-colored rhinestones and nary a drop of blood.

  Adrenaline surged through me. “Where?” Oh, how I hoped it was in the Ferrari.

  “The F-150,” Romeo said as he squinted at the truck. “Want to guess who owns that particular ride?”

  My heart fell and my anger spiked as the pieces fell into place. “You think Dane is still here? At the hotel?”

  “Hell no,” Romeo snorted.

  “I saw Dane about thirty minutes before Jerry called me to come down here. At that point, I thought he was heading home.”

  “The first call about the body had come in by then.” Romeo looked like he was mentally working backward in time. “He could’ve come for his ride, seen all the attention this area was attracting and decided to boogie. Kind of incriminating, like he knew of the body here, don’t you think?”