Lucky Bastard

by Deborah Coonts

  Romeo rushed to my side. The kid looked dead on his feet. “Where do you want to land?”

  “Desk chair, but I can make it on my own, thanks.” I rotated my foot, making several circles. The range of motion seemed to be increasing, at least, that’s what I told myself. With the current body count at three, I did not have the time to baby a recalcitrant body part. “If I don’t tackle some of that paperwork, I won’t be able to find my desk tomorrow.” Stymied, thwarted at every turn, I was in desperate need to accomplish something. Paperwork. I must be desperate.

  Miss P drifted out of my office.

  When I was sure they were out of earshot, I turned to Romeo. “What’s the word on Kevin Slurry?”

  “No change. Still critical. Although he’s stable, he’s not out of the woods. The docs told me they were going to keep him under for a while—a medically induced coma they called it. It could be a couple of days before he’s strong enough to talk. And then there’s no guarantees what he’ll remember.”

  That took a moment to process. The fact that I had actually shot someone still burned a hole through my brain. The visual hit me every time I closed my eyes. How would I get over that? Especially if he died? So he deserved it—small comfort. With nothing more to do at this point, I tried to shelve it. As I said, compartmentalizing is one of my best things.

  Romeo settled himself in the couch, pulling a pillow across his stomach, then holding it tightly. “They told me you were snooping around Cole’s room, but he’s gone. If you’ve got any ideas as to how all these pieces fit, I’m all ears.”

  “Outta gas and outta ideas, I’m a permanent resident of clueless county.”

  Brandy jumped up and made a fuss out of settling me in my chair, then getting another one to put my injured leg up. After packing Baggies of ice around my now pumpkin-sized ankle—okay, a small pumpkin—she lurked, nervously wringing her hands. Romeo motioned for Brandy to join him. The girl didn’t seem to be the worse for wear after the excitement last night.

  But, having a mile-wide mothering streak, I had to ask. “Brandy, are you okay?”

  She shrugged, then brushed my concern away. “When you dance in the cages you get used to bad shit.”

  “Not a sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice kind of gal, are you?”

  “Just like you. That’s why you hired me.”

  Man, the whole world was reading me far too easily. “Did Security get the hoodie guy?”

  My young disciple shook her head. “He got out of the hotel and disappeared into the crowd on the Strip before Security could lock his position down. They’re checking with Metro now to see if anything showed up on their cameras.”

  “I won’t hold my breath.” Cameras covered most of the Strip, but it would take time to work through the bureaucratic snafus and patience to check all the footage. And they wouldn’t jump through hoops to catch an assailant tossing Coke—heck, it happens all the time on the Strip and most of the people so assaulted don’t even notice.”

  “Romeo, stick a pillow in your ear and take a couple of hours in the horizontal position on that couch. No one knows you’re here.”

  “I couldn’t.” He eyed the length of the sofa wistfully.

  “Lie down before you fall down.” I gave a quick nod to Brandy, who apparently got the hint. After giving Romeo a quick kiss, she said, “Do what Lucky tells you. What good will you be with no sleep?”

  He watched her as she sashayed out of the office, waving good-bye with a little waggle of her fingers.

  I cleared my throat to get the besotted detective’s attention. “You just did me a huge favor, let me do you a small one. Trust me, I’ll cover for you—if the president calls, I’ll put him through.”

  Romeo chewed on his lip for a moment, then eased farther into the plush cushions, kicked off his shoes, and laid back, pulling a pillow under his head. He was out cold in under a minute. Breathing heavily, his mouth open, he didn’t snore—another advantage of youth. And, even in repose, he looked cute…so innocent and young. Why I felt like smoothing his hair out of his eyes, I didn’t know. Besides, he’d probably shoot me or something. Not that I cared. Maybe I needed the comfort of human contact. Maybe I just needed reorientation, a confirmation of the good in the world. Whatever it was, for a moment, I gave in.

  Risking bodily harm, not to mention embarrassment to us both, I rose and limped over to the couch, then bent and gently brushed down his cowlick. Soft to the touch, yet resilient, the feel of his hair surprised me. And yet, it fit. Smiling I remembered the first time I’d met him. Another murder. Another lifetime.

  He stirred and I froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He repositioned, tucking one hand under his head and throwing the other arm over his eyes. A few ticks of the clock, then he quieted, his breathing once again settling into a slow rhythm.

  I tiptoed, okay I limp-toed, around my desk and slowly settled back into the chair. Wincing at its squeak of complaint, I glanced at Romeo. He didn’t move.

  I had work to do. Romeo needed his sleep.

  Death could wait.

  ***

  Romeo still slept when I reached the last paper in the pile. After signing my name with a flourish, I tossed it in my outbox with the others. The outer office was quiet. No one stirred, not even the friggin’ bird. I leaned back in my chair, put my head back and savored the moment of peace and quiet, the satisfaction of a job done. Even though it was as insignificant as plowing through a pile of papers, it was something.

  My eyelids sagged like sails in the doldrums. My muscles loosened. Completely played out, I was beyond tired. Perhaps just a few winks…

  “Lucky?” My father’s voice boomed, shattering the peace and jump-starting my heart.

  I bolted upright in the chair and my hand flew to my chest. “Christ!”

  “Lucky? Are you in here?” He sounded angry. No, he sounded pissed. Terrific.

  “If I said no, would you believe me and go away?”

  At full throttle, he burst through the opening, raising a cloud of dust. “This is all your fault.” He stopped in front of my desk, his face the color of marinara sauce, his chest heaving.

  I leaned to the side to look around him at Romeo. Dead to the world, the kid hadn’t moved. I motioned to a chair. “Why don’t you take a load off? If you’re going to unload on me, we both might as well be comfortable.”

  For a moment, my father stood glaring down at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping for air, then he did as I suggested.

  I waited. Then, when he opened his mouth to speak, I shushed him with a finger to my lips. A lifetime of dealing with my father had taught me that, once he was caught in the vortex of a good rage, he needed two things to calm down: time and alcohol. I bought one while going in search of the other. I was right, the ankle only hurt when I tried to walk normally. If I walked on the ball of my foot, it only twinged. When I returned with a tall glass filled to the brim with Wild Turkey 101, granted it was a Flintstone’s jelly jar but it was the best I could find, his face was a lighter shade of pink. If he noticed the hitch in my get-along or my interesting office attire—it was a rare day that I showed up to work in a bathrobe—he didn’t let on.

  Silently he took the glass and drained half of it. “It’s your mother,” he started in a loud voice.

  “Quiet. The kid’s one of the walking dead.” We both swiveled to look at Romeo who slept on.

  “I think most of the world will agree that I had nothing to do with Mona’s current predicament,” I whispered.

  My father didn’t smile—not a good sign. But he did modulate his voice. “You’re deflecting.”

  “A survival skill.” The smell of the whiskey in his glass exerted an inexorable pull. I leaned forward, but, paragon of virtue that I am, that’s as far as I let it go. “She hasn’t shot anyone, has she? Put a double-barrel loaded with rock salt in her hands and she could do some damage. Just ask the sheriff back in Pahrump—she’s peppered his hide a time or two.”

/>   “No.” My father glared at me, momentarily sidetracked by my question. His glare softened. “I heard you saved your young assistant’s ass last night.”

  I tried a half grin, but it ended up as a sigh. “I may have killed someone in the process.” My voice cracked when I said it.

  My father covered my hand with his. “Life can be tough, honey. You did what you had to do. And the right people woke up this morning. Remember that.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “No buts. Why do you think you run this place? You make the tough decisions, and yet you still lead with your heart. Would it offend you if I told you I was proud of you? It sounds sort of condescending. I hope you don’t take it that way.”

  I wanted to crawl into his lap and hug his neck, but not only would that be physically impossible, but the time for that had long since passed, which made me sad. Life, one giant timing issue—too bad I always seemed to zig when everyone else zagged.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” I pulled my hand out from under his, giving it a pat as I disengaged. “Now, why don’t you tell me about Mother? We’ve established she didn’t shoot anybody, so how bad could it be?”

  “You have no idea.” Pretending to be fascinated, he held his glass by the lip with three fingers then rotated his wrist and watched the liquid swirl.

  I gave him a moment. The problem was, I could imagine—horrible possibilities whirled through my head like a cloud of bats in a cave.

  When he looked up at me, his face was serious but the hint of humor lit his eyes. “That woman has thrown her hat in the ring.”

  “The ring? Oh, please tell me she wants to run away with the circus.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his glass as he lifted it to his lips. “Life would be much simpler if you let her go.”

  “Cute.” My father fought a grin and lost. “She’s decided to run for the Paradise Town Advisory Board.” Most folks thought the Strip, the most important real estate in Las Vegas, was part of the city of Las Vegas. Not so. In fact, most of it was part of an unincorporated census data area known as Paradise…which was sorta perfect, if you ask me. The former mayor of Las Vegas, even though he had appeared everywhere with a showgirl on each arm and had announced more than once that he was King of the World had no authority over the Strip. Instead it was managed by the Clark County Commission under advisement from the Paradise Town Advisory Board. Together they controlled the flow of a serious chunk of change—not to mention a huge portion of the income of the state of Nevada.

  I motioned to my father’s drink. “Give me some of that.”

  He pushed the glass across the desk then watched me drain it dry. “I don’t need to point out that you seem to be drinking a bit more than normal these days.”

  “Life has been a bit more than normal lately.” I set the glass down carefully and resolved to slow down, although I wasn’t making any guarantees. “Politics and Mona. It’s so absurd it sorta makes sense.”

  My father nodded sagely, his eyes holding a faraway look. “Like how everyone says one of those rat dogs is so ugly it’s cute.”

  “If you value your hide, I wouldn’t run that little analogy by Mother.”

  “God, no.” My father’s gaze returned to me as he pushed himself to his feet. “You keep the hootch back there?” He motioned to the kitchenette.

  “Top shelf on the right in the back.”

  He disappeared into the gloom to get us both a glass of liquid courage, leaving me to contemplate Mona as a humble public servant. Just another Vegas entertainment extravaganza. Heck, if a former mob defender could be mayor and a former dancer the lieutenant governor, then a former hooker on a town council wasn’t that far-fetched. But Mona?

  “Christ.” With shaking hand, I took the glass my father offered as he maneuvered around the desk and sat back in his chair, clutching tightly to a glass of his own.

  “I want front-row seats when she takes on the Clark County Commission.” Pride tinged his voice.

  “And a flak jacket.” I took a sip of whiskey, a small sip. We both grinned.

  “I know I really shouldn’t ask.” I put the glass on the table then pushed it to arm’s length, putting distance between us. “But how is this my fault?”

  “I’m not a hundred percent sure—I couldn’t really follow your mother’s logic.” My father leaned back, stretching, then settling in, his arms resting lightly on the arms of the chair. “That woman takes the scenic route.”

  “Circuitous on her best days.”

  “But she gets to her point…eventually.” My father regrouped. “This time it has something to do with your friend Carl. I forget his last name. You know, the one who lives in the storm drains?”

  “Carl Colson?” Most people referred to him as Crazy Carl Colson, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call him that. Besides, he wasn’t crazy all of the time.

  “That’s the one—the Air Force discharged him on psychological grounds, if I recall correctly.” The Big Boss raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t wait for a response. “Anyway, there was an article today in the R-J—did you know there is a whole city the homeless have set up underground in the storm drains?”

  “I’ve been taking them blankets and coats for years. Food when I thought they needed it.” My father’s stunned look told me he needed some enlightenment. “Vegas isn’t all bright lights and magic.”

  “I should’ve known you’d be hip-deep.”

  I thought I detected a hint of pride in his voice. A hint was enough.

  “Then I’m sure you remember when the city council made it a crime to give food to the homeless in the city parks?” he continued.

  “A banner day for our fair city. But, the council caved under a heaping pile of negative publicity, as I recall.”

  “Yes, but that and your friend Carl boosted Mona onto her soapbox.”

  “A hooker and a mind reader—now there’s a platform,” I groused. My overblown sense of righteous indignation reared its ugly head. A former Air Force pawn, Carl happened to have amazing psychic powers, but that was another story. I wondered if a psychic adviser would violate political ethics rules, to the extent any still existed. “Throw in the Amazing Kreskin and Mona will have an act she can take on the road.”

  “Careful.” My father’s eyebrows snapped into a frown. “She’s a former hooker, and I don’t think she meant to use Carl literally, just figuratively.” Even as he said it my father didn’t look convinced. “She does mean well.”

  “You know what they say about good intentions.” I picked up a pen and started doodling on the back of one of the random memos on my desk. A heart with a dagger through it. “I’ll straighten it out,” I assured him as if it would be a mere trifle for someone with my superpowers. “I’ve got something else I need your help with.”

  “A sponsor in AA?”

  “Cute.” I pretended to be perturbed but even I knew my life was spinning out of control and I was self-medicating. “It is my understanding that our stalwart Paxton Dane is under investigation by the Gaming Control Board for monetary improprieties.”

  That wiped the smug look off my father’s face. “What? What kind of improprieties?”

  I recognized his battle as he struggled to wrap his mind around the possibility that Dane might not be one of the white hats. Been there, still working on it. “That’s what I need you to find out. Details would be good. Can you do it?”

  “Sure, sure. I got a few markers I can pull in.” His eyes took on a distant look as he pinched his lower lip. “You think he did it?” His voice had lost its warmth.

  “Did what? Kill his wife? Play fast and loose with the house money? To be honest, I haven’t a clue.” A chill chased down my spine, competing with a flush of rising anger. “I don’t want to believe it, but where there’s smoke…”

  The Big Boss shrugged in ambivalence. He didn’t want to believe it either. “And Marvin?” Betrayal flashed across his face, pulling his mouth into a taut line. “After all I’ve done
. If that slimy little bastard was pulling a fast one…” He let the threat hang. I didn’t need to tell him Marvin had moved beyond its reach.

  But Dane hadn’t.

  For some reason a picture of Teddie flashed across my synapses. My hands itched to circle a neck and squeeze. “Let me handle it,” I said, my tone matching my father’s. “Slimy little bastards are my specialty.”

  “Which slimy little bastards are we talking about?” Romeo asked, his voice fuzzy with sleep. I’d forgotten about him. “What time is it? And why the hell am I here?” He pushed himself to a sitting position, stockinged feet on the floor, head in his hands. When he looked up and his eyes focused, the light went on. “Oh, sorry, sir,” he stammered when he caught my father’s eye. Leaning around my father, he threw a silent plea in my direction.

  “You’ve been here a few hours,” I explained. “Probably longer than you planned, but I didn’t have the heart to awaken you.”

  Romeo rubbed his face as if trying to restore circulation to his brain. “The time?”

  I pulled my phone from hits perch on my hip. “Just finishing the cocktail hour.”

  “Looks like you started without me.”

  “A head start is the only way I can stay in front,” I said, pretending it wasn’t true.

  “I’m not sure that’s a race I’d want to win.”

  “Glibness. I like it.”

  Romeo gave me a knowing grin. “I’ve been sitting at the feet of a master.”

  “You are wise beyond your years, Grasshopper.”

  “Would you two stop?” My father pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the side so his back was no longer aimed at the young detective. “I’ll tell you what,” he said as he rubbed his hands together, hatching a plan. “I’m thinking we all could use a good meal. I’ll go roust your mother, surely she can take a break from plotting the overthrow of Clark County and the rise of the downtrodden.” His gaze touched on me. For the first time this evening he seemed to take in my attire. “Did I barge in on something?” His face colored a bit. So did Romeo’s.