3 Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray

by Diane Kelly

  “That can’t be him,” Josh insisted. “There’s only one elevator bank that goes from the lobby to the rooms. I’ve been watching it ever since he went up and he hasn’t come back down.”

  “Maybe he came down the stairs,” I said. “I don’t know. All I know is his car just drove by and Nick and I are going to follow him.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Get out here!” I cried. “Now!”

  Nick eased out of the garage, proceeding cautiously. Fischer’s car was stopped at the end of the exit drive, waiting for the traffic signal to turn green. Nick pulled to the curb to wait. Josh stepped out of the casino, spotted us, and ran down the sidewalk toward us. He jumped in the backseat just as the traffic signal turned green and Fischer made a left turn onto the street. Josh barely had time to close his door before Nick floored the gas pedal and blew down the drive. The light ahead turned yellow.

  “Hurry!” I cried. We’d tailed the guy for four hours. We sure as hell didn’t want to lose him now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Where’s James Bond When You Need Him?

  Nick turned left onto the street, tires squealing, just as the traffic signal cycled back to red once more. Luckily for us, there were no cops in sight.

  Fischer took another left and pulled onto the bridge that crossed the muddy Red River. Once over the bridge, he took a right turn and continued on a couple of blocks before pulling into another parking garage, this one servicing Sam’s Town Casino.

  Nick pulled into the garage, tugging his white cowboy hat even lower on his head. Given that it was a Friday night, the garage was nearly full. Fischer had to circle up several levels before finding a spot. Josh and I ducked down and Nick punched the gas as we drove past Fischer’s parked car. Nick pulled into an open spot near the end of the same row and quickly cut the engine.

  In the backseat, Josh raised his head and peeked over the windowsill.

  “Can you see anything?” Nick asked.

  Josh glanced back at us, his brow furrowed. “A man just got out of Fischer’s car,” he said, “but it’s not Fischer.”

  “What?” Nick leaned into the backseat, craning his head to get a look. I couldn’t see anything but the pickup parked next to us. I grabbed the minibinoculars, stepped out of the car, and held them to my eyes as I peeped over the bed of the truck.

  The guy walking away from Fischer’s car was the same height with the same trim build as the pastor, but rather than Fischer’s thinning white-blond hair, this guy had thick, dark hair and wore plastic-framed glasses. He was dressed in jeans, casual loafers, and a blue and white striped polo shirt.

  What the heck?

  I was confused until the man went to slide his keys into his pocket. The light in the parking garage glinted off a chunky gold bracelet on his right wrist. His left arm bore what appeared to be the same flashy Cartier watch he’d worn the day of our meeting. It didn’t have a built-in camera like the spy watch Josh was wearing, but I bet it had cost twenty times more, at least.

  I slid back into the car. “That’s him!” I hissed. “He’s wearing a toupee and glasses to disguise himself.”

  The toupee actually looked pretty good. I wondered where he’d bought it. Maybe the place would have a strawberry-blond beehive wig for Lu.

  Josh watched through the back window of the car. “He’s heading for the sky bridge.”

  “Go after him,” Nick ordered.

  Josh climbed out the car and hurried across the parking lot after Fischer. Nick and I watched as Fischer made his way down the glass-enclosed walkway that spanned the side street, leading from the garage to the casino. Josh followed forty feet behind, cleverly glomming on to a group of young guys to make it appear as if he were with them.

  Ten minutes later, Nick received a text from Josh. Fischer is playing slots. What should I do?

  Nick rolled his eyes. “What a newb.” Try the machines nearby, Nick suggested. Take some photos.

  A few minutes later, Josh texted again. Free drinks!

  Josh seemed surprised by the casino’s purported generosity to its players. What he didn’t seem to realize was that the casino was playing him, plying him with drinks so he’d be looser with his money.

  Shortly thereafter, we received another text from our coworker. He’s playing blackjack now.

  Join the table, Nick replied.

  Josh texted back. Don’t know how to play.

  Nick groaned. “We’ve sent a boy to do a man’s job.” He sent another text to Josh. You try to get cards that add up to 21. Follow the others.

  Nick and I sat for another half hour, waiting. The night had grown fully dark by then.

  We sat silently side by side. I wondered if he was as acutely aware of me as I was of him. I noticed his smell, crisp deodorant soap and a hint of boot leather. I noticed the soft sound of his breathing, the rising and falling of his chest. I noticed the manly five o’clock shadow that had formed on his cheeks and jawline. God help me, I ached to touch it, to feel the roughness on my skin.

  Guilt sliced through me. I was in a committed relationship with Brett. We’d agreed to date exclusively. It was wrong for me to have these feelings for Nick.

  It was wrong, sure. But wasn’t it also natural? Nick was good-looking, well built, masculine. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him?

  But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Nick and I connected on a deeper level. We both had an inner rebel, an almost insatiable ambition, an innate drive to right wrongs. I’d have these same feelings for Nick even if he weren’t so physically attractive. The rock-hard pecs, the sexy grin, the whiskey-colored eyes … all of those things were really just a bonus, weren’t they?

  Brett and I appeared well matched, too, but on a much more superficial level. The things we shared—a love of ethnic foods, a fondness for British television, a strong sexual attraction—those were the icing on the cake. But I began to fear that there wasn’t much cake underneath that icing. And I still wasn’t certain whether there was anything between Brett and Trish. He’d denied it, of course, but maybe he just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. Or maybe he’d flat out lied to me.

  I glanced over at Nick again.

  He glanced back, removing his cowboy hat from his head and fanning himself with it. “What’s the matter?”

  Sheez. Could the guy read my mind? “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” He placed the hat on the dashboard. “You’re upset.”

  I frowned at him. “How would you know?”

  “You chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re upset.”

  Now that he’d mentioned it, I noticed the inside of my cheek felt raw.

  I said nothing. He continued to eye me, but said nothing, too. He must’ve sensed that the thing upsetting me was a subject he shouldn’t bring up. The guy really could read my mind.

  “This is boring,” I said. “Let’s go inside and have some fun.”

  “What the hell,” Nick said, pocketing Josh’s keys. As we climbed out of the car, he reached out and snatched the scraggly blond wig off my head, putting it on his own, pulling it down over his ears.

  “How do I look?” he asked as we headed across the parking garage.

  “Like you should be touring with Metallica.”

  He held up his right hand and formed the devil’s horns with his fingers. “Rock ’n’ roll!”

  We made a quick stop at the gift shop in the casino’s lobby. Nick selected a Saints baseball cap and tee for himself, while choosing a black tank top with LADY LUCK spelled out in gold sequins for me. From a display near the register he grabbed a purple sequined eye mask and a green and purple jester hat complete with jingly bells, no doubt items left over from the spring’s Mardi Gras festivities. Nick paid for the items with his credit card and we slipped into the nearby restrooms to change.

  I emerged from the ladies’ room with my work top stuffed into my purse. Nick shoved his dress shirt into my purse, too. The thing bulged, the seams threatening to
split.

  Nick had put the ball cap on sideways over the snarled wig and slid his sunglasses back on. Though I barely recognized him, the ridiculous look hardly made him inconspicuous. In my mask with my hat jingling every time I took a step, I wasn’t exactly subtle, either. When I pointed this out to Nick, he said, “Ever hear of hiding in plain sight?”

  We made our way down the colorfully carpeted hallway to the casino, the sounds and lights growing more vivid with each step. The burly guy working the entrance asked for my identification, ordering me to remove the mask so he could compare my face to the photo on my driver’s license. Getting carded was one of the hazards of being short.

  Once I passed muster, Nick and I continued on into the smoky, noisy casino.

  The place comprised three floors, with gaming tables in the center of each floor and slots around the perimeter. We spotted Josh and Fischer at a table and quickly turned tail and headed up to the next level.

  Nick steered me toward a craps table where a boisterous crowd was gathered. The group was an interesting cross section of society, including an older Asian couple in matching track suits, a stylish young black man in an expensive silk shirt, a heavyset middle-aged woman in a gauzy batik dress, and two thirtyish white men in jeans and casual golf shirts. One of the white men glanced over at Nick, a condescending smirk on his face as his gaze roamed over the wild hair and sideways hat.

  Nick laid two twenties on the table, one in front of himself, the other in front of me. “My treat,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  The dealer exchanged Nick’s bills for colored chips, setting one stack in front of Nick, another in front of me. Nick picked up his stack and placed several chips on the felt. The other players likewise placed their bets. When I failed to place a bet, the dealer looked at me expectantly.

  I looked up at Nick, holding a small stack of chips in my hand. “What should I do?” I’d never played craps before. The numbers and words on the felt were incomprehensible. Field? Pass Line? Don’t pass bar? What the heck did they mean?

  Nick guided my hand to a rectangle in which the word “Come” was written. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “When a lady’s with me, she’s sure to come.”

  I didn’t doubt his words for a second. I dropped my chips where he’d indicated.

  One of the other players rolled the dice. When the dice stopped rolling, the people surrounding the table cheered. I had no idea what had happened, but when the dealer set another stack of chips next to mine, I realized I’d won and cheered, too.

  A waitress stepped up to the table. The low-cut bodice of her skimpy black uniform left little to the imagination. “Cocktails?” she asked, offering a flirtatious smile to the male players at the end of the craps table.

  Nick waited his turn while the other players, including me, placed their drink orders. He’d just opened his mouth when the waitress turned and walked away, tray held aloft.

  “Wait!” Nick called after her. “You didn’t get my order.”

  She kept on walking.

  Nick turned to me, an expression of disbelief on his face. “What the hell just happened?”

  Clearly, he wasn’t used to being ignored by women.

  “It’s your disguise,” I said. “You look like…” An idiot is what he looked like, but I couldn’t very well tell him that, could I? I settled for, “Like you’d be a lousy tipper.”

  We played for several more minutes, every come bet I placed paying off. Nick hadn’t been kidding.

  The waitress returned with the drinks. When she handed me my red wine, Nick plunked a five-dollar tip on her tray, buying her attention.

  “Gosh, thanks,” she said, smiling up at him. “Can I get you something?”

  I took a sip to hide my grin as Nick ordered a bourbon.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was up by two hundred dollars but Nick had run out of chips. I tried to split my winnings with him, but he refused.

  “You won it fair and square,” he said, pushing my hand away, refusing the bills I’d offered.

  “But I was betting with your money. And you told me what bets to place.”

  “True.” He cocked his head, his eyes intent on mine. “So, you going to start doing everything I say now?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “I didn’t think so. Not sure I’d want you to.” He shot me a wink. “Let’s try the slot machines.”

  “My treat this time,” I insisted, pressing a twenty-dollar bill into his palm.

  The place was packed now. We wandered through the smoky haze, making our way up and down the aisles, having difficulty finding any available machines. We finally spotted a quarter slot along the back wall. The stool in front of it was unoccupied. Nick gestured for me to take the seat.

  I stepped over to the machine, Nick trailing me. Just as I was about to sit down on the stool, the bald, elderly man seated at the adjacent machine stuck out a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand to block me, nearly burning me with the cigar stump gripped between his fingers.

  “Back off,” he spat. “I’m playing that machine.” He jammed the button with his crooked index finger, ash falling from the cigar onto the seat of the stool. While the reels spun, he turned to the machine in front of him and punched the button to activate that device, too.

  A sign on the wall overhead noted that the casino reserved the right to limit play to one machine per person. Still, the machine didn’t seem to be paying off and I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit next to someone smoking a stinky cigar anyway. Besides, thanks to August Buchmeyer, I’d had my fill of crotchety old men lately.

  I let the old coot keep his precious machine, but I treated him to a raspberry. Pfft. He gave me one right back, nearly losing his dentures with the effort.

  “Jackass,” Nick muttered as we stepped away.

  A woman playing a dollar machine three seats down pushed the button to cash out.

  “Give it a whirl,” Nick said.

  I slid onto the stool as soon as the woman’s butt cheeks vacated it, the pad still warm from her body heat. Nick stood behind me to watch.

  After inserting a single, I reached up and pulled down on the arm. The machine emitted a loud rat-a-tat-tat as the reels spun, the images a blur before us.

  The first line clicked into place. A red 7.

  The second line clicked into place. Also a red 7.

  I held my breath.

  The final line clicked into place. Another red 7.

  A loud buzzer sounded and a light on top of the machine began to spin.

  “Holy moly!” Nick hollered. “You won twelve hundred dollars!”

  The old man looked our way. The buzzer was too loud for me to hear what he was saying, but judging from his lips, he’d formed a string of curse words. I waggled my fingers at him.

  Nick glanced his way and chuckled. “You reap what you sow, dude.”

  A uniformed attendant came over, congratulated me on my win, and led me to the cashier’s cage to collect my payout. The cashier asked for identification and handed me a pen and a form to fill out.

  “You’ll owe taxes on your winnings,” she said. “You know how the IRS is.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, Marlene,” I said, reading her name from the tag on her chest. “I know exactly how the IRS is.” I pulled one of my business cards out of my wallet and handed it to her.

  She read the card and turned red, all business now.

  I completed the form, turned it over to her, and collected my check.

  Nick pulled his vibrating phone from the front pocket of his pants. Another text from Josh. Nick held his phone up so we both could read it.

  Fudher id leavinf thw casini.

  “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Fischer is leaving the casino,” Nick translated. “It also means Josh had one too many free drinks.”

  We headed downstairs and made our way up the ramp to the exit. Half a minute later, Nick’s phone rang. Nick answered, putting it on speaker so I could hea
r, too.

  “He’s walking somewhere,” Josh said, his voice slurred. “He’s not going back to the parking garage.”

  “Keep following him,” Nick said, “but for God’s sake, don’t let him figure it out.”

  We waited a few more minutes, then received another text from Josh. He wenr in Hustlr clib.

  Despite the misspellings, it was clear what Josh meant. Fischer had gone into the Hustler Club, a topless bar a block away.

  “I was wrong,” Nick said. “Fischer’s not a church mouse or a tomcat. He’s a horn dog.”

  I smiled. “This was almost too easy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Like a Virgin

  Keep following, Nick texted back to Josh.

  As long as we were at the casino, we figured we might as well enjoy the buffet. We feasted until we risked a stomach rupture, then returned to the car, moving it to the parking lot of the Hustler Club where we could keep an eye on the front door. Flowing in and out was a steady stream of men, ranging from groups of fresh-faced college boys to solitary gray-haired geezers.

  I put a hand on my too-full tummy. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to eat again.”

  “‘All you can eat’ is a marketing ploy,” Nick teased, “not a challenge. I told you that second dessert was a mistake.”

  I hadn’t been able to decide between the bread pudding and the chocolate pie, so I’d tried both. In retrospect, that may not have been a wise decision. The waistline of my pants now dug into my extended belly.

  A half hour later, the doors flew open and two enormous bouncers with buzz haircuts tossed Josh outside. Josh stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees in the entryway, a goofy smile on his face despite the manhandling he’d received. A group of businessmen walked up and one of them helped Josh to his feet.

  Josh gave him some type of awkward salute in thanks.

  “Josh!” I called out the window, waving my arm. “Over here!”

  Josh looked our way and raised a palm in acknowledgment. He staggered to the car, pausing every few feet to put a hand on a fender to steady himself.