Lucky Stiff (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 2)

by Deborah Coonts

  “No, thank you. I usually watch from somewhere in the back—if I can stand it.” Carmen gave me a weak smile. “The kids will be out until after the fight. They’re going to Shark Reef, then to see the knights joust at Excalibur, then to ride the roller coaster at New York-New York. After that, I forget where they’re going exactly, but it was quite an itinerary.”

  I handed her two passes to Babel, then thought for a moment and handed her two more. “Here, these will get you two, and Arrianna and Charles if they are so inclined and you have someone else to watch the kids, into the VIP section at the lounge opening tonight—we’ve planned quite a victory party. The champagne is already on ice.”

  “I’ll be really glad when this is over,” Carmen said, as she took the tickets.

  “You and me both.” I squeezed her tight.

  Why didn’t anyone ever tell me worry was contagious?

  * * *

  WITH Brandy in tow, my next stop was the Golden Fleece Room, the designated pressroom for this evening’s festivities. A beehive of activity, the room was filled to overflowing with reporters, cameramen, and imposters special enough or clever enough to finagle a press pass, all charging around pretending to be important. And, as much as I hated to admit it, they were important—if the Babylon wasn’t in the news, we were nowhere. And it fell to me to make sure the news was spun in the Babylon’s best interests—about as easy as riding a wild mustang without a bridle.

  Dane stepped in beside me as I paused in the doorway, looking for familiar faces. “Now I know how the Christians felt just before they were fed to the lions,’’ he said, eyeing the rabid crowd.

  I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes. “At least they had weapons.”

  “You have that rapier wit,” he said, grinning down at me. “Does that count?”

  “It’ll have to do. Let’s hope it at least evens the playing field,” I said, as I tried to ignore the little flush of excitement at his presence.

  “I’d put my money on you,” Dane whispered in my ear. “Smarts, good looks, and experience—they don’t stand a chance.”

  “And you are trying to make me nervous,” I said as I gathered my wits, mustered my courage, and charged in to work the room. Brandy at my side, I was careful to introduce her to everyone I knew, and both of us to those I didn’t.

  Dane positioned himself along the back wall, presumably for the best view. Some help he was.

  Finally Brandy and I made it to the far end of the room, where I caught sight of Flash Gordon holding court. She’d traded her tee shirt and jeans for a hot-pink dress that hugged her plentiful curves, and a white Chanel J-12encrusted with diamonds hugged her wrist—who knew it took so much bling to tell time? The pink stilettos looked the same. Her red hair hung in a loose braid down her back, a few tendrils framing her face. Red and hot pink? Wasn’t that some sort of a fashion faux pas? Faux pas or not, on Flash, somehow it worked.

  Pushing Brandy ahead of me, we wormed our way through the gaggle of men Ms. Gordon always attracted.

  “Hey, girlfriends,” Flash said, cranking her personality to full wattage when she saw us. She gave Brandy a hug, and shot me a grin over the girl’s shoulder. “You guys hanging with the riffraff, or what?”

  “Just trying to keep you cannibals happy,” I fired back.

  “Man, that spread you sent down for lunch was amazing. My scale is going to yell at me in the morning.” Flash ran her hands down her dress causing a collective intake of breath from the men who were watching. She pretended not to notice, but I knew every drool registered.

  “Good thing most of your wardrobe is spandex, then, huh?” I said, unable to resist. Before she could dagger me back, I charged into the business of the day. “Did you guys get all the press releases and the updated list of our celebrity attendees?”

  People gathered closer as I spoke; I raised my voice to be heard. “Everybody knows the routine for tonight? The special press section and all of that?”

  Heads nodded. I fielded questions, then introduced Brandy again. “If you have any questions or if you aren’t getting what you need, this is your go-to girl.” I rattled off her cell number. “Each of you who have requested specific interviews should have gotten a response to your request. We are working hard to accommodate everyone within the time frame we have, so bear with us.”

  I paused and looked around. Everyone seemed to be on the same page. “Anything else?” I asked, in an attempt to wind things up.

  “What about Jordan Marsh?” shouted the same brazen young thing who’d grilled me the other day.

  “I told you to go bark up another tree,” I said, my voice growing cold as I stared her down. “One warning is all you get.”

  She didn’t heed the warning. “What’s he like in bed?”

  Several of the old-timers in the room groaned, then chuckled.

  I motioned to Dane standing in the back of the room. Reading my mind, he stepped to the young woman’s side. Grabbing her arm, he whispered in her ear.

  “What?” she exploded. “I’m not leaving!” She tried to jerk her arm from Danes grasp. Turning toward me, she shouted, “You can’t throw me out!”

  Smiling, I watched as he did just that—cowboys sure were real handy.

  After a brief gloat, I turned my attention back to the rest of the gathering. “Now, where was I?”

  “Teaching manners to a young dog,” Flash said.

  Some rewarded her with a chuckle—probably the ones who hoped sucking up would get them past the casual acquaintance stage. I could’ve told them they were wasting their time, but why spoil the fun? Flash only found attraction in the lure of the chase.

  “Before that,” I fired back. “Is everybody on board?” I paused for a response. Getting none, I continued, “I’m out of here, then. I’ll leave Brandy to fill in any finer points I might have overlooked.”

  With a look of quiet confidence on her face, Brandy turned and began working through the throng one at a time.

  Can I pick ‘em, or what?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WALKING slowly up the entryway to Babel, I marveled at the transformation since last night. Plush red carpet absorbed my footfalls and marked the path the celebs would traverse. Heavy velvet rope separated the carpeted area from the press corral, forming a chute. As the celebrities made their way through this gauntlet, they would be waylaid by local television personalities in a well-choreographed dance that my staff had timed down to the split second. Of course, since nothing goes as planned, some wiggle room had been factored in, but we didn’t have much. Miss P s job tonight was to keep things on schedule. I would handle any temper flare-ups, and Brandy would ride shotgun on the DJ, keeping him well oiled, but not too. Piece of cake. The step-and-repeat hung at an angle at the end of the longwalk.

  Here the newshounds would have their photo ops. Each celebrity had been schooled as to what to do, how to stand, so each and every sponsor of the event would see their name in bold print in the photographs splashed across the morning papers all over the nation and the Internet. Such a star-studded event was a great marketing opportunity, and our sponsors paid handsomely for the privilege, so we had to make good on our promises.

  The interior of Babel had been transformed into a fairyland of trees sparkling with tiny white lights. Lit from below, the aquarium under the clear dance floor cast a shimmering glow. Fish, swimming lazily, cast uneven, ever-changing shadows. I still hadn’t gotten used to the whole walking-on-water sensation. A fraud in the God department, I knew one day I’d step out on the thing and end up all wet.

  With the retractable roof open, the rich desert air mingled with the heady aromas of the gardenia blossoms floating in crystal decanters that decorated the tables in the VIP area. The tables had been booked for a year even though each reservation required the purchase of a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne in addition to any other beverages of choice.

  With the sun still high in the sky, the air was comfortable. However, heat lamps stood
ready to chase away the chill after dark.

  Taking a seat at the curved bar nestled under brightly colored tents, I watched Sean, our head bartender, as he checked the assortment of wine and spirits. Actually, since all I could see of him protruding from the cabinet behind the bar was his ass, I watched that.

  Counting bottles, he would periodically call out a number, which would be noted on a pad by one of the barbacks. Tonight, the count was especially important—the various medicinal offerings would be high-end specialty stuff or call brands—no well drinks tonight. Most bars had gone to an automated measuring system to prevent theft and overpours, but the Big Boss thought that tacky. Not to mention it sorta peeved the bartenders to assume they were thieves.... The Big Boss was all about loyalty, a loyalty that worked both ways.

  “How’s your end stacking up?” I asked Sean.

  Jumping at the sound of my voice, he banged his head then backed out of the cabinet.

  A nice looking kid with spiked hair, a slightly receding hairline, and a ready smile, he held up a finger while he took the pen and jotted some numbers on the pad. When he finished, he stood, stretching his back. “This job is hell on the body—first the feet, then the rest.”

  “A small sacrifice for all the fun we have,” I said. “You got everything under control?”

  “More or less. We’ve got all the special requests filled, however I’m missing a bottle of 1995 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay, but I’ll find it.” He shot me a grin. “Or shoot whoever stole it. But if they drank it, I’m screwed.”

  “Sounds pricey.” With my humble background, I was no oeno-phile, but, working for the Big Boss, I had traveled up the learning curve a bit. One thing I’d discovered—the more names a wine had, especially if they were words I’d never heard of and couldn’t pronounce, the more expensive it was.

  “I’m assuming you have Mr. Marsh’s 1999 Bollinger on ice?”

  Sean nodded. “And the Dom Pérignon for the Padilla victory party.”

  “Ah, the cheap swill,” I said with a smile, then slapped the bar. “You’re the best.”

  Instruments tuning up at the far end of the club screeched and wailed. Teddie and Reza, the band behind them, each had a mike in hand as they stood at the ready on the front of the stage.

  Beating time on his thigh, Teddie counted down, “One, two, three, and . . .”

  The band launched into a dance tune—one of Reza’s I recognized but didn’t know well. The two of them sang it as a duet. Used to seeing Teddie performing in a dress, this was new for me.

  With a sinking heart I realized that whatever “it” was, Teddie had it. Magic happened when he had a mike in his hand and a song in his heart. And Reza sparkled when she sang with him—even without the makeup and the lighting.

  Good for them, not so good for me.

  Despite my inner protests, the song swept me up in its rhythm. Keeping time on the bar as I listened, I noticed almost everyone—the janitor mopping in tempo, the young woman cracking crisp white linens and settling them on the tables, the waitstaff going through their preparations, and Sean—were also entranced.

  Toward the end of the song, Teddie noticed me hanging back by the bar. He waved, then blew me a kiss, as he wrapped it up. At my wolf whistle, he bowed deeply.

  So how did I grow up to be the significant other to a shooting star in the music world? And where did I go to learn how to handle it? Mother always told me that one of the great cosmic jokes was the fact that so much of life was learned on the fly. So I was the butt of a joke—just another of life’s little pleasures.

  Happiness radiated from Teddie like warmth from a fire as he jumped from the stage and bounded over to me. As the band started in on another beat-driven tune, he swept me into his arms, whirling me around the dance floor.

  His joy infectious, I laughed in spite of my heavy heart. Allowing the future to steal the fun from today would be a total waste, anyway.

  When the dance tune came to an end, Reza segued into “At Last.” one of her signature songs that really let her voice soar. I nestled in as Teddie pulled me close, my hand over his heart, his hand covering mine.

  Lost in the pull of the music, in the thrill of being in Teddie s arms, I let myself wish it would never end.

  Yet I knew, like wonderful songs, beautiful moments never last.

  * * *

  WHEN the song ended, I came crashing back to reality. After giving me a kiss that set me tingling, Teddie returned to his preparations. And I went looking for problems.

  Amazingly enough, I didn’t find any.

  The Fates were toying with me, that I knew, but I was enjoying the calm before the tsunami. With the day rushing toward evening and all my ducks momentarily in a row, I paused as I walked through the casino on my problem-finding mission. Absorbing the energy shimmering off the crowd, I let it charge my batteries and light my inner smile.

  No worries, not tonight, I told myself. At least no worries about my future.

  A scrum of young men, laughing and slapping each other on the backs, burst through the entrance. Young women, all dressed to the nines, admired the men. Couples held hands. Anticipation lit faces. The whole world came to Vegas to shrug off worry and responsibility.

  So where did I go to do that? I hadn’t a clue.

  My stomach, already roiling with worry over Torti Padilla and his family and Jimmy G, stabbed me with a sharp pain. On top of that, a headache threatened to join my ever-present heartache. With my stomach, my head, and my heart threatening mutiny, I ordered my mind to take control. For once it complied. Plastering a smile on my face, I fed off the excitement of the crowd.

  Romeo’s call caught me standing at the window that overlooks the ski slope and watching the skiers, unfettered by fear, fly down the hill. “Hey, Romeo. How’s tricks?”

  “l bet you get interesting responses to that question,” he said, after a pause.

  “You think?” I cringed, then resisted shouting for the paramedics as I watched one young lady do a face-plant into the icy man-made snow. “What would your answer be?” I asked him.

  “Is this a test or something?”

  “Just checking where you rank on the glibness meter.” I watched the young woman right herself on her skis then push off downhill once again. She looked dazed, or half-looped. I made a mental note to ask about drinking and skiing—did they make them walk a white line or breathe into a tube? “Actually, that was a lie,” I continued. “I’m trying to find my smile. Being silly sometimes helps.”

  “I’m pretty good at finding things,” the young detective said. “Where was your smile the last time you saw it?”

  “Cute.” I felt a curl bend my lips—my smile had returned. “So, did you call just to cheer me up or what?”

  “Actually, I wanted to tell you about my day,” he said. “As you suggested, I did some research on the suppliers of bee venom—there aren’t many. To my amazement, Glinda Lovato used her own name and credit card when she bought the stuff from an outfit on the Delmarva Peninsula.”

  “Stupid, but hardly convicting.” Abandoning the skiers to their fate, I pushed through the front doors. Cars already stood six abreast at the valet desk as people in their glad rags streamed into the hotel.

  “But, coupled with the other circumstantial evidence, it was enough to convince Judge Fury to sign a search warrant for the Lovatos’. I’m on my way there now.”

  “What do you hope to find?” I asked, as I breathed in the cool evening air.

  “That smoking gun you mentioned.”

  “Numbers’s perfume atomizer? Do you really expect it to be at the Lovatos’? I never took them for being quite that dumb.” Although, I thought, Glinda wasn’t exactly the brightest light in Vegas.

  “Well, it’s got to be somewhere.”

  Probably at the bottom of Lake Mead, or tossed under a bush on the Strip for someone to find and steal, I thought, but I wasn’t going to burst the kid’s bubble. Besides, searching the Lovatos’ house might be the sho
ve that pushed one of them over the edge.

  Then maybe we’d have our killer.

  * * *

  MISS Patterson, her head bent over a sheaf of papers, her brows crinkled in concentration, scarcely gave me a glance when I came through the office door. She’d already changed for the evening—her little black dress, gold heels, and large diamonds at her earlobes hit just the right note.

  “Jeremy called.” she announced. “He said they hadn’t found somebody named Jimmy G yet, but he was chasing a hot lead.”

  “Track me down if you hear from him again, okay? Right now I need to change, then I’ll be with the Big Boss in the VIP section for the fight.” I kicked off my shoes and began unbuttoning my blouse as I headed into my office. “He’s got some heavy hitters in town and I’m part of the dog-and-pony show.”

  Miss Patterson followed me, then leaned against the doorjamb, watching as I applied my war paint. “Brandy’s tailing the DJ.” she said. “As soon as you head out, I’m going to button things up here and head to Babel for the final preparations.”

  I slipped out of my slacks and top. The cleaners had delivered my outfit for this evening—a midnight blue sequined top and silver silk cocktail pants. My old standbys, the silver Jimmy Choos, and my own square-cut diamonds completed the ensemble. Like a chorus girl putting on her costume for the tenth show this week, I donned it all with indifference.

  One last grimace in the mirror told me I looked the part I was to play. But something had changed, I thought, as I returned to my refection. This time I examined myself more closely, with more studied care. The same old, unexceptional me stared back.

  The same... but different. Then it hit me—I felt sexy. When had that happened? And how? A side benefit to meaningful between-the-sheets time? If that was the case, with all the benefits of regular sex, it was amazing anyone bothered to get out of bed anymore.

  “Have you seen Jordan?” I asked, willing my thoughts to divorce themselves from my libido—a valiant battle but one I was destined to lose if I spent any time around Teddie tonight. I vowed to steer clear until the night was well in hand, or I might embarrass us both.