“Wait, wait!” Frankie cried. “Don’t fucking shoot me! I’m the point man.”
“They come in peace,” Raydean muttered.
Eugene eased the Uzi down an inch or two and stood waiting. Frankie walked into the room, followed by Thomas the Sleeping Bodyguard and Carlos the Slick, who took up positions on either side of the room, watching both doorways and nodding to Frankie, who in turn looked outside and nodded.
Moose Lavotini, appearing very tall and imposing in his Armani suit, stepped into the room and stood smiling at everyone, especially me.
“There was a game and I missed it?” he asked.
“Oh, it was no big deal,” I said. “Just a private wager between friends.”
Now Moose wasn’t looking like there was anyone else in the room but me. His eyes sparkled, boring straight inside me, seeing something, but I had no idea what. He threw back his head and laughed.
“I see how it’s going to be now,” he said. “You weren’t going to be beholden to no one if you could help it.”
I smiled. “That’s about the size of it,” I said.
Moose nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s what I like about you.”
I was looking at him and thinking too bad. Too bad he’s a criminal; otherwise, he might’ve borne investigating in a closer sort of way.
Everyone else in the room was staring at Moose like maybe he had two heads, not sure if he was okay or the enemy or what. Vincent was the first to pick up on who it was.
“Is this your … ?” he stammered. “Oh God, I am so honored,” he said, stepping forward and taking Moose’s hand.
Moose smiled, then snapped his fingers in the direction of Carlos and said, “Why don’t we all have a drink? Carlos?”
After Carlos disappeared into the bar, Moose looked around the room, observing all the unfamiliar faces, smiling warmly, like he really meant it, like he wanted to like them and have them like him back. I stepped to his side, slipped my arm through his, and turned to the others.
“Hey, you guys, I’d like you to meet …” I hesitated because I couldn’t say “my uncle.” So instead I smiled bigger and just said, “‘Big Moose’ Lavotini from New Jersey.”
Carlos and a bevy of dancers and waitresses arrived at that moment, and trailing behind them was a caravan of regular customers and well-wishers who now knew that the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club was back in the right hands and that relief from piss-poor entertainment was on the way. It was all downhill from here, and everybody was gonna end up a winner. Of course, there was one little difference: Raydean had given the club to me, not Vincent.
Champagne flowed. People were everywhere and it was one big party. Even Ma was holding court, propped up on the sofa and greeting my regulars with a smile and a wink. At one point I heard her say to a businessman in a red tie, “So I’ve been thinking about making her a new costume, something in a transparent plastic. I’m envisioning a shower and the song ‘Singing in the Rain.’ What do you think?”
I stood there, clutching the keys to the Tiffany Gentleman’s Club in one hand and a flute of champagne in the other. I was standing like that when Pa walked up to me, still holding his coffee mug and frowning.
“Sierra, we gotta talk,” he said. “In private.”
I started to blow him off, to tell him not to worry, Ma was gonna be fine, that I knew running a club was a big responsibility but I had good help. Then I looked over and saw something in his eyes, something that made me take him by the arm and lead him into Vincent’s office, shutting the door firmly behind us.
“What is it, Pa?” I asked.
“About ‘Big Moose’ Lavotini,” he said.
I smiled. “Don’t worry, Pa. I can handle him. I am not about to get myself linked up to a criminal, not again.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, Sierra.”
“Then what is it?”
Pa took a swallow of coffee. “That ain’t ‘Big Moose’ Lavotini,” he said.
I laughed. “Oh that! I know, the real ‘Big Moose’ Lavotini is dead. That’s his son in there. See, they didn’t want to risk no big family struggle, so when ‘Big Moose’ died, his son took over. Nobody had seen the real Moose in years, so everyone just assumed he was still running the show. Bit by bit, Moose’s son has taken over.”
Pa stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Sierra, what’s the matter with you? ‘Big Moose’ Lavotini ain’t dead. He was all over the papers not two weeks ago. He was indicted on racketeering charges and brought up on arraignment. He appeared in court, old as dirt but still very much in charge of his organization.”
I felt a shiver run across my shoulders. “Well, it’s his son then, trying to make big.”
Pa shook his head. “I’ve seen his son, Sierra. He’s short and fat. That ain’t a Lavotini you got in there, honey.”
I walked toward the door, opened it, and kept on going until I stood at the edge of the back room, watching the man I had assumed to be Moose Lavotini work the room, charming everyone in it and laughing like he’d known them all his life.
If that wasn’t Moose Lavotini of the Cape May, New Jersey, Lavotinis, then who the hell was it and just what was he doing in my life?
I turned back to Pa to ask him what he thought, but he had disappeared. I took a step backward and looked down the hallway toward the front of the house. Detective John Nailor stood there, watching me watch him, waiting for the recognition to click in my eyes, then smiling as it did.
I stood there, locked between two men, one, maybe two of them impostors. From somewhere I heard Raydean’s voice drifting out over the crowd: “Well, ain’t this just the finest mess of pickles you ever did see? Pour me another one, big man. It’s gonna be a long night.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, leaning against the cool concrete-block wall. It was going be a long night, all right. I listened to the sounds of my friends and family celebrating the return of the Tiffany and life itself. I thought about all the assumptions I’d held, all the things I’d known to be true and believed in and then watched blow up in my face. What was going to happen now?
I opened my eyes and pushed off the wall. I crossed the hallway and stepped back into Vincent Gambuzzo’s former office, walking to the desk, then stepping around it and over to the huge leather office chair.
“There’s no time like the present,” I whispered. I turned the chair to face forward, sat down behind the desk, and waited.
Also by Nancy Bartholomew
Sierra Lavotini Mystery Series
Miracle Strip
Drag Strip
Film Strip
Maggie Reid Mystery Series
Your Cheatin’ Heart
Stand by Your Man
STRIP POKER. Copyright © 2001 by Nancy Bartholomew. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
eISBN 9781429970716
First eBook Edition : March 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bartholomew, Nancy.
Strip poker / Nancy Bartholomew.–1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-26259-0
1. Lavotini, Sierra (Fictitious character)–Fiction. 2. Women detectives–
Florida–Panama City–Fiction. 3. Panama City (Fla.)–Fiction.
4. Stripteasers–fiction. I. Title.
PS3552.A7645 S7 2001
813’. 54–dc21
2001041899
First Edition: November 2001
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